••••
Suddenly I hesitate to open the door, terrified of what I might find inside. Loveth hasn’t told what happened to Vage and my kids. She only said the alien was incapacitated, and then she’d started crying.
No, I think desperately, they have to be okay. Maybe the hatching process was traumatic for her. Maybe that’s all it was. Still, the thought refuses to settle. How can eggs hatching be this devastating to the mother?
I don’t know how long I stand there, frozen, but finally I realize there is no more ti to hesitate. I have to face what’s inside. Commanding the ship to open the door, I step through....
....
Vage is not on the incubator as she has been every other ti I’ve been in here. For a mont, I wonder at that oddity, until my brain realizes the children wouldn’t be in there after they hatched. I sense her switches in an adjoining room and open the hatchway before entering.
It takes a mont to comprehend the scene. Vage is lying on the floor, her arms around several small, unmoving objects. Harana has her arm around her older sister, trying to comfort her while speaking in their dual-toned language.
I take a step forward, my eyes and senses drawn to the six or seven objects Vage is cradling. I hear what I take to be crying from Vage, and only then does it hit : our children haven’t survived.
I don’t know what to think or even what to feel. My body is locked in shock as I try to form coherent thoughts. Yes, they are my kids, but they aren’t entirely human; it wasn’t as if I had helped incubate the eggs. The entire ti Vage had been on that incubator, it almost felt like she was taking care of soone else’s eggs.
But now that I see the tiny things, the reality strikes ho. These creatures are the product of Vage’s and my coupling. I helped create them, and there is a small part of in each one. My eyes can see that they are gone, but my heart refuses to believe it.
I drop to my knees next to Vage. Only then do they notice , but I ignore them. There is sothing...
I look at the tiny creatures, marveling at their appearance. They have the pinkish skin of Vage’s race, tinged with the baby-pink of a human newborn. Their eyes are smaller than Vage’s in proportion to their heads, which are also smaller in proportion to their bodies. I notice that so have four fingers while others have three. There are six in all, and they all have light tufts of hair on their peaceful heads. If I ignore the fact that they aren’t breathing, I can almost imagine they are sleeping.
I note all of this on the periphery of my concentration, however. There is sothing... it feels as though I can sense them, just as I do with my switches, even though I never placed switches in these little creatures.
"I tried to save them," Vage’s voice penetrates the fog surrounding my mind. "Our DNA just doesn’t mix." I can barely understand her as she tries to speak English through her tears.
"They all broke their shells, but they didn’t live long after that." Vage chokes up again, and Harana tries unsuccessfully to console her.
It strikes as odd—her concern for the children. Hadn’t she implied that her race didn’t care for their offspring? Yet, the death of these six is tearing her apart.
’This was different,’ the words appear in my vision.
Apparently, I had projected the question to her. I feel like a heel; in her depression, I had accidentally broadcast that thought.
"What we did together was beautiful, not painful. Usually, incubation is handled by machines, but my ship wasn’t designed for mating and children. I’ve co to care for them as I care for you," Vage said through telepathy.
I’m so sorry, I send back, but...
Why can I sense them if they are dead and I haven’t given them a switch? The question plays through my head several tis before sothing occurs to .
Without a word, I jump up and run back to the blue room. I burst in, stopping only long enough to grab Loveth’s wrist and drag her after . She yelps when she passes into the darkness, but I know her eyes will adjust soon enough thanks to her nanites.
"Nick, what are you—?" she tries to ask, but I just keep running.
As soon as we are in the room with Vage, Harana, and my children, I finally stop and feel for them again. The sensation is fainter now, but I can still make them out. I have to hurry, or it might be too late.
"Take off your shirt," I command my sister as I start to do the sa. Will it be enough, or will it take more contact? I don’t know, but I have to try.
"I hardly think now is the ti—" Loveth starts to protest, but I cut her off.
"Just do it! Hurry, before it’s too late!" Loveth looks from to Vage and back again before quickly removing her shirt. I don’t have ti to explain; my sense of them is fading too fast.
Vage and Harana start saying sothing in their language, but I ignore them as I hug my sister close. I feel my strength with the switches magnify exponentially upon contact. A small part of notices she isn’t wearing a bra, and I am grateful for the extra skin contact. I command the ship to bathe us and the babies in the healing yellow light, not knowing if it is necessary but wanting every advantage. Loveth pulls down her pants, and then mine, as we huddle together. She wraps her legs around , and I know it’s now or never.
This is the most physical contact I can have with her. Intercourse is the furthest thing from my mind as I start to form the group switch and attach it to all six babies.
I try to push it, but nothing happens. Did I overdo it with Janet and the twins?
Am I not recovered enough from the damage they caused?
I push harder, then harder still, on their "life" switch. I don’t know if it will work, but I can sense them. How could I do that unless they were still alive, but too weak to register on Vage’s technology?
I notice the switch I’ve made is not completely in the "off" position, and that gives hope.
Groaning, I throw everything I have behind the switch. So distant part of hears Loveth moan as well, but I ignore it as I feel the switch move. It’s just a tiny bit at first, but as I continue to shove, it picks up speed. I notice sothing running from my nose—most likely blood. My ears start ringing again, and we tumble to the floor, too weak to support ourselves.
Just before I black out from the effort of moving the switch, I hear a small, almost imperceptible yawn.
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