by Jim Rudnick
#####
“Is this—” the woman in labor groaned, “what it’s always like or just ‘cause I’m having twins?”
She moved her one foot in the stirrups farther in same, and the nurse beside her reached up to massage the foot a bit as it was obvious that it was cramping up.
She twisted her pelvis, but she couldn’t really get away from the pain of childbirth—agonizing contractions that were only barely lessened with the spinal epidural. She knew, or thought she knew, that her whole lower half was cramped up with the expansion seizures that went along with the widening of the birth canal.
“Same for all pregnant women,” the nurse, who was seated between her legs monitoring the births, said. “Twins come out one at a time. Active one first always … and that paves the way for girl number two,” she added and noted that the cervix had only three inches of dilation but that effacement was about one hundred percent.
Oblivious to the technical end of what childbirth was all about, the mother groaned and said, “More drugs … this is so, so, so bad.”
All in the labor and delivery room nodded, but she didn’t get any more drugs. The anesthesiologist said, “Yes, ma’am” and then did nothing but move around behind the sheet that hid the mother’s body from the equipment up at the head of the delivery table.
She yelped right out loud, and the groans that came next paralleled the dilation of her cervix even more, and the nurse between her legs said over her shoulder, “Call Dr. Twelves.”
Ten minutes later, a gowned and masked man came in and smiled at the woman in labor though she couldn’t see it because of that mask.
“Helen, you’re doing fine—been monitoring you from the labor and delivery room computer, and all is well. You’ll be outta here with a set of twins in no time,” he said as he lied to her.
Mask helps a bit, he thought. Lying is always difficult during the birth but was a part of the overall twins program.
He replaced the nurse between the woman’s legs and gently palpated the woman’s pelvis and pressed down slightly on the womb as well.
“Hot compress for the perineum, please,” he said as one was handed to him by one of the nurses. The perineum was the major source of the stretching to accompany the birth as the woman’s first twin began to crown.
“A nice gentle push, please, Helen,” the doctor said as he slowly grasped the first twin’s head and manipulated the baby's body to slightly turn to one side.
“And another too,” he said as the woman groaned and her feet trembled in the stirrups above the bed, but push she did.
And the twin was born. The healthy and live twin.
He twisted slightly on his stool and carefully handed the girl to one of the nurses who bustled it over to a warming station for cleanup and inspection.
One down—the easy one, Dr. Twelves thought and sighed mentally.
“Okay, Helen, how about number two, now.” He knew this one would be different.
As the pregnant woman’s body moved to expel the next child, he helped as much as he could. He gave his high sign to the anesthesiologist who added a healthy increase to the woman’s IV line to quiet her a bit more, and he waited.
He knew, as did all involved in the labor and delivery room, that about fifteen to twenty minutes would be the norm for the second birth, so he was happy to have the time to chat a bit with the woman.
As the first twin was now ready to be united with the woman, he held off on that for a bit and looked down to see the second twin’s head, crowning in the birth canal opening.
He knew his touch could not be seen nor felt as he slid the forceps in and simply grabbed the head of the second baby and then applied a steady pulling to extract it.
He knew when to say “What?” out loud, and he knew when to add “Nurse, get me a cart,” and he knew when to hold down the woman’s pelvis as she became aware that something was wrong.
Twisting the stillborn child first left and then right got the body out of the woman, and he quickly dropped the forceps, handled the baby with respect, got up, and ran over to the warming station.
He did what all medical doctors would do then—knowing that the labor and delivery security cameras caught all of this—and he knew that what would happen was what was planned to happen.
The second twin was a stillborn child.
It was not alive.
He had learned this just a few weeks back when the woman had had her final tests before birth.
According to plan, the lesser of the two twins was not allowed to be born alive.
He worked quickly using all of the normal medical tricks to try to revive the child—but it had been dead for weeks.
Killed by the other twin, he knew—but only he knew that. The mother and the labor and delivery staff would never know that.
He heard the sobs of the woman and nodded to one of the nurses to take over the living twin and place it on the mother’s breasts. The woman grabbed her child and cried as he explained at her side that sometimes—not often at all, but sometimes—these things happened. The stillborn child had died just before childbirth as the nuchal cord cut off the blood flow to the child.
She sobbed. He made excuses. The nurses went on with their cleanups, and the anesthesiologist slowly disengaged his equipment and let the doctor know he was done.
She cried yet the tears were subsiding—she had a brand new daughter in her arms.
Time would help heal this, Twelves knew.
Time would allow her to slowly forget what she had lost and enjoy what she had just been given.
Time would also allow the surviving twin to prosper, to grow, and to one day become a member of the Inner Circle.
He smiled as he patted the woman’s shoulder as they wheeled her out of the labor and delivery room.
An EYES ONLY to the Master Adept would be his last chore of the day, reporting on the success of the birth of a new candidate for her Inner Circle—years away, but still a task that was important
#####
As Tanner strode down the hallway and made the left into the final corridor that led to his office, he glanced in at the admiral’s area as he went by. Inside the wide-open door, Lieutenant Kelsey CoSharan was standing up at his filing cabinet, his tail stuck out straight. Trouble city, Tanner knew, accompanied that placement of the Faraway alien’s tail. “Hope it’s not me,” he said to himself, as he grinned and walked down to the last door on the right.
No need to lock anything, he realized as the door slid open and he went in to get to work early this morning. “Backpack here,” he said to himself as he took out the container of yogurt and the small pack of fruit to sprinkle on same he’d picked up over at the Officers’ Mess this morning. No idea what kind of fruit this is, he thought as he looked down at the circles of green tart flesh with the halo of dark seeds in a circle near the center. He undid the yogurt container, plopped in those green fruit circles, and began to eat as he held a thumb over the monitor plate for his ID recognition.
“Beep,” echoed from the computer, and he found he had more than forty-seven messages—most with the MOST IMPORTANT icons flashing in their margins.
He sighed, had another big spoonful of yogurt, and enjoyed the tart fruit add-ins.
“Number one,” he said to himself and noted it was from some professor in the astrophysics area, who was requesting an immediate stoppage of work in his office so that he could get a wall moved so that he could get a larger view-screen on the wall. “Not a chance,” he said to himself and sent back his standard boilerplate message: We’ve got your message and are considering same. By the time the professor could mount any kind of a problem, the walls would be in and the message moot.
He nodded, archived the message in his DONE folder, and went to number two.
Yogurt’s good today, he thought, and he went through his messages one by one by one.
Most were the same; issues with personal requests for changes to various offices, rooms, lecture theaters, and ev
en a couple for more bathroom hand dryers. He shook his head at that and wondered if the professor who’d asked twice for that was from Elbo—complete with six arms. That got a smile, and he again sent his standard answer, and the message went into the DONE folder.
One message, about midway through the list, was from the Master Adept—or an aide perhaps—requesting a time to meet with him in the near future. No real rush, it read, but he answered personally and offered up a couple of times early next week to meet. And the reply went out.
Further issues included a request for a color change in white boards—to teal blue, which he thought was dumb, but then he supposed this professor had a reason why that was a necessary change, but it escaped him. Denied.
One asked for a double-parking spot for his flyer—as he liked to not allow other flyers close to his own craft as it was a vintage R-989 Turbo model—whatever the hell that was. Denied.
One asked for a change in the first semester start date—obviously, the towers were not going to be completed, so let’s move back the date was the rationale. Denied, but he might have enjoyed okaying that one.
One asked for more signs to be posted on a floor when the bots were doing cleanup so that she couldn’t fall down again—he wondered at that but made a note to check to see just how that was handled. Handled.
One asked for upgraded access to the network via his console to be installed in his office, claiming that without same, he couldn’t use the office AI to tap into his favorite vid programs. At least he was honest about goofing off and wanting to lie on his couch to watch programs that had nothing to do with the academy. Denied.
Tanner slowly worked through the lengthy list, and he finished the yogurt at about the same time, tossing the empty container and spoon into his trashcan. Just finding a trashcan yesterday had been a challenge, as he had to walk and peer into other offices for doubles of same. Not finding any, he then tried up on the second floor of the administration building in some of the unassigned offices, and he’d found a stash of more than a dozen in one corner. So he liberated one, and now it sat under his desk with the used yogurt container in it.
He stood, went over to the window, and looked out onto the vast landing field that stretched out before him.
One new ship had arrived overnight—a cruiser from the Duchy d’Avigdor—the GoldEye—and she was busy getting off-loaded with cargo. He noted that the bot-trucks were stacked with cases that he knew looked familiar and wondered what the Duchy d’Avigdor had just provided for the academy towers. Something needed, he hoped, and his attention was suddenly moved over across the landing port to another pad. As usual, on all RIM Confederacy planet landing fields, sub-sonic klaxons were sounded all over a landing pad when a ship was coming down to roost. Lights from each corner of the pad lit up, and you just had to pay attention.
From above, on a downward flight path, a Barony ship—the BN Whitney, a cruiser he’d never been on before—was dropping onto the pad. Down, down it came, its own momentum carefully managed by whomever was at the helm, and the crewman was doing an artful job, Tanner noted, as the helm spun the ship about thirty degrees to point its large cargo holds more directly toward the terminal. Well done, he thought, as the Whitney slowly dropped onto her large landing fins and the ship settled in place.
All of us, RIM-wide, he thought, are involved in the building of the new academy—at least from what I can see. Barony too, he noted, as he tried to shy away from even thinking about why he’d been shanghaied into his current posting.
Fool with a Royal and you paid a price. But he said cautiously to himself, ”I’d not fooled at all.”
“In fact,” he said as he realized that it was true, “I had fallen for Helena.”
But not Royal life.
Impasse. Checkmate. Mexican standoff, whatever it was called, he had a problem.
And the problem was his and his alone.
So, I wonder what I can do to—
“Captain?” the admiral said as he strode into Tanner’s office, “I need to give you these idiot—uh, not so good—items for your touch with same. I’m tired of trying to walk the tightrope between political correctness and showing idiots the door. Handle them as you see fit …”
He dropped a large stack of paper requests for changes onto Tanner’s desk, turned curtly, and left as quickly as he’d appeared.
Tanner nodded, said to the back of his boss, “Aye, Sir,” and then shook his head at the height of the stack.
All professors were supposed to use the online request queue—but some, as he could see, would rather use old-fashioned memos.
All would be handled and all would not be honored in any way, he thought. As usual. At least so far.
He smiled, sat at his desk, and wondered when he’d get to leave today.
Late probably, as usual.
Ahh, the life of a bureaucrat means keeping one eye on the clock …
#####
She turned to face Gillian directly and even half-smiled as she clouded her thoughts enough so that her Adept officer couldn’t really see what she was thinking. The fact that Gillian knew she was hiding something was obvious to them both and yet it went unspoken.
She cleared her throat for a second and then began.
“Gillian, I’ve been thinking about the secondment of Captain Scott over to Eons. And I’m wondering if you can provide me with more information on that—as it was your own idea to do this?” she said.
And it was true. While Helena had wished him some kind of punishment, Gillian had presented the idea that a tour of duty over on Eons, looking after all of those vexatious, small, and seemingly never-ending set of tasks, would do nicely.
She wondered for a moment if that were true, but she held her gaze solidly on Gillian as they sat in her quarters.
Today was an apricot day: leggings and soft, soft Garnuthian leather boots in a dull apricot color, topped with an apricot short jacket and blouse with a shine that almost hurt one’s eyes. Her hair, long and blonde, had been done by her hairdresser just an hour ago, and the hints of apricot-colored streaks in some of her locks set off her whole look.
Gillian nodded and held out both hands, palms up. “Helena—you did think at the time that this was a great idea for what we called punishment, Ma’am. And to be honest, Ma’am, I was only the messenger on this plan—it came from my Master Adept. And as I mentioned at the time, this was run by the Baroness too, who left the decision up to you,” she added, pulled her hands back in, and leaned back in her chair.
Helena stared at her for a moment and then asked with a tone that was polite yet undeniably firm, “And is the captain enjoying his banishment to Eons so far?” She wanted to know and that could not be hidden from Gillian anymore, who nodded.
“Ma’am, it appears that your captain is good at the tasks needed to be helpful in the academy move to the new towers,” she said.
“And further, he also appears to be doing little else, I’m told. He goes in early and comes back to his billet later than most, and so far, as I said, he’s been good at handling the various factors that crop up daily. Or so I’m told.
“But I can tell you the whole construction and equipping of the towers is way behind, schedule-wise. Issues with suppliers and equipment and inspectors happen every day. Most wonder if they’ll even hit the deadlines to begin the first semester in about two months’ time, Ma’am.”
Helena twirled a strand of her apricot-dyed hair and frowned at the same time. “So, good at destroying Pirates and killing rioters—who knew he’d also be good at something so mundane as well,” she said, and even she could hear the frustration in her voice.
Gillian sat quietly and waited. She knew more was to come.
Helena looked at the view-screen, which now had a slide show of the beautiful Randi waterfalls—white flowing water falling thousands of feet through holes in a cliff or rushing down a set of step-like rock terraces. The falls on Randi were beautiful, and she made a point to try to get to Randi to
see them in person sometime in the near future. After a few minutes of appreciating the waterfall, she looked over at Gillian.
“I want to go to Eons to visit this new academy. I will ask Rear Admiral Higgins if he can assign Captain Scott to be my guide for the tour so that I can learn more about how he’s handling this tour of duty. We’re off Roor, are we not?” she asked.
“Ma’am, could I perhaps ask for a delay for this trip—at least for two months to the start of their first semester? Going now would only show you all of the problems and issues—ones that your captain handles daily,” Gillian asked nicely.
Helena shook her head. “We go now, Gillian—end of story.”
“Yes, Ma’am. About thirty days from Eons—which would get us there during the final month of the tower construction and all,” Gillian said smartly.
Helena nodded. “Then I’ll tell the bridge to get us to Eons, and thank you, Gillian, for your counsel today,” she said.
Hadn’t been much counsel, Helena thought, but she’d needed to just bounce her idea off someone.
Gillian nodded and retired to pass along the new information about the upcoming visit of the Lady St. August to Eons. She wondered how the Master Adept was going to handle that, but she shook her head.
Way above my pay grade, she thought.
CHAPTER SIX
Within the small commercial building with Twins Cooperative painted on the glass storefront windows, a set of twins waited in the reception area. They had been sitting now for over an hour, and while their appointment time was well past, they continued to wait.
One of them, the one with the magenta jacket, sat tapping a foot, obviously not happy with the wait but unwilling to ask yet again what the holdup was. Her twin, dressed in robin’s egg blue, sat quietly, eyes closed, staring at the inside of her eyelids in a calm manner. Twins, yes, but different twins as they were fraternal twins not identical twins.
An assistant, who worked in a back office area, came out to see them yet again and offered a refill on their tea or perhaps a bottle of water, and both were again politely refused by the twins.
