Massoud (Massoud Chronicles Book 1)

  Massoud suddenly beamed at Benton and placed a hand on his arm. “Oh! How could I miss your new insignia? Commander Benton. Really? What ship?”

  “The Achievement. Commander Volk decided he was more suited to a career in administration.”

  “That was very wise of Commander Volk,” Massoud responded with mock solemnity. “I’m so happy for you. Congratulations, Julius,” she added, smiling.

  The said Julius had been hanging over Massoud, fully devoted to his conversation with her, but he recollected himself, returned to upright, and placed himself at a more respectful distance.

  “I’d better go. Patel is quite a timekeeper. Be sure to let me know as soon as the little one arrives.” He returned her smile enthusiastically, then stiffened his expression to exchange a curt nod with Teloc and said, “Congratulations, Captain”, before pivoting away.

  It was only then that Massoud noticed the change in her husband’s insignia, distracted as she had been by her difficulty in entering the mess. She thrilled, “Oh Teloc, I’m so proud of you. Captain Second Class. Who would have expected that two months ago? How wonderful! It’s so well deserved.”

  “I am glad you found an opportunity to notice, despite the distraction of Benton’s presence.”

  “Don’t be silly. Benton is just a friend. We’ve had this conversation before. I thought we’d resolved this.”

  “We may have resolved this, but I am not sure he has. Perhaps, in future, you should point out to him that neither you nor Constance are his girls.”

  “If that is an order, Captain Teloc, I promise to comply,” she replied in a voice brimming with amusement. Teloc sighed very quietly.

  “Has it been a long day, sweetie?” She should have resisted temptation. Teloc disliked irrational terms of endearment. She regretted teasing him immediately.

  Teloc found working with Admiral Biash stressful. The admiral’s biting intuition was too illogical and unpredictable for Teloc, or indeed any Gnostian, to tolerate. However, Teloc was additionally burdened by his own nascent emotions, most of them unnamable to him, and they drained him of his native patience and forbearance. Perhaps most frustrating to Teloc—who held reason and analysis to be the foundation of intelligence—was that the admiral’s irrationality was often riddled with brilliance.

  In short, Teloc was unsettled. He worked long days exposed to the admiral’s caprice and was still adjusting to the changes in his personal circumstances.

  Massoud had found him a psychologist, after interviewing several candidates, and had selected the one who accepted the uniqueness of Teloc’s situation without prejudice or preset notions. Both practitioner and patient explored his unusual situation together, and Teloc accepted her pragmatic advice on managing, not limiting, his emotions, until they could determine a permanent solution to his problem.

  In addition to this, Teloc’s father had been an unexpected resource to his son. They had long, private conversations, which Teloc later reported to his wife. It had surprised Teloc to discover that his father had felt significant emotional attachment to his own wife and children and that, early in his marriage, he had sought treatment on Gnost in desperation. Finally, he had been told that he was healthy by an eminent physician after consulting with many lesser professionals. Teloc’s father also suggested that the intensity of his son’s budding emotions was merely more apparent because he was away from the moderating influence of Gnostian society.

  Massoud winced when she saw the bills for the real-time interplanetary communications with her father-in-law but felt certain they were excellent value if they helped her husband. At least, that was what she tried to be convinced of. Underlying the concern for her husband’s health was a concern for the health of her marriage. If Teloc’s mental status returned to the Gnostian norm, it surely followed that his affection for her would come to an end. She cared for him too much to let her own selfish wants to stand in the way of his wellbeing, but the friable part of her heart longed for his love to continue.

  Teloc answered his wife’s query regarding his workday. “The day is neither shorter nor longer than any other. However, I do feel more worn than usual. If the admiral releases us for dinner, I believe I will return to the apartment for a short break from this environment.”

  Massoud was remorseful. “I’m sorry. We should have gone somewhere else for lunch; it would have been more of a break for you.”

  “It does not matter now. We are in each other’s company. That is enough.”

  Massoud could not but be content with his answer.

  “I got some news of my own today,” she announced. “When I return to duty, after the baby is born, I’m going to be a weapons technology instructor at the academy. Imagine that! I never set foot in the place and I’m going to be teaching there.”

  “That will be a most suitable role for you, Elizabeth Massoud. You will do well, I am sure.”

  Massoud sensed that Teloc understood something more about her assignment, but she knew not to ask. Instead she queried, “Does your promotion come with any new responsibilities, Teloc?”

  “None that I can mention.”

  “So, it does! I’m so glad Biash appreciates you.”

  Massoud was truly pleased that Admiral Biash recognized her husband’s worth. Teloc had been granted security clearances consistent with being privy to the highest level of decision making. She sensed he was aware of detailed intelligence regarding the Xeno threat and that the information was grave. Poor Teloc was unaware he had communicated this with his countenance and demeanor. He could not, and did not, discuss the details of his work openly. However, he freely shared the admiral’s opinion that he had a knack for tactics and an eye for detail which complemented the admiral’s own skill set.

  “I am not quite so glad,” Teloc responded to his wife’s comment. “My quiet existence is over, my interest in science has been cast aside, and my plans to return to civilian life are disrupted.”

  Massoud noted that he was expressing his feelings quite well but was discouraged that they sounded so resentful.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said sympathetically.

  “Forgive me. I should not have spoken so. I understand my duty and will do it.”

  “I know that these changes are difficult for you. I hope that some changes are for the better.” She patted her belly and tilted her head. “Are you pleased about some of the changes in your life, Teloc?”

  She knew his answer to this question and accepted it in the form of a little smile and a nod.

  After lunch, she waddled the ten-minute walk home. The baby had dropped, and her doctor had told her the birth would occur very soon. Normally an obstetrician could predict the onset of labor to within an hour or two. However, Massoud was an exception due to the unusual nature of her pregnancy. She was sanguine about this lack of precision. Despite the discomforts, she was relishing the excitement building to the baby’s arrival. The uncertainty in timing was part of the pleasure. She had been cleaning and rearranging her new apartment, feeling the urge to prepare her nest. She did not need obstetrical science to tell her she would soon be a mother.

  Massoud spent the afternoon according to her new habits—a nap after lunch, some time studying the Gnostian language in deference to a request from her in-laws, and a more significant amount of time studying everything she could about the Last War, including Xeno military tactics and Xeno military technology. This second study was riveting to her, whereas the first was merely a matter of obligation. She eschewed superficial and simplistic histories of the Last War in favor of those that were more precise and detailed. She delved into arcane references to retrieve firsthand accounts. When not lunching with Teloc, she met with other weapons officers during their midday meal where, together, they formulated theories about the evolution of Xeno tactics and methods to counteract them. These officers were a ground level think-tank formed by the truly interested.

  Massoud had wisely not mentioned that Julius Benton joined these i
nformal discussions whenever his schedule permitted, nor that she felt obliged to sidle away from him at times. Her ego puffed with the thought that she had captured the attention of two very fine men in a short period of time. It was remarkable. She had never been of interest to any but the drabbest members of the opposite sex. Naive about men, Massoud was deceiving herself. Everyone but herself would have labelled both Teloc and Benton as rather boring men; both colorless in the figurative sense, and one colorless in the literal sense.

  A message arrived from Teloc informing her that he would be joining her for dinner. In preparation, she reviewed the food options, trying to complement his lunch and balance his nutrition. It was her effort at domesticity. Sensibly, she had refused her sister’s cooking lessons. She would not inflict her culinary skills on her spouse; he deserved better. She would order food from the auto cooker instead.

  She turned when she heard him enter their newly occupied two-bedroomed apartment. He looked weary, but not from lack of sleep. With his heart and lungs fully recovered, he had returned to his habitual five hours of sleep per day.

  “Are you tired?” she asked.

  “Not in the conventional sense. However, Admiral Biash has been most aggravating today. My patience is expended. If that is a form of fatigue, then I am tired. Forgive me, Elizabeth Massoud, if I do not eat with you this evening. I think I will meditate instead, prior to returning to the base. We will be working late again tonight.”

  Teloc retired to his room and Massoud tried not to be disappointed. Being home most of the day was a lonely existence; she was used to close-quartered companionship in space. She had no work to keep her occupied. Although she had initially wanted a temporary assignment, she had soon realized that her rapidly developing pregnancy left her little energy for anything else. Her daily nap was a necessity. Although resting at home was best for her, being alone much of the day was not.

  Typically, Teloc spent most of the night in his room and joined her for the last hour of her sleep cycle. He needed both separation from her and connection to her. Sometimes, she would initiate lovemaking. Other times, he would simply lie beside her and smooth her hair which had become thicker and lusher with pregnancy. His worry for her was palpable. He had tried to persuade her to use an artificial womb, especially after attending pre-natal classes. The descriptions of the natural birthing process had been too graphic for him. Despite the near guarantee that nothing adverse would happen to Massoud or the child during birth, he could not accept the process as safe. Of all the emotions he was adjusting to, worry for her wellbeing and jealousy of her were the two barbs that gripped his heart, even more strongly than the tendrils of love that had grown there so imperceptibly over the years.

  Massoud was unhappy when he disappeared into his room, but dutifully selected a dinner for herself and picked at it in a desultory way. Her hunger was minimal. She knew it was another sign the baby would come soon.

  Teloc reemerged from his room and sat on the stool beside her, and to her delight, wrapped his arms around her. “I can think of another way to relieve tension,” he said with boyish bashfulness, so rare was it for him to reach out to her in this way. She giggled. “Well let’s see what we can do for you then, oh husband dear.” She heaved herself off the stool and lumbered to her bedroom, leading him by the hand behind her, and feeling true gratitude that she was married to a man more interested in woman’s scent and taste than her looks or flexibility.

  After fumbling their way through an intimacy that required some nimbleness, on his part, to accommodate her elephantine abdomen, he showered and returned to work. Elizabeth indulged herself by remaining in bed until her body grew too stiff to deny movement any longer. As soon as she sat up, she realized that she was sitting in a puddle. The change in position triggered a massive gripping in her belly, and she abstractedly poked her middle to find it was hard and rigid. She issued an uncharacteristic and offensive expletive.

  Once the tightness released, she unsuccessfully tried to contact Teloc. A mere minute later, she was yammering at Noor’s image, giving the details of her body’s unconscionable behavior. Noor comforted her.

  “Elizabeth, listen to me. You have to go to the hospital. Do you hear me? I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Abdul is out with a client. I need to fetch one of the neighbors to watch the boys for me, but then I’ll join you at the hospital. Do you understand?”

  But Elizabeth was in the grips of another contraction.

  “Oh my, this one is coming fast! House computer at Elizabeth Massoud’s apartment,” Noor said briskly, “this is an emergency request from Noor Massoud, sister of the resident. Summon an ambulance immediately to bring Elizabeth Massoud to the birthing center at the Alliance Fleet Hospital. Acknowledge.”

  The house computer, which Elizabeth had named ‘Housie’ with her usual lack of imagination, responded. “An ambulance has been dispatched to this address. The building entrance will be opened once emergency responders have identified themselves.”

  “Elizabeth, they’re on their way. How long is it between contractions?”

  “Dunno,” Elizabeth squeezed out.

  “Alright. I noted the time of this one. I’ll stay here and time the next one if it happens before the paramedics arrive. I’m calling my neighbor. Okay? I’m still here though. Understand?” Noor started a separate conversation, politely pleading with her neighbor to come over now.

  Elizabeth had started a second communication of her own, connecting with front-desk security at base headquarters. A young man’s face appeared.

  “Is Janelle Painter on duty?”

  “Yes,” he said hesitatingly.

  “Get her for me now!”

  The pregnant lady did not look like an officer, but she ordered him around like one. He complied promptly.

  “Shit! What’s going on with you, Commander?” was Painter’s ill-mannered greeting.

  “Where were you? I couldn’t get you on your personal device.”

  “Nah. I was checking in a big-wig. Couldn’t get away.” Painter’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oh fuck! The baby’s coming.”

  Massoud nodded. “I can’t reach Teloc. He must be in a secure room.” Her face crimsoned as her massive center tried to implode on itself.

  Painter winced. “Leave it to me. Make sure your device tracking is on, so he can find you. Don’t worry. I’ll get him.” Her face disappeared from Massoud’s bedroom.

  Noor pitched in. “Seven minutes. Are the paramedics there yet, House Computer?”

  “They are entering the main lobby.”

  Within minutes, a paramedic team comprised of a sensible looking woman in her forties, a med bot, and an intelligent transport bed were in the room with Elizabeth and instructing her to not worry.

  “I’m not worried. I am extremely angry that my husband is not here. I want to kill that Biash, for keeping him from me. I want my husband! Arrghh.” Another contraction hit. Six minutes.

  The paramedic dropped the soothing niceties and the calming tone and got moving.

  In the meantime, Painter had behaved exactly as Painter would be expected to behave. She was assigned to security and she could have called a colleague in the Admiral’s office to request a message be delivered to Teloc. But no. She acted impulsively, abandoning her duty station, running at speed up the back stairwell where she knew the security presence was lighter, and dashing into the admiral’s conference zone, only to be impeded by a secure door. At this barrier to her progress, the on-duty security officers started to question her in a relaxed and casual fashion since she was a colleague. However, when the secure door opened to allow a serving cart to leave, she bolted in through the opening, catching her comrades literally off guard.

  As she entered the room, the top-secret displays automatically shut down. The base commander demanded something of her, but she did not hear; her eyes were seeking her former captain. She found him standing to the right of Biash, looking at her with pale dread.

  “T
he baby is coming,” she gasped. He was gone instantly, leaving Painter to the mercies of the confounded arresting officers.

  Teloc could sprint. His long legs made him particularly suited to it. But seeing such a large man, a member of the most restrained culture in the galaxy, fleeing headquarters with a look of panic, drew many wondering stares and questions. Biash had followed him to the corridor and called after him, but otherwise there was no one pursuing this wild man. There was no apparent reason for his flight, but he kept running, across the plaza, past the gymnasium and past the stores. Finally, he paused as he entered the lobby of the hospital, but not because he was winded. No, he was glancing around to get his bearings without much success. Suddenly remembering that Elizabeth had promised to turn on her tracker a month before, he checked the slate wrapped around his wrist and was soon on the move again—to the third floor. He found the room he wanted and burst in.

  He ignored the disgruntled face of the midwife and did not hear the med-bot firmly requesting his departure. He only saw his diminutive wife’s face, vivid red and apparently contorted in pain, and he felt helpless.

  “Do something for her,” he cried to the attendants.

  “She is doing perfectly well. Who are you? You have to leave.”

  Elizabeth’s face unscrunched and she groaned. “He’s my husband. And he’s staying.”

  “That’s against the rules,” the midwife declared.

  “I’m Meccan,” Elizabeth stated. “We always allow the father in the room for birth. It’s part of our culture.” It was a half-truth, but she knew it was policy to honor the various cultures of the fleet’s servicemembers.

  The midwife looked unhappy, but said, “Very well, but he has to behave. No more outbursts.”

  Teloc towered over his wife on the delivery bed. Fear and worry riddled his unguarded expression. He gripped her hand too tightly, but soon felt the blood flow fail in his own extremities as she entered another contraction. The immeasurable strength of her maternal body squeezed his fingers in an excruciating vice.