Through the damp fabric of my coverall, bundled in my blanket, I feel nak*d. Raw. He sees more than I want, more than I can bear. It’s like standing before him on Perlas all over again while he stares at my scars, pitiless and unmoved.
“What now?” My voice sounds husky, and I don’t even know what I’m asking.
His shoulders surge in what I take to be a shrug. “We head back to the Folly tomorrow. It’d be wrong to disrupt their life cycle for our agenda. There are nine other planets, so we hope for better luck.”
See, this is where March differs from the Corp. Both agree the Mareq should be left alone. The Corp, however, take that stance because they believe the Mareq don’t possess anything that would benefit them. Thanks to Saul’s research, March knows better; he just won’t exploit them. I understand why the others look to him—and what I thought before, Doc serving as his conscience, that’s wrong. Because that’s woven so thoroughly throughout his being, it doesn’t register as a separate impulse.
“I liked it better when you sat around thinking about huge rocks falling on me,” he mutters. “Don’t romanticize me, Jax.”
I sputter a laugh. “Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself?”
“Says the woman who looks like that.”
I can only imagine the mud-encrusted, matted-hair picture I present. Well, that comment silences me since he’s right, but I smile as I dig the toe of my boot back and forth, making patterns in the soft earth. Then I freeze as I uncover something shimmering-translucent. I don’t think he can see it from across the way, so I lean forward, raking more top soil away to see.
“March,” I whisper reverently. “Be careful in here. We’re in the nursery.”
At that, he knee-walks over to examine my find, and I’m surprised to see his face light with a smile. “You’re right.”
On my knees in a mud mound with thousands of little Mareq sleeping beneath us, I feel the most astonishing tranquility. We’re surrounded by life, by perpetuity. They have language, customs, and these bog-runners will never have to worry about grimspace or the Corp. Who’s to say they’re not better off?
“Wishing you were Mareq?” he asks, then emits a throaty sound that mimics their speech better than I would’ve credited. He continues to croak, teasing me.
I don’t mind. The air’s clear between us, at least. Clean slate. But it’s hard to say who looks more astounded when the egg I uncovered trembles and splits to birth a slimy, big-eyed Mareq that latches on to the back of March’s hand.
Poetic justice.
Managing not to laugh, I ask, “So I’ve been meaning to inquire…how d’you feel about fatherhood?”
CHAPTER 23
Doc’s amusement is contagious.
He’s tapping away at a terminal, educating the new father on nurturing his young. I can’t help but snicker at the picture March presents. Because he couldn’t transport the little guy back to the ship in the cold, he tucked it into his shirt, where it promptly attached to his chest.
Dina has propped herself against the wall just outside medical, so she can mock him conveniently. “Tell me you did this on purpose. This is how we’re getting our DNA sample, yes? Because nobody’s dumb enough wind up like this accidentally.”
“I’m that dumb.” March glares at her.
She smirks. “I always secretly suspected.”
“Leave him alone. You weren’t there, were you?” So I’m siding with March? That’s got to be a first.
“Tell me you’ve figured out a fix,” he begs Saul. “Come on, it’s…licking me.”
Doc seems fascinated by what he’s reading. “Well…yes. That’s how it survives the first standard month. Apparently the parent that awakened the offspring expels protein-rich mucus through its pores, which the progeny ingests until it is old enough to digest more complex organisms like vegetable matter and insects.”
Dina’s smirk becomes a grin. “This just gets better and better. You two smell utterly foul by the way. Just saying.”
He looks at the small lump beneath his shirt. “You’re kidding, right?”
The little Mareq makes a weak sound, and I wince. “We have to find something it can eat, or we might as well have left it to die in the cold.”
March sighs, still looking down. “Why the hell did you wake up early, huh?”
Loras sits at the other terminal, skimming the minute data files. At that he glances up and says, “Apparently it’s your fault. Well, you and Jax together. According to Canton Farr—he’s a Fugitive xenobiologist who studied the Mareq covertly—for a birth, two conditions must be met. First, it is uncovered by the parent that will rear it, and second, that parent declaims what Farr calls the ‘Coming-Forth’ song.”
“This is your fault,” March says, glaring at me. “You dug it up.”
“Yeah, but who sang the Coming-Forth song? That’ll teach you to tease me.”
“Pointless bickering!” Doc shakes his head, glancing between us. “I’ll do a biomolecular analysis and synthesize something. March, you’ll want to depilate your chest before applying the nutri-gel first time, and you’ll need to leave it on constantly for the first month, unless you’re bathing. Then someone else will take over, but we’ll want to avoid switching hosts as much as possible. The little one chose you, after all.”
“You’re shitting me!” March makes two fists, but who’s he going to hit? I’ve never seen him look like this. “I have to keep this thing on me for a month? Can’t you rig something up? A surrogate?”
“You are the surrogate,” Loras points out.
“As far as I know, no one’s ever raised a Mareq outside its own habitat,” Doc answers, his tone remarkably gentle. “It’s vital we stick as close as we can to what we know of their natural life cycle.” With that, Saul gets busy, trying to generate something the baby can digest.
With its protuberant eyes, yellow translucent skin, suction toes, and scrawny useless limbs, it’s actually so repulsive it’s almost cute. Then again, it’s not attached to my chest. The creature is no more than an oblong blob beneath March’s shirt, barely seeming to breathe. I don’t know how the oxygen-rich environment is going to affect its development or what other chemicals it needs to thrive.
“We should analyze the atmosphere here and the contents of the soil. Maybe take some of that mud with us for when it’s older?”
Dina smirks at me now. “You’re nesting. I mean you finally shagged, right? You two went out into the wild alone and came back with a baby. Should’ve figured your children would be ugly but daaaaamn…”
“Go fix something,” March bites out.
To my surprise, she does, but not quietly. “I get this ship flightready in less than forty-eight hours, and I’m begrudged a little amusement? When the revolution comes, I will destroy you all.”
“The revolution came,” Loras calls after her. “You lost.”
Her response echoes back: “Kiss Jax’s ass.”
And I laugh softly.
“Body temperature’s a little on the high side since we’re warm-blooded, but its life signs are good. Just need a little more of this amino acid…” Doc mutters. “Hm, try this? Theoretically, it’s a close enough match, and if the little fellow doesn’t eat soon…”
“My chest hair,” he protests, as Saul comes for him with a glove full of goo.
“Good point.” Without so much as a “please” or “you look lovely tonight,” Saul yanks my coverall open to the waist and slathers the stuff on my sternum. “Pass the baby, let’s see how I did. March, go depilate yourself.”
He heads for quarters, muttering, “This has to be a bad dream.”
“We need to know more.” Loras glances up from his research, uninterested in the spectacle. “We might be able to stumble through the first month, but we’ve no idea where to go from there, nothing about their skill development. The undisputed Mareq expert is Canton Farr, but he published his last article more than two turns ago.”
Oh Mary, it’s slimy, licking me with its slithery pink tongue. Probably going to be a wonder at catching bugs, later. The nutri-gel is sticky, but its heartbeat grows stronger, steadier, thumping against my chest. The toes feel really bizarre against my skin. But there’s a certain pride in what I’m doing, even if it’s beyond disgusting.
“Last-known location?” Doc asks, still monitoring me and baby-it.
Loras shakes his head. “Doesn’t say, but we don’t have the range to search the full archives anyway, not to mention it would give away our position if we tried. I’m thinking we need to bounce a message to Keri and see if she can find out for us.”
“Do that,” March says from the doorway. “Encrypt the relay if you can.”
“Consider it done.” Loras waves and heads for his station.
“So what’re we naming him?” I grin at March, who’s staring like he’s been hit with a shockstick.
His mouth opens, but all that comes out is, “Huh?”
Belatedly I notice his eyes aren’t on mine, and I glance down. Shit, I’m standing around bare-breasted, nursing like some class-P village woman, my scars shiny with slime. Rest of me is covered in dried mud, and my hair looks like it belongs to a New Terran dirt-dauber priestess, so yeah, I’ve never looked better. But frag him, what do I care? I’m doing a good thing here.
Doc seems oblivious, so I glare at March. He’s clean, the bastard. “Hey, I took your turn while you were making yourself silky-smooth. You could say thanks.”
He clears his throat. “Thanks, Jax.”
But I don’t recognize that tone. Shrugging, I say, “I’m dying for a shower. Doc, you wanna grease March up?”
“Yep,” March mutters. “That’s shooting right to the top of the list of questions I never want to hear again.”
The baby doesn’t want to let go of me, and in the end, I have to gently peel its little toes away one by one. However, once it tastes the gel on March’s skin, it seems content to latch on. I think it’s the food source; thing isn’t old enough to form emotional attachments, if the Mareq even do that as we know it. We really need to find this “expert” Loras was talking about.
What was his name? Canton Farr.
I don’t stay to listen to March’s whimpering, miserable moans, and I’m proud of myself because I don’t collapse laughing until I’m safely in quarters. But as I straighten I get a look at myself in the mirror above my bed. Mother Mary of Anabolic Grace, it’s worse than I thought. I squeeze my eyes shut and fumble to the san-shower because I don’t want to see that filthy hag again.
Maybe an hour later, and yes, I took that long, my door chime sounds. Quickly, I scramble into the loose ki-pants and cami that serve as my pajamas and answer it. I’m surprised to find March standing there. The baby’s well fed, it seems, and making odd little whirring sounds that I interpret as contentment. Think this is the first time he’s sought me out since Perlas, where he had no choice.