Nimisha's Ship (28 page)

“Is it in your sister’s file?” Nimisha demanded.

“She went into law,” he said, still chagrined.

“Why, I’m no better than the Sh’im.”

“I’d say you were not quite as good as the Sh’im, my dear,” Doc remarked at his driest, “since the majority of their multiple births are triplets.”

“That is small consolation.” Her tone was acid as she slipped off the couch and waddled toward Cater, requesting a snack. She turned back for one more angry shot at the AI. “No wonder I eat more than Tim does.” She whirled on Jon as she heard him trying to smother a laugh. “You watch out, Captain!” She waggled a finger at him.

“Whatever is wrong with having twins, dear heart?” Jon queried, striding ahead of her to collect the ordered snack and bring it back to the table. His agility only emphasized her own uncomfortable condition.

“
How
am I going to cope?” She turned around in her chair and shook a fist at the med unit. “And if you remind me that I have two breasts, I’ll—I’ll—reprogram you!”

“Not until after I’ve assisted your delivery,” Doc said, totally unrepentant.

Nimisha snorted but was far too peckish to bother to reply as she picked up the leg of poultry she had ordered along with the vegetable salad and the baked potato that was served with other indigenous roots to which she had taken a particular liking.

She concentrated on eating as an excuse not to look at Jon, but he could outwait her petulance. He sat with folded arms, tipping his chair on its back legs, to wait until her temper improved. She finished her meal without a single word, but Jon, quite familiar now with his lover’s moods, knew that she had regained a normal perspective.

“What are they, Doc? Boys? Girls?” Jon asked.

“Boy and girl. So if Nimisha will deign to accept the fact that I did not interfere in any way except to ensure the healthy development of both fetuses, I will feel less threatened.”

“Well,” Nimisha began, though Jon could see she was not quite convinced of Doc’s innocence, “you could have warned me earlier. You’ve known a long time, Doc. I’m sure of that.”

“Yes, I’ve known, but considering your speech when Hope was born, I kept my counsel. There was always the chance that one twin would dominate and absorb the other, or it would spontaneously abort.”

Nimisha clutched at her belly in unconscious rejection of those possibilities. Then she allowed a penitent smile to spread across her face.

“Boy and girl, huh? Then we’ll be able to use both names, won’t we, Jon?”

He leaned across the table and kissed her with the tenderness that he had displayed toward her throughout her pregnancy. She stroked his cheek and allowed the kiss to continue.

“The Sh’im females will approve,” she said when they parted.

“There’s that,” Jon blithely agreed.

Nimisha went into labor with both Jon and Syrona assisting Doc. As the medic had predicted, she had less trouble delivering the twins than she had had with Cuiva.

“But then, you’ve kept fit and you’re a multipara,” Doc said. “Second delivery,” he explained.

The Sh’im were overjoyed to see that the humans could follow what they considered the best way to increase population. If Nimisha had worried about how to feed twins, she found herself overwhelmed with offers of assistance. The Sh’im suckled their offspring until teeth appeared, after which they chewed food into pulp and fed it to their young. But many continued to lactate. Since Nimisha was unable to feed the lusty twins for more than six weeks, Cater supplied formula milk, increasing its strength as the babies grew. There was always someone quite willing to feed Perria and Sven their bottles. Jon proved as devoted and affectionate a father to them as she could have wished: far superior to Rhidian, or any other man of her acquaintance.

Nimisha was glad to be freed up from heavy maternity duties as there was so much to be done: organizing improvements in all the Sh’im settlements, teaching those who were now past producing young and wished to take on new duties, and using her own engineering skills to develop useful tools. Often she thought fondly of Lord Tionel and the “toys” he had given her to assemble and disassemble. Those designs and that experience were proving to be incredibly useful now. The one disappointment, the anxiety that nagged at the back of her mind when she was falling asleep at night, was when would they hear news from home? The beacon seemed to absorb the updates Helm sent, but he reported no incoming pulses.

When Syrona had twins, Nimisha’s suspicions about Doc’s interference, however well intentioned, surfaced. Though there were no multiple births in either of Syrona’s and Casper’s families, Doc insisted that he had not interfered. Good food, proper rest, perhaps some unknown factor in the planet itself had caused Syrona’s ovaries to release two eggs at once. Even the small grazers, called boks in deference to the old-Earth-type antelope they resembled, were having multiple births.

“Could have something to do with the fact they feel safe,” Casper suggested. He was far from upset to know that Syrona was carrying mixed twins. “A general fertility increase for all of us.”

Nimisha refused to be convinced. It was all too true to say that everyone felt safe now in the six Sh’im towns; their allies rarely had fewer than three births at a time, and more accommodations had to be raised. With repeller shields to protect settlements, they no longer needed to seek caves for shelter from the avian denizens.

In order to reduce that danger, the four adult humans led a large band of well-armed Sh’im, transported in the three air vehicles available, for a concerted attack on the mountain mews where the avians bred their young.

The nests, with as many as twenty eggs, were destroyed, along with as many of the female defenders as possible. At Doc’s suggestion, they also left out poisoned substances, reluctantly prepared by Cater to simulate what the avians preferred to eat. The poison that Doc concocted, having examined the flesh of an avian before scavengers could devour it, would inhibit the formation of healthy yolks in the eggs.

“We may succeed in reducing the population on this continent in the next decade or so,” Doc remarked.

“You’re fixated on eggs, Doc,” Nimisha said slyly.

“Not at all, m’dear Nimisha,” was his airy reply, “but it does get to the heart of the problem.”

When the resources of the freighter were exhausted, the humans turned to the primitive mining that the Sh’im had already begun, and Nimisha focused her design talents on designing better mine hoists, drills, tracks, and carts.

“Rather primitive . . .” she said, dubiously reviewing the sketches.

“I’m no mining engineer,” Jon replied, “but I don’t see why those wouldn’t work. You based them on data from the library.”

“I just wish there were an easier, less physical way of achieving the same results,” she said. “It’s bloody hard work, even if we have been able to locate the main lodes without having to do a lot of exploratory prospecting.”

“The Sh’im won’t mind,” Syrona said.

“They’d be delighted to have work for some of the maturing younglings,” Casper said.

“They don’t pay attention to lessons. Ay says we’ve made life too easy for them,” Tim put in, disgusted. He was usually included in planning sessions since he often contributed good ideas, being closer in so many ways to the Sh’im. He, Ay, and Bee formed quite a triumvirate. “Used to be that as soon as they had all their teeth, they were sent out to hunt, gather wood, and search for tuber plants.”

“Well, I’ve designed the mining equipment for three-fingered usage,” Nimisha said, tapping the drawings.

“What’ll I use then?” Tim asked, affronted.

“You don’t need to mine,” Syrona said.

“I gotta show ’em all that I can do everything they can, and better. Then they can’t figure out ways to show me up,” Tim said with a malicious grin.

The others all laughed.

“We had noticed that little trick, Tim,” Jon said approvingly.

The inauguration of the Fiver-Sh’im Mining Company involved Nimisha as chief engineer so completely that she failed to notice any indications that she was beginning a third pregnancy.

“Nimi, pet,” Jon began one morning as they started the day by indulging in the most pleasurable of activities, “you can’t be putting on weight
just
here . . .” He spread his wide hand across her abdomen. “And, unless I’m mistaken, you seem to be a trifle touchy here—” He touched her left breast.

“Oh, shaggit,” she murmured, feeling her belly and wincing as she prodded her breasts. “I
am
pregnant. Not,” she added hurriedly, kissing him, “that I mind. The twins are old enough.”

“Have you seen Doc?”

“No, I haven’t,” she replied quickly and then grinned. “And it’s too late for him to fiddle me again.”

Jon turned a chuckle into an amused snort before he gathered her close against him. Then, with one finger, he traced the tattoo on her neck. “I never thought I’d father Vegan First Family progeny . . .”

“Let me remind you that
we
are the First Families of Erehwon, and that’s an achievement reserved to two families alone! Not many planets can boast that kind of hierarchy. Or do I mean hegemony?”

“Oligarchy?” Jon put in.

“Aristocracy . . . of some sort or another.”

“Whatever,” Jon said, and then he turned serious, smoothing her long hair back from her face. “Get Doc to check you over. You’ve been working pretty hard in the mines. And you’re to stay out of them from now on, hear me?”

“Oh, come on, Jon,” she said, a bit annoyed. “It’s not as if we’ve had any problems, not with being able to seal the shafts the way we have.”

He pulled her back when she started to rise. “No, I’m serious, Nimisha. You take enough chances as it is. Please don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“And I haven’t.”

“We all have,” he said in a very serious tone. “We all know we have, but there’s even more at stake for you now.” Once again he placed his hand on her abdomen.

“We can’t ask the Sh’im to do what we won’t. Tim’s notion on that score is very accurate,” she protested.

“Even the Sh’im females know when to stop working, lover mine.”

Nimisha looked down at a stomach no longer flat, feeling here and there as if trying to estimate what was going on inside. “I can’t be that far along. I’ve been feeling so energetic. Last time it was all I could do to get out of bed some mornings.”

“It’s your third—” He inhaled sharply, for any reference to her first daughter tended to sadden her.

“My third, yes. And Cuiva will be fourteen in three days. My dam will put on her Necklace—” Nimisha bit her lip, tears forming in her eyes. “—and pronounce that she has reached her minor majority so she can take her rightful place in society. Won’t my dam just love that!”

“Oh, my love . . .” Jon held her tenderly against him, wishing there were some way to relieve her anguish.

“We can’t be at the
end
of the universe, can we, that we’ve heard nothing?” she asked piteously.

“I devoutly hope not,” Jon said firmly, doing his best to comfort her.

“I
designed
that beacon. It’s eating our messages, so the receiver’s working.”

“I do feel more confidence in anything you’ve designed, love,” Jon said with a twinkle in his eye. “Now if it had been Fleet issue, I could entertain doubts.”

She sniffed, rubbed tears from her cheeks, and gave him an overbright smile. “I’m silly. There’s not a damned thing I can do about it. Nor you, but you’re sweet to worry over it.” She kissed him, pushed him away, and decisively swung her legs over the side of the bed.

She didn’t immediately check with Doc. Jon had to remind her twice. When she did, Doc sounded peevish.

“I honestly didn’t know,” Nimisha said, imbuing her tone with innocent surprise. “Jon noticed my belly protruding more than it should the other morning . . .”

“Other morning?” Doc repeated sarcastically.

“Two mornings ago, all right? I had to supervise the drilling of that new shaft in the iron mine.”

“Had to?”

“Had to,” she said, getting angry.

“You’re fine; fetal health and development is normal.” She felt a spray penetrate her left buttock. “That’s concentrated full-spectrum vitamins and minerals. I’ll send Cater the information for dietary additives. You may follow your troglodyte imperatives until even you can’t fit in those holes you’re digging.”

Unaccustomed to such curtness from Doc, Nimisha made haste to leave the Fiver and indulge in the “troglodyte” activities on her schedule. All too soon she discovered a sudden claustrophobia, and because Ers and Uv were now well able to supervise the underground work, she let them.

Other Sh’im, aided by Helm, were printing out the Sh’im history found on board the Bird Ship, as well as translating Sh’im glyphs into English. Helm was also translating a short history of humankind into Sh’im for Ool, Ook, and any others who might be interested. The older Sh’im, unable to work as long or hard as they had in their younger days, found that reading passed the time enjoyably. They repeated the information in storyteller sessions in the evenings, amusing the youngest Sh’im.

At Nimisha’s suggestion, Helm had glossed over human pre-space history and emphasized the space exploration and colonizing as more palatable to a species that had never indulged in wars and massacres. Then she accessed some of the ancient tales Nurse had read to her, and she made time every evening to read to Perria and Sven, who loved nothing better than a chance to curl up with Mimi, as they called her, and be read to.

“We’ll miss you, you know, Cuiva,” Caleb said, his remark echoed by everyone else gathered the day before Cuiva’s fourteenth birthday.

“I don’t believe I’ll be aware of time passing,” she said with a charming smile that reminded him of neither her mother nor her grandam. It was completely Cuivish, a development of the last year as she picked up womanly traits from the other five women on board the Five B.

She had learned everything she could from the specialists and signed off on every area open to a Junior Officer. She had then delved into independent and rather esoteric studies, almost exhausting the formidable resources of the onboard library. She had written two operettas that she had directed and performed in—scripting eminently suitable parts for the crew and the three AI’s, though Cater was the weakest of the cast and generally managed only the easiest of lines, similar to her programmed responses as Cater. Cuiva had composed music that Cherry, the most accomplished of the musicians on board, had genuinely acclaimed as close to brilliant.