Page 104 of Evan and the Alpha

I’m not taking my baby anywhere near modern science or a lab, not after what Min said to Scott.

Shit. Scott. And my parents.

“What happened?”

Sobek relays the whole sorry tale. While I was busy getting ripped apart by our kid’s head, the ship crashed into the desert. The kroakka rallied and did their best to save those who were still living, but the fuel tanks ignited and the whole thing went up in a firebomb. Most of the dead were cremated—vaporized, more like—and anyone who hadn’t been rescued met their end there too.

Scott was rescued, although he was in bad shape. Mom’s alive too.

Dad’s dead.

I find that tough to wrap my head around. I often found myself wishing I’d just … never have to talk to him again or deal with him, and now I never do. Not because I ran away or cut him off or he learned to respect that I don’t want a relationship with him.

Because he died.

I don’t really know what to make of that, so I nurse the baby, then settle down to have a nap.

***

We make the trip back about a week later. I’m slow and plodding, because I’m still sore and bleeding, but we’re running out of supplies. Min wants us to get back so she can make sure I’m stitched up right and I don’t have an infection. She keeps saying she wants to make sure the baby’s okay.

The real issue is actually that my milk supply hasn’t really come in, so as much as the baby’s getting fed, he’s not getting enough. I’m not sure if there’s anything Min can really do about that now that the ship’s gone and theColumbiawon’t be here for another month or so. But maybe she can synthesize something.

Yafir has suggested seeing the healer—maybe there’s something they can give me that will make it better. I don’t know. On Earth, maybe. Here? The kroakka don’t need remedies for that.

Min’s encouraging me to nurse as much as I can, in hopes it will give my body some kind of signal—there’s a hungry baby here! But so far, no dice. And to be honest, I hate it. My nipples feel tender after every feeding. If I wasn’t literally the only food source out here for the baby, I would give this up so fast.

There’s good news when we get home. Mom’s contacted theColumbia; they’re only two weeks out. That will give Min access to medical supplies and maybe powdered milk or something. It’s not the best, but maybe Min can do something.

I’m not going back to the station. Both Min and Mom mused on it, suggesting maybe it was best for me and Baby, but I’m not doing it. Something worse will happen, even if they can get Baby the right food.

I want to ask Scott what Min was talking about, but now isn’t the right time. Scott’s doing better—he’s stabilized, at least—but he’s pretty much bedridden. He’s in a lot of pain and sleeping most of the time. Min says he’s definitely not out of the woods. Apparently, there might still be internal bleeding, in addition to the burns and the broken bones.

Mom’s in better shape, but we’re giving each other a wide berth. I’m still hurt that she called my baby a monster. He’s not a monster at all. I mean, sure, he’s not … totally human, but he’s mine and I love him.

Sobek’s not a monster, so our baby can’t possibly be one. And I don’t really want to talk to anyone who says he is, my own mother included.

TheColumbiacrew apparently heard about what happened and they picked up speed. There are a lot of survivors who need good medical care. They’re doing all right here, but they won’t survive without advanced care from theColumbia.

It really feels like all we’re doing right now is keeping people alive. Which, I guess, is sort of what everything is about at the end of the day. We’re all just struggling to survive, every single day. We’re not always injured or fighting for our lives or facing down death or whatever. But everything we do—from waking up to getting food to drinking water or whatever—is meant to keep us alive.

And sometimes, that’s all we can do, I guess. I mean, it’s keeping me on my toes to keep the baby alive. I guess we all want to get past the struggle part or whatever, strive for something more or meaningful or some shit—what am I doing with my life—but …

Does it matter? Isn’t this enough? Like, Mom and Dad sent me out here because they didn’t think I was going to make anything of myself on Earth. They thought I was directionless. And like, yeah, maybe they were right; I didn’t know what I was doing after college. Couldn’t get a job. Couldn’t keep a boyfriend.

But, like, look at Dad and how ambitious he was and stuff, and now he’s dead. What was it all for, at the end of it?

So, like, as much as having the baby screaming at me at two in the morning because he’s still hungry is making me feel like fucking shit, I don’t think I need to be doing anything else. Keeping another living creature alive is tough. Keeping myself alive is hard enough, so this is like super boss mode or something.

And, like, what does any of it mean in the end? I could go back to Earth and become a science experiment or a celebrity or even, like, I don’t know, an accountant or something, but I don’t see how that’s any more meaningful than this.

I wonder if I hit my head or if blood loss killed some brain cells or something. Maybe it’s hormone fluctuate and a bit of postpartum making me a little loopy, a little melancholy. Min said she wants to check me for that. Maybe get me some meds or add some supplements to my diet or something.

I grin at Baby. I guess we both gotta make sure we’re getting what we need when we eat.

But potential postpartum aside, I’m pretty happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time, even though it’s tough and tinged with sadness and frustration. I’ve got Sobek, and I’ve got my baby. We have this house, this life, together, and we’re together forever, until we die.

What more could I ask for, really?