Around a month later
Jayne mixed the colour she’d use for three of the balloons and surveyed her creation thus far. Admittedly, it wasn’t all that original. Balloons, clouds, teddy bears, cute animals...she hadn’t mentioned this to Lesley and Mo, but she planned to paint a new mural every so often. Future murals would reflect this daughter’s personality and interests. All Jayne had to work with for this first one was “baby girl.” No personality, no likes and dislikes.
She dipped her paintbrush into the—
“No!”
The shout set Jayne’s heart racing. As footsteps thumped up the hallway, she consciously calmed her trembling hand and turned around.
Mo stood in the doorway. “I’m so flaming tired of this. It’s never going to happen.”
Jayne swallowed. “It will happen,” she said lamely.
“No, it won’t!” Mo stepped into the room and thrust her arm toward the wall. “There’s no point painting this mural. Argamon!” Her shoulders slumped. The frustration that had strained her voice turned to sorrow. “If I don’t get pregnant soon, she’ll want to have a baby with you,” Mo moaned.
What? “No, she won’t.” Still clinging to the paintbrush, Jayne closed the distance between them. “I hope you’re not worried about that, because there’s no way Lesley will have a child with me.” Not only would Lesley want Mo to be the other mama of her first child, but Jayne was not having any children, period. The Adams bloodline stopped with her. “Mo, it’s early days. I know it’s frustrating, but it will happen. Lesley knows that. She’s not going to give up on you because you’re not meeting some deadline.”
“What if it goes six months? A year?” Mo looked up at her with moist eyes. “What if the Reproductive Technology Centre has to give us more help?”
“Then it will give you more help. But you’re nowhere near that point yet.” Jayne took Mo’s hand. “And don’t worry about Lesley. She’s one hundred percent behind you.” She gave Mo an encouraging smile, and felt it widen when Mo managed a small smile in return. “She’ll be patient with you. She wants a baby with you because you’re so,” Jayne lifted her paintbrush, “flaming,” she dabbed Mo’s nose with the brush; laughter filled her voice at the sight of the red dot on Mo’s nose, “cute!”
Mo’s eyes crossed. “Did you just paint my nose?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Oh.” Mo’s grip on Jayne’s hand tightened. “I guess you thought that was funny,” she said, walking toward the green paint Jayne had mixed earlier.
Uh-oh. “Well—”
In one motion, Mo snatched up a paintbrush, dipped it into the paint, and whirled. “Let’s see how you like it.” She lunged.
Jayne drew back. The brush caught her on the neck. “I have you at a disadvantage,” she said, striping Mo’s cheek. She laughed when Mo tried for her face again, missed, and followed up with a quick jab to her chin.
“I’ll get your cheek!” Mo waved the paintbrush around, then decided it needed more paint.
As Mo refreshed her brush, Jayne quickly dabbed a matching stripe onto Mo’s other cheek. “You’re starting to look like you have whiskers.”
“Hey, not fair.” Mo touched her hand to her cheek and lowered her head.
Her brush almost dry, Jayne moved closer to Mo. “Sorry,” she said, peering at her.
Mo’s hand flashed up; Jayne felt the brush travel from her left cheek to her right. “Ha!” Mo barked.
“I think you got some on my lips.” Jayne refreshed her brush and went for Mo’s forehead.
“Hey, not my hair. You didn’t get my hair, did you?”
Jayne leaned over to look. “No, I—” Her eyes instinctively closed when Mo’s paintbrush headed in their direction. It flew across Jayne’s forehead.
“Ha! This is too easy!” Mo cried.
“Really? Well, since you’re worried about your hair.” Jayne opened her eyes and waved her brush around Mo’s head.
“Don’t you dare,” Mo said, raising her hands to protect herself. She groaned when her paintbrush hit her head. “Argamon!”
“The green streak in your hair suits you,” Jayne managed to gasp out before doubling over. Her giggling intensified when she felt a paintbrush sweep across the top of her head. When she regained control of herself, she straightened. “I think you need more red.” She lunged at Mo, who lunged at her. Paintbrushes flashed, paint flew, until they both collapsed into a heap, convulsing with laughter. They grew quiet, then looked at each other and burst into giggles again. If Jayne’s face and hair looked anything like Mo’s...at least the paint was water-based.
The front door thumped shut. They stared at each other wide-eyed, then scrambled to their feet. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Lesley appeared in the doorway. “I can smell the paint. How’s the—” Her brows shot up. She blinked at them.
“I, uh...Jayne’s helping to cheer me up.” Mo shifted her weight. “I’m not pregnant.”
“I see,” Lesley said, her eyes bright. “If...this,” she gestured toward them, “helps, then who am I to argue? But if one speck of paint comes near this uniform, I won’t be happy.”
Jayne looked at the commander insignia sewn onto the uniform’s left breast. The sight of one no longer made her want to run and hide.
Lesley smiled at them. “You both look ridiculous. And adorable. I’m going to change.” She continued down the hallway.
“I don’t think she’s changing because she wants to come and paint,” Mo said with a grin. “I have dibs on the upstairs shower.”
Jayne could shower in one of the other bathrooms, but... “I’ll shower later. I’m used to being covered in paint.” Though on her hands and smock. “I want to finish up a couple of balloons.”
Mo set her paintbrush down. “Thanks for cheering me up.”
“Anytime.” She watched Mo leave, then turned back to her work, rejuvenated. Another memory cleansed. Paint fights had always reminded her of Robert, but now she’d think of Mo. Little by little, she was reclaiming her life.
Around a month later
Mo grabbed her head and stared at the closed bathroom door. She wished they weren’t waiting for her. Why did she tell them her menses was late? She should have quietly done the test, rather than making a big deal out of it. Now she’d gotten them all excited for nothing, because the test—the one she refused to look at!—would be negative. She’d have to go out there and see the hope in their eyes, then watch them mask their disappointment when she told them she’d failed, yet again. Yes, she’d failed. She was the one who wasn’t getting flaming pregnant.
How much time had it been? The test result must be ready to mock her by now. All she had to do was turn around and look. Oh well, they still had two months before the flaming Reproductive Technology Centre would try to figure out what they were doing wrong. What if they wanted Les to demonstrate how she was using the impregnator? Argamon, Les would love that! Yep, when Mo told her Chosens the bad news, she’d have to point out that they still had time. Maybe she could go to the centre and ask them to check her over and leave Les out of it. Yes, she’d give that a try. As for what she’d say to Les and Jayne when she left the bathroom... Sorry, I’m not pregnant, but my menses was late, so we must be getting closer, right? I bet it’ll happen next time. No need to worry. Why don’t we go out for supper?
Okay, she had a plan, and she’d warned them that it could be a false alarm. She should have said very likely a false alarm; in fact, she should have kept her mouth shut. But it was too late for that now. So it was time to turn around and get it over with.
Sighing, Mo wheeled and peered at the test. Her heart skipped a beat. Green...didn’t that mean... Pregnant: green. Her eyes moved back to the test result. Green. She read the legend again. Pregnant: green.
Argamon!
She screamed and pulled open the door. “I’m pregnant! I’m flaming pregnant!” she shouted, flying down the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom, Les and Jayne had rushed into the h
all. “I’m pregnant!” She leaped into Les’s arms, laughing and crying at the same time. Her throat tightened when she felt Les’s tears mingle with hers. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered again, and motioned for Jayne to join their hug. In the arms of the two women she loved and a new life inside her...for a moment, she couldn’t fathom it. “We’re going to be mamas.”
We’re going to be mamas.
DISCOVERY
One week before Mo’s due date
Captain Roger Standish’s eyes flickered, then opened. He shot his hand out from under the blanket and hit the connect button on his comm unit. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry to wake you, Captain, but we have a situation,” Commander Hollins, who had command of the Osprey on the overnight shift, said.
“What’s going on?”
“Patrol C has detected an alien ship.”
Standish kept his voice even. “Contact Planetary Command and advise them of the situation. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Understood.”
Standish’s mind raced as he swung his legs off the bed and headed for the bathroom. The Osprey had left 72 only three days ago, and it had taken the customary detour to Argamon for the benefit of those on their first tour. They were still far within Rymellan space. What was a ship doing here, so close to Rymel?
After splashing water on his face, he quickly dressed and headed to the command centre. When the elevator doors swooshed open, Hollins, who stood in front of a viewing monitor, turned to Standish. “Situation report,” Standish said, striding to Hollins’ side.
“Patrol C is shadowing the vessel.”
“Have the aliens engaged them or attempted communication?”
“No. Our lead fighter is transmitting the images onscreen.”
Standish peered at the viewing monitor. Shock stabbed through him. He turned to Lieutenant Commander Higgs, one of the Osprey’s defence analysts. “If I’m remembering my alien technology course at the academy correctly, it appears to be Danlion.”
Higgs nodded. “Based on our limited intelligence, it has a few more bells and whistles than the last time we ran across one, but it’s definitely Danlion.”
“Danlion?” Hollins frowned. “I thought they’d almost destroyed themselves.”
“That was hundreds of years ago,” Standish said. “They’ve had time to reproduce since then.” Unfortunately. “According to diplomatic sources, they’re well on their way to destroying another planet. You’d think they would have learned. But I don’t care about their latest civil war. I care about what one of their ships is doing in our space.” He punched a code into a nearby comm station.
“Yes?” said a fatigued voice.
“It’s Standish. We need you in the command centre.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“What more can you tell me about the vessel?” he asked Higgs.
“It’s a cargo ship, pretty much the same design they’ve used for centuries. Primitive weaponry and defensive systems.” She blinked at Standish. “It would be incapable of taking out a fighter, and one fighter missile—two at most—would destroy it.”
That meant a strategically targeted laser shot from the Osprey would disintegrate it. “What are they doing here?” he said, more to himself than to his two colleagues. He suspected that the Danlions knew few details about Rymellans, but among those details would be the stories about travellers who strayed into Rymellan space and were never seen again. Considering that he hadn’t been alive the last time an alien vessel had shown up uninvited, perhaps those stories were dying out or losing their power. Well, they might soon have a new story that would frighten their children. Rymellans weren’t above helping ships in distress and turning them back in the direction from which they’d come, but those requiring aid usually requested it, especially when they ran into a warship that could squash them like a fly. Plus, Danlions weren’t the diplomatic sort. They reacted violently to everything and everyone, including those who wanted to help them.
“It looks like it’s taken some damage at its stern,” Higgs said. “Without a closer examination, I can’t say who inflicted it, except that it wasn’t us.”
“What is the ship’s heading?” Standish asked her.
Higgs raised her brows. “On its present course, it’s headed straight for Rymel.”
He’d forgive the Danlions on board for not knowing that an automated defence system would destroy their ship long before it reached the planet. The space stations and domestic fighter squadrons would obliterate any ship that managed to break through the initial onslaught. So far, that had never happened. No hostile ship had ever survived taking a run at the planet; in fact, none had attempted it for decades. So what was this? Were they stupid? Lost? Here on some ridiculous dare? Or was it a suicide mission? The latter possibility concerned him. He hit the button on the station that would connect him with all the pilots in Patrol C. “Standish here. Disable the vessel. Do not destroy it. I repeat. Do not destroy it.”
“Understood,” a voice crackled. Moments later, several flashes appeared on the viewing monitor. “Ship disabled.”
“Stay with it.” Standish cut the connection. He stared at the ship, now drifting in space. Something didn’t feel right. No communication, no evasive maneuvers, no attempt to fight back. Yes, it was a cargo ship that wouldn’t survive a skirmish, but...maybe they were hoping to be captured? Maybe they thought those who never returned from Rymellan space lived out their lives here. In that case, they could be on a mission to infiltrate Rymel, hoping to pass themselves off as innocent civilians on a cargo ship held together with elastic bands. No, without knowing what had happened to those who’d disappeared, the Danlions wouldn’t risk it. To succeed, it would have to be their best people. Why send them on a ship that couldn’t defend itself against the weakest of hostiles, let alone the Rymellan fleet?
The comm station beeped. He activated it. “Standish.”
“Commander Richards at Planetary Command. What’s your status?”
“We’ve disabled a Danlion vessel.”
“Danlion?”
Standish almost chuckled. “I’ll attempt contact, find out what they’re doing here, and then decide on a course of action.” His uneasiness made him add, “We have the situation under control, but I’d suggest raising station alert levels.”
“Already done. Keep us apprised. Richards out.”
The elevator doors opened. Translator Lieutenant Lloyd marched onto the deck and looked at Standish with bleary eyes. One more person, and the command centre would be filled to capacity. Standish hadn’t sat down since he’d entered it, and Lloyd also remained on his feet. “How good is your Danlion?” Standish said to him.
Lloyd’s brow crinkled. “I know the basics.”
“We’ve been assuming that Danlions are on board, but we don’t know that for sure,” Hollins pointed out. “They could be Rymellans who ran into trouble and managed to get an old Danlion cargo ship off the ground.”
“We haven’t received any reports of missing military, but we’ll start there.” Standish motioned for Lloyd to move nearer to the comm station. “We’ve disabled an alien ship that appears to be Danlion. We need to make contact with whoever’s on board. They might be in trouble, or they might be trouble. Start with Rymellan, then Danlion.”
“Yes, Captain. Initiating communication over the common frequencies.” Lloyd raised his voice. “This is the Rymellan ship Osprey. You are in Rymellan space. State your reason for entering our system.”
Dead air.
“If you’re in distress, we can assist.”
Nothing.
Lloyd glanced at Standish. “I’ll try Danlion.” He straightened. “This a Rymellan ship Osprey. You...in our...place, our...area. Say why.”
No response.
“I’m not even sure I’m speaking a current dialect,” Lloyd murmured. “If you, uh...in help—no—need help, tell me.”
The comm station remained silent.
“Try Jess
imite,” Standish suggested. “I don’t know why they wouldn’t respond, but to be thorough...”
Lloyd cleared his throat. “This is the Rymellan ship Osprey. You are inside Rymellan space. What is your purpose here? Do you need assistance?” When no one answered, Lloyd said, “I have a few other languages I can try.”
“Go ahead.” Standish waited while Lloyd spoke more gibberish, and wasn’t surprised that Lloyd was still talking to himself. “That’s all for now. You can return to your quarters,” he said, not wanting Lloyd to be present for the conversation he’d have with Hollins and Higgs. “but don’t go back to sleep. We might need you again.”
“Yes, Captain.” Lloyd nodded to everyone and left.
As soon as the elevator door closed, Standish said, “We’ll have to board, but something’s not right. Could this be some type of trap?”
“Do you think the vessel might be booby-trapped?” Higgs said.
“It could be a scout ship for a larger force,” Hollins suggested. “Or perhaps they’re hoping we board, so they can capture the strike team.”
“But to what end?” Standish said. “If it’s booby-trapped and we don’t detect the trigger, we lose a team. Obviously we don’t want that to happen, but if it does, what will they have gained? The same goes for capturing the team. Their ship is disabled. Even if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t make it very far. And I can’t see using a cargo ship as a scout.”
Higgs nodded in agreement. “If it’s a scout, it’s not a very good one. It flew right into a patrol and was making a beeline to the planet with no regard for being intercepted along the way.”
“So it’s not here to gather intelligence, either.”
“It has to be on its own,” Higgs said. “We’d detect any larger ships on the way long before they made it this close to the planet.”
So what was it doing here? It didn’t make sense, and that was precisely why Standish was uneasy. What were they missing? Maybe it was deserted, which would explain why nobody had responded. But if that was the case, why was it on a course for Rymel? It was normally sound to assume that someone was manning a ship that wasn’t adrift. He blew out some air. “I want you to lead the boarding party,” he said to Higgs.
Identity Crisis Page 3
