There was a part of him, no matter how it disgruntled him to admit, that almost saw the usefulness in the Project’s plan. To produce something so helpless seemed bordering on absurd, her every need having to be tended to by another, self-sufficiency seemingly ages away.
But he hesitated before committing to such an opinion. According to Clairy, those formative years were important once, and apparently he was to be pitied for their absence. The bonds she shared with her parents were strong ones, and despite their relative lack of funds, evidently they had taken excellent care of her during the earliest days of her existence.
Would she wish to commit to this young one in the same way? He was not overly agreeable to such a prospect, but he did not know how to confess it to Clairy. Not when she appeared so enthralled by the smallest aspect of the infant.
“Was motherhood something that always appealed to you?” he asked, surprised at his own query.
Clairy blinked, evidently not expecting such a question either, and frowned down at her charge. “Not particularly,” she answered, looking rather sheepish. “I suppose I always saw it as something that inevitably happened to you rather than something to want for its own sake.”
Her eyes suddenly appeared very far away, as if thinking of some distant place rather than their current situation. He watched her, her body unceasing in the gentle sway, the movement evidently seeking to encourage the infant into slumber. If he had given it enough thought, he should have retrieved her medical records. It would be useful to know the alterations done to her genetic composition, as it would likely influence the kind of care she required.
And at the very least it would have given him a designation to use in reference to the tiny creature.
Not that Clairy would have allowed it. She certainly had dismissed his own numbering readily enough, and he was almost surprised she had not named the infant already.
“What about you?” she asked, then paled. “I’m sorry, that was such a stupid question. Of course you hadn’t thought about fatherhood. Not with...” Clairy trailed off with another shake of her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She took a shaky breath. “I guess home wasn’t really home without a baby around somewhere. Never really thought about it like that.”
She appeared overly distressed by the insult she seemed to believe she had paid him, so he felt it easier to assuage her conscience with a truthful response. “Firstborns were castrated, as that seemed the best method by which to cull sexual desire. There were inconvenient consequences to that decision, however, so my generation were allowed to remain intact.”
Clairy gaped at him, her cheeks steadily rising in colour, and she bit her lip. “That’s... good. For you, I mean.” She looked down at the baby rather than retain eye contact with him, and he supposed that was an expected reaction, though her level of mortification seemed relatively excessive.
She removed the nipple from the infant’s mouth, and to his eye it did not appear that she had consumed very much at all. Whether that was a symptom of an underlying disorder, he did not know, but Clairy did not appear overly concerned. She began rhythmically patting the small back as she held her upright, though the pats turned into rubs after air was expelled in a unexpectedly loud manner.
“That’s better,” Clairy crooned. “Ready for a sleep now?” she queried, and he almost reminded her that the infant was quite incapable of answering her beyond the most rudimentary vocalisations that so far only included wailing.
As he predicted, the baby made no reply, though after more rocking, her eyes began to drift closed, despite her efforts to keep them open.
“We’ll need to replicate some nappies for her,” Clairy voiced, though he was uncertain who the we might include as he had not given her any indication that he consented to be included in the infant’s care. “Otherwise we’ll be needing to do a great deal more laundry before long.”
He stared back at her, wondering if there was a question hidden in there regarding his own participation. She watched him in return, perhaps expectant, but a great deal uncertain, until she released another sigh and closed her eyes briefly.
“You didn’t agree to this, did you? Not really.”
It was a point worth discussing, but he was uncertain that it was prudent to do so with her still distracted by the primary issue still in hand. “I agreed that without intervention, she would have drowned in the pod.”
Clairy flinched, but he felt no need to hide his words behind niceties. It was the truth of the situation, and she knew it well enough—which was precisely why she had railed so heartily against it.
“So you gave me access to the computers so that I could look everything up for myself.” He did not know why that seemed such a disappointment to her.
What did she want of him? He had relented to her requests, despite his own desires and judgement. He had assisted with saving the life of the neonate, despite his misgivings about the ability to provide adequate care for her altered personage.
Yet still, she looked at him with eyes full of expectation.
“I granted you access because...” he hesitated, uncertain how to adequately express his own motivation. There was the quiet disappointment again, so much more cutting than any of the frustration he’d endured from his masters during the course of his existence. “Because I would like for you to choose to remain with me. Not because I have circumvented any other possibility.”
Though he could do so. And wanted to, more than he could say. Fear was there, biting and troublesome, insisting that she had no cause to want to remain with him, not when she had loved ones to return to.
Not when she had chosen an infant that would require all of her care and attention, leaving little time or energy for the friend she had claimed to care for.
Clairy looked at him for a long moment before she swallowed carefully. “I need to replicate some nappies,” she repeated, a hint of apology in her eyes.
He inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement, uncertain what his own course should be. The desire to follow her, to continue to observe and participate through presence alone was strong, but he was uncertain of his welcome. She clearly desired more from him and was disappointed by his reluctance, but he was not certain it would be to the child’s benefit to be too near him.
Clairy might wish for her to remain ignorant of her origins, and the older she grew, the more she would see that he was the product of unnatural beginnings.
How long before Clairy chose to leave for the infant’s sake rather than her own?
He climbed back up the ladder, a dull alarm indicating there was something worth seeing. He silenced it quickly enough before Clairy began to worry, settling into his chair that felt oddly lonely with no one to occupy its mate. He should be used to that, having lived much longer in such a state than he had with Clairy as his companion.
But that did not change his displeasure at its emptiness.
He looked despondently at the viewscreen as three vessels approached, one significantly larger than the other two. An insignia was proudly emblazoned on the sides of all of them, indicating their rank and position as peacekeepers throughout the galaxy. A strange word for them, as he was certain they held an even greater stock of weaponry than even he did, as their methods for diffusing tension between vessels and planets alike did not always include words.
Remy had been truthful to his aims. And apparently rather convincing if such a great number had come at his bidding.
Clairy had asked him how he would explain the bodies in the rest of the station, and he had smiled all too easily. “Worried they’ll pin it on me?”
She had shrugged, and some of Cydrin’s concern that she found the man a more appealing companion was partially assuaged. “I wouldn’t like for you to pay for something you didn’t do, no.” She clarified. “But I was more concerned with them coming after us once they realised someone else was involved.”
He had offered to retrieve the canisters from the environmental
controls. Autopsies on the dead would likely show the cause of their demise, but the evidence would be missing, and Remy was... convincing.
Or so he had boasted consistently before they parted ways.
Cydrin had no intention of finding out if he was correct. He would choose a life of hiding, keeping himself away from the authorities of any sort. But to finance such an existence, he would need employment. He had skills, but they were ones that would only draw attention, and if he was to support Clairy as well...
Would she rankle if her lodgings were bought from less than reputable deeds?
He imagined so.
He wanted her here, wanted to talk about their future, as the more he pondered, the more lost he grew. The universe was a vast thing, with options abounding, but he could not simply make decisions for himself anymore. Not when Clairy’s satisfaction with him hinged on her ability to choose.
And despite how he had chosen to ignore it in the beginning, he could not blame her for it.
He heard her quiet footsteps approaching, and he braced himself for another stilted conversation before some need of the neonate halted their discourse for another time.
But her arms were empty, and she appeared conflicted.
“You could not possibly have lost her already,” Cydrin intoned, wondering why she was alone if clearly it distressed her so much.
Clairy rolled her eyes at him. “It didn’t feel right putting her in one of the cells, so she’s on my bed. She can’t roll yet or... I don’t think she can. She feels like a typical newborn, at least.”
Cydrin had no opinion on the subject, so he remained silent.
She rubbed her hands along her trouser legs, and he noted she had changed from her Project uniform. He should have done the same, but had given it no consideration.
“We need to discuss some things, you and me,” Clairy continued. “And I thought it might be better to do it alone.”
He nodded his head, the movement a jerky approximation of what should have been a smooth cant. What was wrong with him?
She took her usual seat, and he waited for the tension he had felt to ease, for everything to be put right again. But instead worry lingered, as he grew all the more concerned. How much longer would she stay? He could enjoy her presence now, yes, but he was not promised that it would be for the foreseeable future. She would likely want to demand to be relocated to the nearest planet and book her own passage home.
She had referred to this ship as home once. But only once. And he had doubted that she’d meant it then, and he doubted it now.
Home would be with the family she was so fond of mentioning. The mother that wept when they spoke even now, though that was finally beginning to wane the more often Clairy chose to send a transmission.
Home was a father that reminded her frequently that she was welcome to return.
Not with a being that was pretending to be a man, and poorly at that. Not with a stolen ship filled with weaponry.
Cydrin looked back at the viewscreen and waited for her to begin, his ears already filled with the pleading she had made on their first day of acquaintance. He had ignored it then, too filled with his own determination, but now...
He knew he would acquiesce. To whatever she wanted.
And that was a strange thing. To be willing to surrender so completely.
Stranger still that he should have any desires of his own at all.
He startled when a hand settled into his, and she squeezed it lightly. “I don’t suppose there’s a way to see what’s going on downstairs is there? Just in case I can’t hear her properly if she wakes up?”
He did not bother sighing. She asked and he would oblige. Even if he already knew she would be cross with him for it.
The view of the authorities diminished and was replaced with a clear showing of her quarters. He did not bother waiting for her to ask for a better view of the infant, and instead manipulated the angle with his free hand.
Clairy was silent, but she had yet to relinquish her hold on him, and he supposed that was something.
“Do you watch that room often?” she asked, her voice deceptively quiet.
That was an answer he could give, freely and honestly.
“Not since your first night.”
A quick release of breath, and she nodded. “Good. Let’s... let’s keep to using it for the baby, yes? And not for me?”
He looked at her earnestly. “Your privacy is of great importance,” he agreed. “I am not interested in keeping a prisoner.”
Clairy chewed at her lip, her eyes drifting to their twined fingers.
They were quiet for a moment, and he was determined to allow her to speak first, to broach the subject he dreaded so fiercely, but knew was inevitable.
“Cydrin,” she began, her eyes closing even as her hand gave a gentle pressure to his unresponsive fingers.
“Yes?”
A breath. Shakily taken, perhaps from her, or maybe it was from him.
Why was she still holding his hand? When even now she was preparing to ask him that terrible thing.
For him to let her go.
“Cydrin,” she said again, this time forcing a bit more confidence into her tone—something she clearly did not feel.
“Yes,” he repeated, this time not bothering to disguise the grim solemnity that had overtaken him.
“I think we need to talk about my home,” she finished at last.
And this time it was his turn to close his eyes, to try to shut out the reality of what was coming.
If only for a moment longer.
18
Cydrin was acting strangely, and despite her efforts to smooth things over between them, her methods were not successful. He was stiff and she had evidently incorrectly claimed he was mad, but there was still something obviously troubling him.
It was even more strange that she could know that so certainly, when in reality very little had changed about his person.
Perhaps it was the ever so slight tension about his mouth, the way he avoided looking at her for any length of time. Which, she realised grimly, was quite unusual given his penchant for staring.
She was still disturbed by the vid in her quarters. It was proving useful to be sure, but knowing that he could have accessed it at any point...
She had always made sure to change in the lav, hadn’t she? There was no door after all, and even when he’d been on the upper deck, she hadn’t grown lazy. Or had she?
He was so adamant, however, that he had only looked in on her that first night. She tried to remember what she’d done on that occasion, but the entire day was a muddled blur, and the night was not much better.
Crying. She remembered that.
But she’d had no clothes to change into, so that was a comfort, though it hadn’t been at the time.
She glanced at the viewscreen, and was pleased that her little charge hadn’t stirred yet. They needed to get things sorted and needed to do it quickly, for she didn’t think she could bear the tension between her and Cydrin for much longer.
If it was odd that she should find it so important given their initial circumstances, she no longer cared. It mattered to her now and she didn’t care how it had begun. Only that as it stood in this moment, she did not like that he was cross, and seemingly it was with her.
“Well?” he prompted, evidently disturbed by her lapse in the conversation. She hadn’t meant to, was exceedingly distracted by a great deal too many thoughts, and she tried to force herself to commit to a subject and remain with it. “What about your home?”
She had dreaded this conversation. With all that she had shared already, she found herself constantly waiting for his judgement, either of her or of her parents and their choices and how they inevitably affected her.
But this one...
It had been hers.
“That’s just it,” she answered at last, forcing the words that did not quite want to come. “I’m not... I’m not sure that can be home anymore.”
&
nbsp; That was evidently not the answer he was expecting.
Cydrin leaned back in his chair, his arm long enough to support the action without disrupting her hold on his hand, and he gave her a sceptical look. “Expound,” he ordered, and she hid a small smile. Always so direct.
She took a breath, fighting the urge to pull her hand back so she could fidget, uncertain even how to begin. “There were... reasons that I looked for work off-world,” she hedged, hoping that maybe she could get around having to give the fuller details. “Those haven’t really changed.”
Cydrin blinked once. A deliberate action, disconcerting in its way. Perhaps he meant it to be. “Have they not? You are no longer required to remain with me, and so you were going to leave,” he intoned, he voice absent and withdrawn. “You were going to request to return home.”
Clairy’s throat tightened. That was not what she was going to say, but for him to expect it with such certainty...
For all his claims not to have feelings, she knew it was hogwash, but never more in that moment. The words came out with the same dry intonation as was his wont, but his eyes...
They were desolate.
She hadn’t realised that he’d meant it—at least, not truly. That, had she asked it of him, he would have taken her to the port of her choosing, leaving her there so she might make whatever life for herself she desired. Rather than the thrill she’d expected at the prospect, instead she was left with a tinge of panic. She’d been truthful when she’d told him that circumstances hadn’t really changed.
There was money being offered, benefits for a death that had never been, and the temptation to accept it was strong, the solution to a problem long worried over.
She’d told her papa later not to take it. To Cydrin it likely sounded like an indignant demand not to sully their limited coiffeurs with money from the Project, but that was only part of it.
It wasn’t worth the risk if their deceit was found out, and she knew the weight of the lie would be too heavy on her papa. He would want to protect her, want to provide for his family in ways that their limited incomes had never really allowed, but this...
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