Sable Palace
6th January SY153
It had been a busy few days. I had gone through Gray's report on Stephen's kidnapping with him in some detail the morning afterwards, with the afternoon being dedicated to my intelligence chief spilling the beans on what he'd been keeping from me for the past six months.
Then on Saturday, I had had to deal with returning the rogue Pilot to Alastair, and barely had that sorry duty been completed than I had heard from Will. He had called to own up - presumably before I read it in the papers - to the fact that he'd been involved in a fight in Haven City involving protecting my great niece Elowyn from a group of SA soldiers working for my father, who to add insult to injury had apparently been led by someone claiming to be my brother Dilgar. Not that I'd ever heard of a brother Dilgar before.
Still, on the bright side, a little mayhem in brother Kelric's capital appeared to have had a therapeutic effect. Will sounded more cheerful than he had at any point since Sarah's illness had become hopeless, and he was muttering that maybe he wouldn't take as long a sabbatical as he'd originally planned.
Now it was Sunday - Epiphany - and I finally had a chance to catch my breath, and settle down to catch up on some paperwork, including figuring out how best to reward the group who had rescued Stephen, thereby saving me a great deal of pain at brother Rupert's hand. I had pretty much decided on admitting them to the Royal Sovereign Order - at least, those who weren't already members, who I'd need to come up with something else for - when I felt the stirrings of a Trump call. I checked my mental deck to discover that it was Michael.
"Afternoon," I said, as I opened the link, "what's up?"
"I need a second opinion," he replied, "I have a patient in the infirmary I'd like you to cast a magical eye over."
"Okay...anyone I know?"
"Not yet, I think. However..."
He stretched his hand out to me and I took it, stepping through to Malcolm Carlisle's office. As I joined him, I noticed that he looked exhausted.
"You okay?"
"Nothing about five pounds of raw steak won't fix. Thanks for coming through."
Looking out in the ward, I saw that Stephen had been discharged, although I suspected that Malcolm had ordered him to take it easy until term started again. Of course, whether he'd listen...
"My patient's name is Matthew Tyson," Michael commented, bringing me back to the matter at hand.
"The one who gave Stephen the blood transfusion...and most likely saved his life. Andrew said he was one of your students."
"That's the one...a very gifted shape shifter as well as fine doctor. The trouble is, in the process he...well, the best way to put it is he picked up an infection."
"Okay..."I answered, cautiously. I couldn't believe that Michael would have called me in just because of an infection.
"It's to do with how he performed the transfusion."
That brought up a few unpleasant possibilities...
"Go on," I suggested.
"He sampled Stephen's blood, then used his own body to create the extra that would be needed for his patient. In other words..."
"He took a transfusion of Family blood into himself," I finished for him, "and as we both know..."
"Our blood group is sufficiently exotic as far as non-Family are concerned that we can take anything, but if we donate to someone else it's likely to kill them."
"Poor bastard."
I looked over at Tyson, feeling regret. He couldn't have known what he was sacrificing, and yet he'd done it anyway.
"It's poor reward for what he did. How long has he got?"
"No...you don't understand," Michael answered, "I've sorted that out. I just wanted you to check that what I'd done had worked."
That caught me totally off guard.
"You've sorted it out? How? About the only way I can think of is a full transfusion to purge our blood from his body, and hope you've done it quickly enough that our antibodies haven't irreparably destroyed his own immune system."
"Actually..." he answered, cautiously, "I came up with a different solution."
I looked at him, puzzled, waiting for him to continue.
"It was borderline late for your method. So I went the other way."
"You went the other way? I don't follow."
"I've done a controlled conversion...made his body compatible with our blood type."
This time I actively stared at him. Had he really just said what I thought he had?
"You've made him Cornelian?"
"Pretty much..."
"How in Christ's name did you manage that?"
"One cell at a time."
"You shape shifted him into one of us? No wonder you look like you're about to drop."
"How else? I'm not a mage. I am, however, a decent mundane geneticist - not in your league, but good enough."
"I didn't think it was possible to turn a human into a Cornelian."
"I've been practising my shifting," he answered, mildly.
"It's always the quiet ones..."
"I don't follow..."
"First I discover your extra-mural hobby because of the business with Geisen and now I learn you can create Cornelians from scratch."
"Not from scratch exactly...in fact, I doubt it was more than you or Rupert could have built in a test tube. I just did it another way."
"Michael, take it as the compliment it was meant to be...because trust me, I sure as Hell couldn't take mortal cells and turn them immortal in a test tube. Remind me never to underestimate you again...again."
In response, he smiled, and for a moment I saw the child he'd been so many years ago in his features, always looking for approval. But then it was gone, and he was his usual self again.
"Will you take a look at him...make sure he's okay. Check I didn't miss something major...after all, it's not as if I've done this before."
"Of course," I answered, without hesitation, and together we headed towards the only occupied bed.
Tyson was resting, although as he heard us approach he opened his eyes. He obviously wasn't expecting to see me, and I think he would probably have made a move to salute if he'd had the energy. However, lethargy won out.
"Captain Tyson. Michael has asked me to make sure everything's okay with you. Are you agreeable my examining you?"
He seemed surprised at being asked, but hey, it was form...something I think he realised pretty quickly, being bound by the same medical oaths as I was. He did seem a little worried...as if he hadn't expected Michael to seek a second opinion. However, rather than arguing or refusing, he nodded in answer and I brought up a combination of the Pattern and my own magic, to see what Michael had wrought.
Both genetically, and from an arcane point of view, I was looking at Stephen's brother, although thankfully without the extra twist which had brought my nephew to me in the first place, ie the dark side markers. Perhaps Michael had edited them out of the equation when he was performing cellular surgery? But either way, Tyson seemed stable, healthy, and undeniably Cornelian.
"Well, you'll both be pleased to know that my brother, here, has been as professional and successful in his treatment as I would have expected. You'll be fine, Captain...probably even fitter and healthier than you were before. But once you're up and about again, there are things you are going to need to learn about your new...condition."
"I'd guessed as much," he said, quietly, "Michael gave me some idea of what might be involved before I agreed to this."
"Then hopefully the discussion won't come as too much of a surprise...Michael, can I safely leave that in your hands?"
"I expected you would, and of course I'll do it," he answered, then looked at Tyson,"...however, Matthew, I suggest you rest for now. We can talk in the morning."
I saw a weak nod from the bed, then commented.
"Oh, and Michael. When you've had that chat, find Captain Tyson some rooms in the palace."
Tyson looked surprised. So did Michael.
"He's family...it's his right," I answered, then turned back to the patient, "I'm not sure how to show my thanks to you , Captain...for saving my nephew's life."
"It was my duty..." he began, quietly, but I cut him off.
"It was above and beyond duty. Thank you."
He looked at me, then nodded weakly. I acknowledge the nod, then turned back to my brother.
"Could we have a word?"
Michael nodded, made sure Tyson was comfortable, and then followed me back to Malcolm's office.
"Nicely done...but I hope to God Rupert doesn't figure this one out."
"Which bit? The fact that this is possible, or the fact that the young man in there is genetically his son...or yours...or however that works?"
"Either...both."
"I don't intend to tell him...I hope you won't, either."
"Could he figure out the method himself?"
"Unless he's been taking lessons to improve his shape shifting, he won't be able to duplicate what I did. It stretched me to the limit and I'm reasonably confident I'm better than he is."
"That's what you said about Trumps as well."
"Does that make me wrong?"
"I really hope not."
"There's probably one simple test in this case. Could you duplicate what I've done?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I couldn't."
"And as I understand it, Rupert isn't any better a shifter than you are...so we should be safe."
"As I've said before. I hope you never, ever fall into his hands."
"Trust me. It isn't on my 'to do' list."
I smiled, and he returned it with a weak one of his own. However, it didn't hide the fact that he looked dead on his feet.
"Now, you...kitchen. Eat then sleep. You look like you're about to fall over."
"Food was next on the list," he answered, with a chuckle, then looked more serious. "Thanks, Robert. I was pretty sure I was right, but I did want confirmation."
"Understandable...consider it confirmed," I answered, and he nodded, and then with a look of relief on his features, he headed out of Malcolm's office, towards the infirmary door, leaving me alone to consider my newest relative.