The Gate to Futures Past (13 page)

But why food storage—why now? “Starving's one possibility,” the Human admitted, thoughts racing.

“What else is there?”

Morgan told him.

M
'HIRAY GAVE BIRTH in the presence of witnesses and their Birth Watcher. The father, if approved by the mother-to-be and her family, could attend if interested.

I tried not to step on toes, or be stepped on, in the very interested crowd surrounding the bed where Gricel di Eathem lay, sweating and smiling. According to the Om'ray, not only must the father and Birth Watcher attend, but every pregnant Clanswoman in range.

Having never planned to be pregnant, I found myself at the bedside with the rest, Ruti to one side and Andi to the other, wondering if anyone else was terrified.

The child and Jacqui di Mendolar, our other Birth Watcher, seemed confident they could share their duty to the unborn and mother. Far be it from me to point out neither had attended a birth before. The Om'ray had lost their Birth Watchers, a wrenching loss among the rest, and gratefully accepted the help offered.

Gricel made a face as another wave of contractions rippled along her abdomen. “Impatient, aren't you?” She sounded improbably calm. I supposed it helped that this wasn't her first.

What's happening?
Morgan, no doubt full of curiosity. If there'd been any space at all around the bed, he'd have squeezed right in, scanner in hand.

In my present mood, as well he didn't try.
Don't distract me,
I sent and slammed down my shields.

Jacqui ran her fingers over bare, distended skin and nodded. “Time to get you on your feet, Gricel.”

Others helped, taking hold of her arms. Once standing, Gricel's abdomen began to flex in and out, each powerful contraction driving air from her lungs. Andi dove to the floor, her arms full of pillows. As Gricel's hair lifted like an aura of dazzling red, the birth sac slipped free in a flood of clear liquid.

“Got you!” Andi exclaimed. She stood, juggling the sac to her chest with one of the pillows.
Welcome! Welcome!

Those gathered made room as Andi carefully brought the birth sac to its little hammock, strung between two beds. I'd a clearer view than I'd hoped.

The sac was as black as the M'hir, flecked with starlike patches of pale, new-grown skin. Human babies didn't arrive like this; I'd found a vid on the
Fox
and watched with a certain skepticism. Clan newborn were locked within an impenetrable case, a case that opened from inside.

The first Choice: be born.

Or not.

If the unborn refused to come out, he or she would die, as would the mother, their bond sending both minds—and, among M'hiray, the father's—adrift in the M'hir. The Birth Watchers' role was to communicate with that new, nascent intelligence, to encourage and, most importantly, allay any fears—

Don't be afraid,
Aryl sent gently, sensing mine.

She understood what was to happen, what must happen. Would make the Choice that preserved us both—and Morgan. I had to trust her.

I did. It was just—
I may not be right, inside.
There, what I hadn't told her.
A toad put me back together.

What's a toad?

I shared the image of Baltir, the Retian who'd experimented on my flesh.
A Human med-tech supervised him
—and my Human, a blade at Baltir's loose-skinned throat—
but there are no guarantees he fixed the damage.

You wanted to be sterile, then,
Aryl observed with grim accuracy.
Now you have me, a gifted Birth Watcher, and Clan Healers with experience. Don't be afraid, Great-granddaughter.
With
warmth.
Then,
Hurry, show me the birth.

Smiling to myself, I did just that.

Jacqui joined Andi, pressing her palm gently to the sac. The Birth Watchers smiled at one another.
NOW, little one,
they sent together, mindvoices full of
love
and
warmth
.

The sac quivered and shook, then split!

A chubby fist poked through first, then a foot.

Followed by
HUNGRYHUNGRY!!!

I wasn't the only one to flinch; Clan offspring weren't quiet. Gricel smiled peacefully, her shields taking over, and opened her arms. “Welcome, daughter.”

“We can't know her name yet,” Andi di Mendolar informed me, dignity quivering every bit of her little body. “It's revealed at her naming ceremony.” The dignity dropped away, letting out the child. “A party, Sira! We're all to come!”

The Om'ray gathered around the bed smiled cheerfully and murmured. Gricel gave me a hopeful look. I was gaining a sense of their culture—the culture we'd lost—and it ran heavily to communal gatherings for any occasion, with feasting when there was food to spare. Explaining, I thought, amused, why the organizers of the ceremony had caught up to me before I'd made it out of the Core. “A party would be a welcome change,” I replied, somehow keeping a straight face. “I look forward to it.”

Gricel's mother, Worra di Eathem stood nearby. Her fingertips brushed Andi's, who nodded. Talking to me through my Birth Watcher, were they? Sure enough, “Everyone wants her to have the best naming ceremony, Sira,” Andi told me. “Oluk can make the—” a tiny frown, “—I think it's a cake. As Keeper, you could grant permission for him take what he needs from the food in little packages.”

Had to be a direct quote. Raising a brow, I looked over the bed
at Gricel's Chosen, who had the grace to blush. Taking ingredients from the food packets—would it waste the remainder? “How many ‘little packages' would you need?” I asked cautiously.

“Merely a day's worth, Keeper,” Oluk replied, his courage restored by a touch from his Chosen. “It's the sweet, you see. To create the—”

“We'd use what's left,” Ghos interjected, anticipating my concern. “Worra plans a stew.”

I should have guessed Om'ray wouldn't be wasteful. A stew, though? The unlabeled packets, each a complete meal for an adult, came, so far, in twenty-one distinct varieties. While my cooking skills involved occasionally successful arguments with a kitchen replicator, even I could see combining such a range of ingredients might lead to an inedible disaster.

On the other hand, Holl wanted those “use first” packets consumed as quickly as possible. Letting any spoil would waste more.

Finally, a problem I could solve on my own, free of
Sona
or Council. “Go ahead,” I told the family. “Take whatever you need.” I grinned. The more I thought about it, the happier I was. What could be better for a ship full of weary grief than a celebration to welcome new life?

Morgan, something inside me whispered. What if he could use the Maker to mute that grief? What if I could keep him safe while he tried?

What if
Sona
damaged his mind beyond repair—that being far more likely?

I focused on the present. “So. When's the party?”

Word of the birth, and the planned celebration, spread as quickly as thought, the news a tonic. As I walked back toward our little home within the Core, I imagined the mood throughout the ship lifting, imagined smiles and laughter—

Barac and Morgan appeared, close enough to reach out and touch, the look on their faces enough to freeze me mid-step. “What's happened?”

My cousin shook his head and disappeared.

“We've had a small adventure.” Morgan put his pack on our bed. His hand was streaked with a dull, metallic fluid. Streaks of the stuff were on the elbow of his coat and down the back. Details I took in without thought, too busy trying to puzzle what I sensed from him.
Exhilaration
or was it
dread
? Was that
fear
or
relief?
All this and more muddled our link.

I watched him glance assessingly around us, notice who might be in earshot. Enough, I decided, taking hold of him . . .

. . . My Human leaned his shoulders against the wall, grinning down at me. “Best you could do, I take it?”

As we were standing, very close together, in what passed for a 'fresher stall on the ship, he had a point. I didn't care. “What's going on?”

A hand—his clean one—buried itself in my hair, pulling me close until we touched noses. I stared at him cross-eyed. “I think we're landing,” in a low husky voice.

“Or—” with a quick kiss, “—we're in big trouble and about to die.”

Morgan told me—and Aryl—everything in a quick concise briefing, at the same time taking advantage of the shower to clean the remnants of ship from his hand and clothing.

Standing out of range, I found myself stuck on a word. A wonderful hopeful fabulous word. If a new baby raised spirits on the ship, the change from this? “‘Landing.'”

We'd be saved.

He ran fingers through his hair to straighten it. “It's a possibility.” With typical caution. “The ship's acted to conserve resources all along. Shutting down the food supply system makes sense if we won't need any more.”

Implying
Sona
's little stunt this morning when I'd asked for a distraction had served its purpose more than mine. This once, I didn't mind.

Morgan checked his coat, then folded it over his arm. “There
remain other options. There could be a new food storage area waiting for us. Or—” he looked at me, “—this was a malfunction.”

I frowned at what wasn't a wonderful word at all. “I like landing better.”

“So would I, if—” His fist slammed into the wall. I jumped. Morgan regarded it, his face expressionless. “Sorry about that,” he said after a too-long pause.

I took hold of his arm, tugged hard. It didn't move. “What's wrong with landing?”

“Nothing, if this was a new ship, with current information. Nothing—” his fist opened, hand pressing against metal. “—if where
Sona
is set to put down remains nice and flat—or hasn't grown a city full of innocents since.” He stroked the wall, as I'd seen him do so many times on the
Silver Fox.
“Nothing at all, chit, if we had hands-on controls and could make last-minute corrections.”

I felt Aryl's attention, her quiet
support.
“So we do that.”

Blue eyes bored into mine. “I thought—”

“We're in a shower discussing if we're going to crash, kill people, or starve to death. I would rather be in a control room, watching you stop us from crashing or killing people. As well as not starving,” I added, to be clear.

Witchling.
I loved the little lines beside his eyes, how they deepened before a smile.

“Greatest profit for the least risk. Isn't that what you taught me? Well, Dreaming with the ship fits.” There, I got the words out, with some authority, too.

Before fear could dry my mouth entirely.