Immaculate Deception -- Chapter 6: Hunger and Suspicion

     Crais stood at attention flanked by lieutenants Teeg and Orn in the Mhultaan’s docking bay. A squad of commandos stood to the side of them. All wore their best battle dress uniforms. No one had seen this type of event since the inspection visit by Admiral Menkena two cycles before. It was highly irregular, but considering the author of its instigation, no one would dare speak against it.

     All eyes were focused on the single prowler landing before them and easing to a stop. Crais drew his breath in sharply and took three steps forward as the fighter’s canopy popped up and slid aside. He made a quick motion to the squadron’s boson who lifted an electronic whistle to his lips. It emitted a pattern of shrill sounds as the new arrival was piped aboard. The pilot strode forward purposely, removing his helmet and tucking it beneath his left arm as he stopped before Crais.

    “Officer Tauvo Crais reporting for duty, sir,” the young pilot said, saluting with arm to chest then smiling broadly. “Captain’s bars suit you, my brother!”

     Crais stepped forward and embraced his brother unselfconsciously. It had been six cycles since they last saw one another. His heart was breaking at the separation. He did everything in his power to secure Tauvo’s transfer to the Mhultaan. Crais personally promoted him to Leading Duty Officer for the group’s prowler squadrons despite poor performance evaluations from his previous command. It was prejudice, pure and simple. No one wanted a first genner to succeed at anything.

Tauvo was a gentle soul with little ambition to do more than fly prowlers. This helped him not at all. He was not aggressive, not driven and would never crush his competition to advance. He was very much like their mother, or as dim memories recalled her in the elder Crais’ dreams. He, on the other hand, was a brutal, unrelenting political animal. He was bound and determined to shove himself down the throats of the very system that stole he and his brother from their beloved home.

“Come, my brother, we will share razlak and swap stories in my quarters.” Crais said throwing his arm around Tauvo’s shoulders and guiding him out of the docking bay.

** ** ** ** **

It was just as Khetyr had suspected. Crais fathered Lieutenant Larell’s unborn child. His surreptitious genetic scans proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. This knowledge, plus the fact that she had been a member of Velorek's team started the wheels turning in his mind. He had to find a way of regaining EL-Vashti’s trust and love again.

     Why would Crais spare Darinta Larell when he had the remainder of Velorek’s Team executed? Sealed records revealed that she was reassigned to the Mhultaan on the very day Velorek was arrested. During the IAD inquest, her testimony was short and to the point: Velorek had betrayed Crais and the project. Her loyalty as a Peacekeeper demanded that she report his treasonous activities. She'd taken the Peacekeeper partyline as had the pilot Aeryn Sun.

     Khetyr suspected something else not mentioned even in the sealed records, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. What was it? And why would a respected officer such as Crais decide to willfully produce offspring outside a Genetics Directorate pairing? It couldn’t be love, he reasoned. Men like Crais were incapable of the emotion. As a first-genner serving in a fleet filled with noble born officers, Crais would never be a slave to any emotion beyond ambition. It was his life’s blood and the breath in his lungs.

So, why Darinta Larell? The thought would not let him rest.

He lay sprawled across his narrow bunk on the transport. He was still in his uniform and unshaven after three days’ journey. He was tired but would not let himself sleep. Sleep only brought dreams of EL-Vashti. Her soft skin, silky dark hair and absolute domination of him in bed tormented his soul. She was a woman no one knew. Not truly at any rate. They saw what she wished them to see: her pride in her House, her coldness, cunning and intense ambition. No one save himself knew the tender side of Liliina. The soft woman who loved him with absolute candor.

He would not willingly lose what they shared. He knew with every fiber of his being were they not Peacekeepers, not IAD, but simple civilians with control over their own lives they would be married. They would have a passel of children and a relationship deeper than anyone could possible imagine. Duty would forever prevent this, but he would not, could not let go of the relationship they did share.

Staring at the ceiling of his small chamber his resolve was set. He knew what he would do to make EL-Vashti forget his compliance with Crais’ revenge. It would call for an act he would never have performed before. An act that would mean his death were it discovered.

“Better dead than without you, Lil,” he whispered as he rose and prepared himself for the task ahead.

** ** ** ** **

     “Isn’t she magnificent, Tauvo?” Crais asked as they stood over the sleeping EL-Vashti.

     She was lying on her stomach, draped over his wide bed in obvious exhaustion. Her long black hair fanned over the pillows in disarray. Bruises and bite marks covered her pale skin on shoulders, the nape of her neck, most of her back and buttocks. The younger brother took in her naked body with one longing glance.

“Sensational!” he whispered. “By the Gods, Bialar. Wherever did you find her?”

“Commanding an IAD Team seeking my head on the executioner’s block,” he confided leading his brother out of the bedchamber.

“That explains the bruises then,” Tauvo said with disapproval in his tone. “You haven’t beaten her have you?’

“Of course not,” he sighed sitting down on his lounger. “It would go against the traditions of the mating ritual. I did, however, let her feel my righteous indignation at her efforts to destroy me. Repeatedly.”

“Bialar, you’ve changed,” Tauvo grimaced as he sat beside his brother and clapped a hand affectionately on his knee. “And not for the better.”

“Don’t scold me little brother,” Crais replied with a smile and a gentle pat to his brother’s hand. “This is the good fortune I’ve been waiting for all my life. Do you know who she is?”

“No idea,” Tauvo replied hoarsely after a sip of razlak.

“She is the daughter of Admiral Neleu EL-Vashti,” he said, his smile sinister, but his eyes very bright. “A daughter of the Founding Four. A noble born in every sense of the word.”

     “How in the hezmana were you ever selected to procreate with someone so high in station?” Tauvo asked in utter disbelief, turning a hard look on his brother. “We have no name, no House. We’re. . .first-genners. First-genners are never allowed to procreate with any member of the Founding Four!”

      “Almost never. You would be surprised the people I know at High Command and the Genetic Directorate,” Crais responded opening a fresh hot razlak and pouring them each a cup.

     

      “With growing fear, I don’t believe I would be surprised.” Tauvo said sadly. “You have become even harder than the last time I saw you, Bialar. Harder than father ever was.”

     Crais was up off the lounger and pacing across the room at that statement. He knew in his heart that his brutality came from his father. He did not like hearing it from his younger brother, however.

     “I have this terrible dread that you’ve lost touch with any sense of honor, my brother. Any sense of kindness.” Tauvo sighed, brow furrowed in disappointment.

     “I can handle everyone’s disapproval but yours, Tauvo.” Crais said sadly. “Let’s not disagree after so many cycles apart. Besides, you’re missing the point of this entire conversation: a male child from this mating will mean a second generation for our family in Peacekeeper service. It will mean House Crais.”

     “At what price?” Tauvo whispered shaking his head and putting his cup aside.

    

     “Brother, please.” Said Crais going down onto one knee before his brother, his face filled with earnest longing for Tauvo’s approval. “It will be a small step in avenging our forced servitude with the Peacekeepers. Can’t you see that? I did it for the both of us. For father and mother. For everyone the Peacekeepers have ever stolen from their homes and families.”

     Tauvo sighed audibly, looked into his brother’s dark eyes and forced a smile. He had always been stubborn, even as a small boy. He remembered the beatings Bialar would endure from their father for shirking his work in the orchard. He would lie under a tree by their stream half the day, watching the patterns of light in the leaves and dreaming of Gods knew what.

Once Tauvo had sneaked away and joined him. They both came back to the village long after dark to face their father’s terrible wrath together. He seemed ten metras tall and his face was red with fury. Bialar placed himself in the unenviable position of being between them as their farther swung his wide belt. He met it, never crying out or even flinching. He took the blame and defended his younger brother even as the welts made by the belt drew blood. Late that night however, when he thought everyone was asleep, Bialar wept. Tauvo heard the tiny sounds his brother made in the bed next to his and he cried, too.

“I’m happy for you, Bialar,” he said embracing his brother with a heavy heart. “Happy for what you’re doing for our family.”

** ** ** ** **

     Lt. Larell felt the twinge again as she shouldered her jump bag and climbed down the steps of the transport. Biting her lip she paused for a moment. It was becoming more than a twinge. It was genuinely painful. Though she had never before been pregnant, she had a growing feeling of alarm. This couldn’t be normal. She breathed deeply and it passed. Stepping onto the deck of the Directorate’s landing bay she straightened and the pain came again. She winced visibly and dropped her jump bag.

     “Lt. Larell, are you alright?” asked Khetyr as he took her by the arm.

     “Pains,” she winced. “Since two solar days ago. They started out as mild cramps but are now becoming more severe.”

     “This could be serious.” He said as he motioned the Team server to take her jump bag. “Has there been spotting?”

     “It started eight arns ago.” She replied fighting the pain as it grew worse with every stride.

“Help me get Lt. Larell to my clinic.” He commanded his leading Medical Technician.

“You don’t think anything is wrong with my baby, do you sir?” she asked, brow furrowed anxiously.

“That’s what we’re going to find out, Darinta.” He soothed, putting his arm around her waist and supporting her weight as they left the landing bay.

She looked at him with surprise, his use of her given name totally unexpected, then quietly relented and allowed herself to be helped along.

** ** ** ** **

     “Just relax and breathe deeply, Darinta,” Khetyr said as he gently probed her bare abdomen with his fingertips. “That’s it. Long deep breaths. Easy now.”

     He motioned for the Medical Tech to administer a muscle relaxant. Lt. Larell’s body at first tensed as the medicine was injected into her neck then visibly slackened. Her breathing became deeper and the expression on her face more calm.

     “I’m going to scan the fetus now so please remain absolutely still,” Khetyr ordered, softly stroking her short blonde hair.

     “Yes, sir.”

     Khetyr moved the device over her swollen abdomen watching the indicator lights intently. The fetus’s life signs were ebbing rapidly. If it could be saved, he would have to deliver it immediately. He looked into Lt. Larell’s face and frowned. He turned his back to her and placed the scanner on the supply counter. He selected a drug bottle from his pharmacopoeia, drew the correct amount into a syringe and handed to his Technician.

     “Darinta, your baby is in trouble.” He explained quietly, face only denches from hers. “My Technician is going to administer a labor inducing agent. If she can be saved, I have to deliver her immediately. Do you understand?”

     Her eyes were very bright with what Khetyr suspected were tears. He took her hands in his and helped her to stand up. The Technician pressed a control switch and the exam table morphed into a birthing chair. Khetyr eased her gently back down and helped place her bare feet into the stirrups. Darinta self-consciously arranged the lab gown around herself as Khetyr applied anti-microbial agent to his hands, her genitals and thighs.

     “Since this is your first birthing, I want you to listen carefully to everything I tell you and follow my instructions to the letter. Understood?”

     “Yes, sir.” She said between clenched teeth. The stronger contractions were already beginning.

     “The drug my Tech is giving you now will deaden the worst of the pain, but you will feel a great amount of pressure as the baby passes through the birth canal.” Khetyr instructed as he inserted three fingers in order to assess her dilation.

     “Yes, sir,” she replied trying to breathe.

     “Dilation is optimal. Good.” He told the Tech.

     She looked at the bright red blood on his hand and glared at him in fear.

     “The blood. . .is that. . .normal?” she said between panting breaths.

     “You don’t need to worry about that,” Khetyr assured her. “My Tech is administering an agent now that will suppress the bleeding. Just keep calm and keep your breathing focused.”

     “Yes, sir.” She said with a grimace. “I need to bear down.”

     “Not yet!” Khetyr commanded. “In a few microts, when I tell you, then you will need to push will all your strength. Sustain that pressure until I say to stop. Understood?”

     “Understood, sir.”

     She could feel the blood now as it poured over her genitals and onto the birthing chair. Even she knew this was not a good sign. Khetyr looked into her anxious face and patted her abdomen.

     “Not long now, Darinta.” He soothed. “Not long at all.”

     She bit her lips hard and grunted. Exhaling noisily she barked, “I need to push now.”

     “Now, Darinta.” He instructed her, taking her hands in his. “Bear down now. Push, push, push, push, push, push, push.”

      Lt. Larell cried out with the effort and forced downward with all her strength. Even through the ringing in her ears she could hear her own blood hitting the floor beneath the chair. She pushed the thought of death aside. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the birth of a healthy child.

The Medical Tech had taken her hands from Khetyr and was holding them tightly. Khetyr raised the birthing chair higher until it was in perfect position for him to catch the emerging infant. She screamed as the baby’s head crowned.

     “Keep pushing Darinta, I see her head.” He ordered, his fingers coiling around the tiny scalp.

      

     She complied though the dizziness was increasing and she was struggling for breath. She watched between her legs as the head began to appear. Tears welled in her eyes as the baby slid out fully in a gush of fluid and blood. Khetyr quickly suctioned her nose and mouth then the expression on his face changed drastically.

     “My baby,” she said her voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “I want to hold my baby.”

    “She’s not breathing Darinta,” Khetyr said turning away with the infant in his arms.

    “What?”

     Lt. Larell listened in a daze as the two men bent over her newborn, working furiously to resuscitate it. Lowering her legs painfully she tried to get out of the birthing chair. She fell back nearly fainting from the loss of blood.

     “Please let me see my baby,” she pleaded.

     Khetyr and his Tech worked on for nearly half an arn before turning away from the tiny form, so purple and motionless on the supply counter. Finally, Khetyr motioned for his Tech to leave. He came toward her with a look of sadness on his face.

     “We were unable to revive the child, Darinta.” He said slowly. “Still births happen, even in this day and age. I’m sorry.”

     “My baby,” she whispered. “I want to hold her.”

     “She’s dead, Darinta.”

     “It doesn’t frelling matter,” she swore trying to rise once more from the chair.

     “Don’t move,” he commanded. “The coagulation agent has finally worked. I don’t want you to start bleeding again.”

     “Please,”

     Khetyr sighed and looked at her with a mixture of emotions on his tired face. He finally turned back to the counter and took the limp form into his hands. Mouth compressed into a thin line, he handed the dead infant to her mother.

     “May I be left alone, sir?” she asked hoarsely.

     “Of course,” he replied. He touched her shoulder gently before walking out of the exam room.

The baby was so little, she thought as she shifted the minuscule weight into one hand. She opened the front of her lab gown and placed the baby against her bare breasts. She had dreamed of this since the first microt she and Crais had decided to procreate. The one instant in their lives when they would have physical contact with one another as mother and daughter. Her small body was already growing quite cold. She stroked the tiny head, covered in dark ringlets and drying patches of her own blood. Tears poured over her face and she sobbed aloud for the first time in her life.