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“No luck,” I tell her, my hands finding her fleshy bottom and squeezing. “How are the plants?”
Her blue eyes light up. It is times like these I really do wish we were back at the facility. Galen could teach her so much. Often, she has sat on the comms asking questions to him. No responses ever.
“The cabbage is great. I put some on the stove for supper. And I’ve been trying a little cross breeding between two of the fruits.” She bites on her bottom lip in a shy way. “I don’t know if it will work, but it’s just a test.”
I am proud of how well she has acclimated to this planet, to this Sector, to me. We are home to her. “As long as it does not include any grenus root, I think we are good.”
Not long after Lox left, I eradicated the Sector of the root. It is too dangerous. And when hunting within the caves for useful plants and such, I pointed out to Emery the unsafe plants, including the grenus root.
“We have had enough crazy for one lifetime,” she says with a smile. “I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.”
I do not know what a ten-foot pole is exactly, but she loves to say those words when referencing things she does not want any part of.
“How long until supper?” I ask as my palms roam to my favorite part of her. Her stomach.
She chuckles. “Soon, for Hope’s sake. She’s hungry.”
We do not have a wegloscan at Sector 1779 to detect pregnancy and the sex, but there is no doubting that Emery is carrying my mortyoung. Not even two micro-revolutions of our being here, she began to present symptoms. Illness in the mornings. Tenderness to her breasts. And she was no longer cycling. She was so sure while I remained hesitant to hope. Then, she started to grow. Lately, I can feel tiny nudges.
Hope.
All we had was hope. All we need is Hope.
“What if it is a boy?” I ask, loving to tease her. She is so certain it is a girl.
Her smile drops a little and tears shine in her eyes. “I thought we could name him Hophalix.”
My own heart stutters in my chest. “Hope and Phalix.”
She nods. “It was hope that got us here and your father’s notes that made Hope possible.”
Without his notes, I would’ve never been able to surgically remove those opasites from her lungs. My mind grows foggy as I think about the early solars here. When I spent countless hours watching the opasites under the micro-viewer. They were living organisms. Parasites of some sort. Their age determined that they were not old. My best guess is she picked them up on the prison ship—most likely inhaled when she took her medicine or possibly ingested them. These notes, too, have been sent through the comms system to the facility.
“Anything new to add to the book?” she asks as she slides out of my lap and walks over to my desk. She thumbs through my notes with interest.
Our book has documented everything we have studied and learned here at Sector 1779. All information we have relayed back to the facility. I am not sure they have heard a word of it, but if they have not, these notes will be here for the next mort who comes along long after we are gone.
Her scent—a scent I have come to learn becomes headier when her body requires mine to mate with—permeates the air. Once we make love, the scent dissipates considerably. She says going too long without having me makes me smell good, too. Of course, I had to understand why this is. After running some tests, her enzymes seem to weaken when we haven’t made love. The moment my toxica hits her system, it repairs the weakening enzymes and gives her a boost of good health. She calls it sexual prenatal vitamins. I know it is more than a silly name she calls it. The toxica is good for the womb is my best guess, although I would love to run the idea by Avrell.
“Do you think Aria has had the baby yet?” Emery asks, dragging me from my thoughts.
I calculate the time of gestation and our time here. It is getting close. “Perhaps. Or soon.”
She turns to face me. “And you are sure you will be able to deliver ours?”
Flashing her a smug grin, I nod. “I taught Avrell just about everything he knows. We studied the same manuals. I know we can do this.”
“Me too—”
Her words are cut off by the blaring of an alarm. It sends a chill or terror running down my spine. Emery’s eyes are wide with fright.
“To the safe place,” I bark as I jump from my seat and take off in a sprint.
I hear a door slam shut behind me as she seeks her hiding spot. I run toward the weapons wall and snag one of the sharpest spears. One of Emery’s other favorite things to do is whittle dizmonyx gems from the cavern walls. Then, after dinner some evenings, we fashion them into weapons. With Lox on the loose, you can never be too sure.
