“Yeah, but it’s under control.” Reddix started to sit up. “Can I go now?”
“Not so fast.” Sylvan pushed him gently but firmly back down on the exam bed, and Reddix tried not to flinch from his touch. “How long have your symptoms been this advanced?”
Reddix glared at him, but the other male simply looked back patiently. “We can stay here all day if you like. Or you can tell me what I want to know and go back to your guest suite a lot sooner.” His voice dropped to a gentler tone. “I just want to help you.”
“Nobody can help me,” Reddix growled. “But if you have to know, my symptoms have been getting worse ever since Saber left Tarsia. As second in the line of succession, I’ve had to take on a lot of his duties. That means more public appearances, more council meetings, more of everything to do with other people.”
“And that forced contact makes your symptoms worse?”
“Having all those people staring at me, feeling about me, their emotions constantly Touching me…” Reddix shook his head. “Let’s just say it’s no fucking picnic.”
“Hmm.” Sylvan nodded. Instead of pity or disgust, Reddix was surprised to feel the other male’s curiosity, marching like a line of insects along his skin. “And what are they feeling?” he asked.
“What do you think they’re feeling?” Reddix snapped. “I’m an oddity to them—a freak. A freak who might wind up ruling them if anything happens to Saber. Now there’s an idea that stirs up strong emotions—none of them very Goddess damned pleasant, I might add.”
“And the more emotion you’re forced to endure, the stronger your symptoms get. So how long have you been blacking out?”
Reddix ran a hand through his hair, which was long and shaggy, in desperate need of a cut. “Just for the past solar month or two. It never lasts for long—I wake up feeling a little weak, but it passes. I’ll be fine—can I go now?”
“Actually, you won’t be fine.” Sylvan’s ice blue eyes were filled with concern—so much so that a sticky film of it seemed to coat Reddix’s skin.
“Please don’t,” he said thickly. “Don’t feel for me. If you have something to say, just say it.”
Sylvan nodded. “All right. Reddix, I hate to tell you this, but the symptoms you’re experiencing are serious—very serious. I believe that your RTS has progressed to the point where it may very well be fatal.”
Reddix took a deep breath and blew it out. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”
Sylvan looked surprised. “You knew?”
“You don’t get a disease like RTS and not research the hell out of it,” Reddix said. “I’ve looked for years for any kind of hope—any kind of a cure. But I also learned what could happen if it went too far. I know the blackouts aren’t a good sign.” He shrugged. “But what can I do?”
“Slow down for a while,” Sylvan advised. “Stop the public appearances and council meetings. Take a break—your system needs a rest before it completely overloads.”
Reddix shook his head. “Can’t do it. Now that Saber is gone and isn’t coming back, there’s no one else. I have to keep going.”
Sylvan frowned. “If you do, you’ll die. The next time you black out, you might not wake up.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Reddix demanded, irritated by the worry and disapproval he felt coming from the other male. “But stopping isn’t an option. Besides, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine—I need to get back.”
“Tarsia will keep turning without you for a little while longer,” Sylvan said gently. “I want to keep you here in the Mother Ship for at least one solar week—you can spare that much time, surely.”
Reddix frowned. “I’ll give you two days.”
“Four days,” Sylvan said grimly. “And that’s my final offer. I won’t clear you to fly until then.”
“Clear me to fly?” Reddix frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? I came here in my own ship, and I’ll leave in it whenever I want to.”
“Oh, no you won’t.” There was a steely glint in Sylvan’s pale blue eyes. “You had a loss of consciousness, which means you need a physician’s permission to take off from the Mother Ship. You’re not going anywhere until I say so. Keep talking, and I’ll keep you here for a month—that’s really what you need to heal. A month of isolation with no one’s emotions intruding on you, forcing your system to react.”