For a moment, the reluctant Princess, cradling her child, stared at her brother and then conceded the argument.
“Your Highness,” Radkor continued, “once we have analysed His Majesty’s DNA, we can remove all of the harmful pieces that might cause the disease to reappear.”
In his previous treatments, Radkor had switched off the genes relating to diseases such as cancer and other hereditary conditions. However, the deeply religious Princess was already suspicious of anything that might be interpreted as interfering with God’s Purpose.
“When we have done that,” Radkor continued, “we move the DNA sample to the Genome Modelling Computer where we build up a model of how His Majesty’s DNA should make him look,” Radkor indicated a screen where an outline human male form rotated slowly.
“We can create a model of His Majesty; his height, skin, eye and hair colour, how strong his bones should be, how muscular he should be, how his internal organs like his heart should be. We then compare that with a scan taken from His Majesty so that we can target and destroy the diseased parts of his body and repair them.”
“You really have the power to repair my brother?”
“No, Your Highness, we have the knowledge and the skill to do so.”
For a moment, the suspicious Princess smiled nervously as she continued to cradle the child.
“If I may draw your Highness’ attention to the facial area.” Radkor punched up the front view of human skull.
“We try to take special care with the face. In many cases, the damage to the soft tissues can be extensive, however, the underlying bone structure is usually intact.” The skull image began to rotate slowly on the screen. “We can use the measurements from the skull to rebuild and repair the lost facial tissue.” Radkor ran a sequence where the skull was covered with muscle tissue and then skin to form a face. “We can’t re-model faces, like reducing the size of the nose or making the chin wider without actual physical surgery, we can only follow the DNA model.”
“But, you can make my brother beautiful again?”
“We can restore his face and body back to how he should be. When we have the model from the DNA, we then feed the information into the teleport device and then ask His Majesty to receive the cure.”
“Teleport?”
“A very simple device that usually takes us from one place to another, but here we use its properties to effect the cure. Here, I’ll show you how it works.”
Stepping over to the far side of the control panel, Radkor disengaged the DNA template function returning the teleporter to its original state.
“I set the controls to return me back to here, with a five second delay,” Radkor explained and stepped onto the square, silvered pad on the floor.
An instant later, the teleporter whirred softly and Radkor disappeared in a blinding, white flash of light.
“Where did he go?” the alarmed Princess asked her brother. “How did he…where did he go?” she asked again.
The teleporter then whirred again softly as Radkor re-appeared in a flash of light.
“Lord protect us...” The startled and frightened Princess crossed herself.
“There we go, Your Highness, back safe and sound.”
“Calm yourself, sister,” the King said before Sibylla could protest further.
“If we may begin, Your Majesty,” Radkor said calmly, nodding to one of the Technicians in the Treatment Room, who were all briefed as to their duties.
The King nodded his masked and covered head as the Technician stepped forward and placed a small square box against his arm.
A moment later, the Technician removed the box and brought it over to Radkor at the control panel.
“A simple blood sample,” Radkor explained slotting the device into an aperture in the control panel and pushing a button to operate the mechanism.
Silently, the machine processed the few drops of Royal blood that would surrender the vital DNA coding for the treatment to take place. Scanning the screen for results, Radkor spotted markers for two types of cancer, diabetes and cystic fibrosis before deftly turning the offending genes off. With the genetic ‘tidy-up’ done, Radkor activated the Genome Modelling Computer, which quickly drew up the schematic of the King’s physique according to his DNA profile.
What appeared on the screen was the outline of a tall, powerfully-built young man with long legs and strong upper arms, shoulders and chest. The slowly rotating image was scanned and scrutinised by Radkor as he looked for any abnormalities beyond the accepted levels of tolerances. No human being was perfectly symmetrical. One foot was always slightly bigger than the other, one arm slightly longer. These were all accepted as part of the human condition, however, Radkor was scrupulous in his attention to detail in ensuring that there were no gross abnormalities. Satisfied with the results, Radkor switched off the screen and turned his attention to the King.
“Now, if Your Majesty would remove your mask and your clothing, we can carry out the body scan,” Radkor asked.
“Sister, please take our nephew into the next room, we do not wish him to see us as we are now.”
For a moment, Sibylla was torn with indecision. She did not want to leave her brother’s side, yet at the same time, she had no desire for her young son to see his uncle’s body that had been so badly maimed and torn by the horrendous disease.
“If I may suggest, Your Highness,” Radkor said, “one of the Technicians can amuse the Crown Prince in the Waiting Room. We can set up the force-shielding so that you can see him, but, he cannot see into the Treatment Room?”
Looking at her brother, Sibylla seemed to plead for guidance and reassurance. With a gentle nod, the King indicated that he felt that it was all right. Then, with a nod of her head, Sibylla surrendered her son to the care of one of the Medical Technicians; who took the young boy into the adjoining chamber. When the young Crown Prince had gone, the King stood up from the Treatment Chair and began to disrobe.
Assisted by two Medical Technicians, the layers of white linen were removed. And, as the robes were removed, the full extent of the disease was slowly and shockingly revealed. Most of the King’s body was covered in the tell-tale blister-like lesions of the leprosy. His skin; horribly discoloured with ulcers, broken and decaying in many places, gave him the appearance of something not quite human as the layers were slowly peeled away.
Large areas of black, dead skin were visible on his back, arms, legs and chest as his twisted and gnarled fingers gently prised his clothing away from his body.
Horror-struck, Princess Sibylla stared at the unfolding tragedy of what was a nineteen year old young man struck down by a terrible disease. And, as she watched the extent of her brother’s suffering, the tears ran gently down her face as she fought stoically not to cry out. Joscelin of Edessa; a man who had seen the bloody carnage of countless battlefields, also stared at the ruined body in shock and horror. He felt ashamed that he was intruding in so private and personal a moment, but it had been an order of the King that compelled him to stay. Baldwin had ordered him, as one of his most trusted servants, to be present and to confirm that the ‘transformed’ body that emerged from the Hospital Deck was really that of the King and not some imposter.
Wearing only a loin cloth, his mask and a loose turban round his head, the King returned to the Treatment Chair. The two Medical Technicians gently began to remove the turban of white linen until his scalp, a mass of lesions with a few tufts of straggly hair, were exposed. The stumps that remained of his ears were barely discernible against the mass of lesions. Then, slowly and carefully, the King removed the mask of solid silver that had hidden his face from the light of day for so many years. And, as the mask was gently pulled away, the nightmare that was his face was revealed. Another mass of lesions and ulcers covered the face. A great yawning cavity where the nose and mouth had been exposed both sets of teeth, giving the King a hideous grimace.
Princess Sibylla let out a small gasp of mental agony as the ruined nightmare of
a face came into view and bit her hand, painfully, to stifle any further unintentional and potentially distressing outbursts.
“Dear God!” Joscelin whispered hoarsely, and crossed himself, as he stared wide-eyed in revulsion and disbelief at the sight of his monarch.
He had known that the King had suffered, but the sheer extent of the damage still stunned and appalled the hard-bitten courtier, who turned his head away in shame and pity, covering his eyes with his right hand.
“If Your Majesty would remain completely still,” Radkor announced calmly as the Technicians took away the last of the Kings clothing.
With the Technicians stepping back, Radkor initiated the body scan. From the floor, a narrow band of yellow light rose to surround the base of the Treatment Chair. Then, slowly and deliberately, the yellow light began to creep upwards, illuminating the King as it rose.
Over the legs, waist and stomach, the light moved upwards until it reached the head area. Then, silently, the band of light turned white and lingered around the head for several seconds before retreating back down to the floor and vanishing.
“There we go, scan complete,” Radkor announced and motioned a Technician forward with a white cover for the King’s near-naked body, “if Your Highness would be so kind?” he added, holding out a Portable Display Screen and motioning towards the King in the Treatment Chair.
Taking the Portable Screen, Sibylla, wiped the tears from her eyes and walked slowly over to her brother, trying desperately not to show her true emotions.
“If you would show His Majesty the Screen,” Radkor punched up the slowly rotating physique image.
Sitting on the edge of the Treatment Chair, the Princess held the Screen for her brother as he pulled the white cover up to his chin.
“A strong, powerful physique, Your Majesty, with no major malformations or structural abnormalities, the worst being that your right foot is two millimetres longer than your left, which is well within acceptable tolerances, so, we shall progress to the face,” he continued and switched the image to that of the King’s skull.
The image of facial muscles quickly overlaid the grinning skull, which was in turn covered by skin. Flesh tones were quickly added to give the image a much more life-like appearance with ears, eyebrows and eye colour adding to the picture.
“Is that an acceptable face for Your Majesty?” Radkor asked. “We can make some very minor adjustments before we proceed with the full treatment.”
The King, struck silent by the handsome face that stared back at him from the Screen, gently ran his claw-like fingers over the image. A great swirling cocktail of emotions ran through his body. There was joy at the sight of such a handsome face mixed with the fear of the unknown. He had grown accustomed to the mask and its feeling of protection. There was excitement and anxiety mixed into the emotional turmoil, but the overwhelming feeling was that of uncertainty.
Sibylla, sitting next to her brother, wanted to reach out and put her arm around his shoulder to comfort and to celebrate. But, as she stared at the image in the Screen, she suddenly felt so unworthy to be his sister and held back from that simple human contact.
“What do you think?” she whispered nervously.
“I never dared to…” the King never finished his sentence as he continued to stare at the face on the Screen.
“You like it?”
“It’s perfect.”
“You don’t think the lips are a bit too full?”
“I don’t care.”
“What about hair?” the Princess asked Radkor.
“I’m afraid that will take time to grow in,” Radkor responded from the control panel, “but the natural colour is dark brown, much like your own, Your Highness.” He punched up some dark brown straggly hair on the image.
“Then, we are content,” the King said with a slow, deliberate nod of his head.
“Very well, Your Majesty,” Radkor said, “we can begin the full treatment, if you would care to step over to the silver square on the floor here.” He indicated the thirty centimetre square teleport pad next to the control panel.
The King rose slowly from the Treatment Chair, wrapping the white cover around his body. As he walked to the teleport pad, a burly Medical Technician carefully escorted the disease ravaged figure. Meanwhile, another Technician set the Treatment Chair to its horizontal setting before taking a Dispenser from his pocket and following the King to the teleport pad. Princess Sibylla, having risen from the side of the Treatment Chair, joined Joscelin in their joint anxious vigil of the situation.
Arriving at the teleport pad, the burly Technician held up the white cover; shielding the King’s body from floor to chest level. The Technician with the Dispenser stepped behind the cover to assist the King with the last of his clothing.
“If Your Majesty would care to remove his remaining robes,” Radkor indicated from the control panel, “we can begin the final phase.”
With a quiet nod, the King began to remove the final loin cloth with his gnarled and twisted fingers, gently assisted by the Technician. As the King fumbled with the garment, Radkor noticed the tension in the Treatment Room step up significantly. For the Princess and Joscelin, it had all seemed to be unreal and fantastical, but now the reality of the situation intruded into their denial. Whatever was about to happen was going to be very real, and the already vulnerable King would be at the mercy of these creatures from another world, creatures whom he trusted so implicitly with his life.
The loin cloth removed, the Dispenser Technician stepped away from the teleport plate with the final garment.
“Stand back everyone,” Radkor warned, allowing the Technicians to move back to a safe distance from the teleport beam. “If Your Majesty would care to close his eyes and count slowly to ten,” he instructed the naked figure behind the white cover.
Watching carefully, Radkor saw the eyes on the ravaged face close slowly and then operated the teleport control.
A quiet mechanical whir sounded from the teleporter followed by a flash of blinding, white light, which filled the Treatment Room for a few moments as the King disappeared from the silver square. The Princess Sibylla gasped, but held her place with Joscelin of Edessa.
Then, after a slow count of ten, the teleporter whirred softly once more, and another blinding flash of light announced the King’s return. With a loud yell of pain, the young man began to topple over on the teleporter pad. The Technician holding the white cover immediately stepped forward to the silver plate and caught the falling body of the newly transformed King before he collapsed to the floor. The second Technician then moved forward quickly to administer the pain relief whilst the first Technician bodily lifted the young King and carried him to the flattened Treatment Chair.
“Brother!?” Princess Sibylla said anxiously and stepped nervously towards the Treatment Chair as the Technician gently set the near-unconscious young man down, and arranged the white cover to preserve his modesty. The second Technician, meanwhile, was running a hand-held Med-Scanner over the King and monitoring the results.
“Textbook treatment, sir,” the second Technician reported. “No sign of any rejection of the new tissue and the peripheral nerves are regenerating rapidly.”
“Brother?” the Princess nervously asked once again, approaching the Treatment Chair and lifting the now normal looking hand in her own and staring at the repaired face.
“Your Highness, His Majesty must sleep now,” Radkor said, patiently stepping away from the control panel. “His body has undergone some major changes and he must rest.”
“But, he cried out!?”
“All the peripheral nerves in his body that were killed off by the leprosy are now regenerating. It will be very painful for him, so we must sedate him and let nature take its course.”
“But, he will be…” Sibylla asked unable to verbalise the question fully for fear that her brother might die.
“His Majesty will be fine, Your Highness. Look at his face, his chest and his arms. The treatm
ent went perfectly, Your Highness.”
“Sister?” the young King said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What is it?”
Looking down at the unblemished form that lay before her, Sibylla smiled as the tears flowed down her face once more. Her brother may have been bald as an egg, but the lesions, the ulcers, the dead and dying skin and the hideous face were all gone. And Princess Sibylla silently gave thanks to her God for her brother’s deliverance.
“Am I beautiful again?”
“You were always beautiful, my brother,” she choked back a sob and, kissing his hand, smiled through her tears, “they’ve brought you back to us again.”
“Here, hold the screen up to His Majesty,” Radkor instructed the Princess, passing the screen that had shown the King the model of his new face.
“There do you see, brother?” Sibylla smiled tearfully as she held the screen up to show him the live video image of his newly repaired features.
“Praise be to God,” the young King sighed with his first smile and succumbed to the sedation.
Gently running her hand over the newly repaired and hairless scalp, Sibylla smiled and kissed her brother’s forehead before collapsing across his stomach and chest, sobbing quietly. With one of the Medical Technicians trying to pull the Princess away, Joscelin of Edessa finally surrendered to his own emotions. With a great gasping sob, Joscelin’s knees finally buckled as he fell backwards against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the cold, hard deck floor.
He had dared to dream of this moment. And, now it had arrived. The young King made whole again would usher in a new era for the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The clever, brave young King, with wisdom beyond his years, could marry now. Some not so minor European Princess would be found to bear him children. An heir, Joscelin imagined, sobbing quietly as he held his head in his hands, a son and heir to sit on the throne. An heir who would found a dynasty of Kings and Queens of Jerusalem. With the succession secured, the Saracens would never dare to threaten Jerusalem again. The nobles would be firmly put in their place once more; their plotting and scheming punished by the strong and intelligent young monarch who now lay unconscious in front of Joscelin.
The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) Page 15
