Chapter 16
Prince Kalizan lay tucked in bed, tucked deeper in thought, glaring out the French doors of the balcony. The rain poured relentlessly on the marble; frequent lightening lit the chamber like a strobe light. From the fireplace on his left, a log crackled noisily, snapping the prince's concentration. He worried endlessly on the Jedi—for the third time he tried to walk to his desk. But with each effort, Ralant struggled just to slide his feet to the floor. An achy fever had replaced his dizzy weariness, making it painful to move at all. It struck him, all too plainly, that these were not the normal symptoms after an episode like the one today.
Behind his stately bed, the door clicked softly shut and Aran entered with an armful of supplies. To his alarm, he found Ralant trying to rise.
"Young man," he scolded, "just where do you intend to be going? Move another inch, and so help me, you will be unconscious before you can blink."
"To my desk. I felt well enough to work, Aran, for a few—"
"You felt no such thing, Ralant. Now lie back down."
"But the Jedi—Aran, you don't understand. They could destroy everything." Dizziness tried to gain the better of him again. "All that we have worked for could vanish."
The doctor rolled his eyes good naturedly, pushing the electronic thermometer strip to his forehead. Ralant tried to swing his legs up onto the mattress, but grimaced at the effort. Aran had to tuck him back under the covers.
"Deraloy will handle the Jedi. You mustn't waste any more energy on them." The prince continued arguing as Aran removed the strip. Stunned, he raised his voice—
"Will a temperature of hundred and two convince you?" Ralant was motionless. The doctor turned away, beginning to organize his materials. Ralant leaned back against the pillows, feeling suddenly helpless.
"I'll tell Deraloy..." the prince noted in a low tone.
"It can wait. Just let me do my job right now." Aran covered his fear in exasperation, but Ralant sensed how serious this was. He tried to help by unbuttoning his shirt, but he found his fingers hard to control. Aran gently put the prince's hands down, took over the task, and listened intently to his heart and lungs. His breaths were shallower than Aran had expected, but his heartbeat was steady and strong.
"Does it hurt when you inhale?" Ralant shook his head. Aran prodded methodically at Ralant's neck, rib cage, stomach—praying for nothing unusual.
"Maybe all of this was a mistake," Ralant wondered aloud. Aran glanced up as he arranged an IV. "This is my punishment, Aran. I took what was not mine, and now I pay the debt."
"Stop this, Ralant. You did what you had to do for your people. You cannot take it back and you will die if you keep trying. This..." Aran gestured around the bed, "This is not what you deserve."
For another half hour, the doctor ran tests, leaving the prince exhausted. His face was graying with each subsequent hour. Ralant flinched as Aran injected the fever reducer.
"Sorry..." he mumbled. "Didn't mean to jab you." He began cleaning up around the nightstand. Ralant fingered the sheets uncomfortably, eyes downcast.
"Aran?"
"Yes?"
"Why do you care so much? And don't say it's your "altruistic duty" as a physician or something. Tell me the truth." Aran smiled, and sat down on the bed next to him.
"Because I believe in progress the way your father didn't—the way you do," Aran tried. The prince looked unconvinced. Aran mulled over his real answer, deciding to say it.
"Because, Ralant, you're the son I never had."
"I like that," the Prince called softly after a moment. "Things didn't work out with my first father so well." Both reflected a moment, the same pinching guilt sneaking up on Ralant.
"Alright Ralant, I want you to sleep." Aran prepared another syringe, administered it, and continued cleaning up.
"Aran?" the Prince mumbled, the medication already pulling him towards slumber.
"Hmm?"
"Do you think my father will ever forgive me?" Caught off guard, Aran choked up a little, realizing his surrogate son was still haunted. He couldn't answer right away, but he knew what to say. Aran swallowed the lump.
"He already has, Ralant." The Prince was soon asleep. His newfound father sat beside his bed, watching him rest.
The next time Qui-gon Jinn woke up, he was acutely aware that someone was watching him. He tried to move his hand stealthily down to his saber, but found it impossible. There was a tingling in his limb—not painful, just recognizable. Without realizing it, he had managed to open his foggy eyes.
Perany was watching him slowly come back to the world; hope cavorted inside. The Jedi's eyes were open and searching. They landed with question on the old senators face.
"Master Jinn, my name is Perany. I served with you on the Prime Minister's counsel. There's no need to worry. We are taking good care of you."
Qui-gon blinked, trying to remember the Prime Minister...the only images he had were of the High Council's chamber on Coursant. There was a small figure on the floor of the chamber. He closed his eyes to focus on it. Obi-wan. In pain. Crying—screaming. For him. Qui-gon harnessed whatever bit of the Force he could and sent the youngster love and comfort. Fatigued, he slipped back into the darkness.
Sharp voices—too close by his bed to be ignored. Footsteps. Silence. Finally, Obi-wan thought it was safe to open his eyes. He was in the empty Healer's ward with a funny red light on the tip of one finger. Sleepily, the five-year-old rolled over onto his side and tried to regain the blankness of napping.
But before he could push Qui-gon Jinn out of his mind, the long-silent bond fluttered. An affectionate warmth, weak and slow but definite, filled Obi- wan. Instant joy made him leap off the bed and scamper to the door. The loud voices were now coming from a room down the hall. Obi-wan stood still and listened.
"So now they are taking a small army and going after him. It's a waste, if you ask me. There is virtually no chance that that man is still alive..."
"I wouldn't be so sure. We've given Qui-gon up for dead before..."
Dead? Thought Obi-wan. No, not dead. Talking. Talking to me... Using his mastered technique of escaping without being seen, little Obi-wan left the Healer's ward and sought this small army.