by George Olney
Frenchy was hustled through decontamination, more as a precaution and to treat her gear than from real necessity. She was relieved that the methods the Enforcers used didn't involve destruction of her clothing. They smelled better than what Grae's ship used, too.
After using a portable shower to wash away the last of the decontaminant, Frenchy took a fresh leotard from her saddlebags and put on dry clothing. She greeted the other four, was hugged nearly to death by Grete, kissed Weykhaz on the cheek, and managed to get between the Evan/Maev combination enough to give Maev a congratulatory hug.
She saw Grae, talking to some of the Enforcers, and started to walk towards him. Then she stopped. Giving him a wave to say she was off to do something else, she turned and walked in another direction.
She wanted to be alone for a moment. Walking away from the others, she went to stand at the top of the cup and look out over the tan, rocky land and think about the last few months. They were amazing. To be brutally honest, nobody was more astounded than she was at what had happened.
When Grae took her, she was at a dead end, slowly self-destructing. Now, she was a different woman, capable, self-confident. She could even dance, truly dance, again. Grete gave her a home and a family. The Arm was a career for the future, one she was sure she could undertake without any worries about her capabilities. Her life had a foundation and a purpose.
That was all new.
Grae was the love she'd never had. He was a man that loved her for herself, not someone that lusted after her body as a sex object. Thinking of him, she felt a tingle and smiled. Love and desire for a man was another new thing. So was wanting a child.
Sending her awareness deep inside herself, she could feel the small spark. Yelen. That was something else unique in her experience. In yet another way, she was no longer alone.
For the first time in her life she had a sister.