by Amanda Milo
Ekan moves beside him, doing the same. “We’ll leave Tiernan with Beth, go in, deal with the scum, rescue the Gryfcraft, and save the day.”
“That easy?” Prow says, adding a dozen plasma grenades in the same pocket he just poured a canister of dehydrated snacks into.
“Is that really wise?” I indicate his bulging pocket. “This mission is going to be over before it starts.”
Unperturbed, Prow pops one of his dehydrated crunchies into his mouth before he brings his palm against his flipped fingers—an impolite gesture if there ever was one. “What? I get peckish.”
Qolt’s tightening his shoulder holster. “Bite the wrong one, and you won’t be pecking at anything.”
I shove Prow aside to don my own gear, and we run the fastest check on our headsets which—ironically—are Gryftech we surreptitiously lifted off a Gryfcraft moons ago. That was one close escape, too. Gryfala do not like to share.
We lock ourselves onto The Roubari and move along our stealth transfer tunnel, our boots thudding in sync, and that’s when Ekan informs us that his code name will be Rubber Duck.
Qolt asks, “What the hells is a rubber duhhk?”
Ekan does a very Beth-like jump of his shoulder. “I don’t know, but Beth referred to me by this moniker, and I like it.”
Qolt misses a step, and I shove him in the back to stop us from crashing together. He finds his pace again, then doggedly returns to his subject. “She gave you a moniker?”
“Don’t get jealous, Qolt,” I say reasonably. “If she gave it to Ekan, what are the odds it’s complimentary? It can’t be flattering.”
Qolt relaxes, and grunts, “Good point.”
***
We rescue the occupants of the Gryfcraft—and miraculously, it’s not just any female that they were asking us to rescue—they have a human woman.
More incredibly? From The Roubari, we rescued another human woman. She’s been a… ‘guest’ of Räuber’s ship since she was auctioned. By the grace of the Creator, both are alive, and all but one of the members of the Gryfcraft are more or less in one piece.
Unfortunately, we didn’t arrive in time to save one of the hobs from being tortured.
We take the severely injured hob to the second infirmary, and any other day, we’d be fascinated by the human female who’s formerly of Räuber’s ship, because she’s mad with worry over the tortured hob and fearsome with us while she tries valiantly to protect him. If she’s heard of Na’riths from her captors, the reports must not have been flattering. Tiernan trades places with Prow, leaving Beth in Prow’s hands in favor of helping me treat the hobs. The less injured male, Dohrein, has more luck getting the protective female to let him near. Apparently she trusts hobs fine. With our limited assistance, he carries out what repair measures he can on his fellow.
Once our rescues are safely in our keeping, we blow Räuber’s ship and all of his cursed crew to smithereens. We don’t even rake them over for guns or tech—none of us care. We’re gnashing our teeth, impatient to bring our Beth help.
The human female not at the hob’s side made use of a shower and is fitting herself in a too-large medical gown.
At any other time in all of history, Ekan would have been slavering over who she’s paired with—it’s a Rakhii.
But Ekan got right to the point once we had secured them. “Human female?” he’d addressed the woman being clutched tightly within the Rakhii’s arms. “Will you come tend to our female?”
CHAPTER 53—BETH
BETH
Eyes still swollen, I hear when the guys return—and also because Ekan’s voice projects even as he tries to jubilantly whisper, “Narra, we’ve returned victorious—and we bring human help!”
“No way!” I cheer weakly. “You guys will never fail to surprise me.” I try to smile, but I’m really scared. I’d been beginning to mentally play back that devastating Downton Abbey episode where—
!SPOILER WARNING!!
—Sybil bites it during childbirth.
It’s a shocking episode.
It’s suddenly a terrifying episode.
Yet his words jolt me with relief. Just the idea of another human is comforting. I would have asked for Gracie, but real life is not like a movie script. If only this were a movie; in all likelihood she’d say something acerbic in just the right way to motivate me to push through—and safely (somehow) move my baby’s progress along enough to push out—ta da! Happy ending for all.
Maybe this is the perfect recipe for bonding and a show of good sisterhood. But maybe this is too stressful for anyone to reasonably handle, let alone the pair of us. Fact is, I know down to my bones that I don’t have enough in me to bounce back if she says something that hurts my feelings again.
“Hi,” says an unfamiliar woman’s voice.
My heart lurches—in a relieved way. One word from her, and she sounds compassionate and not quite as terrified as I feel, and that’s a big plus. I try to peer at her through my ruined eyes. “Tell me you’re a worldclass Obgyn!”
I think I can see her grimace. “Not even close. Sorry.”
“Beth,” Ekan breathes—and even through the misery that is labor pains, I hear the barely repressed excitement in his voice. “They have a Rakhii.”
This actually makes me laugh a little. Which hurts, but a tiny portion of the internal panic that’s been eating at me rolls back, and I can breathe again.
“Um, yep—Arokh is a Rakhii and I’m Angie,” says the woman, a smile evident in her voice, “And this is Dohrein, a hob. Do you guys have some salve for her eyes?” she asks the room. “On Earth, I think we use something called ophthalmic ointment in this situation, but heck if I know for sure. I just know they smear something on a girl’s eyes if they get like Beth’s during labor. Looks like ouch,” she adds.
I confirm: “Feels like ouch, too.”
“I bet. May I lift up your gown?” she says courteously.
I wave a limp hand. “I’ve had five aliens under the hood today; you go for it.”
She laughs, and it makes me feel less scared. Even through the next contraction, it still hurts, but it’s like my body is more relaxed. I swear I feel my baby sinking where she’s supposed to be, pressing in a way that feels like she might be getting in position, moving in the right direction. “Speaking of my gown, would you believe this is the most clothing I’ve worn since I got here?”
Angie sounds amused. “Oh gosh, do your aliens ascribe to a barefoot, naked, and pregnant deal?”
“Not barefoot; I bought her shoes,” Ekan defends himself.
“He did buy me shoes,” I concede, “But you get more coverage out of a string bikini than what I was getting out of his outfits for me. Princess Leia looked like she was dressed for a winter in Russia by comparison.”
Angie snickers. “Russia? Don’t you mean ‘Hoth?’”
All of my guys erupt in laughter—because they know Star Wars—I’ve told them all about the series.
“Where’s Hoth?” a deep, unfamiliar male voice asks. One of Angie’s aliens, I presume.
“It’s a make-believe place, not real. I’ve been telling my crew about movies,” I explain. “There isn’t exactly cable out here so telling stories is pretty novel.”
There’s a smile in Angie’s voice. “One of your guys quoted Terminator when he met up with us, and I gotta say, it got my attention.”
“That’s awes—” I start.
A big thumb strokes my cheekbone, gently interrupting. “Narra?” It’s Tiernan. “Hold still. This is the salve.” He swipes it over both my eyes and ohhhhh thank heaven. Maybe Earth’s stuff works just as fast, but whatever he’s smeared makes the heat in my eyelids instantly disappear, and with each blink, I can actually make stuff out again, see things without a teary blur, despite peering through gel. Whew. Then I gape—because at my feet, staring at my hoo-ha with concern and unease is an alien.
He takes a good look at what I’ve got going on, and winces for me—I know it’s for m
e because he pats my knee sadly, like, ‘Shucks, honey, that looks like it hurts.’ It’s an action at complete odds with his big horns, shiny scales, and all his sharp things: spines, fangs, claws, stuff on his tail. This alien looks seriously dangerous.
And I can’t help it. I snicker. Because of course Ekan wants to keep one of these. “So this is a Rakhii.”
The Rakhii in question straightens, and seems uncomfortable with the attention. There’s no way he can meld into the wallpaper though. There’s too much of him to try hiding in plain sight. In a word: the alien is HUGE. He makes Tiernan look like nothing more than an overgrown human. His wide-spread, curling horns make him look even bigger—and when his spines flare, the effect is much like a wolf raising its hackles: he increases in size. Optical illusion or not, it’s extremely effective.
The scaly tail with short swords on the end of it only helps his fierce appearance.
To Angie, I say conversationally, “My craziest alien’s got a thing for your kind of alien. I like to tease him that he thinks of them like pets.”
“Hear that?” Ekan crows, striking Oquilion’s chest with the back of his fist. “She called me her craziest.”
“Yes,” Oquilion agrees. “We can see why you’d be proud to earn the honor.”
Prow quips, “Always the runner up here, and I’m fine with that.”
“Where do I fit in?” Qolt asks. “Does this make me third-craziest?”
“You’ll all fit in the corridor, which is where I’ll stuff the lot of you if you don’t shut your yammerer cannons and give Beth peace and quiet!” Tiernan warns.
Angie’s ignoring them like I am, trying to adjust a pair of gloves that are one size too big for her hand. “I dare your alien to call my alien a pet to his face.”
I groan. “Please don’t dare him. My poor Ekan’s not right in the head. Totally damaged. He’ll do it.”
Someone shifts, and I see another unfamiliar alien, one with wings. This must be the hob-kind, the ones the guys have mentioned in conjunction with Gryfala.
Angie pats my knee. “So…” Her smile is self-deprecating, “I’ll be getting really personal with you in about a minute.”
I laugh weakly. “Great. And it’s weird, but just having you here is already making me feel better.”
Angie holds out a sterile-gloved hand for an air-touch high five that doesn’t get close to meeting my tired, sweaty palm. “Let preface this by saying that I know this information is taken from studying animals not people, but what you’re feeling isn’t weird at all—some creatures prefer not to be alone when they’re popping out babies. Especially if it’s their first time. For domesticated animals, having a quiet, experienced—typically human—presence is reassuring. And this is random,” she adds thoughtfully, “but have you caught the doctors who are speaking out against the practice of having fathers in the delivery room? They say down to a basic level, if dad’s anxious, mom’s anxious, and it slows down delivery.”
You could hear a grenade pin drop. All the males in the room are instantly tense.
Angie glances around. “But we’re cool in here, because Beth’s doing fine.” She gestures at my interior organic baby parlor. “Look at her, she’s dilated at least two centimeters in the last couple minutes.”
Tiernan nearly rips Prow out of the way to check between my legs for himself. When he straightens, smiling, so relieved—all my guys relax. You can feel the tension abate.
My heart twists a little, knowing how worried they’ve been.
Also, this is the weirdest thing ever, having everyone—including strangers—stare at my vulva kit for completely non-sexytimes reasons.
“Can I join you on the table?” Ekan asks excitedly. “To offer you comfort,” he adds, like I don’t also know this will just happen to give him a great vantage to stare at a Rakhii.
Still. I’d love to have him hold me. “Yes, please.”
Ekan grins, and darts in for a kiss before he—very carefully—clambers up behind me with the enthusiasm of a six year old going trick-or-treating. His arms come around me, his heavy legs bracket my sides, and when I lean back against him—I relax in a way I haven’t been able to in hours. I sigh, “Thank you so much.”
Sounding serious, Ekan nuzzles behind my ear, “I’m glad it feels good to you, narra.”
“If it helps,” Angie offers, “I have a little experience helping kids hit the ground.”
“Say again?” Tiernan growls. He sounds like he’s ready to escort her right into the corridor if she’s got a track record for dropping infants.
I put my hand on his arm just as Angie backs up against her alien, who wraps himself around her protectively. The hob alien’s wings flare with a leathery snap—and whoa the color. Black and dartfrog-blue. He’s got danger-colors. Quickly, Angie explains, “Bad choice of words on my part, sorry. I just meant that I’ve helped kids be birthed—lots and lots of kids.” Her smile twists into something a little playful. “I meant to ease your nerves, not stir them up worse.”
I feel my brow flatten. “Were these... ‘fur’ kids?” I ask suspiciously.
Her hand comes up—but she stops before she touches herself and unsterilizes her glove. “Hey Arokh?” she asks her alien. “Can you scratch behind my ear for me?”
He does, and she thanks him. Then her eyes guiltily meet mine. “Yeah. They were goat kids. But a lot of them,” she assures, giving me a nervous smile. “All the parts and steps are basically the exact same. You know, except for the hooves and horns.”
I give her a weak grin, and a wave of my hand. “Yeah. Except for the little details like that.”
“Exactly!” she cries. “Ready to do this?”
CHAPTER 54—BETH
BETH
“Then, they asked me if I needed a pool to release my offspring in!” I keen. Prow’s thumb ghosts over our clasped fingers, and when I pry my eyes open, he’s giving me a sickly smile.
When I release his hand, he shakes his fingers out and gives me a sheepish grin. “I knew you were a strong woman. Had no idea you were this cog-damned strong, narra,” he whispers in my ear.
“Oh, come on, Beth. That’s not even a ridiculous question. I mean, they probably know aliens who spawn in water or something and you’ve heard of water birthing right? They do do that back home.”
My insides torque down like they’re getting serious about giving this baby an eviction notice. “Only… freeeaks!” I scream.
“What are freaks like?” the hob, Dohrein, asks.
Angie angles her head, an indication that she’s collected sweat. Her alien wipes her face for her so that her gloves stay sterile. She’s keeping her hands clasped together in front of her like she’s praying.
Which is fine by me—plus, all the TV shows depict this is the way doctors do it. Who knows if it’s true, but Angie and I are agreed that it’s the best idea we’ve got to go on.
Angie glances back at the winged alien. “Freaks is an insult. Not a species. She means that any woman who gives birth to her baby underwater isn’t exactly mainstream.”
I snort at her pun.
Around me, my guys tilt their heads back, mouths opening slightly—a collective aha.
It makes me smile. “How does everything look?” I pant.
“Not much different than a goat,” Angie assures me.
I narrow my eyes at her until the building contraction prevents me from keeping my eyes open. “I can’t believe this is happening!” I wail. “I’m going to deliver with the help of a goat midwife!”
This has been an ongoing joke—because if you can’t laugh at circumstances this crazy, what can you do? Angie’s unoffended. “Hey, I could tap out and a freaking alien could be doing this instead.”
Tiernan looks troubled as he pets my hand. “You are insulting us?”
Angie looks aghast. “No! No—sorry. ‘Freaking’ can also be a… it can emphasize… Just trust me. It has a lot of uses and meanings.” When Tiernan doesn’t look convinced, she adds, �
��It’s even used in place of the word ‘sex.’”
Qolt lifts a brow at this, and shoulder-slams Prow to indicate he’d like to take his place at my side.
Prow makes a show of eyeing me as he comically cradles his hand and shuffles towards my feet.
I laugh weakly, and confirm for Tiernan and Qolt, “It’s true. Wow, I never thought of how flexible that word actually is. We do use it for everything.” Another contraction has me grunting.
And has Prow, Tiernan, and Oquilion gasping.
“What? What’s wrong?” I pant weakly.
Angie glares around herself at sheepish-looking faces. “Nothing. I think this is the first time they’ve seen a baby crown before.”
“Oh!” I want to laugh, but the sound turns all wrong as my insides expel a living person.
One who feels the size of Tiernan, even though Angie’s suddenly lifting up the smallest, most beautiful—little—baby.
No way. I could swear I’ve been giving birth to a fifteen-pounder.
All the guys crowd around the action, reaching under Angie like she’s fumbling my baby, not cradling her, and Angie barks, “Back off! I got it, I got it!”
Heh! “It?” My voice comes out faint.
Angie’s expression gets tight. “Snot sucker!” she orders, cleaning my girl’s face free of babygoo, paying particular attention to her nose and mouth.
Angie had been amazed when she described Earth’s tool and my Na’riths went to their nifty prefabbing machine and made one to her specifications. When it’s slapped into her hand, she goes to work sucking out mucus and clearing my baby’s airways.
Then she places my baby girl on my chest.
I stare into the wrinkled, beautiful little face—and this time, my tears are relieved, grateful ones.
My guys converge on us, fawning and cooing and if possible, they look more amazed in this moment than I feel.
Angie uses her elbows to make space for herself at my business end again, the men making way for her in a daze.
Oquilion glances at her sharply though, starting to look like you could knock him over with a feather. “What are you doing?” he asks her, growing alarmed. “Is there another?”
