“It’s nothing. Just a stomach bug.”
“Stomach bugs don’t last three days without other symptoms. No fever, no chills, no body aches?”
“No.”
“And it’s worse in the morning?”
Corinne opened her mouth to deny it, then realized that was true. The nausea was always the worst first thing, when she arrived at the facility and the smell of fish assaulted her. By afternoon it usually faded, leaving her with just a faint queasiness and bone-deep exhaustion.
“Maybe I’m allergic to something,” she said weakly.
Chanda studied her with the kind of penetrating look that only mothers seemed to master. “When was your last cycle?”
“My what?”
“Your menstrual cycle. When was it?”
Her mind went blank. When had it been? She’d been so busy settling into their new life, working and caring for Mikoz and building a home with Selik. She hadn’t been tracking it.
“I… don’t remember.”
“Think. One month ago? Two?”
She counted backward, trying to remember. They’d been on Tillich Two for three months. She’d definitely had a periodduring the first month—she remembered being frustrated by the lack of proper supplies and making do with scraps of fabric.
But after that? Nothing. Two months. Maybe closer to three.
Oh.
The realization hit her like a wave of cold water. Chanda must have seen it in her face because she nodded slowly.
“Honey, I think you might be pregnant.”
The words seemed to echo in the small break room, bouncing off walls and settling into Corinne’s bones with terrible finality.
Pregnant.
She couldn’t be pregnant. She and David had tried for two years without success. Multiple doctors, multiple tests, and the same conclusion every time—her uterus was hostile to implantation. Even with fertility treatments, the odds were vanishingly small.
She’d made peace with it. She’d accepted Anya as the only child she’d ever have, mourned the babies that would never be, and moved on.
“I can’t be,” she said. “It’s not possible.”
“Honey, I’ve had four babies. I know what morning sickness looks like.” Chanda poured hot water over tea leaves, the steam rising in gentle curls. “And you’ve got all the signs. The nausea, the exhaustion, the weird food aversions. You’re what, late thirties?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Plenty of women have surprise pregnancies at thirty-eight. Especially if they’ve been—” She made a delicate gesture. “—active.”
Active was one word for it. She and Selik had been together nearly every night since they’d first made love on the patrol ship. Sometimes slow and tender, sometimes desperate and frantic, always with an intensity that left her shaking.
Cire physiology and human physiology were compatible in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Too compatible, apparently.
“I need to take a test,” she said, her voice sounding distant and strange. “Make sure.”
“Medical center’s on the north side of town. Dr. Kelos can run one for you.” Chanda pushed the tea across the table. “Drink that. It’ll help settle your stomach.”
She sipped obediently, the warm liquid soothing the rawness in her throat. Her mind raced through possibilities and implications, each one more overwhelming than the last.
