Chapter Twenty-Seven
The wise merchant prince emulates the predator.
—”Discourses on Power,” confidential memo from Doge Lorenzo
For weeks Prince Saito had clung to life, sustained by the life-support dome over him and the auxiliary medical equipment connected to his failing body. Since the injury he had lost more than forty kilograms, and looked pale. Princess Meghina felt as if she was caught in a nightmare, unable to save the man she loved. Each day was like the one before it and the one that followed, and she fell into a dismal routine.
She had been staying in an elegant hotel, only a short distance away by groundjet. In view of her high social status and special relationship with the Prince she might have stayed in his villa, but Francella had proffered no invitation and Meghina had too much pride to push the issue. Hence, the Princess had decided to go somewhere else, where she could have a little breathing room.
Each morning at eight o’clock, her groundjet left the hotel and took her to the Prince’s villa high on the cliff, a short ride. She then remained at his side until late evening, talking to him, holding his hand, massaging his shoulders … and never giving up hope that he might regain consciousness. Sometimes she sustained herself by dipping into her memory vault and reliving wonderful moments the two of them had shared.
“Remember that time we went on a sand-skiing holiday to Lost Lake Desert, and I tumbled down a huge dune and disappeared? You rushed down to rescue me, my gallant knight. I’ll never forget how you cleared away the sand so that I could breathe, and then you kissed me. I carry that kiss with me every day, and so many others, my darling.…”
While recounting the anecdote for him she held his hand, and thought she felt his pulse quicken for a moment.
A quick learner, Meghina had developed an understanding of the cell meters, immuno monitors, and other machines connected to his body. She began to memorize the results and compare them with prior outcomes, while asking a lot of questions of any doctor or nurse who happened to be in her proximity.
Late one night, after staying with the Prince all day, she kissed him gently and felt the coldness of his lips, so cruelly different from the passion they had shared not so long ago. During the groundjet ride back afterward, she’d cried, afraid that he would never recover. But it had been only a short trip and only a short cry. By the time she arrived at her hotel suite she reminded herself that she needed to be strong for him, and she prepared for the next day.
Upon returning to the villa the following morning, however, she walked into the sick room and found the life-support dome sitting on the floor by the bed, with a blanket over the Prince, including his face.
No one else was in the room; just the two of them.
“My love. No! Please, no, not you.…”
Gasping in shock and disbelief, she removed the blanket from his head and kissed him one last time, dropping Mutati tears on his lifeless face. He looked so small and fragile, where once he had been such a powerhouse of a man. She glanced around, but saw no one. Prince Saito was gone, leaving the courtesan with only her memories.
A short while later, Dr. Bichette marched into the room, followed by two large men in black tunics, capes, and fez hats. Undertakers, Meghina thought, unable to stop the flow of tears. A motorized gurney rolled behind them, controlled by a transmitter held by one of the men. Bichette looked stern and impatient, as if other matters were more important to him than this one, and he had been delayed by the inconvenience of Prince Saito’s injury.
Despite her abiding sadness and the tears that continued to flow, Princess Meghina thought of Saito’s daughter, and how she must be hurting. Presumably Francella was in the house, and had been with her father earlier in the morning, perhaps before he died. Meghina hoped that he had felt the warmth of his daughter’s touch during his final moments.
Resolving to offer her condolences to Francella, despite the past animosity between them, Meghina walked out to the loggia and peered into room after room. She took several deep breaths. This was not an easy thing for her to do. But she lifted her head high and continued looking. Her noble prince would have wanted her to rise above personal conflict, and she would make every effort to do exactly that.
At the far end of the loggia she passed a hand through the pale yellow identity beam that protected the Prince’s study. Presently the heavy alloy door slid open with a smooth click, and she stepped through.
“What are you doing here?” It was Francella, looking up from a long-necked computer terminal just inside the doorway. Her face was filled with rage and hatred.
“I … I just wanted to offer my condolences for your loss.”
Unaffected by the deep sadness on the face of the blonde woman, Francella shouted at her, “You were his whore, but I am his heir. Now get out!”
Maintaining her composure, Meghina gazed down the bridge of her nose and retorted, “I am a courtesan. There is a difference.” Not wishing to get into an emotional argument so soon after a death, she whirled smoothly and left.…
A short while later, Francella went to the local nehrcom transmitting station and sent a message to Doge del Velli, requesting an audience with him, so that they might discuss their new working relationship. Actually, she had forged important documents that she wanted him to sign, and she knew exactly how to gain his cooperation. It was the sort of behavior that the merchant princes liked and expected anyway, and no one enjoyed this sort of interaction more than Lorenzo, even if he had to give something up in the process.