Date: June 11, 2440 Time: 10:15 AM
For once T’mari found herself awake after Matt. By the lack of warmth in the spot behind her, he had been out of bed a long while. She found a note and smiled.
- Color Choice: F for the AI
- Mattress and Pillow Choice: F for Angelina
- Effort: A for T’mari
Matt had told her she was queen of his castle and would set the fashion and trends of what was acceptable when she asked him how things would be new as his wife. Part of her wanted to try that now and just wear one of his shirts down to breakfast and only his shirt, but decided the better of it and slipped into some very comfortable sweat pants too that he had bought her with his university logo on them. Stepping into some equally comfortable shoes he called slippers, which was different than what the Filipinos she had met called slippers, she stepped into the hall and carefully padded down the stairs and was not surprised to find the kitchen empty since the clock had said it was 10:15. She smiled as she followed a trail of notes written in sharpie on post, its .
- “Love You” ->
- “Drink Juice,” was on a cup
- “Drink Milk” was on another cup
- “Don’t mix Milk and Juice in the same cup. V Bad!” stuck to the fridge
- “Pre, term Grilled Cheese” was on a plate of sandwiches ready for the pan
- “use this pan” on a pan
- “turn fire nob only this far” on a stove knob showing the correct position.
She had truly appreciated the helpfulness of the last one. She had burnt way too many trying to find the right heat on the electric stove in the apartment. She had no experience at all with this gas burning flame machine.
She was thoroughly amused at the final notes she found as she got up to wash her plate.
- “Your mom is expecting you in medical bay.”
- “Come to office when done.”
“Mother,” T’mari said warmly but formally greeting T’monn as a guest on the ship rather than part of the crew.
“Daughter, I was expecting you much earlier. I was told you usually wake early.”
“I do, but for some reason this morning I even slept through Matthew getting out of bed.”
“You claim him like you are already bonded and are expecting a child.”
“Among the humans, we are in what is known as the engagement period, symbolized by this ring,” she said extending her hand to reveal a band of yellow gold. A large diamond flanked by two faceted yellow topaz stones sparkled in the light—an aesthetic touch of human tradition not practiced by the V’ren. “While he is concerned about his legacy and heirs he says he will marry me regardless, because he loves me. “I think that is moot. I have begun noticing changes that could only be explained by pregnancy, which I admit I am not an expert in,” T’mari said carefully.
T’monn did not answer right away. She rose from her chair and stepped closer, her hand gentle under her daughter’s chin. “Hold still.” With a practiced eye she tilted T’mari’s head, brushing her thumb along the faint shadows at the base of her neck.
“There,” she said at last, with the certainty of someone who had seen it before. “The marks are beginning. You conceived at least four or five days ago. They will darken, spread across your shoulders, your arms, your torso. By the time you deliver, they will reach your ankles.”
T’mari swallowed, both at her mother’s touch and at the inevitability in her tone.
“As it happens, I’m well versed in this subject—both academically and personally,” T’monn continued, stepping back. A smile softened the edge of her diagnosis. “You’re showing signs. No one is an expert in hybrid pregnancies, yet. I have been working on the possible implications and differences.”
She sat again, folding her hands. “A typical V’ren pregnancy lasts about 344 Earth days. Humans, 280. I’ve read their specialists, compared notes. Our fetuses take longer, but the rhythms are close enough. One human doctor put it crudely: ‘V’ren babies are cooked longer.’ Crass, but not inaccurate.”
She reached for her daughter’s hand, her thumb pressing lightly on the golden ring. “By my estimate, yours will last closer to 310 days.”
Her eyes softened further, the physician receding and the mother coming forward. “You were an enormous baby. I felt not just huge—but invaded. And now you’re losing an entire month of a child using your organs as a dance club. Not sure how i feel about that. Either way that is the last slight you will ever do me as my child,” she added with affectionate exasperation. “Let’s run some tests to confirm what we both suspect.”
T’monn watched her daughter go with nothing but joy. T’mari was no longer just a young woman—she was now the legally bonded partner of the High Lord of the V’ren, and carrying his hybrid offspring.
But joy carried its own shadow. Among the V’ren, twins were rare enough to reshape lines of succession, alter castes, even spark ancient rivalries. T’monn had seen the first signs, though she had not spoken them aloud. Not yet. She needed counsel. She pulled out her phone.
“W’ren, we need to talk. In person. Soon.”
