The following morning, she arrived at the fleet medical center, in uniform, and sat in a waiting room full of women blooming into round balls of various sizes. All of them were in civilian clothing, even though half of them were likely to be fleet members, the remainder being spouses of spacefarers. These women had decided to have their babies naturally—no artificial wombs for them. Massoud had not even considered the AW option. In these matters, she trusted her sister’s judgment implicitly, and Noor believed that natural was best for baby.
Massoud was honest with the midwives when they requested the identity of her child’s father in order to gain access to his medical records. That information would be revealed anyway by the genetic projection. They doubted her conception dates until she explained that she appeared to be following a Gnostian template in her child’s development. She also explained her recent illness. The reward for this information was the near immediate summoning of the Chief Obstetrician, who was delighted to have an interesting case, and who mulled over the genetic profile in deep concentration while the holo-image was prepared from the raw genetic data.
“Your child will be quite a novel case, not just because she’s part Gnostian, but because she’s female. There have been only a handful of female Gnostian-Terran children. Firstly, I want to assure you that your pregnancy is stable, and I expect no problems other than the heavy demand on your body’s resources. But what’s interesting is that most half-and-half female fetuses don’t make it to full term due to genetic instability. Boys fare better. The problem seems to be related to the paternal grandmother’s DNA. But there simply haven’t been enough cases to be certain of the common thread.”
“My baby’s healthy though?”
“Absolutely. Have a look at the genetic projection.”
The obstetrician opened a holo-image of an infant, which gradually transformed into a small girl, a pubescent, and ultimately an adult.
“It looks like she will resemble her mother, don’t you think? A little on the petite side for a Gnostian, but a perfectly healthy size. Don’t pay attention to the skin color. The projection programming is limited in its range of skin tones, and white is not in there. The raw data says she will be as pale as her father.”
Massoud was entranced. “She looks beautiful.”
The obstetrician patted her hand. “Of course she is. I don’t see anything here to fix, do you?”
“No, she’s wonderful.”
“Would you like a copy of the projection sent to you. To share with Dad?”
Massoud nodded, smiling. She wished Teloc had come with her, but it just wasn’t normal to bring someone along to this kind of appointment.
The doctor’s expression changed to a frown. “I’m sorry about this. The system just flagged Capt. Teloc as your commanding officer. I’m required to report him to the admiralty. Actually, the report is made automatically.”
“It’s fine doctor. We knew that would happen. We’re prepared for it.”
“You know, a number of my patients find themselves in the same situation,” the doctor said in a comforting tone. “Normally, the consequence is a demerit placed in their record and nothing further. Fraternization may be against regulations, but regulations can’t overcome human nature, can they?”
Massoud shook her head, a little shamefacedly, and the doctor smiled indulgently.
“The infant is demanding a lot from you, more than would be expected in a nine-month pregnancy. You feel excessively fatigued?” Massoud nodded. “Hmm. And you are only about four months away from birth. I’m not sure I can release you for duty.”
“Oh, please, Doctor, I’ve only been on the planet for two days and I’m already bored to the point of frustration. Please release me for something.”
“Well, perhaps I can release you for the most restricted duties—but I’ll reassess at every appointment. Also, I’ll want to see you more often than is normal, due to the unusual nature of your pregnancy.”
Massoud accepted this compromise, leaving the pre-natal clinic eager to share the genetic projection with Teloc or, indeed, with any friendly stranger who hinted the slightest interest in her baby. For the first time, her pregnancy felt more of a joy than a worry. Its secrets had been revealed and the baby had received a clean bill of health. The fact that she had been correct about the baby’s sex engendered a deep sense of connection to her child. She sent Teloc a message to come to her apartment thirty minutes earlier than they had previously arranged but received no reply. Nevertheless, he did turn up when requested, and she promptly opened the holo-image of their child.
“Isn’t she amazing, Teloc. She’ll be paler than this, the doctor said. But she has your eyes and slenderness, don’t you think?”
“She looks Terran.” His expression was inscrutable.
“Is that bad? Don’t you like her?” Massoud’s excitement had run into the impenetrable wall of Teloc’s apparent indifference.
“I like her very much,” he said in a low tone. “I am satisfied that she looks like a Terran. She will fit in here. She can never go to Gnost.”
“You think she’ll be too short to fit in on Gnost?” Massoud was confused.
“No...I do not know.” He got up from the armchair and paced with his hands behind his back. “Elizabeth Massoud, I have just come from the embassy. Yesterday, the consular staff wished to return me to Gnost, but that has changed.” Massoud’s heart lightened. “They heard about your pregnancy late this morning. Now they wish me to remain here long enough to claim sole custody of Constance, and then return with her to Gnost.”
Massoud was dumbfounded. “Why would they want that? Is that what you want?”
“I do not wish to remove the child from Denison, because I object to my government’s interest in her. She will be a scientific novelty. There is a faction on Gnost that believes the population crisis can be addressed by introducing Terran DNA into our gene pool, specifically by modifying females to increase their fertility. A study of Constance, a living female Gnostian-Terran hybrid, could be very useful to their ends.”
“They want to make Constance a lab rat!”
“Exactly. Despite my strenuous objections, I have been directed by my government to comply in this matter. If I do not comply, I will be guilty of civil disobedience, an intolerable offence in my society.”
“What about your rights? Constance’s rights?”
“The rights of the individual are subservient to collective needs.”
“That’s just so...,” Massoud steamed. “Anyway, Denisonian authorities would never give you sole custody over my objections.”
“They may do so for political reasons. I am certain, at least, that my government would apply diplomatic pressure to achieve that end. How the Denisonian government would react, I cannot say. The embassy will argue that you spend most of your time in space, whereas I would be available, in the near future, to provide fulltime care to the child. I would also receive the support of my parents in my paternal duties. You, on the other hand, have no relationship with your parents, diminishing your eligibility as a custodial parent.”
“That’s a low blow, Teloc.”
“It is not a blow I would strike, but others might.”
Massoud began to pace back and forth in the living room, wringing her hands. The two expectant parents traveled along parallel paths, their movement in alignment as much as their anxiety.
“Are you going to do what they ask, Teloc?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh, thank you.” She stopped and grasped both of his hands in hers. “And I will request a permanent ground assignment to counteract some of their arguments, just to be on the safe side. But...but what will happen to you, if you disobey them.”
“There are two possibilities. I could apply for legal residency on Denison, and hope the planetary authorities overlook my upcoming dishonorable discharge from the fleet when they review my application. However, I expect the embassy will work to ensure they do not overlook my fl
eet history. They will also point out that I made a legal commitment to return to Gnost once discharged from the service and that I am abandoning that commitment. They will not hesitate to point out my ethical failings. However, if I am successful in my application, I would be available to raise the child, but I would never see my parents again or return to my home planet. I would not be welcome at the embassy and would never again converse in my own language.” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “The alternative is to return to Gnost, either willingly or unwillingly, and be stripped of my qualifications and rights to public services such as medical care, employment, and education. My parents would be shamed and, possibly, ostracized.”
Massoud took his hands again. There was no sign that he objected to her touch which was, in itself, evidence of his anguish.
“Denison has very liberal immigration laws, Teloc. The embassy would have to make a very strong argument to get your residency application refused. In fact, Denisonian law gives automatic right of residency to certain classes of people—like the spouses of citizens.” She paused, but only for an instant, deciding not to critique the idea that was coalescing in her mind. “I adopted Denisonian citizenship six years ago, Teloc.”
His look was impenetrable.
“We have to get married, just as Noor wants. I’m not raising this baby alone. I want you to marry me and stay on Denison and raise our baby with me. I know it won’t be a typical marriage. I know that you can’t behave like a Terran husband and...and that might be difficult for me. If it doesn’t work out, we can deal with it later. By then the baby will be born and you can get automatic citizenship, as a parent of a citizen, and after you live here for—well—however many years the law requires.”
Teloc was very still. He examined his large hands partially enfolded in hers. Then, he raised his clear eyes to look at her with a degree of intensity that was reminiscent of their time together on Seven B. “Elizabeth Massoud, are you asking me to marry you?” The question reflected a singular lack of comprehension on his part. She had startled him from the settled pattern of his thoughts.
“Yes, you difficult, difficult man.”
“The Gnostian embassy will not be pleased, but they will respect Denisonian law,” he said quietly as he turned the idea over in his mind, “and they will comply with interplanetary treaties that pertain to the free movement of Alliance Fleet personnel and their immediate families. I might still be charged with civil disobedience. That is unlikely, however, while I remain on Denison. My parents would not be shamed.”
“Is that a ‘yes’ or not?” she asked tentatively.
“If you can accept that our marriage will not meet the Terran norm, that I would not be the husband that you want, and that the marriage would primarily meet our child’s needs, then I would be agreeable to the match.”
“Well, this has been a day of surprises.” Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. “I had better let Noor know and arrange to meet this imam of hers. She will be thrilled, but we have to stay married for a respectable length of time to keep her happy.”
“Agreed,” he said, still holding her hand, and ignoring the weakness of her argument in favor of a long marriage.
11. Interview
T o Massoud’s mortification, she simply could not fit into her uniform, despite its marvelous adaptive qualities. Her expanding belly exceeded the technological limitations of the fabric, and an interview with Rear Admiral Williams was just moments away. She had arrived early at the base, in mufti, and near begged the quartermaster to drop everything and rustle up a larger uniform for her. The quartermaster had no sense of urgency and was unimpressed by the rank of Commander Third Class. “It takes two days, and that’s that. You should have planned ahead.”
“My old uniform fit fine two days ago. Don’t you have any sympathy for my condition?” she asked.
“No.”
Massoud frowned. “That man better hope he never serves under me,” she grumbled.
She entered the admiral’s outer office feeling as though her sensible dress was made of horsehair. The exceptionally comfortable material irritated every surface of her body. The admiral’s aide appraised her judgmentally as he ushered her into the admiral’s office. She executed the little bow that was due to a senior officer, feeling her belly was much more prominent than it truly was.
Rear Admiral Williams scanned her head to toe. “Massoud?”
“Yes, Admiral. I must apologize for my appearance. I could not fit into my uniform and the quartermaster was unhelpful.”
“I’m sure he was. There are men in the service who think women present problems that outweigh their contributions. Thankfully, such men tend to hit their career ceiling at chief. The quartermaster is one such individual I believe.”
Massoud was reminded of the rear admiral’s reputation. She had been active in the Authority and Abuse Commission. The commission had done sterling work—identifying senior officers who exploited junior personnel, often sexually, sometimes violently—but there were also those who felt the commission had gone too far. Either way, Massoud felt that the admiral understood the plight with her uniform.
“Please sit down, Commander. Make yourself comfortable. How is your health?” asked Williams as she took her own seat.
“Good, thank you. I got a clean report from my doctor. I really feel up to a new assignment. I will admit that I’m bored beyond belief.”
“Understandable. However, it is policy for pregnant personnel to take leave for the last eight weeks of their term...”
“And that leaves several weeks where I can be assigned to some kind of ground duty,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Anything would be acceptable.”
“Commander, this meeting is not for the purpose of reassignment. My office does not deal with personnel rosters. I am investigating allegations against your former captain, Teloc of Gnost.”
Massoud immediately remembered how Capt. Patel had ambushed her and resolved to maintain tighter control of her tongue.
“Admiral, I’m surprised that was not mentioned to me when this meeting was scheduled,” Massoud said coldly.
Williams looked at her shrewdly. “I prefer to obtain spontaneous responses to my questions.”
“Very wise of you, I’m sure.” Massoud said no more until the admiral was ready to proceed. She took the opportunity to corral her emotions.
“I believe you are already aware of this investigation.” Massoud nodded acknowledgement. “There are a number of allegations, but one in particular pertains to you. That is the matter I wish to discuss today,” said the admiral.
“As you wish.”
The admiral posed several background questions relating to Massoud’s service on the Constance, which Massoud answered as succinctly as possible. Only then, did the admiral directly address the central issue.
“You spent a number of days alone with Capt. Teloc on Delta Alpha Seven B, before you rejoined the surviving crew of the Constance. Upon joining the crew, a number of injuries were observed on your person. Can you explain them?”
“Yes, I can.”
Massoud was resolutely silent after this response, even though the admiral looked at her expectantly. William’s eyes narrowed slowly. “I expect you to play no games with me, Massoud.”
Massoud, having tested the ground, determined it was better to retreat. More compliantly, she explained her injuries, providing the same information she had given to Capt. Patel, all the while holding the eyes of the cynical admiral.
“Let’s focus on the bruising on your lower arm, Massoud,” the admiral continued. “You said Captain Teloc grabbed you when you were about to fall. Was he to your right or left when this happened?”
“The right, slightly ahead of me. His reflexes are quite phenomenal.”
“That would imply he grabbed you with his left hand, unless he turned—which would have slowed those reflexes. Doctor Foster indicated the bruises were consistent with being grabbed by a right hand.”
“He is
mistaken.”
“Why would he make such a mistake?”
“He first asked me about my bruises, those bruises, after the attack on Cadet Crewman Detzler. Her bruising was fresh in his mind.”
“Can you show me where this incident took place and where you were relative to each other when you were grabbed?” Rear-Admiral Williams opened the two-dimensional imagery of Delta Alpha Seven B that Massoud and Teloc had used to navigate their route. Massoud examined the mapping and tracked her finger across it with a singular lack of confidence.
“I think this is where we started. No, it was here,” she moved her finger one valley west in the image before returning it to her starting point. “Yes, this is definitely where we started, and we were crossing the second mountain pass here—or maybe it was here.” She moved her finger a little north along the spine of the mountain range. “I’m fairly confident it was here, I think.” She grimaced. “Three-D imagery is much easier to interpret.”
The admiral pursed her lips. “So, you can’t tell me the exact spot.”
Massoud shrugged apologetically.
The admiral abandoned this line of questioning and started afresh. “Capt. Teloc was treated for a weapons injury while he was on the Achievement. This injury did not occur while he was with the body of the Constance’s crew. Can you explain this?”
“No.”
“You mean you choose not to explain it. It would have been impossible for him to inflict the injury on himself, and you were the only other person present. Why did you shoot him, Massoud? Was it in self-defense?” Then, Williams adopted a kindly voice, “Please know, we understand the position you were in. He did suffer a mental break. There is no need to defend his actions or to protect him.”
Massoud (Massoud Chronicles Book 1) Page 18