by Beva John
Sylvia says, “Sometimes I think it’s all about money and hatred.”
“That too,” I agree. We talk for a while and once the food arrives, Sylvia admires the food and talks about how difficult it is sometimes to find Earth food while traveling around the galaxies. She asks me if I miss any of the foods from Earth.
“Not particularly. I ate a lot of stew and fish pie in Boston. The food at the Palace is much better.”
She nods and takes a bite of a crisp bread. “This is wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
She leans forward and says in quiet voice. “You can be honest with me. Are you truly happy here? If you wish to leave, my husband can arrange for you to come with us or go to Little Earth.”
From what I have heard in Baby Town, Little Earth is no better than Allathone – and in some respects, possibly worse. “No, I’m fine,” I assure her.
Sylvia looks at me closely. “And you are all right with being a surrogate? I don’t think I could bear to give birth to a child and then give it away.”
I smile at her. “I know, it is strange, but I feel good about it. The baby isn’t mine. I am merely caring for it.”
“How is your health?” Raan asks.
“Actually, other than the slight discomfort and nausea, I feel fine.” I want to reassure them both, that my life is exactly as I wish. “In comparison to my life on Old Earth, I am truly in a most excellent situation. I love taking showers here and living at the palace makes me feel a bit like a princess. I have been whisked away from my prior life like Cinderella. But instead of marrying the Prince, I am only having his baby.”
“Sounds like a new fairy tale.”
“An Intergalactic one,” I agree. “I know my situation might change once I give birth, but if I am not kept on as the Nanny, I will find a little apartment and find another job.”
Sylvia seems pleased. “I’m glad.”
Raan says, “Then you don’t hate me for selling you.”
“Not at all. From what I can tell, my situation could have been much worse. I am quite happy here.” I smile. “My old granny would say I landed in a tub of butter.”
I can tell that Raan doesn’t understand the idiom.
Sylvia explains. “In a tub of milk fat. From a cow.”
He makes a face. “Delicious,” he says politely which makes us all laugh.
We talk some more, about the difference between Allathone and Bataa, the Namvire home planet. I ask about Namvire culture and if they are accepting of humans and mixed species children.
Sylvia shrugs. “Somewhat. But it is just like racial tensions in my time back on earth. Gradually people will understand that we are all people – and it doesn’t matter what color our skin is.”
Raan says, “Or if we have scales.”
I decide that I like Raan. He and Sylvia have a way of finishing each other’s sentences which is very sweet.
We also talk about technology and the vast improvements Sylvia and I have seen.
“I am still amazed by space travel and wormholes,” Sylvia says.
“I know little of all that,” I tell her. “I am happily settled here on Allathone and haven’t travelled between planets yet.”
Sylvia says, “What has surprised you the most? The flying cars?”
“Honestly, I think it’s the assistors.”
Now Sylvia doesn’t understand what I am referring to. She looks over at Raan and he says bluntly, “Sex aids. Vibrators and such.”
“Oh,” Sylvia says and laughs. She takes Raan’s hand in hers and says, “We haven’t needed any of that.”
Raan rolls his eyes. “The Brune are obsessed with sex. But that makes them good customers. As a species, they are bored, desperately looking for something to make them happy.”
I had never thought of that, but I think the description is apt. When a society has more money than it needs and individuals have more money than they can possibly spend in a lifetime, what are they to strive for? Aristocratic Brunes are something like the ancient Romans – ruling the known world and rotting from within. I think of poor Princess Emjer chewing on Trig. She isn’t happy.
Sylvia says, “Do we sell assistors?”
Raan winks at her with his strange lash less eye. “We can, if you like. But first, I think we should try them out.”
Sylvia blushes and for a moment, I envy her the happy relationship she has with her alien husband.
We talk more and when it is time for them to leave, Sylvia gives me her data address, so we can talk via our data screens.
We hug in parting and for a moment, I feel a wave of emotion and I need to wipe away a few tears. As much as I don’t want to complain, I have felt lonely on Allathone, and I need every friend I can find.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MAGNAR
Weeks pass, one like another. In the mornings as I use an assistor, I often imagine Lottie sitting on my lap, which makes me come quickly. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I dream of her – hot, sweaty, improper dreams, where neither of us are clothed. I spread open her pale pink legs and thrust in my deep blue cock, making us both shudder with pleasure.
But then I wake and am frustrated.
I am annoyed that these feelings are distracting me from what is truly important.
I am considering the possibility of becoming a member of the Intergalactic Cooperative Council.
I can’t do that if I leave Allathone in poor hands.
So one day, after another boring royal dinner where my cousin Chell is present, I ask to speak to him privately later and he, of course, obeys.
We meet in one of the sitting rooms and drink wine. Chell is older than I, but in good health. I already spoke with Serat and obtained Chell’s health report. His heart, unlike Tomor’s, is sound. Chell is a historian and knows more about our family genealogy than I do.
I ask him about our common great-grandparents and some of the things they did. Apparently one of them was an avid fisherman and wrote a treatise about it. “Would you like a copy of it?” Chell asks.
Goddess, no, but I smile and say, “Yes, please.”
We discuss how different branches of our family became predominant as opposed to other branches. Some of it was due to health, some luck, some trickery.
I ask, “Have you ever considered what you would do if I were as sickly as Tomor?”
“I do not think of that. I consider it treasonous.”
“I disagree. I think it is good to prepared for every eventuality.”
Chell says, “An unlikely eventually. You are on the brink of being married, your child will be born soon. I will be one step further from the crown. I am merely a back-up.”
“True. But I believe that as a historian, you have many insights as to what the Crown could have done better in the past to help the people of Allathone move forward.”
Chell says, “Yes, definitely. There should have been more widespread immigration sooner, and the excellent work your father did could have happened even 200 years earlier if the Crown had taken the effort.”
“I agree. There were always philosophers and some politicians who favored integrating more species into Allathone culture but changes often takes generations.”
“Your father was an excellent traveler and I have no doubt that you will continue in his footsteps.”
“I hope to.”
“And the Queen? I have not seen her lately.”
It is common knowledge that my mother has reduced her duties due to her gradual decline. She does little but attend status meetings with the Prime and host luncheons and dinner parties. She no longer has the physical strength to walk, but she refuses to use scooter chair. Instead, she is usually carried by one of several dozen large Katoll footmen in her employ. I say, “The Queen has had a lingering cold the past few weeks. Her lungs are weak, but she has rallied many times before.”
Chell nods. “Give her my best.”
“I will.” I add carefully, “Tell me. If you became king o
f Allathone, what are some of the causes you would champion?”
“Don’t say it. I don’t even want to think about it.”
“No. I insist. I want to know what you think is important. So I can be a better King myself.”
Chell clears his throat. “I believe my greatest desire for Allathone would be to improve the education system. Too many Brunes waste their lives merely seeking pleasure instead of creating new technologies or art. They are happy to consume the work of others with no interest in bettering themselves or the universe. I fear that our society has become stagnant. Already the Katoll are beginning to surpass us.”
I think of Lottie who is continually learning, striving for greater knowledge. I wonder if that is a human trait or uniquely hers. But whatever it is, we could all learn from her. I say to my cousin, “Please, send me a proposal of the changes you would like to see. Along with that fishing treatise.”
He seems pleased with my interest. “Thank you. I will.”
LOTTIE
As the weeks pass, I am getting larger. The doctors are pleased. The baby is growing and seems to be doing well. One day as I am sitting in my quarters, I am wearing only a bra and panties as I rub oil on my large stomach. And I am startled when Prince Magnar walks in. I hadn’t heard him being announced.
“Excuse me,” he says quickly when he sees that I am half undressed.
I quickly grab a robe to cover myself but then he says, “I hadn’t realized that you were so large” just as I say, “I’m sorry, I did not hear you. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Forgive me, I should not stare.”
“No, of course you are interested. I should not be so missish. This is your child after all.” I open the robe so he can see my enormous bloated belly.
We both smile at each other.
I say, “As you can see, your baby is making me large and I was rubbing lotion on my stomach. It’s supposed to keep me from having stretch marks, but I don’t know if it will actually work.” I wipe my greasy hands on another towel.
He stands close by, watching my stomach. As he stares, there is a little ripple on my skin, and he looks astonished.
I say, “The baby is moving. Would you like to feel it?”
“May I?”
“Yes, certainly.” I motion and he comes closer. My belly is quite large, but he looks at me with wonder as if it is beautiful. “Your Highness,” I say and hold out my hand to hold his. His hand is warm and I place it gently on my stomach. His deep blue hand looks even darker in contrast to my pale white skin. I tell him, “Just wait. Sometimes the baby moves a lot and sometimes he kicks a lot but if you’ll just wait, he will move eventually.”
Magnar says, “It’s a she rather than a he.”
“Is that what the doctors say?”
“Yes.”
“One day she will be Queen?”
“Goddess willing.”
I think it is amazing that the doctors can know so much. In my day, no one could know the sex of a child until it was born, but with the advanced medical capacities of the Brune, of course they know what sex the baby will be.
I glance up at his face and ask, “Were you wishing for a boy?”
He shakes his head. “No, all I’m wishing for is a happy, healthy child.”
At that moment, I feel the baby kick and Magnar’s large blue hand jumps up a little bit. He says, “I feel that.”
We both smile and it is a tender moment to think that I am caring this wonderful man’s child. I am humbled to be part of the process. And I wonder at the hand of God – or Goddess if I am to become more Brune-like – in all this, but I am so happy to be here and to share this moment with him. I ask, “What are you thinking?”
“That I want everything for this child. That I want to be a good father.”
I think he will be an excellent father.
“Since your baby is a girl, how will she be raised differently than if she were a son?”
“There should be little difference. But one thing is for certain – I will not allow her to have the surgeries that so many Brune women have had to remove ribs to make their waists smaller.”
I have studied a bit about that in my attempt to understand the Brune culture, and I say, “That sounds wise, but that will be breaking from tradition.”
Magnar looks at me, his eyes dark, and he says, “Bad traditions should be stopped.”
I agree. “Will Lady Jing approve?” I have seen viewings of his beautiful fiancé and it is obvious to me that she has had the surgeries done – as has the Queen and Princess Emjer.
“I will do what I think best, regardless of whatever Lady Jing thinks.”
I do not comment, although I wonder if Lady Jing knows of his strong convictions. Magnar adds, “I know you speak often with my sister. Princess Emjer never fully recovered from her surgeries. I think it was the constant pain that led to her addictions.”
“I am so sorry,” I murmur. I had never thought of that and have now even greater sympathy for her. The Princess and I meet one or twice a week to make necklaces or sew decorative beads on clothes. I enjoy her company, and I enjoy needlecrafts now that I no longer do it to make a living. Our times together are calm and restorative – sometimes we sit for an hour in silence, working beside each other.
The Princess also has an interest in desserts. One day she asked me what my favorite dessert was, and I told her about the shaped Marzipan candies I ate back in Boston. It only took a few minutes’ research on my data screen to find a suitable five galaxies version made with alien ingredients – sugar, nut paste and a root similar to licorice for the flavoring. Some days, we make marzipan candies and shape them into little animals or birds.
Although the Princess and I do not share our deepest feelings or secrets, we are becoming true friends.
Magnar says, “I often wonder what would have happened if she had been able to remain whole and healthy.”
“She would be the Crown Princess, the heir.”
“Yes.” He looks at me. “And my life would have been much different.”
I look at him, eyes narrowed. “Would you rather not be the Crown Prince?”
He looks a little guarded. “No, of course not,” he says quickly. “I know that I live a privileged life and have opportunities that other travelers do not, so no, I will not complain. But one cannot help but wonder sometimes what life would be like if one’s situation were different.”
“I agree. I often wonder what I would be doing back on Earth if I had not been abducted.”
“You would have been dead now, for hundreds of years.”
“I know. It is strange to think that everyone I knew back then is dead and gone.”
“If you had never been taken, you would have never come to Allathone and we would never have met.”
I place a hand on my stomach. “And I would not be carrying your child.”
“As much as I hate the thought of anyone being abducted, I am glad you are my surrogate.”
“Thank you.”
For a moment, we are both silent and then I say, “I find it remarkable that as a human, I can be the surrogate for someone from a different species.”
Magnar says, “We are more alike than we are different.”
I smile at that. “Well, I think humans are certainly more like the Brune than they are like the Namvire.”
“And yet, we are all sexually compatible.”
“I find that remarkable as well.” I think of Sylvia married to Raan and find it amazing.
“There’s a belief that we all came from the same ancient race.”
“Do you believe that?”
“According to our faith, the Goddess had twelve sons and sent them to different planets to populate the universe.”
“So, if four of those sons were the ancestors of Humans, Brunes, Namvires and Katolls, does that mean that there are eight more species somewhere?”
“Perhaps. Outside the five galaxies.”
While we are tal
king, Magnar continues to caress my large belly. He asks, “May I add some lotion?”
“Yes, of course.”
He puts lotion on his big blue hands and then rubs it on my skin. This should be a sweet moment, but as he continues to rub, I think about the time we spent in the bathing room with the assisters.
I feel my breath catching and I am appalled to feel myself becoming aroused. I am growing damp between my legs as I do every morning with the assistors.
I should ask him to stop. I should pull away.
I should think about something else, but I am enjoying the feel of his fingers brush across my skin.
What is wrong with me?
At one point when he reaches across me for a bottle of different lotion and his arm brushes one of my breasts and I groan.
He says, “What is it? Forgive me, did I hurt you?”
I reassure him. “No, no, it is just that my breasts have become very sensitive as this pregnancy has progressed.”
His gaze shifts to my breasts and I can feel my nipples tightening, pebbling underneath my bra. Can he tell?
“Do they hurt?”
“No, they are just tender.”
He continues to stare at my breasts. “They are larger than they were before.”
“Yes.”
As if mesmerized, he reaches over and cups one breast with his hand. I shudder, but I do not push him away. “As nanny, will you feed my child directly?”
I draw my breath in sharply. This is wrong, but it feels so good. I gasp. “Yes.”
His thumb brushes over the tip of my breast over the fabric of my bra. A jolt of pleasure cuts through me like a bolt of lightning. Dear God. For a moment, I arch my back, pressing my breast into his hand.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs with approval. “Nature’s perfect food.”
I want him to squeeze me. I want him to knead my aching breast.
I want his hand between my legs.
I shift in my seat, imaging his thick blue fingers bringing me to climax.
But what is he thinking? What does he want?
