Fortunately, she wouldn’t decide the baby’s fate, but she’d know. She’d know. Perhaps she shouldn’t aspire to be an admiral, after all.
*****
Her eyes adjusting to the dimness, Lesley climbed the stairs and crept into the bedroom. As she reached for the pyjamas folded on top of the dresser, she glimpsed the still form lying on her side of the bed. Jayne, fully clothed. She must have fallen asleep while keeping Mo company. Lesley carefully pulled the blanket over her and used the connecting door to Jayne’s bedroom. She was in the mood to be alone, anyway.
After changing into her pyjamas, she slipped into Jayne’s bed and closed her eyes, but the meeting on 72 kept running through her mind. Fortunately, she was out of it. Her only involvement tomorrow would be to fly the Chosen Council Heads to headquarters. But that didn’t matter. Next door, the triad’s daughter floated in her sanctuary. Her arrival would bring joy and optimism to those who’d welcome her. She’d be loved, cherished, Rymellan. On 72 lay someone else’s daughter. In a final act of desperation, her parents had brought her into Rymellan space and hoped that a people alien to them would keep her safe. But she was unwanted, inconvenient, and wouldn’t see her first birthday. There was nothing Lesley could do. She wished she didn’t know. She hoped she’d be able to look at her own daughter without thinking of that other baby. With a sigh, she groped for her comm unit on the nightstand. 01:12.
She rolled over and shut her eyes again. Regardless of whether Mo went into labour, Lesley had a long, difficult day ahead of her. Four days remained until Mo’s due date, but the baby would be fine if she arrived tomorrow. Lesley might be holding Mo’s hand as she delivered their daughter when Hall forced a decision and the Danlion child began her journey to those who hated her. Sleep!
When it felt like half an hour had passed, she rolled back toward the nightstand. 01:23. She fluffed the pillow, lay back and consciously relaxed her muscles, and tried to think about something else. Tomorrow she’d focus on getting through more cases. She’d just fly everyone to headquarters; she wouldn’t decide the baby’s fate— If she completed the two cases for Overseer Munroe, that should satisfy Blair. After that, she’d prioritize the cases she’d work on when she returned. She’d have forgotten about the Danlion child—how could she forget? What type of person would she be if she forgot? Once the decision was made, was everyone supposed to carry on with their lives as if they hadn’t condemned a baby to death?
It was a Danlion child, not a Rymellan. The Danlions would kill a Rymellan without hesitation. Argamon, the Danlions killed anyone without hesitation, or would, if their technology wasn’t so far behind everyone else’s. They spent all their time and research figuring out how to most efficiently murder each other, and elegance wasn’t required. What would they do to the baby? Smother her? Shoot her? Suck her out an airlock?
Lesley threw aside the blanket and sat up. 01:35. She stared at the comm unit’s display, watched the time change to 01:36. When it suddenly beeped, it sounded surreal. She shook herself and snatched it up. Cdre. L. Finney. “Thompson. I guess I’m not the only one who’s not sleeping.”
“I haven’t even been home,” Laura said. “Neither has Jensen. Can you meet with us in her office?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. We don’t have much time. You don’t want to hand over the child to the Danlions, do you?”
“I don’t want to see her killed, but Ellis had a point. If we don’t give her back, what will we do with her?”
“That’s what we have to figure out. Are you coming? We could use another mind.”
She might as well. At least she’d be able to tell herself that she’d done everything she could. “Yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She disconnected, changed back into her uniform, and sent Mo and Jayne a quick dispatch, in case she was still out when they woke.
As she cycled to the aviacraft and flew to headquarters, she turned the problem of what to do with the child over in her mind, but nothing new surfaced that would resolve the dilemma. The child wasn’t Rymellan. Why had the baby’s parents believed that Rymellans wouldn’t turn around and do what the Danlions would do? Had they irrationally hoped that a society they knew little about would stay its hand? Had they considered that Rymel was only for Rymellans, that Rymellan society was closed to outsiders? Had they thought about the issue of Rymellans subverting the wishes—some would say rights—of another culture? Had they expected Rymellans to risk war with the Danlions to save a single life? Since they’d all committed suicide, had they suspected that their desperate act wouldn’t make a difference in the end? Had they hoped that only their own culture was cruel enough to murder a defenceless child, directly or as an accessory? If it were her child, wouldn’t she grasp at the same straws?
Her head still swirling with all the different angles, Lesley strode into Jensen’s empty reception area and knocked on her closed office door. Laura swung it open and beckoned her inside.
A weary Jensen looked up from her desk. “Good, you’re here.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Lesley said, confused. She held Jensen in polite professional regard, nodding to her when they passed each other in the corridor. Jensen had grounded Mo, because she hadn’t wanted a “threat to the Way” on one of her ships.
“Take off your cloak and sit down.” As Lesley complied, Jensen said, “I’d like both of you to speak freely. Understood?”
Sure that Jensen’s words were for her benefit and not Laura’s, Lesley nodded.
“Good. The situation has grown more dire. Just over an hour ago, we received a message from the Jessimites. The Danlions suspect that their dangerous political prisoners are heading into our space and have warned us to be on the lookout. We don’t want Danlions heading our way, looking for a war.” She rubbed one of her eyes. “We’d handily beat them, but they’d keep coming back. We’d have to constantly patrol our borders and swat flies.”
“So you’ve decided to give the baby back?” Lesley said, figuring Jensen must have found out about the message after Laura had beeped.
“Meaning that Hall is right. We don’t have the luxury of time. Whatever we decide to do, we need to do it quickly.”
“What are our options?” Lesley said, not seeing any. “If we don’t want to risk war with the Danlions, we have to give the baby back.”
“Not necessarily,” Laura said. “They don’t know that we have the child. We could keep it that way. In fact, they don’t even know what’s happened to the ship and its crew.”
“That’s true, but we haven’t solved the problem of what to do with her, if we don’t give her back.”
“We’ll integrate her into Rymellan society.”
“How?” And how freely should she speak? Since a child’s life and future was at stake, she decided to be honest. “Jayne—my Chosen,” she added, on the minuscule chance that Jensen wouldn’t know who she was talking about, “is Rymellan. Her parents were Rymellan. She’s never committed a serious violation, but she’s considered a threat to the Way, regardless. Two Rymellans almost killed her. When she was twelve, some Rymellans petitioned for her execution. Her own family saw her as an obligation. What chance would this child have? Who would take her? And should we take her? She’s not Rymellan.”
Laura and Jensen exchanged glances. Lesley wasn’t telling them anything new or that they hadn’t already discussed. “The primary difference between this child and a Rymellan child is her ancestry.” Laura raised her hand before Lesley could protest. “I know, that’s a huge difference, but she’d be raised by Rymellans, and she’d attend the Learning and Indoctrination Academies along with Rymellans. She’s already lived more than half her life among us, if you don’t count the time she spent in her mother’s womb.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that she isn’t Rymellan, and that nobody will see her as Rymellan. And that’s just the internal problems. What about the diplomatic nightmare?”
“Forget the Danlions for now,” Jensen said. “We’ll de
al with them once we’ve settled on a course of action.”
“But the child isn’t Rymellan,” Lesley said. “I don’t want them to kill her, but what else can we do?”
“If the child was raised by Rymellans, believed that those Rymellans were her parents, and believed that she was Rymellan, would you still believe she isn’t Rymellan?” Laura asked.
“I’d know she isn’t Rymellan, and so would everyone else.” Lesley took a moment to quell her rising frustration. “We can’t change her ancestry.”
“No, but we can raise her to follow the Way. Isn’t that the most important part of what it means to be Rymellan?”
Considering that Rymellans no longer viewed those with acceptable ancestry who fell from the Way as Rymellan, perhaps it was the most important factor. But there were others.
“All right, she isn’t sanctioned by the Chosen Council,” Laura admitted, “but the Chosen Council’s primary purpose relates to strength in the Way. Rather than leaving it up to nature, it ensures that every child is predisposed to follow the Way. This child might not have the predisposition, but that doesn’t mean she can’t grow up to be strong in the Way.”
“If she were older, it would be too late,” Jensen said. “But she’s what, three days old? And she’s been with us for two of those days.”
“Even if we agreed that we could try to raise her to be strong in the Way, many Rymellans would never accept or trust her,” Lesley said. “They wouldn’t see her as Rymellan. They’d see her as a threat.” She, herself, wouldn’t be comfortable with a Danlion living with Rymellans and coming into contact with Rymellan children who were still impressionable.
“Not if they don’t know that she isn’t Rymellan, or rather, wasn’t born to Rymellan parents,” Laura said.
Perhaps Laura was tired, because she wasn’t making sense. “How would we accomplish that? Where would everyone think she came from? Who would raise her? In the unfortunate circumstance that both parents die, relatives raise the children, but everyone knows who they are and who their parents were. How would we explain this child?”
“Everyone would have to believe that the child had been born to the Rymellan parents.”
“How?” Lesley turned to Jensen, who didn’t appear perplexed. “You’ve discussed a plan.”
Jensen grimaced. “We did throw around an idea.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands on the desktop. “The child would have to go to a family that’s due to have a baby—imminently. That family would agree to take the child, raise her as their own, and keep her true origin a secret.”
That still didn’t make sense. “What about the child they were actually having?”
“They’d have twins. Fraternal twins,” Laura said. “A week or so would actually separate them in age, but if anyone were to comment that one looked a little older than the other, they can say that one twin was smaller, or weaker, or something. Most probably wouldn’t say anything, and it’ll only be a potential problem when the twins are first born. They might look the same age.”
“What about the physician who’s been monitoring the pregnancy, and those present at the birth?”
“Obviously the circle of knowledge would have to be widened.” Jensen unclasped her hands and ticked off several other points on her fingers. “The birth would have to take place in the infirmary, the Chosen Council would record the birth as usual, those involved would vow to keep the secret or be executed, and the child would be raised as a Rymellan.”
“The Chosen Council will probably demand that the child be designated a Solitary,” Laura added. “Considering it’s that, or a probable death within the next week, we’ll all agree.”
“Fisher is ambitious. When I outline the plan for him and make it clear that I believe it’s the best solution to our predicament, I’m certain he’ll go along with it,” Jensen said. “It’s Hall we’ll have to convince.”
“But you’ll still have the problem of finding a family,” Lesley said, not saying “we’d” because it was their plan, not hers. “You don’t have much time to find—and persuade—a family to...” She trailed off. Jensen was staring intently at her. She could feel Laura’s eyes boring into her, too. Both were still. Too still. Holding their breath still.
A family, expecting a child any day now. With horror, Lesley suddenly understood why they’d summoned her here in the middle of the night. “No. You can’t ask—no.” She vigorously shook her head. “No.”
“If we don’t find a way to embrace this child, she’ll die,” Laura said quietly.
Mortified, Lesley struggled to organize the myriad of thoughts running through her mind. “Don’t do this to me. The child isn’t my responsibility. It’s not fair to reduce it to ‘if you don’t take the child, you’ve killed her.’ We’re not the only Rymellan family expecting a child.”
Jensen pointed at her. “You’re the only one with someone who already knows about the situation.”
It took all her self-control not to say something she’d regret to the admiral who’d grounded Mo and declared her other Chosen a threat to the Way. Was that why Jensen wanted the triad to take the child? To limit those she viewed as weak in the Way to one family?
“I’d take her, if I could,” Laura said.
“Would you?” Lesley studied Laura’s face. “Do you both understand what you’re asking me—us—to do? Bring a Danlion child into our home. Lie to our families, our daughters, our friends. For a lifetime. Not for a few hours, or days, or weeks. A lifetime.”
“It’ll become second nature for you to view her as your daughter.”
“I don’t want it to become second nature!” Frustration made it difficult for Lesley to get her words out. “It doesn’t—she’s not...I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this.”
Laura frowned. “Do you want this child to die?”
“No, of course I don’t! Just because she’s not Rymellan doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with handing her over to a bunch of barbarians who will turn around and kill her. But there has to be another way to save her.”
“The only way to save her is to not give her back,” Laura said evenly. “Unless we want her to be treated ten times worse than Jayne was, we have to hide her ancestry.”
“We haven’t told anyone we’re having twins, because we’re not. Don’t you think they’ll wonder?”
“You can say that the survival of one twin was in doubt, so you decided not to tell anyone about her.”
“They might not believe me.”
“They’ll believe you,” Jensen said. “If someone told you that they didn’t want to tell everyone they were expecting twins because one might not survive, would you instantly think that one of the twins isn’t their biological child? Nobody is going to suspect that your Chosen didn’t give birth to her. Nobody is going to question where the child came from.”
“In fact, to do so would be a capital violation,” Laura said.
“What about medical records? Ultrasounds? They’ll clearly show that we weren’t having twins.”
“We can either seal the records, or alter them.” Jensen looked at Laura.
“Alter, I think,” Laura said. “Sealing them would only raise questions if anyone ever wants to view them. But why would they? Once your daughters are born healthy and happy, nobody will have a reason to look at those records. If they do, they’ll see that you were expecting twins. Your physician will agree to write up a medical history for the other twin.”
Panic drove Lesley to her feet. She wandered toward the door. To give herself a chance to breathe, she turned to face it and tried to calm her conflicting emotions. Sympathy battled indignation. Compassion warred with fear. She wanted to save the child, but why them? Why did they have to take the child? It wasn’t fair. If she refused to consider the possibility of bringing the Danlion up as her own, she’d feel as if she’d killed the child herself. But what they were asking of her...this could destroy her family.
She couldn’t run from the decision forever
. She forced herself to turn around. Laura and Jensen gazed at her. She could see the question in their eyes, but her throat felt paralyzed.
Jensen squared her shoulders. “As someone who’s about to have a daughter yourself, you can appreciate—”
Blood pounded in Lesley’s ears. “I already know that I’ll think about the Danlion child when mine arrives. I already know that my child’s birth—maybe her entire life—will always be linked in my mind with this child. I was lying awake thinking about that when you beeped me. Admiral.” Argamon, she needed to get herself under control. How could a well-intended, compassionate request be so terrible? But it was! And so were the consequences, no matter what she decided. Had they understood that by speaking the request they were springing a trap? Despite the protests and doubts shrieking through her mind, she couldn’t leave this office knowing that she’d condemned a child to death. Turning her back would leave her with a life tinged with sorrow—and shame. “I can’t decide this alone,” she said, hardly recognizing her tremulous and soft voice.
“Of course not. You have to discuss it with your Chosens,” Jensen said.
Yes, she was going to share this horrible burden with them. Would they thank her? To protect them, perhaps she should say no; after all, she should think of them more than the Danlion child. But it was too late. If she made the decision without them, she’d have to live with it for the rest of her life, and so would they, except they wouldn’t understand why their Chosen sometimes had trouble sleeping, and why a shadow always hung over the birthday celebrations of their oldest daughter—perhaps all their daughters. She needed to tell them. That made her feel weak and selfish, but it was the truth. However... “Yes, I do. I have a request in return.”
Identity Crisis Page 6