Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) (29 page)

Heather began, very slowly, to shake her head.
 
Her eyes never left his.
 
"Elan," she whispered.
 
"I am so sorry."

"Sorry?"
 
That was not the response he expected.

"It's unfair," she said.
 
"You didn't ask to be manufactured."

"No one asks to be born, Heather.
 
We just are."

"You don't mind?
 
You aren't angry?"

"No, not angry.
 
A bit disappointed, I suppose.
 
I represent desperation."

"Huh?
 
How?"

In retrospect, he wasn't sure why he'd put off telling her.
 
He felt increasingly safe sharing everything with her.
 
"Heather, the Palani religion is about constant self-improvement.
 
Of the self, and of the race.
 
Constant striving for perfection.
 
But," he said, his voice cracking, "we're failing.
 
We've meddled too much, trying to force improvement on ourselves.
 
Our DNA is a mess, and we're going extinct."
 
Elan tried to force a grin as tears formed in his eyes, but the grin came out lopsided.
 
"They created me to convince the masses there was still hope.
 
But there isn't.
 
It isn't going to work.
 
We're going to die out."
 

Heather looked like she wasn't sure whether to cry or laugh.
 
"Wow.
 
A prophet who's lost his faith."

"Some Palani want to punish humanity for its success, to show our people we're still strong and powerful.
 
I came to Earth because I wanted to understand.
 
And, maybe, to find something new to believe."

"Did you?"

Elan heard a sound in the hall outside, and glanced at the closed door before turning his eyes back to Heather.
 
"Most Earth religions are about holding on to ancient values, in the hope that some better world will come as a result.
 
There is kindness and beauty in the faiths of your world, but so few people live the same values they worship.
 
So," he shrugged, "yes and no."

"What will we do when—"

The examination room door slammed open as a white-coated woman burst in.
 
She was tall and thin, with dark brown skin and curly black hair.
 
There were datapads and other devices in her pockets, and she barely glanced at the two of them as she turned toward the wall, pumping disinfectant gel into her hands.

"Now then," she said, turning around with both hands covered in gel, "what can I…"
 
Her eyes went straight to Elan's bone-white hands, then to his eyes.
 
She paused a moment, rubbing her hands together.
 
"Well well," she said, one eyebrow rising upward.
 
"Something new.
 
Hello, young Palani man."

"Doctor," said Elan, haltingly.
 
He backed away, gesturing toward Heather.
 
"It's my, er…"

"It's me," said Heather, rolling her eyes at Elan before turning to face the doctor.
 
"I feel like crap.
 
Too tired, too hot, sometimes too cold.
 
I'm a mess."

"Huh," said the doctor, pulling a datapad from her coat pocket as she approached the table. "How long have you felt like this?" she asked, poking at the display. "Where did you come from?"

"About a week.
 
I…we…got here yesterday.
 
From Earth."

The doctor glanced sideways at Elan.
 
"Earth, you say?
 
A Palani came here from Earth?
 
Were you the one on the news?"
 
She pulled out a second datapad-like device, and held it up next to Heather.
 
"In the event of a contagion, I need to know how you got here."

"We were stowaways," offered Elan.
 
"I don't know the ship's name."

The doctor nodded, slowly passing the handheld scanner up and down Heather's body, watching the datapad in her other hand.
 
She paused, holding the tip of the scanner against Heather's bare wrist.
 
"I'm going to take a blood sample.
 
Is that okay?"

"Sure," said Heather.
 

Elan heard the scanner chirp.
 
After a few moments, columns of additional data began to appear on the doctor's datapad.
 
She read through it while Heather sat still, looking increasingly fatigued.
 

"Well, there you go," said the doctor, putting the scanner down.
 
"Huh."
 
Slender brown fingers tapped at the datapad.

"Ma'am?" asked Heather.

"Miss," said the doctor, leaning one hip against the steel table, "you're pregnant.
 
About two weeks along, maybe three."

Elan saw Heather's jaw drop open before he realised his had too.
 
Their eyes met, and he found himself unable to form words.
 
Heather found her voice first.
 
"No," she stammered, "no, that's not right."

"It's very interesting," said the doctor.
 
She turned the datapad around to show Heather, who stared, not comprehending, at the display.
 
"The DNA sequence suggests it's half human," said the doctor, "and half Palani."

"I thought…" said Heather, stumbling over her words, "…no, no.
 
It can't be.
 
I had my contraceptive shot."
 
She was almost pleading.
 
"I
did
.
 
I know I did."

The doctor raised one eyebrow.
 
"Contraception is a yearly shot.
 
When did you get it?"

Heather was sitting up straighter, her eyes looking toward the ceiling.
 
Her lips moved, forming silent words as she thought.
 
"April," she whispered, starting to deflate.
 
"April.
 
Last year."

"Uh huh," said the doctor, shaking her head.
 
"Miss, that's almost a year and a half."

"But I wasn't seeing anyone," protested Heather.
 
"I thought I could put it off and it would still be good…"
 
She looked at Elan.
 
"…I assumed it wasn't possible, not with..."

Looking into Heather's frightened eyes, Elan finally found his voice.
 
"I was specifically
told
it was impossible."
 
He felt fear forming in his stomach.
 
Now Heather's health was at risk.
 
This was all his fault; all because he'd left the Temple, acting on a selfish impulse.

"You're both right," said the doctor.
 
She gave a hint of a sympathetic smile.
 
"It
is
impossible.
 
You're different species.
 
But somehow you conceived, which is a Nobel Prize waiting to happen.
 
Pardon me for being blunt," she looked meaningfully from Heather to Elan and back, "but there's no way it'll go to term.
 
You'll miscarry.
 
Soon."

"What?" shrieked Heather.
 
She was half-turned to face the doctor, her hands clutching at Elan's arms.
 
He'd never heard such despair in her — or anyone's — voice before.
 
"No!" she cried.
 
"Why?"

"Sweetie," said the doctor, her voice soothing, "you feel like crap because your reproductive system and your immune system are at war with each other.
 
There's only one way this can end.
 
I'm sorry."

"Wait," said Elan.
 
He held Heather's shoulders; she had begun to rock back and forth, pain in her tear-filled eyes as she clung to him with trembling hands.
 
"Wait," he repeated.
 
"We're going to Palani Yaal La.
 
They can help."

"Sweetie," said the doctor, looking at him.
 
"I'm so sorry, I know this is difficult for you both.
 
But it's only two or three weeks; it's not even a fetus yet.
 
Can Palani doctors really develop it and bring it to term?
 
Outside the womb?"
 
She shook her head.

"I don't know," said Elan.
 
He knew they'd tried, and failed.
 
They hadn't risked it with his batch, implanting them in surrogates until they could be safely removed to incubators.
 
But even that had only worked the once.
 
Him.
 

The doctor returned to the counter to apply more gel to her hands.
 
"I'm sorry, kids.
 
I really am.
 
But it's not going to work, and there's nothing I can do.
 
If you're still here when it happens, come back and I'll take care of you."
 
She spoke over her shoulder at them.
 
"Do you have any questions?"

Elan felt Heather's arms let go of him.
 
He blinked as tears ran down his face.
 
"Beatty," he said, his voice weaker than he expected.
 
"I was told Beatty in the Greenhouse can arrange a ship to Palani Yaal La."

"Yeah," said the doctor, headed to the door.
 
"You can trust Beatty."
 
She hesitated, her hand on the door handle.
 
"I'm sorry, you two."
 
She opened the door.
 
"Good luck."

The door closed behind her, and the room fell into silence.
 

Heather sniffled loudly, her hands gently pushing Elan away until he was at arm's length.
 
He saw the redness in her eyes and on her cheeks; she looked defeated.
 
"It's time to go," he said.

She took a long, quivering breath then nodded, dropping her hands into her lap.
 
"I know," she said, her voice breaking.
 
"I get it."

"Okay," said Elan.
 
He took a step toward the door, but stopped when she didn't move.
 
When he looked back at her she was sitting on the edge of the table, curled into herself.
 
Her eyes were staring down at the floor.
 
"Aren't you coming?" he asked.

She didn't look up at him; a frown creased her forehead.
 
"Just go, okay?
 
Don't fuck with me about it."

"Wait," he said.
 
"What's wrong, Heather?
 
We need to go find a ship."

"Just go!" she cried, her voice hoarse between sobs.
 
"Go back to your fucking palace…"
 
She shook her head, closing her eyes.

"Wait," he said again.
 
It hurt that she wouldn't look at him.
 
"Heather, I don't understand.
 
We need to get you and the baby to Palani Yaal La.
 
Why do you want me to leave?"

Heather made eye contact with him, her eyes red and filled with tears.
 
"You heard her!
 
It's not going to work.
 
The baby's going to die."
 
She looked away.
 
"And you're going to leave."

"I don't believe that," he said.
 
The human doctor didn't understand.
 
Palani doctors had facilities far beyond anything in human space.
 
They could do the impossible; he was proof of that.
 
"We just have to get you to Palani Yaal La.
 
They can help."

"Even if they could," sobbed Heather, "you couldn't take me back to your world.
 
Not now.
 
Not with a bastard child.
 
They'll send us away.
 
They'll call me—"

"They'll call you Heather," interrupted Elan.
 
He stepped back to the table, pushing himself up and sitting next to her.
 
"'Bastard' is a human word, not Palani.
 
I still want you to come with me.
 
That hasn't changed."

She wiped her nose with her sleeve, looking at him out of the corner of her bloodshot eyes.
 
"Elan, you're not listening.
 
I'm
pregnant
.
 
And it probably won't live.
 
Didn't you hear that?"

"I did," he said, keeping his voice calm.
 
"I heard that.
 
And I believe it will live.
 
But why does any of that mean I should abandon you?"

"Because I might have a child?" she said, her eyes narrowing.
 
"Because it's too much commitment?"
 
She shrugged, turning her head away.
 
"Because I'm a magnet for men like that."

Elan picked up a clean towel from the table and handed it to Heather.
 
"I'm not one of those men," he said.
 
He reached behind her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.
 
"I'm here, and I'm staying."

Dillon stepped into the dark alley between two stalls, leaving the packed street behind.
 
A single light glowed, feebly illuminating a steel door and its battered sign, which read 'Private' in hand-painted letters.
 
It was calmer here, farther away from the smells and voices of the street.
 
A ventilation fan rattled overhead, and grimy water dripped from a battered grille.