A nurse was already heading toward them with a hover chair. Less than a minute later, they were in a private suite of rooms. The place smelled of hospital antiseptic despite the wood floors and cheery curtains over dark windows. Ben felt a stab a
dejá vù.
Lucia moved carefully from hover chair to bed, then gave a groan and ran a hand over her ripe, round abdomen.
“How fast are they coming?” asked the nurse.
“About every twenty minutes,” Lucia said, adjusting the sheet.
“We have time, then,” said the nurse. “I’ve already sent for Dr. McCall. She should be here soon.” She turned to the crowd of people. “Anyone who isn’t an immediate relative of the baby needs to leave. You can visit one at a time once she’s settled.”
Julia, Francesca, and Friar Pallen left with obvious reluctance. “s with Evan’s birth, Tan and Gretchen took up positions guarding the door while Ben and Kendi gathered around Lucia. Only Harenn was missing—she was at Salman’s house with Evan and Bedj-ka.
“Do you want your mother here?” Kendi asked. “We can bring her in.”
Another contraction swept over Lucia, but the pain patch on her forehead kept it from being painful. “Maybe in a bit.” She bit her lip. “I’ve barely spoken to her these last few months. Ever since...the lawsuit. I don’t think she supported it, but she never told me she opposed it, either.”
“What about Francesca?” Ben asked.
“She was a supporter,” Lucia growled. “I think she was secretly hoping to be implanted with one of the other embryos, or even being granted custody of Evan or this baby. I don’t want her in here.”
“Suits me,” Kendi said. “How do you feel about Friar Pallen and the blessing?”
Lucia looked torn. “Let him in,” she said finally. “But only for the blessing.”
Ben took Lucia’s hand. “Whatever you want. Mom.”
“Dad.”
They all laughed. Ben couldn’t help comparing this birth to Evan’s. He felt far more relaxed and also eager. This baby, his next son or daughter, would go home with him, Kendi, and Lucia, no matter what. It was a relief and a pleasure to look forward to it. He caught Kendi’s eye and knew he was thinking the same thing.
Dr. McCall arrived, checked Lucia, proclaimed her fine, and left again. Julia bustled in and out, fetching ice chips, offering to rub Lucia’s shoulders, and asking if Ben or Kendi needed anything. Francesca and Friar Pallen stayed in the waiting room.
Eventually, as the sun rose on a fine spring day, Dr. McCall told Lucia to push. Half an hour later, she placed a healthy, wailing baby girl in Lucia’s arms. Julia wiped tears from her eyes as Ben and Kendi gathered around the head of the bed. Ben felt his insides melt like butter as he looked down at his daughter’s patently unhappy face. She waved tiny fists, and her eyes were screwed shut as she screamed her displeasure at this new world.
“Her name is Araceil,” Ben said, and his voice caught. Kendi nodded his solemn agreement. Lucia gave Ara her breast, and the baby calmed down to nurse.
“Did I hear a cry?” said Father Pallen from the doorway. Francesca was trying to peer over his shoulder. “Is everything fine?”
“Come in, both of you,” Lucia said, the birth thawing her a little toward her cousin. “You can give the blessing, Friar.”
Friar Pallen approached the bed. With one hand he beat a slow rhythm on a small drum that hung from his shoulder. Francesca followed with a ritual rattle that she shook at every step. Pallen held his hand over Ara’s head. Julia watched, a wide smile on her face.
Without pausing his drumming, Pallen pulled a small stone from the recesses of his robe. He slipped it into Ara’s blanket. “We ask for the blessings of the world on this child,” he said. Then he took out a water shaker and sprinkled a few drops of water on Ara’s head. “We ask for the blessings of the sky on this child.” He scattered a pinch of dust from Bellerophon’s moon over Ara’s body. “We ask for the blessings of the stars on this child. Great Lady Irfan, we ask for your blessings, your protection, and your inspiration. Let this child grow and flourish and be free of the taint...the taint of...”
“The taint of Vik,” Ben said in a flat voice. “Her biological father and mine.” Francesca gasped and Julia’s smile faltered.
“The taint of Vik,” Pallen finished. He leaned down and gingerly kissed the top of Ara’s head. “May she be hale and happy until the end of days.”
“Thank you, Friar,” Kendi said.
“I never thought I’d give Irfan’s blessing to one of her own children,” Pallen admitted.
“Aren’t you going to name a spirit parent?” Francesca asked.
“That’s not necessary, Friar,” Lucia said quickly.
“But Lucia!” Julia interjected. “The baby needs a—”
“Ara has three parents already,” Lucia responded. “Four, if you count Harenn. She doesn’t need more.”
“As you like,” Pallen said, and withdrew.
“What was that for?” Francesca demanded. “Why didn’t you name one?”
Ara finished nursing. Lucia burped her, and she fell asleep before Lucia could bring the baby down from her shoulder.
“I’m too tired to say clever things,” Lucia said, “so I’ll be direct. The only reason you came here was because you were hoping to be named spirit mother. But I know where you stood on the lawsuit, Francesca. You can leave now.”
“Lucia!” Julia said, shocked. “She’s your cousin!”
“Did you point that out to Francesca when she said she supported the Church’s lawsuit, Mother? Leave, Francesca, and be grateful I allowed you to look at this child for as long I did.”
Francesca looked ready to protest, then apparently changed her mind and marched out.
“Lucia,” Julia said. “Can’t you just—”
“No, Mother,” Lucia replied. “I can’t.”
“I want to hold her,” Ben said, holding out his arms. Lucia handed Ara up to him. Ben looked down at his daughter’s sleeping face and felt a fine peace.
“I hope she does that a lot,” Kendi said beside him. “Evan hogs enough attention for three.”
“Just like his da,” Ben said.
Sister Gretchen Beyer kicked off her shoes and leaned back on the sofa with a heavy sigh of relief. Kendi and Ben were safely back home from the hospital, Harenn was with them, and Lucia was being guarded by someone else. She wiggled her toes and considered the merits of a long, hot bath. These days it seemed like she was either on guard duty with Ben and Kendi or watching images of Padric Sufur’s house on a monitor, but this was a good thing. Every waking moment was full of work, giving her no time to think. Tan had finally ordered her away.
“Burned-out bodyguards make mistakes,” Tan had said. “Go home. I don’t want to see you for the next two days.”
Gretchen closed her eyes and let her body sink further into the supremely comfortable sofa, unwilling to think about what two days of leisure would mean. Leisure gave her time to think about...things. The Despair. Being Silenced.
Padric Sufur.
Every night before she went to sleep, she saw his hawk-like face. In the mornings she usually got five Sufur-free minutes before he surfaced in her mind like a shark shooting up from the depths. She loathed Sufur with a depth that both surprised and exhilarated her. It was good to know hatred could run so deep.
Knowing where he lived was the worst part. She knew exactly where to find the bastard. She knew where he ate and slept and breathed and shit. But she couldn’t do anything about it. The only thing that made it bearable was the knowledge that he would eventually pay. Gretchen intended to make sure of that.
“Attention! Attention!” said the computer. “An unknown visitor is requesting entry.”
Gretchen opened her eyes, surprised. She never got visitors. “Sergio, tell the visitor to identify him- or herself.”
Pause. “The visitor wishes to deliver a singing telegram.”
“What?” Gretchen crossed her little living room to the door and peered through the one-way peephole. She saw the distorted image of a blond man in a formal black tunic. He was holding a bunch of brightly-colored balloons. “Who are you?” she said through the door.
“Delivery, ma’am,” the man called back, his voice somewhat muffled. “From Father Kendi Weaver.”
Gretchen’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She wouldn’t put it above Kendi to send her some kind of joke delivery, one that would spray whipped cream or silly snakes in her face. Still, she was intrigued. Maybe it was a belated thank-you gift for the life-saving. She opened the door.
The man had with him a companion who hadn’t been visible through the peephole. She had dark hair and eyes. “Sister Gretchen?” the man said, looking down at a little card tied to the balloon strings.
“That’s me.”
“My assistant and I have a song for you.” The man whipped out a pitch pipe and blew a note. The woman hummed it.
Gretchen glanced uneasily up and down the hallway. “Uh, not out here,” she said. “Come on in.”
The pair followed Gretchen into the living room. She turned to face them. “Okay, what’s this all about?”
“It’s all in the song, ma’am,” the man replied. “Oh—these are for you.” He handed her the balloons. Gretchen had just grasped the strings when a flash of movement caught the corner of her eye. Her reflexes, honed by years of field work for the Children of Irfan and weeks of bodyguard duty for Kendi, snapped her other arm up. The motion knocked the dermospray out of the woman’s hand. Gretchen instantly released the balloons. They bumbled against the ceiling and Gretchen dropped to the floor. The man’s roundhouse swing swished through empty air. Gretchen lashed out with her foot as she went down, catching the man in the knee. He screamed. The woman pulled a pistol from her pocket. Gretchen rolled to her feet. The woman fired and Gretchen dove. The pistol burned a circle in the wall and Gretchen smelled scorched wood. She landed near the coffee table and shoved it desperately toward the woman, who easily twisted out of the way. The man snatched up the dermospray while the woman leaped toward Gretchen. Gretchen tried to dodge, but woman landed full on top of her. The two of them rolled across the floor. Pain exploded against Gretchen’s ear as the woman landed a punch. Gretchen sank her fist into the woman’s midriff. The breath rushed out of her and Gretchen shoved her aside. She was just in time to catch the man’s wrist as he tried to press the dermospray against her neck. Gretchen gritted her teeth and tried to push his hand away, but he was strong. The dermospray crept closer and closer. Gretchen’s hand trembled and she shoved with all her strength. The dermospray moved away. Out of nowhere another hand clamped around the man’s and rammed the spray downward. The last thing Gretchen saw was the triumphant look on the dark-haired woman’s face.
Kendi and Ben stood in the hastily-assembled nursery on the top floor of Salman’s house. Ara was now one day old, and she was asleep in her crib, just as Evan slept in his. Their mothers slumbered as well. The nursery walls were simple wood—no one had had time to construct an animated scene—and room smelled sweetly of baby powder. The sun was setting, leaving only three days before the election. Downstairs, the house was filled with frantic people doing frenzied work, but up here, everything was quiet. Kendi enjoyed every second, especially because he knew that at any moment the fragile peace would be shattered by a new crisis, one which could range from a campaign upheaval to a dirty diaper.
“This is so strange,” Ben said, looking down first at Ara, then at Evan. “They’re here. And they’ll be here for the rest of their lives.”
“Grandma’s already arranged trust funds for their education,” Kendi said.
“How did we live without them?” Ben asked.
“The trust funds?”
Ben dinged Kendi’s ear. “The babies.”
“Babies,” Kendi repeated, rubbing his ear. “All life, I’m a father. Twice.”
“I keep expecting Ara to have dark hair, like Mom,” Ben said, laying a gentle hand on her head. “But she’s going to be a redhead like me.”
“Evan’s going to be blond,” Kendi said. “Irfan had brown hair, didn’t she?”
“That’s how she’s always shown,” Ben replied. “Danny Vik had blond hair, though. Maybe their hair will darken when they get older.” He leaned on the edge of Ara’s crib. “What do you think they’ll be when they grow up?”
“Silent,” Kendi said with a grin. “That’s about all we can predict.”
“Still fun to speculate, though. Maybe one of them will like computers. I can show Ara how to circumnavigate a trench trap and hack into a six-nine-p-fiver database.”
“Most fathers want to teach their kids how to play football or cricket.”
“Or ride dinosaurs like their Aunt Martina?”
Kendi shuddered. “Don’t remind me. She goes out two, three times a week these days. Scares the hell out of me.”
“What kind does she ride?”
“I’ve stopped asking. Scares the piss out of me, whatever she answers.”
Evan stirred in his sleep and made small meeping noises. Both Ben and Kendi snapped to attention. Evan settled back down again, and they relaxed.
“We should probably leave,” Kendi said. “Let them sleep.”
“Yeah.” Ben didn’t move. “Probably.”