Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
“Terrible things happen to creatures of all ages in this great universe,” Kail says.
Before I can reply, the baby wakes up with a shriek of joy. He’s just so happy about everything. That’s because he can’t read the papers. I pick him up and reach for the fish paste, hoping it meets his approval.
“Porthos,” I murmur softly as I maneuver a spoonful of fish toward his mouth. He pushes the spoon aside and reaches for the container with his hands. He’s not interested in being fed. He wants to feed himself.
“Porthos…” I try saying his name in a sing-song tone.
He doesn’t respond to the name. He stuffs a fistful of fish into his face and makes a faint burbling sound.
We can’t use his real name. But I don’t want to change it. That feels wrong. It’s his heritage. But his heritage could get him killed.
“What do we call him?”
“I don’t think it matters at this point,” Kail says, splashing gently as he washes himself off, drains the tub, and refills it. The baby particularly enjoys the gurgling sound of the water going down the hole and stops gnawing on his fish-fist long enough to laugh at it.
“If we’re going to keep him, we’re going to have to pose as a biological family. People are going to ask us what our baby’s name is. We’re going to have to be able to tell them. It’s going to be hard enough to hide him, this little fish baby.”
“Nemo,” Kail suggests.
“Tarni, Kail, and Nemo. Yes. That sounds like a family,” I say, satisfied with the name. It seems to fit perfectly. “Nemo it is.”
Nemo makes a happy little sound as I sing the name to him in up and down cheerful tones. I want him to respond to it. That could be very important one day.
“This kid’s seen more action before six months than most people see in a lifetime if they are lucky.”
“If they are very lucky,” Kail agrees.
We spend the evening in relative peace and calm. Nemo is awake for a little bit, but after being fed and changed, he’s ready for another sleep. Maybe Persinian babies sleep a lot. Or maybe he’s exhausted from all he’s been through.
Kail has vacated the bath by this time and is sitting in a chair, eating in a towel. It’s a very pleasant sight. I strip down and run the bath in turn, which is no easy task while holding a squirming infant.
Now I am the one receiving a hungry gaze.
“I have missed you,” Kail growls. “You are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I smile. “Here, mind holding him for a second?”
“I would rather not,” he says, lifting his hands up in a refusal.
“Why not?” I frown, immediately irritated.
He speaks softly, in a sorrowful gravel that on its own would warn me I have unintentionally hit a nerve.
“The last baby I held was my own.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I will look after you and Nemo,” Kail says. “But I cannot be a father to him. I have had my chance at fatherhood, and I failed.”
“You didn’t fail,” I say softly. “It was taken from you.”
The heavy moment is broken by Nemo’s excited squeal. He has spotted the water and wants to swim. He has no time for the trauma of those who are acting as his guardians. He is dedicated solely to joy.
13
We spend most of our credits on the best ship we can find from an illicit dealer, and then most of the rest of them on a little corner of the universe where we can live simply, a small planet, lightly inhabited, with a great deal of open land for sale to settlers like ourselves. We buy a hundred-acre farm with a lake where Nemo can swim. Kail hunts in our forests and those adjoining our land, and I forage. We both farm what we can and raise Nemo as best we can. Kail still avoids the baby where he can, but he can’t help himself from time to time. I have caught him smiling at Nemo when he does not know I am watching, and he insists on making Nemo’s fish and vegetable mash.
We are wounded, inside and out, and just as we will always bear the physical scars of our exploits, the mental and emotional ones will similarly remain. Kail has lost more than I can fathom. I do not understand how he can look at me as a human and not be consumed with rage, but he manages to tolerate me.
We are happy.
It is the simple kind of happy, the kind none of us have ever experienced before, and truth be told we are not good at it. It takes many weeks for us to stop looking to the skies with suspicion.
“It’s okay,” I tell Kail after I find him posted as sentry outside the cabin for the umpteenth night in a row. He is watching the sky with determined eyes. “I think we got away.”