Nimisha's Ship

CHAPTER 9

This is my ninth tour here," Lt. Commander Globan Escorias said as he reported to Captain Nesta Meterios, the current commander of the scout ship Acclarke, one of the Mark 4's. The officer he was replacing had boarded the courier ship with such avid relief on her face that he had grinned back at her on his way off the FSP supply ship. This had brought human and equipment replacements and consumables for both the Acclarke and the space station known as "Wormhunter." In fact, in his first tour, he'd coined the name "wormbusters" for the astronomers constantly scanning the area for any sign of their quarry. It was the hope that he would be aboard the Acclarke Four when the wormhole reappeared-and the extra pay-that kept luring him back.

"And just what does that imply, XO?" the commander asked sourly.

"Nothing really, sir," Escorias replied quickly. Maybe there was another reason for relief on the former XO's face as she left the Acclarke. "Only that I am already fully aware of the duties, parameters, and operating procedures relative of the Acclarke as your executive officer. Unless, of course," he added quickly as he saw her expression darken at his glib response, "there have been significant alterations with you as captain."

He closed his eyes briefly, wincing because that hadn't come out any better than his first cheerful remark.

Captain Nesta Meterios sighed, her face patient. "I wish I could tell you there were. There hasn't been so much as a-"

Red lights came on and the siren wailed a full alert.

"Helm?" the captain demanded. This was not the fully programmed independent AI that Escorias knew had been designed for the Fivers, but its reaction time was still faster than a human's.

"Sir, sensors indicate an unstable rippling effect in the area bordering sectors five and six."

"Alert the station. I spoke too soon," she said, gesturing for him to follow her out of her ready room and down the short passageway to the bridge. "XO, General Quarters," she yelled, inserting herself into the pilot's chair and gesturing for Globan to net into the second seat. "On the view screen, Helm." Then, under her breath, "If those supplies aren't secured…"

Board lights blinked into green readiness to indicate that all crew were reporting in at their battle stations, though out of the corner of his eye, Globan saw one crew member wearing only a towel tucked about his waist.

"Net in, prepare for emergency breakaway," the captain ordered.

It was obvious to Globan Escorias by the console that Helm had already anticipated a precipitous departure. The VSS Acclarke was always on standby, and Globan automatically took in the comforting gauge that registered full power available. What he couldn't easily explain was why the wormhole was so damned close to the station and the Acclarke, which were supposed to be several hundred thousand kilometres from the coordinates where Lady Nimisha's ship was lost.

"XO, find out the status of the wormbusters. Someone's going to insist on finishing some experiment, and they're closer than we are to that damned ripple."

Globan saw that the ripple was now a discernible wave, with light like combers breaking through in places.

"Spatial disturbance is growing," Helm said dispassionately.

"Fraggit," said the captain. "Tell the wormies to get into their escape pods. Now! Drop whatever they're doing and get into their pods!" Her voice began to rise from contralto to a frightened soprano pitch.

Globan felt his heart pounding with excitement. To be here when it happened had been the ambition of everyone who had served the long, tedious hours on the Nimisha watch, as the Fleet officially called it.

"Helm," he said, following the standard procedure he'd never thought he'd have to originate, "dispatch a pulse back to Coyne III, with these coordinates for the wormhole."

Meterios shot him a furious glance and then recovered herself as she realised he was fulfilling his duties and initiating an operating procedure in which he had previously been well drilled.

"Aye, sir. Pulse dispatched," Helm responded.

"Probe ready for launch," Meterios said.

"Probe activated and ready, sir," Helm responded.

"XO, are those wormies getting to their pods?" Meterios asked.

"We're not supposed to be so close to it," was the annoyed response to Meterios's query. "We're supposed to be far enough away for observation."

"Observe the phenomena from your escape pod, Dr. Qualta," Globan said, recognising the voice of the senior astronomer on the Wormhunter.

"Helm," Meterios said, "get as close as you can to the station and forward of it."

Globan was not at all sure he liked being a sacrificial offering to anything. He also doubted by what means the captain thought to protect the much more vulnerable space station.

Dr. Qualta had left the comunit open and he could hear noises, metal and other clackings. "Move it, Dr. Qualta," he said into his comunit, knowing the propensity of the older woman to procrastinate. "Don't haul anything in with you," he added, rating a startled glance from Meterios.

"Oh yassssus," the captain cried, her voice rising to a near squeak.

Globan gulped, wishing he could get that much out of his mouth as first a whiteness appeared in black space where none had been. It widened slowly, approximating a grinning toothless maw. That's what those who had seen wormholes called it: a maw.

"Hold steady. Helm," Meterios said, trying to keep her voice even.

"Probe's launched," Helm said. They could already see the flare of its rockets as it streamed across the all-too-short distance between the Acclarke and the widening lipless smile of the wormhole.

"Full reverse, Helm," Meterios said.

"Full reverse already engaged, sir," was Helm's calm reply.

"Then why are we moving forward, Helm?"

"The engines are fully engaged, Captain," Helm said. "The wormhole is powerful."

"Gods above," some crewman said, "look what's happening to the station!"

Meterios abruptly signalled Globan to look while she tried her best to increase the resistance of the Acclarke to the superior force drawing it steadily into the wormhole.

"The station's breaking up, Captain."

"Launch, you worm-watchers, launch." Meterios screamed.

"The order has been given." Helm said even as Globan reached for the intercom. "This unit is operating on emergency override, Captain."

The captain nodded, accepting the fact that an AI's reflexes and preprogrammed procedures had taken over control of the ship.

She and Globan watched as the individual pods shot out of the now-twisting structure of the space station, its interlocked units breaking up into shards and flying debris. Several of the pods even seemed to be making headway from the disaster area. Then they, like the heavier Acclarke, were inexorably drawn toward the phenomenon. Globan realised he was grasping the armrests and leaning as far back in the safety net as he could, being pushed even further into the padding by the increased velocity with which the ship was being pulled in.

"Net in, net in!" the captain yelled. "If they aren't netted in, they'll be pulp," she murmured and groaned, unable to close her eyes as they entered the maw. "Helm, can you establish the position of the piggyback?"

"It is operational, sir, and some distance ahead of us."

"I hope the shagging thing works," Globan muttered. He had so hoped for some action on this duty. Well, he was getting far more then he had ever expected. The Fiver had been missing for over five years now. In fact, the rescue mission aboard the Five B ought to be nearing its destination, half a galaxy away-a distance they were about to take by shortcut. At least he hoped they would end up where Lady Nimisha and the Fiver had. Of course, there was absolutely no assurance that they would. They could well be number twenty on the Missing Ship list.

This wasn't an easy ride. Even with the refined devices incorporated into the Acclarke, as well as the faster response time of an AI helmsman, they were still bounced and dropped and dribbled along a corridor that seemed to contract and expand in no regular pattern. Now and then Globan could see the riding lights of the poor wormbusters in the pods; the behaviour of light in the worm-hole was as capricious as the diameter of its gullet, just so long as it had no stomach, Globan thought. Except for the flashing of prongs and spears of rock or unknown debris, the Acclarke was travelling too fast for either occupant of the bridge to discern any details of the innards of the wormhole. The pods were being bounced back and forth like so many balls. He didn't think even the most efficient netting could save lives. What a hideous way to die!

The gravitational pressure eased far more abruptly than it had begun. Globan realised that he was dizzy from holding his breath, and then they were flung forward again at such a high velocity that he thought his skin would peel off his bones.

"Return probe just passed us, sir," Helm's dispassionate voice reported.

Globan managed to turn his head enough so he could see Nesta Meterios's pressure-flattened face. She didn't appear as comforted as he was that the probe device was working. Unless, of course, the entrance maw closed before it could exit. Its engine was the most powerful Rondymense had ever constructed, driving a slender package at IS drive speeds. But would it be powerful and fast enough to exit on the right side, leaving a view that could be identified by other searchers?

As abruptly as they had been swallowed, they were spat out into black space. The wormhole pouted once more, as if it hadn't liked the taste of them at all, and closed up. There was no sign whatever that that particular portion of space had ever been breached.

"A standard beacon, two points starboard, Captain," Helm reported in its unemotional baritone, "has been identified as similar to the type used by Lady Nimisha's Fiver. It is still pulsing a Mayday and has data to be downloaded."

"Download by all means, Helm," Captain Meterios said in a breathy voice, but she was back down in the contralto register. "Damage report? Crew?"

Each station reported; some of the six voices sounded shaky.

"Prepare to retrieve the station's pods," she said in such a bleak voice that Globan knew she shared his doubts that they'd find any survivors. "Helm, engage retrieval pattern."

"How many should there be?" Globan asked, releasing his safety net while scanning their immediate vicinity for the blinking lights that an inhabited escape pod should be emitting.

"Twelve," the captain replied, licking pale lips in a shock-white face.

He wondered how he looked and then realised that his mouth was dry as dust. He had no idea how long that incredible journey had taken.

He released his harness. "I'll check casualties."

"Do," Meterios said. "Helm, easy as you go to the first pod on the starboard. It's nearest."

"Aye, sir."

Globan entered the day room-which also held the medical facility-just as the man in the towel led in a yeowoman with a broken arm and face scratches.

"You're not in uniform," Globan said, taking charge of the injured yeowoman and jerking his head toward the crew quarters. He pretended not to hear the muttered response. "When you are, bring the captain a mug of stim."

"I'll do that, sir," another man said, holding a rag to his forehead. "That was the Chief Engineer," he added in an undertone.

"The least he could do is tattoo his rank on his arm," Globan remarked with a wry smile as he helped the yeowoman into the sick bay. "Let me see that first," he added.

"Nu-skin'll take care of it, sir," the man said, pointing to the appropriate cabinet on the wall.

Globan knew enough about lacerations to confirm the self-diagnosis just as the medical rating arrived to take care of the broken arm. There were several other minor cuts and certainly bruises, but they were all attended to before Globan joined the medic, Parappan, at the main hatch to receive the escape pods. Before Helm had eased the Acclarke near enough to gently grapple the first one, Globan sorted out the crew he had had no time to be introduced to. The Chief Engineer was Evard Hinvic; Ace Parappan, the medic; the gunnery officer, Brad Karpla; the yeowoman was Tezza Ashke; Luthen Drayus was the com jig; and the yeoman was Fez Amin, who doubled as captain's steward.

It took hours to locate and retrieve eleven pods. Globan decided not to think about what had happened to the one that had not been debouched on this side of the wormhole.

Five passengers had died because they had not securely netted themselves into the shock-absorbent couch provided. The other six were injured, one critically; she was instantly placed in the medical unit, while Globan, Brad Karpla, and the Chief Engineer tried to make the others as comfortable as possible.

The captain appeared, speaking to each of the survivors, none of whom could quite believe that they were still alive.

"I have good news," Nesta Meterios said. "The beacon is packed with updates from Lady Nimisha. She has found human survivors of the Poolbeg and another ship." She acknowledged the weak smiles at her attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

That news shocked others out of self-absorption and depression. "In fact, they have a thriving community on one of the M-type planets," she continued. "Three were discovered in her initial survey of this sector of space."

"Then Lady Nimisha is still alive?"

The captain gave a real smile. "Alive, well, and, with the survivors of the Poolbeg, colonising Erehwon. Last update is three weeks ago."

"Erehwon?" the chief exclaimed, looking up from spraying nu-skin on the multiple abrasions of the civilian communications expert from the space station.

"That's 'nowhere' backward," Globan said.

"Appropriate, I'd say," the captain remarked in her dry voice.

"Yes, I guess it is if you don't know where you are."

"Wasn't that a story from pre-space travel times?" the civilian asked, trying to distract himself from his discomfort. No one seemed to know.

"Then the Five B hasn't arrived yet?" the chief asked.

The captain shook her head. "It isn't due for several more months. We took the shortcut. Helm, did the probe safely clear the wormhole?"

"Unable to confirm, Captain. However, judging by the speed at which it was travelling and the duration of our time within the phenomenon, there is a good chance that it exited before closure."

"But you're not sure?"

"No, sir. That cannot be ascertained, despite factoring in the variables of the wormhole itself and choosing the best possible conclusion. Since the wormhole did not exhibit any stable size or exert a constant rate of speed while we were within the phenomenon, we cannot be sure the return probe was able, or in time, to exit. However, the possibility is significantly favourable that its size allowed it passage where a large object would have been retained."

Globan blinked, trying to assimilate that spurt of almost contradictory phrases. He thought the captain was experiencing a similar difficulty.

"If it did, it did," Nesta Meterios said finally, raising her hands in fatalistic acceptance of the circumstances. "Damage report, Helm?"

"The hull came in contact with the sides of the wormhole on nine separate occasions but sustained no significant damage. All systems are in working order."

"If you have stripped the coordinates of this M-type planet Lady Nimisha has discovered…"

"I have, sir."

"Then let us proceed to that world. Doc, what is Dr. Qualta's condition?"

"Serious, sir, with broken ribs and internal bleeding that has now been stemmed. The doctor will require monitoring. Unless there is another patient requiring diagnostic evaluation, it would be best to retain Dr. Qualta in this unit."

The captain looked from the medic, who was closing a scalp wound with nu-skin and regen gel on one of the wormhunters, to the chief, who was dealing with a station technician's skinned legs and arms, to the other patients who were either making use of the couches in the lounge or eating.

With a nod of her head, Nesta made it plain to Globan that she wanted a private word with him. He followed her back to the bridge.

"One thing bothers me, XO," she said. "There are messages on the beacon that Lady Nimisha ought to have been able to strip, reassuring her about the Five B's rescue mission and other matters." Meterios's expression did not conceal her grave concern. "I had Helm scan the beacon, and he discovered small holes that might be meteor damage and could have affected any relays to her on this planet she's found."

Globan nodded, trying to radiate calm reassurance. To him. the captain appeared still somewhat dazed by their wormhole ride and the extent of the injuries to the Wormhunter's personnel. He hoped she'd been given a proper stimulant. Well, that's why there was always an XO, even on a ship as relatively small as the Acclarke.

"Which reminds me, XO, did you bring any disks for me? We never got to that part of our introductory meeting."

She sounded a bit more like a captain then. Globan had forgotten the packet completely. He felt for it in his uniform pocket and handed the disks over.

"Mostly mail," she said, opening it and shuffling through the various disks. "Always welcome. Perhaps more so now than ever before. Ah, and some updates for the library. D'you think," she went on more slowly, her brown eyes clouded, "that the supply ship made it out of danger?"

Globan relaxed a bit and grinned. "She was burning her way homeward before I reached your office, sir."

"Yes, I should imagine she was. I hope they made it." She stood, hands lightly clasped behind her back, regarding the sprinkling of stars visible. "This seems almost as empty an area as the one we left."

"I wasn't aware that wormholes also ingested planets or moons or suns, sir."

She shrugged.

"I do know, sir, that Fleet Headquarters has sent a warning to all naval units to avoid the… area we just left to prevent any further inexplicable disappearances."

"Too late for us, of course, but high time. I wonder how long it took them to make such an obvious order." She glanced over at him. "Forget I said that."

"Said what, Captain?"

She awarded him a smile. "This will not be your normal tour of duty, Escorias."

"No, sir, it won't."

"Perhaps you'll wish to settle in."

"JON!" Nimisha cried as Helm delivered the news that had been pulsed in from the Acclarke.

He came racing to the bridge, his eyes wide with apprehension.

"No, it's not me," she exclaimed. She was far bulkier this time and suspected twins again, no matter if Doc kept on saying, "Foetal development is progressing with no problems." She was in her last three weeks of pregnancy and wanted nothing more earnestly than to be delivered.

"Report, Helm," she said, trying to get comfortable in a pilot's chair that had not been designed to accommodate her present mass.

"A ship identified as the VSS Acclarke is in IS drive heading in this direction."

"No message?" Nimisha was both annoyed and surprised.

"I have dispatched a welcome," Helm said, "but there has been no acknowledgment. Possibly their exterior comunits have been damaged in the passage through the wormhole-if that was their mode of entry into this section of space."

"They couldn't know we've even got a comsat, dear," Jon said, pressing her shoulder with a consoling hand. "It won't take them long."

"If you tell me to be patient one more time, Jonagren…"

"I wouldn't dream of it. Nor dare." And with a second quick squeeze of his hand, he backed off. "I'll tell the others. At last, rescue."

"We don't know that," she said, pushing herself to her feet with difficulty and arching her aching back as she followed him into the main cabin. "I'd say if they accessed the wormhole exit buoy, they got sucked in, too. VSS Acclarke? I don't remember a ship of that designation at Fleet Headquarters."

"We've been gone a long while," Jon reminded her on their way to the hatch.

"Still," she said, pausing to grip the back of a chair, "if it came through the wormhole and was able to access the buoy's information and head here, it might well be one of my ships."

Jon paused in the act of taking the first step down, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Only an AI Helm could make it safely through the wormhole, you know," she said with understandable pride.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You saved us, Helm, no question of it."

"I'll spread the good news," Jon said and disappeared.

"Oh, save me," Nimisha murmured, perching on the arm of the chair, panting from her recent exertions: she who had been able to run kilometres for the sheer joy of the exercise. She was overwhelmingly grateful to the groups of Sh'im who minded the rambunctious human children, Hope as well as three-year-old Perria and Sven. She was going to have Doc replace her implant. This was her last pregnancy. Period. End of her maternal increasing! She had intended to have at least a girl by Casper for Tim's sake, since they had to spread the gene pool as wide as they could. Well, they might have had to… But how could they have counted on being rescued after so long? When there hadn't been a single pulse beamed back to her beacon? It wasn't as if she didn't adore the twins, mischievous demons that they were. But much as she loved them, they could not ease that aching need for her far-distant firstborn body-heir. Surely by now the pulse had reached a listening comsat somewhere in the civilised galaxy! And surely this new arrival might have news: some message from her grown-up daughter. Her dam would surely have put the Necklace on Cuiva, wouldn't she?

"Don't be so vapid, Nimisha Boynton," she chided herself.

"You are far from vapid, Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense," Doc said. "Helm says the ship should arrive within two or three days. It would certainly have accumulated some news in the six years since our arrival here. If I do not misread Commander Rustin's ingenuity, any ship set to watch for the reappearance of that worm-hole will bear personal messages for you. Most certainly one or more from your daughter, and many from your dam, Lady Rezalla."

"Mother will certainly have something to say about my absence," Nimisha said dryly.

"Possibly the official mail might include a means of rescue from this outpost of civilisation."

"Outpost of…" Despite herself, Nimisha chuckled, though even that activity was difficult with so much mass in front of her. "We are, aren't we?"

"Indeed, my dear Nimisha, you and the Sh'im have civilised this continent." There was the slightest emphasis on "this."

"Now what's at the back of your devious mind, Doc?"

"With the complement of a ship's crew, expansion may be feasible," he said, highly pleased.

"I'll tell you this, loud and clear, Doctor Lord Naves, from the moment I deliver my current little package, I am out-" She paused for emphasis."-of the maternity business."

"Which I would strongly advise, my dear Nimisha," Doc said, with a ripple that she could not quite translate.

"What's behind that advice, Doc?" she asked suspiciously.

"The conservation of your energies for other tasks eminently suited to your particular training and expertise," he replied, in that oh-so-bland voice he could assume. "As I have heard you remark, you, Jon, Casper, and Syrona constitute the First Families of Erehwon. I cannot see any group usurping that position."

She heard excited voices then, the higher pitched ones of her twins, as well as Timmy's alto warnings. The six other humans on Erehwon piled into the Fiver's main chamber. Syrie had evidently left her young twins, boy and girl, with their Sh'im caregiver. The adults all had questions, and their babble made Nimisha hold up her hands for silence.

"I know no more than Jon's told you. Helm says they're on their way. He's sent a message, but it has not been acknowledged. But in two or three days they'll make it here. They are heading directly here, so clearly they downloaded our data."

"Oh, shroo-oom," Syrona exclaimed, using a Sh'im sound meaning excited anticipation. "News, people, new faces. Rescue?" Her expression flickered through hope, distress, and delight, and ended up in uncertainty.

"There wouldn't be boys my age on a naval ship, would there?" Tim asked plaintively.

"We don't know that it is a naval ship, Tim, so you may retain your number one status," Casper said, circling the boy's wide young shoulders with an affectionate arm. "Grab Hope before she spills whatever she's ordering from Cater," he added, pointing to his three-year-old daughter who had just marched up to Cater and politely requested a drink.

"You are allowed a fruit juice at this time of day," Cater said, following programmed orders on the care and feeding of human young.

"Can I get you anything, Nim?" Tim asked solicitously.

Jon had taken Perria and Sven off to clean their hands and faces, which managed to attract far more dirt than Sh'im younglings ever collected.

"A drink. I think I was on my way for a drink before I stopped," Nimisha said wearily.

* Syrona gave her a surreptitious glance, trying not to be too obvious in her check on her very pregnant friend. Nimisha gave her a reassuring flick of her hand.

"The arm of this chair is the right height, that's all, Syrie. I did move as fast as I could when Helm reported receiving a message. At long, long last!"

She accepted her drink from Tim, thanked him, and gratefully sipped it. She could neither drink nor eat much at one time anymore, so small, frequent snacks had become her habit.

"Backache?" Syrie asked, and without waiting for an answer, started to rub exactly where she could give Nimisha the most relief. Nimisha had done the same when Syrona had been pregnant with Calum and Camilla.

Jon returned with his children, who tugged him toward Cater.

"I'll see them served and seated," Tim said, immediately taking charge.

"He's so good with them," Syrie said proudly. "I wonder, though, are we presuming on his good nature too much?"

"I don't think so," Jon said. "The Sh'im take over once they're outside and he goes off with the younglings. He's only just back from their latest foray."

"Maybe there'll be a way to get him back to Acclarke and a peer group," Nimisha said.

"He does fine here," Casper said, "Doesn't he, Syrie?"

Syrona put both hands gently on Nimisha's arms and pressed gently. "Even if we could get back, I don't think we'd want to." She paused and craned around to look at Nimisha's face. "You would, of course, for Cuiva's sake."

Nimisha didn't trust her voice to answer, nodding instead. Cuiva had gradually assumed far more importance than anything she could achieve at the Ship Yard. The Fiver had proved itself and, if the ship on its way to them was one of her design and had survived its wormhole transit as well as the Fiver had, she had proved her design and could… do something else, more challenging. If only Cuiva…

A pain shot through her and she gasped.

"Uh-oh," Syrona said. "Doc…"

"Bring her over here."

Jon was beside her in an instant, helping Syrona lift her to her feet. He half-bent to pick her up, but she stopped him. "Walking's useful," she said, and then gasped as a second, far sharper pain caught. "Maybe not this time."

He grunted as he settled her in his arms and made a joke of groaning at her weight, depositing her quickly within the diagnostic unit as extendibles moved to preprogrammed positions.

Casper and Tim were herding the children out again, leaving Jon and Syrona to cope with the delivery.

"We've got this down to a fine arrrrrrt-" Nimisha's gasp cut off her attempt at humour and Syrona was pulling the voluminous smock up over the swollen abdomen even as the couch adjusted itself for the task ahead.

"This is going very fast, Nimi," Doc said. She felt the cool of the hypospray, and then a third unbelievably intense contraction was cut off.

"What happened?" she cried, alarmed.

"You won't feel a thing now," Doc assured her at his most persuasive.

She exhaled a relieved sigh and leaned back against the pillows now propping her into a more comfortable position. Jon took her left hand in his and, with the other, dabbed at her face with a cool cloth.

"Thanks, love."

She couldn't feel but she could see the action of the uterine muscles, and she adjusted her breathing accordingly. At Doc's urging, Syrona pushed down on Nimisha's abdomen and, with a startled cry, kept the emerging baby from a headfirst collision with the foot of the couch.

"A boy," Syrona said.

"But I can't have had one so soon," Nimisha exclaimed, noticing no appreciable diminution in the size of her belly.

"Take it, Jon," Doc said quickly.

"I'm having more twins?" Nimisha demanded, furious.

"No," Doc said calmly. "Triplets."

Nimisha was speechless, which was just as well, because both Jon and Syrona were too busy handling three babies and the afterbirths. Syrona, holding the first son, rushed to the open hatch and called Casper back.

"Doc?" Jon said in a tone of outrage that gratified Nimisha.

"Yes, yes, I knew, but as you also know, Nimisha didn't come near me during the first trimester. This is all your, or her, doing. Or maybe there's something in Erehwon's soil that is increasing human fertility. I don't know, but I swear upon my Hippocratic oath-"

"You're an AI, you never swore one," Nimisha roused enough to protest weakly

"Lord Naves did," Doc replied so caustically that Nimisha realised he had not tampered with this pregnancy, though how he could have, she couldn't guess. "I'm replacing your implant right now," he added.

"Saves me insisting," Jon said firmly.

Nimisha groaned. Holding the girl he had taken while Casper coped with the third, another boy, he strode to the head of the couch and kissed her tenderly.

"I don't mind having so many children from you, Nimisha Boynton, but I don't like you so distressed."

"She's perfectly healthy, Jon," Doc said. "I wish I knew what to look for to isolate the factor of so many multiple births in you two women. The good aspect is how far up this will raise you in the esteem of the Sh'im."

"There is that." Despite herself, Nimisha started to laugh almost uncontrollably and was immensely grateful for the analgesic that prevented her abdominal muscles from hurting at the abuse of laughter.

"No, she's not hysterical," Doc said when the others looked concerned. "At least she sees the funny side of this."

"I'm not sure I do," Jon said almost savagely.

The need to placate him sobered Nimisha and she pulled his face closer to her, stroking his cheek and then parting the wrapper of the child he held so she could see the face of her latest daughter.

"She looks like Cuiva did," she said, blurting it out, and then she was crying as uncontrollably as she had been laughing.

"I'll handle this one," was the last thing she heard Doc say as a friendly oblivion overtook her.

She woke in her own bed, Jon dozing in the chair, his head propped on one hand. She was sore, but at least she could see her toes again, and she breathed such a sigh of relief that Jon woke with a start.

"How are you?" he asked, dropping to his knees beside the bed, clasping her hand and then smoothing her hair back from her face.

"I feel a little sore, and a great deal foolish for that emotional show."

He smiled. "Shock is what I'd call it. Does the girl really resemble Cuiva?"

"As she was at birth," Nimisha said, trying not to let the sadness she felt colour her words. Then she looked around. "Where are the babies? Are they all right? I never even looked at them."

"They're fine, Uk, EIoo, and Lal are minding them in the spare cabin. They've been bathed, fed, and are sleeping."

"You look so tired, love," she said, fingering his silvering hair back over his right ear.

"I am," he admitted. "Doc did replace your implant. Five children are more than enough. More than enough."

"I haven't really minded, Jon, but having them one at a time in the normal fashion would have been much easier."

He gave a tired chuckle. She patted the other side of the bed, which he normally slept in. "If the babies are in Sh'im keeping, you need your sleep."

He slid in from the foot of the bed so he wouldn't rock her, but when he measured his length beside her, she snuggled against him, grasping his left hand in hers and pillowing her head on his upper arm. He was asleep almost as soon as she dropped off again.