Offspring

by Steven Harper

  “The government won’t bail you out?” Kendi said, shocked to the core. “What about a loan? The Children have been the center of Bellerophon’s commerce since the founding.”

  “We’ve asked,” Pyori said. “Mitchell Foxglove opposes the idea, and he’s talked a lot of Senators into agreeing with him. They’ve stalled the legislation for so long, it won’t do us any good. Bellerophon has its mines and tree-farms now.”

  Kendi stared. It didn’t seem possible. The Children had always been wealthy, able to scatter a fleet of slipships across the galaxy and pay outrageous prices to set Silent slaves free. Kendi had spent their money like water. Now Pyori was telling him the well had run dry.

  Other issues, however, took precedence. “I hope you aren’t looking for sympathy from me,” he said. “Right now I’m waffling between loathing and disgust. What would Irfan say about this?”

  Pyori’s body shuddered at his words, as if they were physical blows. “I don’t want to hurt you and Ben,” she said. “But...if the Church or the monastery had custody of Irfan’s true children, we could attract the interest of off-planet investors, something we can’t do in our current position. The media attention can also be milked for cash. I know it sounds cold-hearted. Perhaps it is. But it will save thousands and thousands of families from homelessness and hunger.”

  “At the price of destroying mine,” Kendi spat.

  Pyori said nothing. Kendi turned and left.

  His Eminence Judge Nutan Prakash called the court to order and everyone sat. The audience portion of the courtroom was nearly empty—Prakash had barred the feeds. Kendi, Ben, Harenn, and Lucia sat with Ched-Muskin and Nick Dallay at the defendant’s table. Ched-Jubil crouched alone behind the plaintiff’s. Kendi’s heart pounded and his hands were slick with sweat. On a table in front of the bench sat the star-shaped cryo-unit, lights winking with machine-like serenity.

  “I’d like to remind counsel that this is a hearing, not a trial,” Prakash said. “I don’t want grandstanding or powerful oratory. I know the basic facts of the case, so you don’t need to explain them to me. Let’s keep it straightforward and simple. Grandfather Ched-Jubil, I understand you are representing the Church?”

  “I am, Eminence,” Ched-Jubil said. He was big, even for a Ched-Balaar, and possessed a silky-looking, night-black coat of fur.

  “Then state your case.”

  Ched-Jubil rose. Kendi flicked a glance at him, then stared carefully forward. If he looked at Ched-Jubil for any length of time, he got so angry he felt he would erupt like a boiling geyser.

  “Your Eminence,” Ched-Jubil clattered, “the Church of Irfan is rightly and legally awarded custody of any orphaned children on Bellerophon.”

  Kendi snuck a startled glance at Ched-Jubil. He had actually used the word children. Of course, it would have been hard to argue this case using circumlocution. Ched-Jubil went on to explain the Church’s arguments as Dallay had outlined them to Kendi and Ben three days ago. Beside Kendi, Ben sat still as a statue. Harenn and Lucia shifted now and again, trying to find comfortable positions in their chairs. Would the children they carried come home to him and Ben? Or would they end up wards of the Church? If that happened, who would be their parents? Who would take care of them and play with them and love them? Kendi swallowed to keep his throat from closing.

  Prakash’s face remained impassive during Ched-Jubil’s speech, and Kendi would have given his Silence to know what the judge was thinking. At last Ched-Jubil finished, and Prakash motioned at Dallay.

  “Counselor,” Prakash said. “It’s your turn.”

  “Your Eminence,” Dallay began, “although the defense respects Ched-Jubil’s careful arguments, we maintain they are without merit. We move for a dismissal.”

  “Denied,” Prakash intoned, as Dallay had said he would. “Continue, Counselor.”

  “Eminence, the babies Ms. Mashib and Ms. dePaolo carry can hardly be called property. Slavery has never been legal on Bellerophon. This means they must be classified as children. You can see with your own eyes that they have mothers, and later we will produce documents that prove Mr. Rymar and Father Kendi are their fathers of record. Mr. Rymar is also related to the children. He is their brother, and there are hundreds of legal precedences granting custody of children to relatives other than parents.

  “My colleague has also argued that the embryos are stolen property. Ched-Jubil is obviously trying to preserve the log and eat the grubs inside. Either the embryos are children or they are property. However, I will answer his arguments. If the embryos are children, they should go to their nearest living relative—Mr. Rymar. If the embryos are property, they clearly qualify as a case of laches. Legal precedence clearly states that valueless property which is lost or stolen, and then somehow increases in value cannot be held up as valuable to the original owner just because the new owner has found value for it.

  “In other words, Eminence, the embryos had no intrinsic value to the Children of Irfan for a long time. Grandfather Melthine made no secret of this fact. Just because Mr. Rymar and Father Kendi discovered the embryos’ value after Mr. Rymar removed them from Grandfather Melthine’s home doesn’t mean the law can treat them as if they had always been valuable and desirable. Because the Children of Irfan and the Church didn’t bother to try to get the embryos back before they were discovered to be Irfan’s issue, they relinquished all right to them. They can’t claim to have a right to them now.”

  Dallay paused meaningfully. “The case is clear, your Eminence. Once again, I must move for dismissal.”

  “Denied,” Prakash said, and Kendi let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. It had been a slim hope, but a hope nonetheless. “Ched-Jubil, call your first witness.”

  The hearing continued. Ched-Jubil called up legal experts, medical experts, Church officials, and members of the Council of Irfan. Dallay cross-examined. Sometimes he managed to discredit them, sometimes not. Prakash stayed true to his word and cut several of the longer-winded witnesses off. By the end of the business day, Ched-Jubil had not presented his closing arguments and Prakash declared a recess until the morning.

  The moment Kendi, Ben, Harenn, and Lucia got home, a small crowd descended upon them. Keith, Martina, Bedj-ka, and Salman all talked at once, demanding to know how it went. Gretchen and Tan watched in the background.

  “The transcripts aren’t available yet,” Salman said over the noise, “and we haven’t heard a thing.”

  “I need a shower,” Ben said, and strode for the bathroom. “I feel filthy.”

  “Oh dear,” Martina said. “It didn’t go well?”

  Feeling suddenly exhausted, Kendi sank to the sofa. “It’s hard to tell. Right now Ched-Jubil is having his say, so yeah, things look bad.”

  “He’s an asshole,” Bedj-ka said.

  “Language,” Harenn said, but the rebuke was half-hearted.

  “You have a lot of public support,” Salman said, patting his hand. “That probably doesn’t make you feel any better, but it’s true nonetheless.”

  “I’ve had it with the public, Grandma,” Kendi said, feeling every iota of gravity pull at muscle and bone. “I’m sick of being in the public eye. I’m sick of the whole thing. I just want to enjoy being a dad, but I’m worried and scared all the time.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Keith grumbled, but no one paid attention.

  Ched-Jubil spent the rest of the following day with witnesses and further arguments. At last, with perhaps an hour to go, he made his final statement. He said nothing new, and Kendi spent his time trying unsuccessfully reading the judge’s face. The third day belonged to Dallay. He stood straight and tall before the bench and called his first witness, a legal expert on medical law. Several other witnesses took the stand as well before Dallay finally called Lucia, followed by Harenn, who seemed to fill the witness cage with her enormous belly.

  On the fourth day, Dallay called Kendi to the stand, and finally Ben. Two more experts testified, and Dallay g
ave his closing arguments.

  “I can’t find any way to make it clearer, Eminence,” Dallay finished. “We have proven beyond the tiniest shadow of a doubt that the babies and the embryos belong with their parents Benjamin Rymar, Kendi Weaver, Harenn Mashib, and Lucia dePaolo. Thank you.”

  Dallay sat down and Prakash spent several moments looking at his datapad. Kendi held his breath again.

  “I will have my decision in the morning,” Prakash said in a flat voice. “Adjourned.”

  Neither Kendi nor Ben slept well that night. Kendi barely managed a light doze filled with dreams of crying children being ripped from his arms. And then he couldn’t find Ben anywhere. He was alone in the Dream, trapped in dolphin form and trying to swim in water thick and heavy as gelatin. He woke alone, with the covers twisted around his body. Outside, dim light filtered through the talltree leaves. Ben was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. Dark circles made heavy rings under his eyes and his hair was dull and lackluster as a dying sun.

  “I don’t know if I can go, Ken,” he said thickly. “I can’t even stand up. The judge is going to take away our kids, I know it. I won’t have anything left.”

  Kendi sat on the floor next to him. “You’ll have me. No judge can take me away.”

  The mood was somber as everyone took their seats in the courtroom. Prakash looked out across the bench, his face impassive. The silent, stuffy courtroom was filled to capacity—the feeds were allowed access for a decision. Martina, Keith, Bedj-ka, and Salman were all present. Harenn was looking particularly uncomfortable in her defendant’s chair, but she waved away offers of food or drink. Kendi was so tense, he felt he would snap in two. “n ice-cold hand—Ben’s—stole into his and squeezed.

  “This was no easy decision,” Prakash said. “Even after a thousand years of debate, we can’t easily classify human issue as property or as a sentient life, and so we move on a case-by-case basis. I’m not going to summarize the arguments again or my reasoning—you can read them in the transcripts.” He took a deep breath and Kendi thought his heart would stop. “The court finds that the Irfan embryos are and have always been the property of the Children of Irfan, and it grants that organization immediate ownership. The children carried by Harenn Mashib and Lucia dePaolo were implanted illegally and without the permission of their owners. The court therefore declares them orphans and awards custody to the Church of Irfan. So be it.”

  The courtroom erupted in a storm of voices. Judge Prakash exited quickly. Kendi stared at the empty bench, stunned. His mind refused to work. With a few words, one man had brought down Kendi’s entire world. The children—his children—would be taken away from him. From his family. His whole body felt cold, and his hand hurt. Kendi looked down. Ben was squeezing so hard both their knuckles were white.

  “Ben, that hurts,” Kendi said over the noise, and Ben let go. His face was devoid of all expression, but his body was trembling.

  “Bastard!” Lucia shouted after the judge.

  “We’ll appeal,” Dallay said. “It’s not over yet.” But Kendi barely heard. He watched Ched-Jubil exit the courtroom through a side door with the cryo-unit, and he had never wanted to kill anyone as much as he wanted to kill that single Ched-Balaar.

  The reporters, meanwhile, formed themselves into a seething mass, but the bailiffs kept them away from the defendant’s table.

  “We have to get out of here,” Harenn said. Her brown face was pale. “Now. It’s broken.”

  “The case?” Kendi said stupidly.

  “My water,” Harenn said. “I am in labor.”

  “n officer of the court followed them to the medical center. A small platoon of police officers worked hard to keep the reporters out, and Harenn was given a private birthing room for greater security. Tan and Gretchen stood outside the door. The officer of the court, a short blond woman, tried to enter, but Harenn ordered her out.

  “I will not allow the thief who steals my child to watch the birth,” she barked, and Tan firmly escorted the woman away. Ben watched her go, hating her, hating Prakash, hating the entire damned world. This was supposed to be a joyous occasion, the birth of his first child. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Petrie’s neck and squeeze until her eyes popped out. She had destroyed his family to get her petty revenge against Foxglove.

  Lucia took a seat near the bed. The birthing room was meant to be cozy, with a warm wood floor, armchairs, bright curtains at the windows, and flowers on the shelves. A pair of nurses prepped Harenn by helping her into a hospital robe and affixing a small blue patch to her forehead.

  “This will prevent the contractions from feeling painful,” the first nurse explained. “Dr. McCall will be in shortly to see you.”

  Kendi took up a position on the side of the bed opposite Lucia. Ben trembled. He felt like he was going to sick. He felt like he was going to fly apart. He felt like he was going to die. He glanced at the door and wondered what would happen if he grabbed the baby after it was born and fled. “s if he’d get more than ten steps outside the medical center without tripping over a reporter.

  “How do you feel?” Kendi asked.

  “Physically I feel perfectly fine,” Harenn said. “You may guess about the rest.”

  “I can’t believe the judge ruled against us,” Lucia said, rubbing her hands over her belly. “How could he be so cruel? I feel like Irfan has deserted us.”

  “Your Church would say it’s Irfan’s will,” Kendi snapped. Then he exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, Lucia. That just popped out.”

  “I want nothing more to do with them,” Lucia said. “Never again.”

  Harenn sucked in a gentle breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Kendi asked.

  “Just a contraction,” Harenn said. “A small one. It will be three or four hours yet.”

  “Perhaps I should judge that,” said Dr. McCall from the doorway. “How long have you been having contractions, Ms. Mashib?”

  “Since early this morning,” Harenn said. “I did not want to miss the trial, however.”

  McCall’s round face hardened. “I heard about the ruling. It was an abomination.” She ran a scanner over Harenn’s abdomen. “You’re dilated to three centimeters already. Moving along quickly.”

  “Bedj-ka’s birth was the same,” Harenn said.

  “I’m guessing you’ll be able to start pushing in about three and a half hours,” McCall said. “I’ll check back.”

  A silence fell over the room when she left. Ben could barely breathe. It was as if the gravity in the room had doubled, grinding him to the floor. He looked at Harenn. Soon she would give birth to the child he had been awaiting for a months—years. He remembered being a child and pretending the embryos were sleeping playmates, boys and girls who would understand him and like him for who he was. He remembered the joy he had felt when Kendi had agreed to raise children with him and the surprised elation when Harenn and Lucia had unexpectedly volunteered to carry two of the babies to term. “ll that joy turned to crushing despair.

  “Why?” he whispered. “Why are they doing this to us?”

  Kendi moved toward the door. “I have to get out of here,” he said. “I have to go.”

  Ben couldn’t even summon the energy to ask where Kendi was going. He leaned against the windowsill and watched Harenn, trying to disconnect himself. The baby was going to live somewhere else. It wasn’t his anymore. He wouldn’t ever hold it. No diapers to change, no midnight feedings, no screaming, no tantrums, no silly noises, no first steps, no first day of school, no—

  Just no.

  The minutes dragged by, and Harenn’s contractions came closer and closer. Kendi didn’t return, and Ben’s calls to him went unanswered. He was probably hiding, waiting until it was over so he wouldn’t have to watch. Ben wished he could do the same—hide his head and not look until it was all over. He wanted to resent Kendi abandoning him and the others like this, but that would take too much energy. Whenever Ben left the birthing room, he saw the offi
cer of the court sitting in a waiting room up the hallway. One time he stopped and spoke to her.

  “Do you enjoy stealing children?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Ben noticed a diaper bag full of baby supplies on the floor next to her, and the rage he had been holding back suddenly boiled out of him in an unstoppable flow.

  “You’re a bitch,” he snarled at her. “A child-stealing, family-wrecking, fascist bitch. What kind of filthy, putrid person could steal a baby from its rightful family?”

  The woman didn’t move, though her jaw trembled slightly. A muted holo-display in the corner showed an image of a reporter talking in front of the courthouse. Ben didn’t have to guess what the story he was covering.

  “I hope they pay you good money for ruining my life and the life of my child,” Ben said relentlessly. “You’re not even good enough to rot in hell.”

  A hand touched his arm. “Ben,” Gretchen said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, “why don’t you come away? She’s just doing her job. If it weren’t her, it’d be someone else.”

  “Slavers say the same thing,” Ben snapped.

  “Dr. McCall says Harenn is ready to push,” Gretchen said. “Come on. You’ll miss it.”

  Ben spat on the floor near the officer’s feet and strode from the room. He thought he heard a small choked sob behind him, but didn’t pause to find out for sure.

  In the birthing room, Dr. McCall was already in position to receive the baby. Ben quickly ran his hands under the sterilizer’s red light and stood beside her. Harenn lay on the bed holding Lucia’s hand, her face screwed up in concentration. Kendi was nowhere to be seen.