Dawn of Peace
By Cheezey
Part Two
The amused Jackalman was still grinning even after his laughter had stopped. He made his way through the royal palace of the Mutant Warrior King with a message in hand to share with someone he knew would find it as funny as he did. He rapped on the door of Slythe’s office. “Slythe? You in there?” the jackal called.
A plump little gray rodent Mutant on staff came up from behind. “He’s not in there, Liaison Jackalman,” the rat said, greeting him by the formal title he held for his work in Ratar-O’s court. “He’s in the kitchen.”
Just like Ratar-O’s little bitch, Jackalman thought with a sneer, but he chose not to say it, lest the weasely little rat go and repeat his words to someone he would rather not hear them, such as Slythe himself. The reptile might not have had his previous lofty station any longer, but he still had his bulk and fists. “Oh? I’ll have to pay him a visit there then. Maybe I can, nyah, get a sample of what’s being served for dinner!” He chuckled and headed off to the huge kitchen that served Ratar-O’s palace.
He found Slythe in there, arms folded, wielding a giant tenderizing mallet as though he was going to tenderize the head chef with it. “I can sssssmell that infernal bolatzi powder all the way in my office. I told you it ruins the gravy, and it’s expenssssive to boot. Now re-make that and have this dumped in the moat where it belongs, yesss!”
Jackalman sniffed at the air, not finding the offensive scent that had Slythe’s scales up in arms. Of course his keen canine senses could smell the spice in contention, but he did not mind it as much as the reptilian apparently did. “Making sure everything’s tasty and delicious for Ratar-O’s banquet with the simians this evening?”
“Get your mangy hide out of the kitchen. We’re trying to keep vermin out,” Slythe retorted when he saw who was speaking to him.
“I’m hurt,” Jackalman said with a mock pout on his muzzle. “And here I just came to tell you something that might brighten your day.”
“My day would be brightened by one lesssss idiot ruining it,” he said, and cast a sharp glare at the cook he had just finished hollering at, who was muttering Plundarrian curses under his breath as he disposed of the gravy that Slythe had declared unfit for Mutant consumption. Slythe glowered at him for a moment to be sure that he was doing as he had been ordered, and then turned back to Jackalman with a dubious look on his face. “So what do you want, Jackalman?”
Holding up the message in his furred hands, the jackal grinned again. “I thought you might find this as amusing as I did. It’s a message from Vultureman over on the Third Moon.”
The reptilian rolled his eyes. “This day gets better and better. What does that buzzard want?”
“Nothing, just to share some news about our old pals the Lunatacs.” He snickered. “There’s going to be a wedding.”
That made the reptilian do a double-take. “Wedding? What fool would be dessssperate enough to marry Luna?”
“Not Luna,” Jackalman corrected him, chortling again. “Nyah, I can’t imagine anyone pathetic enough to sink to that low.”
“It’d be a cold day in the pit of flames before I could see anyone doing it,” Slythe agreed. “So who, then?”
“Chilla,” Jackalman told him. “To Alluro.”
Slythe eyed Jackalman strangely for a moment, and then let out a hearty belly laugh as he pictured a wedding between the iciest bitch of Third Earth and the arrogant hypnotist that was inarguably more effeminate than his alleged bride. “All right, you got me that time, yesss! And it was actually pretty creative for something you’d come up with. I needed that!”
Laughing with him for a moment, Jackalman shook his head. “But I’m serious! If you don’t believe me, look at this. Vultureman sent it himself.” He handed Slythe the message.
The reptilian snatched it away and read it, the expression on his face flickering between amused, bewildered, and puzzled seemingly in time with the way his tail swished back and forth. “I was about to wonder if that buzzard had finally lost it over there with those crazy Lunatacs, but maybe not.” He laughed again. “Chilla and Alluro getting married not just for love,” he made a face indicating how ridiculous such a notion was to him, “but because they have to, yesss! I wonder if Luna ordered them to do that.”
“To have unprotected sex, or to get married?”
Slythe snickered along with his former jackal comrade. “Maybe ordering Chilla to get laid would lighten her up, but I didn’t think Alluro could take that kind of heat—or cold.”
“I didn’t even think he went that way,” Jackalman quipped, and the two mutants chortled again. “But then again, he does have a son, so I guess not.”
“You’d think someone that could help our former inventor come up with something like that telepathy beam could figure out the basics of protection.”
“Maybe Chilla doesn’t like how they feel. You know she wears the pants in that relationship, even if she is in a dress.”
Slythe sneered at Jackalman. “You mean like your wife?” He then shook his head. “So which one do you think will get stuck changing diapers?”
Ignoring the dig at him, Jackalman replied, “Nyah, they ought to make Luna do it, since she’s full of it anyway.”
Despite the Mutants’ crude conjecture about the situation, Alluro and Chilla’s wedding took place without much incident. There was some tension prior to the ceremony, where Luna made barbed remarks about the inappropriateness of Chilla wearing a white wedding dress, regardless of the fact that it was the ice woman’s favorite color, and an unfortunate lunar stylist nearly had her hot curling iron shoved in an unpleasant place when she brought it too close to the icewalker’s head, but other than that it proceeded smoothly. Alluro had been in his element at center stage with so many important individuals of the Moons wishing him well, and had basked in the spotlight even more than his bride, who he had to admit looked absolutely lovely in her shimmering gown and the emerald-encrusted sapphire necklace set in platinum that she had worn to ceremony. That had turned out to be their wedding gift from Selene, who mentioned at the reception afterward that it was only fitting that her stepmother-in-law have some lovely jewelry befitting her station. Psiarik confided later that while the gift was generously intended, it was also given because Selene liked any excuse to shop and already had more jewelry than she could reasonably wear in any amount of time. Alluro, of course, did not mind, for anything that made Chilla look beautiful also made him look good with her on his arm.
The reception had been interesting. TugMug came back from Tukabir to attend and he livened up the party. Luna had convinced Selene to send the invitation at the last minute so that he could not possibly show up in time to attend Alluro’s bachelor party and embarrass the whole royal household. Though certainly TugMug would have seen to it that first class booze and hot strippers abounded, Alluro’s bachelor party was still a swanky little affair held in a classy club in town. Psiarik delegated the task to some of the MoonTower’s staff that specialized in party-throwing, and they had a fun night out. While not in the abundance TugMug surely would have brought them, a stripper or two still made it in despite Selene and Luna’s attempts to keep the affair proper. Rumor had it that Frostor was to blame for that. While he did not comment on that one way or another, he certainly did have a comment about a remark he heard through the grapevine that he could not pin down on any one in particular, although there was a list of usual suspects—the quip being that with all the time he spent around Luna, he wanted to see some prime eye candy for a change.
RedEye even had fun, although his friends needled him a bit about his apparent lack of interest in the pretty Lunatac ladies serving their drinks and meal. He pointed out that with his vision, strippers did not appeal much since he could get an eyeful of what was under the clothing of just about any woman anywhere that caught his attention anyway. Alluro and Psiarik followed up by pointing out that Lushara might as well stop wearing clothes around him altogether, then, and the normally quiet darkling only made token protests to that. The grin he had on his face during them, however was too telling for them to be very believable. After a few drinks, Alluro eventually got his old Skytomb companion to admit that he and the darkling woman of the MoonTower were involved romantically. RedEye was quick to point out however, that unlike Alluro, he knew how to use the Silver Bottle so no one would need to worry about another rush wedding anytime in his near future.
Jokes about that, and about whether or not he and Lushara would be next anyway followed, but as it turned out, fate had a different individual in mind for the next union. At the reception, TugMug was at the open bar getting a refill on his beer when Chilla’s headdress toss—a custom loosely borrowed from another culture in which the ceremonial tiara that Lunatac women wore in their marriage ceremonies was thrown to the unmarried female guests at the wedding—occurred. A boisterous graviton woman with pink hair styled into a fluffy mohawk, a longtime friend of one of the castle staff, had been let into the reception on the sly. She had joined the crowd to catch the lucky tiara and made no bones about shoving others out of her way to get it. Athletic as Chilla was, she threw like a ball player and it vaulted way into the back of the crowd. The graviton set her sights on the headdress like a hawk and caught it—just as she barreled into TugMug at the bar, knocking him over and covering them both with his stein full of Eclipse Stout. She and TugMug spent the rest of the wedding reception together. Nobody asked questions afterward, but it was plain enough that the two had hit it off.
When the whirlwind evening was over, Alluro and Chilla departed on a luxury ship for a resort on the ice moon for their honeymoon. Although Alluro was no fan of wintry weather, as long as their hotel was posh and served hot drinks, and there was a hot tub calibrated for non-icewalkers, he was set. Chilla looked forward to the vacation on her home moon, somewhere cold enough that the average lunar would not be able to follow her outside without their lips turning blue and their babble catching in their throat. Chilla also had the thought that it would work well if Alluro got on her nerves, too. Just because she married him, it did not mean that she expected him to suddenly not be an arrogant and egotistical jerk. If the truth was to be told, she would not have him any other way.
Shortly after Alluro and Chilla’s wedding and departure, Frostor approached Selene and Psiarik in a quieter moment when the three of them were alone together. “I need to speak with you both,” he said in a serious tone.
“What is it?” asked Psiarik.
“With all that’s been going on, and given that it hasn’t been that long since we lost Silvian, I wasn’t sure whether to bring this up or not,” he began, frowning as he rubbed his beard. “But since Alluro and Chilla’s wedding and the news about the king having a half-sibling being born will come out soon, it’ll probably lead to talk anyway.”
Selene frowned. “What do you mean, Frostor?”
The ice general looked from the queen to her psi husband. “The disasters changed a lot, but you ruling is one thing that’s part of the old society that stayed put. While that’s a good thing, it means that while survival trumps tradition on a number of levels, it doesn’t do it for all of them.” Frostor gave them a sharp look and then continued. “I’m sure you both know that in pre-disaster society, your marriage never would’ve been permitted. Had you defied tradition and married outside of an approved royal bloodline match, you’d likely have been disowned and Silvian named the heir. As it is, the Lunatac people were more worried about what the next day would bring than who the queen married after it all hit the proverbial fan, so there wasn’t much protest made with you marrying Psiarik. Even in the unlikely event that you two would choose to have children given the risks involved, the throne probably would’ve passed to Silvian or his children after you, given his full royal bloodline.”
Nodding, Selene said, “Yes, we talked about all that back then.” The young queen had been disappointed back when she had been told that it would be ill-advised for her to bear children with the man she had fallen in love with, as she had always imagined having a family someday. Unfortunately, lunar-psi hybrid babies averaged a size far larger than a woman of her stature could safely give birth to. Lunar-psi crosses were not all that uncommon, but generally the mother was the psi and the father the lunar. Selene had since reconciled herself to being childless, but now that Frostor brought it up, she had a feeling that a change in plans was about to be suggested given that her brother was no longer in the picture.
Psiarik also guessed what Frostor was thinking. “And now that Silvian’s gone, and because he never married a lunar noblewoman or had heirs, Selene’s the last of the family.”
“The last direct member, yes,” Frostor said. “She has relations, such as Luna and other cousins, and while they won’t challenge Selene directly, the birth of your half-sibling,” he looked at Psiarik, “will be seen as a threat should something happen to Selene, because under normal circumstances, such a familial tie would mean that he or she could potentially be named your successor. Also, by traditional law, you would step aside for a more legitimate claim, and being a psi, just about any lunar with a royal bloodline would consider him or herself more legitimate than you and any relation of yours not tied to Selene. The fact that your mother’s family was noble-born might make a little difference, but probably only to other psis. Certainly not lunars, and if you did wind up keeping the throne, you can bet that icewalkers, darklings, gravitons, and every other race or cross on the moons would wonder why a throne that had previously been exclusively for the lunars was suddenly open to psis but not them. It’d start ugly civil unrest, and both you and Alluro and Chilla’s child would be ripe assassination targets for anyone looking to assert that their claims are more valid. Unless—”
“Unless we had an heir,” Selene finished.
Frostor nodded. “If you had a child or two, your line would be continued. Some might grumble about half-breed blood on the throne, but very few would have the nerve to challenge the legitimate son or daughter of the lunar queen by bloodline. It would also lay unwanted speculation about Psiarik’s half-sibling, born to low-born pardoned criminals, someday getting a claim on the throne to rest. The Moons are in a volatile state as it is, and adding political upheaval to it would only make it worse.”
Putting his hands on Selene’s shoulders, Psiarik frowned and said, “What about the risk that’d put on her? We were told back when we got married that her having my child would be dangerous.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about that,” the ice general replied. “You know I think of you like my own daughter, Selene. But that’s also why I’m concerned, because I think now that Silvian’s gone, for the good of the Moons the risk of not securing your line is greater than the risk of bearing a child.”
“And we do have better healers and doctors now than we did years ago when the disasters had us cut off. We’re a lot more connected than we were to the other moons for finding expert advice. That kind of medical assistance isn’t hard to get anymore.” She turned toward Psiarik thoughtfully. “I know Altheus has delivered a number of babies. I’m sure he could keep an eye on me, and perform a surgery if necessary.” She sighed. “Which I’m pretty sure it will be.”
“You’ll consider it then?” Frostor pressed.
Selene and Psiarik eyed one another for a brief and silent consensus. “It’s your decision,” he said to Selene. “I’ll do my part, whatever you choose.”
“Like your part is such a chore, right?” she teased with a wink before resuming a serious tone. “All right Frostor. I think you’re right too. We’ll plan on having an heir as soon as the gods allow it.” She smiled, as a part of her was elated at the notion of resurrecting a fancy she had long since written off. That was not to say she was not also a bit wary and daunted, but she felt confident that somehow she would make it, and was already wondering if their heir would be a little lunar-psi boy or girl.
Frostor smiled at the royal couple. “And when you do, I hope I get to be named an honorary grandfather.”
“Yeah, you and Dad on the other side,” Psiarik said with a chortle. “I bet Luna will never let him live that down.”
Selene pursed her lips in mild disapproval, although her eyes sparkled with happiness. “Maybe it’ll get her off the rather inappropriate subject of his unfamiliarity with birth control.” She shook her head. “Aunt Luna is quite the little gossip-monger at times.”
“But she does keep things entertaining, I’ll give her that.” Frostor let out a frosty chuckle. “However, I’d keep your plans for extending the royal family out of her ears until you’re sure when and how you’re proceeding with them. Otherwise she’ll no doubt have plenty of ‘advice’ of her own, and the gods know what she’ll say to who about it.”
At that Selene smiled wryly. “Oh Frostor, I like Aunt Luna, but give me a little credit, will you?”
“Just making sure,” Frostor said with a grin, and then left the royal couple to themselves to talk.
Alluro returned to the MoonTower after a day out in the city. He had met with some of the local magistrates and councilmen as a favor to Psiarik and Selene, who were tending to business on other Moons, and Frostor who was preoccupied with military projects. Afterward he and a couple of them had lingered at the café they had lunch at for drinks, and he had spent a couple of hours chatting with one of the council liaisons who he found to be rather interesting company, a hunter Lunatac named Darkail. Unlike most hunters, Alluro found Darkail to be quite civilized and pleasant. The two of them were in the midst of a lively conversation well after the meal had ended when Alluro got a call from the MoonTower.
“Yes?” he answered, his voice smooth and suave as always.
“Alluro,” Lushara said on the other end, “Where are you?”
“Out in the city. Why?”
“You need to get back to the MoonTower. Now.” The darkling’s husky voice held a note of urgency.
The psi lowered his voice and waved to Darkail to excuse him for a moment as he turned to the side. “What’s going on?”
“Chilla’s in labor. Altheus took her over to the medical bay in the military complex a little while ago.”
Alluro’s eyes widened. “This soon? I thought she wasn’t due for at least another month.”
“Hybrid births can be unpredictable. She was having some pains earlier and it’s a good thing she actually listened to me and Luna, because it took an hour for us to convince her to see Altheus to begin with,” Lushara told him. “She’s been ill-tempered all day, and while that’s not that unusual for Chilla, after she iced one of the staff that got in her way, I caught her ducking into a room and found her doubled over. I figured it’d be better to push the issue and brought the healer to her.”
“She’s all right though?”
“Yeah, but they pretty much said that baby’s coming tonight one way or another, even if it takes surgery. They’re worried about blood temperature fever. Apparently she’s got all the signs of it.”
Alluro let out a sigh. “I’ll be over right away then.” He switched off the communicator and turned to Darkail, who eyed him with an inquisitive and mildly concerned look.
“I take it something’s come up?” the hunter said, and Alluro nodded to him.
“Chilla’s gone into labor, and apparently dealing with complications. One of the court just called to let me know.”
“Ah, sorry to hear that.” Darkail rose to his feet and bowed to him slightly in a cordial gesture of parting. “Best wishes to you both then, and your child. I’m sure that the medical staff will take care of everything. If it’s the fever some icewalker women get in bearing warm-blood children, it’s readily treatable in a modern facility. They’ll both be fine.”
“If that child is even half as tenacious as Chilla, I’m sure you’re right.” Alluro bowed back to Darkail. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Darkail smiled back. “Give me a call the next time you’re in the city. I’ll buy you a drink for your wife and your baby.”
Grinning despite his growing anxiousness, Alluro still managed to flash his new friend a million dollar smile. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Alluro made the trip back to the medical facility in record time. Although he was a civilian, he was well enough known as Psiarik’s father that he had the same clearance anyone on the court did, which was quite high. When he got there he found Lushara, Luna, and Amok all waiting.
“Glad you made it,” Lushara greeted him, amazingly before Luna could get a word in. “I promised I’d stick around until you got here, since I was one of the ones who admitted her, and she’s not talking to Luna.”
“Crazy hormonal woman,” the tiny lunar muttered irritably. “She should be glad I’m overlooking her tantrum. I go to her out of concern and the goodness of my heart—”
“I’m sure annoying the ice out of her does wonders for her well-being,” Alluro said with a roll of his eyes, cutting her off while Lushara finished.
“Anyway, since you’re here, I’m going to head out. I was supposed to meet RedEye about forty minutes ago, but I told him what was going on and that I’d be by after you showed up. Let me know how it all turns out, and if it’s a boy or a girl.”
Alluro raised an eyebrow. “I thought you and RedEye both knew already.”
“We do, but occasionally we can be wrong if the baby’s not positioned right.” Lushara grinned widely enough to show her short row of darkling teeth. “And I want to be able to rub it in to those who didn’t take our word for it and lost in the betting pool.” She turned toward Luna. “Oh, and Luna? Let me know about the other half of the betting pool results, okay?”
At that the sour-faced lunar woman’s face twisted into a sneer. “Certainly.”
Lushara smirked and waved, and a moment later it was just Alluro, Luna, and Amok left in the waiting area. “The other half?” he inquired with a curious twitch of his ear.
Luna snickered. “The bet some of us have on how you’ll handle this… whether you’ll a) make it into the delivery room at all without chickening out, b) show up and run out with fire beams and/or ice blasts chasing you, or c) show up and actually make it through the delivery to witness the child being born.” She gave him a catty look. “I’ll leave it to you to figure out who bet on what.”
The psi narrowed his eyes. “At least I could make it in there without setting her off into a rage that you conveniently blame hormones on rather than your sparkling personality.”
If she was fazed by his insulting sarcasm, she did not show it. Instead she just said, “I don’t see you heading in there yet.”
“I don’t even know exactly where she is, or what sort of garb I’m expected to put on to go in, for one,” he snapped in response. “What do you expect?”
“Oh, I can easily fix that,” Luna replied, and shrieked in the direction of two medical staff. “You! Are you doctors or nurses?”
The two Lunatacs, a male and a female and both lunars wearing scrubs, came over to them. “We’re nurses,” the male said in a haughty tone that made it clear he did not appreciate being barked at like someone’s flunky. “And you’re creating a miserable ruckus in a medical facility, so kindly keep your voice down.”
Luna was not impressed. “Queen Selene is a relation of mine, and I don’t think she’ll care to hear that you’re giving me and her father-in-law a hard time. He’s here to see his wife, she’s in delivery?” She pointed at the doors through which Chilla had been taken earlier.
“Oh, Lord Alluro, you made it here,” the female greeted him. “Excellent. Your wife’s been asking where you were. We’d heard you’d been called but not that you came yet.”
“I’m here now,” Alluro said impatiently, ignoring Luna in favor of those who had something important to say. “How is Chilla?”
“The psi healer Altheus and another of our doctors are in there with her. She’s been having a rough time, slipping in and out of consciousness. Her body temperature’s been fluctuating so we’ve been administering fluids. The child’s blood is warmer than hers but not quite as much so as a warm-blood psi like her father. It happens often in mixed-race births with an ice-born mother. Their conditions are stable with constant attention, although if we’d gotten her in here sooner it wouldn’t have progressed to this state.”
The other nurse nodded as she spoke. “She was over a month early though, and given it’s her first child we understand she didn’t realize it was labor or recognize some of the symptoms of the fever. She’s expected to deliver any time now. Fortunately surgery won’t be necessary, which is good, as with the fever it just invites infection.”
“Would you like to see her?” the female nurse questioned.
Alluro caught Luna smirking out of the corner of his eye, which irritated him, although he chose not to acknowledge it. “Certainly.”
“This way then.” The male lunar gestured for him to follow them through the doors. As he did, he cast Luna a superior and smug look over his shoulder. Once they were out of her sight beyond the doors he asked the two nurses, “So when are the drugs administered?”
“Oh, there’re no drugs, Lord Alluro.” The female nurse shook her head. “Lady Chilla made it quite clear that she wanted to go natural.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve only seen a handful of icewalker women opt for drugs when they’re not mandated for surgical or similar medical reasons. It’s a cultural thing, and probably for the best in this case given that we ought to know if she’s experiencing pains that arise from fever complications rather than the childbirth itself.” She turned to Alluro with a questioning look. “I take it she didn’t discuss that with you?”
He shook his head. “No, although I suppose that’s her choice anyway,” he said and shrugged. “But if you’ve already got them set out just in case, I’ll take them.”
“Ah, sympathy pains?” the other nurse asked, assuming that the psi was feeling for his mate on an empathic level, while Alluro laughed at the inaccurate assumption.
“No, but have you ever been on the receiving end of an angry Second Mooner’s ice or fire burns? If I’m going in there, I want something numbing my pain ahead of time.”
Both of the nurses chortled along with him. “Tell you what,” the woman said, and directed him down the hall to a door locked by a keypad. She entered a sequence and the door opened to reveal a short flight of stairs. The room at the top was well-lit, and Alluro could see a glass wall on the right hand side. “That’s our secured observation room that looks in on the emergency suites here, including delivery. Your wife is in the fourth unit down. Usually this is reserved for medical students, but we’ve had a father or two that wanted to witness the event but couldn’t be in there for one reason or another use this for that purpose. We’ll let her know you’re there with her. I’m sure she’ll find it quite comforting.”
“And I’ll find it more comfortable than frostbite in a most unpleasant place,” he replied smoothly. “Thank you. Oh, and if you please, wait for Chilla and I to disclose anything on her condition to anyone waiting. Luna can be impatient, but I’d rather fill her and the others in on everything myself.”
“Of course,” the male nurse agreed.
“Though if you have any tips on keeping her highness’ relation—her aunt, is it?—mollified, they’d be much appreciated,” said the other nurse.
“Lollipops,” Alluro told her. “Her brute loves candy, and Luna’s got the temperament of a child, so perhaps a sucker will pacify her for a moment or two.”
The two nurses nodded in agreement and then left Alluro to ascend the stairs, closing the door behind him. He found the room where Chilla was delivering her baby and looked down through the glass. The room was chaotic, with her on a stretcher-bed in the center of it with Altheus at one side and a garbed physician at the other. Nurses went in and out to bring items and check on equipment while Chilla herself looked furious. Alluro could see scorch marks in various spots in the room and felt at once that he had made the wise decision to be with his dear Chilla from behind safety glass. A moment later after one of the nurses went to her side, Chilla looked up in the direction of the glass and saw him. Alluro waved and gave her a charming smile. Her response was to holler something loud and full of profanity, followed with a hiss of ice that did not quite make it all the way up to the window, but still deposited some frost crystals on it nonetheless.
Alluro grinned back, partly because if she was that energetic, it meant that Chilla was feeling well enough to be herself, and therefore the medical staff had her situation under control. The other part was merely an expression of thanks to the gods for inventing safety glass.
“Why isn’t he in here?” the pained and flustered Chilla snarled at anyone in the room who would answer.
“It’s safest for Lord Alluro to be with you and your baby from there,” one of the nurses answered smoothly. “Now be a dear and push.”
Chilla let out a nose that was somewhere between a grunt of exertion and a scream of frustration, and a frosty mist of air came from her lips and nostrils. “What do you think I’m doing? I’d like to push him, right off a cliff!” she hissed with another glower at Alluro. “Tell that coward I want him in here now!”
“As the nurse said, it’s a safety issue,” the lunar doctor said, and turned to Altheus. “Direct energy toward the feet and torso of the fetus. A turn of a few degrees to the left should ease the passage a bit.”
While Altheus applied a slight pressure to Chilla’s swollen abdomen and directed a warm flow of healing telekinetic energy through her skin to the unborn child, Chilla craned her neck to glower past the psi’s head to snap back at the doctor. “What safety issue? Blood temperature fever isn’t contagious!”
“No, but your temper is certainly dangerous,” Altheus pointed out gently, but firmly. “To all of us, most of all you and the baby. Wrenching yourself into the wrong position to share the pains of birth with him not only puts us at risk, but could make the bleeding worse.” He moved one hand from her abdomen to a pulse point on her shoulder and concentrated on a cool and soothing flow of energy intended to have a calming effect.
The doctor nodded to one of the nurses by the monitor. “Push again.”
“When did I stop?” the irate Chilla retorted.
“Give a big one then,” the doctor said. “Direct that energy you have at Lord Alluro behind the glass into delivering your healthy baby—”
On cue, and brought about by a burst of stimulating energy from the hand Altheus had over her belly, Chilla let out another cry of exertion and winced in a way that led Alluro, watching from above, to wince as well. He wondered why Chilla insisted on foregoing the painkillers to prove something as trivial as mere bragging rights about pain tolerance. Surely if he had been the woman delivering a child, he would have insisted on the full gamut of nerve blockers and analgesics. He still was mildly disappointed they had not allowed him to have them now, after all. A small dose of narcotic would have done wonders for his nerves and the rest he could take home for when Chilla was recovering and likely to be in a foul mood.
“Girl!” Altheus called out as the doctor pulled the child the rest of the way out of the womb and into the world. “Congratulations, Chilla. You have a healthy daughter.”
“Seems to be the case, yes,” the doctor agreed with a cursory look at the infant before passing her to an attending nurse while he cut the cord. “Run her vitals while we take care of the afterbirth and get the mother’s bleeding under control.” He turned to another nurse. “Draw up the ice gel and antibiotics for the fever.”
Chilla’s attention flickered anxiously between the baby,
already whisked off to another part of the room, to the doctor and
Altheus. “No need to worry,” Altheus
assured her. “They’re just getting
weight and height, tissue retentions for medical records, and doing a quick
medical exam. She’ll be back to you
shortly.” He smiled and looked up at
Alluro, projecting a telepathic message that was the easiest way for psis to
communicate in such circumstances. In
case you weren’t able to tell from up there, your baby’s been born and she’s
fine from the looks of things.
Congratulations on the birth of your daughter.
The sudden mind speech caught Alluro off guard, but it was a welcome surprise and he projected back a brief acknowledgement while his attention shifted from Chilla to the nurses busily cleaning, weighing, measuring, and testing the tiny crying infant below. I have a daughter, he thought dazedly. With Chilla. Though months of awareness of the fact had obviously not eluded him, now that it had actually happened and she had been born it still struck him to actually see it for himself. He leaned closer to the glass to try and see the baby, who even from that distance he could tell had inherited the psi skin tone and, he was certain, the good looks of her father. Around her head was a subtle wispy whiteness that he imagined was her mother’s fine white hair, and he grinned. Perfection! But then, he thought proudly, what else could be expected from the child of Alluro?
One of the nurses wrapped the baby in a blanket and brought her to Chilla’s side while the doctor stood by and Altheus stood back, indicating for her to go ahead and hand Chilla her baby. “Here you go.”
Despite her exhaustion and the dizzying sensations of the cold ice gel now circulating in her veins to bring her temperature back to optimal levels, Chilla took the purplish-skinned infant into her arms and looked at her with a sense of awe. This was in me? It was almost an alien sensation for one who had never had much maternal instinct or drive to have a child prior to the surprise of finding out she was carrying one. The feel of the baby’s weight in her arms made her snort in a half-amused chortle. Her first words to her newborn were, “You didn’t feel this small coming out.”
When Snoelle came to breakfast that morning and sat down, she was surprised when shortly after she took her seat, Snarf came in and put a delicious-looking fresh baked and iced coffee cake right on the table in front of her. In the midst of pouring herself a cup of Berbil-berry juice, she said, “What’s the occasion?”
The other Thundercats present smiled back at her while Snarf answered. “Surprise! This cake is for you. Today it’s been a year since you’ve been back with us.”
“Oh Snarf! You shouldn’t have!”
“Are you kidding?” Panthro replied with a grin. “We wouldn’t dream of not celebrating something important like that.”
“That and Panthro forgot your birthday,” WilyKat teased from across the table as he picked up a piece of bacon.
WilyKit giggled along with her brother. “Or he really wanted an excuse to get Snarf to bake something special for breakfast.”
The plump little snarf brrr-ed with a pretense of being put out, although it was more show than anything else. “Oh, you two.”
Panthro meanwhile brandished a butter knife in the twins’ direction with mock threat. “I’ll have you two know I did not forget Snoelle’s birthday.”
“Oh yeah? When was it?” Snarfer challenged with a twitter.
That time Snoelle laughed as she watched Snarfer carve her a thick slice of cake. “It’s not for another week and a half.”
Young Pumari fidgeted impatiently with her fork in hand while Snarf went ahead and cut her the next piece. “You mean we missed it last year?”
“Well, there were more important things going on at the time. I’d all but forgotten myself until it was just about over.” Snoelle took a bite of cake. “Oh Snarf, this is delicious! Now I know why everyone’s been eyeing it so hungrily.”
Lion-O grinned. “We’re spoiled with Snarf, that’s for sure. We’ll be up a creek when he retires.” He turned toward Snarf. “Snarf, the Lord of the Thundercats personally requests the next piece.”
“Snarf snarf, you know I’ll never retire away from you, Lion-O, although if you start eating cake for breakfast every morning, that uniform’s going to keep getting tighter on you. And contrary to what Cheetara said you said, I’m not shrinking it in the wash.”
That inspired a warm round of laughter around the table, though it came most heartily from the twins, Bengali, and Snarfer. “I guess you’ll be hitting the gym after breakfast,” the white tiger said, still chuckling.
“You ought to go with him, snarf snarf,” the old snarf quipped. “Rumor has it that you’ve been complaining about the legs of your uniform being tight.”
“That’s muscle!” Bengali protested.
“I didn’t think working out your jaws built up your thighs,” WilyKat said with a snicker.
“You two would know all about what running your mouths gets you,” Panthro teased them.
Lynx-O and Snoelle joined the panther in a chortle. “Indeed,” the eldest of the Thundercats agreed.
“And to think, Cheetara and Tygra are missing out on all this back on Third Earth.” Snoelle smiled wistfully. “A shame they couldn’t be here too.” She turned to Snarf. “Speaking of which, Snarf, when I go off there next time, I’d like you to send me with one of these.” The snow leopard finished the last of her piece and set her fork down.
“Want another?” asked Panthro.
Snoelle eyed the cake and then Panthro, smiling wryly. “I’d love it, but I don’t want Snarf shrinking my uniforms in the wash, so I’ll hold off.”
“Yeah, besides, the next cake will be better, right?” WilyKit said.
“Her birthday cake?” Pumari asked. “Hey can I have another piece?”
Bengali shook his white mane a definitive no. “Not now, Pumari.”
“That’s right,” Lion-O agreed. “If both your father and the Lord of the Thundercats have to resist, so do you.”
“Aw.” Pumari frowned.
“But she’s a growing girl, Lion-O,” WilyKit said “helpfully”.
Chet finished the small piece of cake he had been given, although a good half of it remained stuck to the plate in a mess of gooey icing that also clung to the young cub’s face and fingertips. “More?” he asked hopefully.
“No!” Snarf exclaimed, and quickly set about fussing over the boy’s sticky face and fingers as he envisioned smears and fingerprints everywhere that he would undoubtedly be left cleaning up. “Snarf snarf, you kids have had enough.” He looked at Lion-O and Bengali, and then added, “All you kids have had enough.”
The only Thundercat older than Snarf, aside from Snoelle who only counted by chronological birth years rather than physical age, grinned. “What about your elder peers, Snarf?” Lynx-O said. “Or should I be a good example and show some restraint… hard as it is with how acute my senses are and how very delicious this is?”
“You’re lucky Pumyra’s up on watch duty, or she’d be giving you a blood sugar lecture,” Bengali chided the lynx.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Pumari said with a cheeky smile. “Especially if you let me have another piece!”
The twins each burst out laughing, and Bengali cast them a knowing look. “I think you’ve been hanging around a couple of bad influences, Pumari.”
“Ah, you just don’t like it when she gets the better of you!”
“And I think I’d better get this out of here before you all overrule old Snarf’s good advice and Pumyra gives me what for on behalf of all of you!” Finished with Chet, Snarf hurriedly collected the cake platter and cutter.
“Don’t you think you should save a piece for Pumyra, Snarf?” Lion-O asked. “I’ll go ahead and take it up to her; I’ve got a couple of calls to make anyway.”
“Suuuure you’ll give it to her,” Snarfer teased the Thundercat Lord.
Lion-O gasped with playful insult, while Snarf frowned and quickly cut another piece, which he placed squarely in Snarfer’s hands. “Since you’re such a wise guy, you can give it to her! And you had better not come here with some fish story about it falling or having an ‘accident’ on the way there, snarf snarf!”
Snarfer’s whiskers twitched. “Would I do that, Unc?”
“As sure as you still call me by the name I always tell you not to!”
“I haven’t called you ‘Uncle Osbert’ in at least a week!”
“You just did!” the older snarf exclaimed, exasperated.
Snarfer giggled again and got to his feet. “Yeah, but that was just an example. And now the timer’s reset to,” he glanced at a timepiece, “five seconds since I last called you—” Snarf’s expression grew more distinctly not amused, and Snarfer finished with a wry grin, “—not Uncle Snarf!” He then bounded out of the room cheerfully with Pumyra’s cake in hand.
Another round of laughter, that time mostly at the flustered look on Snarf’s face, echoed around the table. Shortly afterward the remaining Thundercats got up, finished with their breakfast. “Thank you again for the cake, Snarf, and the rest of you,” Snoelle said before heading toward the door.
Panthro caught up with her and fell in step beside her. “So how does it feel to be a part of this madhouse for a year?”
“Wonderful,” Snoelle told him with a warm smile. “Given the circumstances I was brought back to, I couldn’t have asked for a nicer home and those to call my family… and more.”
That time it was the panther’s turn to smile. “I’m glad you feel that way, because I want to talk to you about something that almost came up at breakfast.”
“Oh?” She turned to him, curious.
“You know how WilyKit mentioned the next cake?”
“My birthday cake? Well I certainly won’t complain about that, especially if Snarf is making it. That cocoa candyfruit one he makes is superb.”
“Actually,” Panthro said with a gleam in his amber eyes, “I was thinking more of a wedding cake.”
The snow leopard’s features lit up with excitement and affection. “Oh, Panthro!” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips. “Yes.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” the panther replied with a grin after kissing her back. “And I’ll even make sure he makes it a cocoa candyfruit one.”
“No wonder I’ve fallen in love with you,” she said, contented and happy. “Although I still want a birthday cake.”
Chuckling and resisting the urge to make a remark akin to feeling like he was married already, he only responded with an equally affectionate, “Yes dear.”
Slythe knocked loudly on the door to Ratar-O’s office
chambers for the second time. “He calls
me here saying it’s important, and then doesn’t answer. What’s hisssss problem today?” he muttered
under his breath. In the year and some weeks
since the
“Come in,” Ratar-O finally called after Slythe gave a third, and more insistent, knock.
“You called for me?” Slythe greeted his liege, who was clad in immaculate gold-trimmed red and blue robes of state instead of his warrior’s garb.
The Mutant Warrior King’s whiskers twitched and his lips parted in a crafty smile. “Yes. How nice of you to be so prompt, Slythe. Have a seat.” The reptilian sat down unceremoniously and eyed the rat with an expectant look. “Not much for conversation today, eh Slythe?” chortled Ratar-O. “Well this ought to cheer you up. I’ve been doing some thinking about your service to me here in the palace, and some talking with some of your reptilian kinsmen. Aside from Iguano, they’ve spoken fairly well of you.”
“Have they?” I wonder what they want, Slythe thought suspiciously.
Ratar-O nodded. “Yes. And in light of that and how you’ve managed to keep your areas running like a well-oiled machine, I’m inclined to believe that perhaps circumstance had a bigger hand in your, ahem, issues on Third Earth and afterward than mere mismanagement and poor judgment. You do have talent, and while I like having clean bathrooms and few complaints about roaches and ill-prepared food amongst the court, I think you’ve earned more responsibility. Therefore I’m promoting you.” He grinned and handed Slythe a gold-inlaid hand axe with a gleaming blade of the finest and sharpest metal, a ceremonial—but effective—weapon indicating the lofty station of a high captain in the royal guard. Only three held the position at any given time, so it was quite prestigious. “Pick the staff of your choice to move your belongings to the suite in the eastern spire, High Captain Slythe.”
Slythe blinked, shocked. “High Captain? Thank you, mighty Ratar-O! I’ll get the move underway immediately, yesss!” he said, and bowed to the rat sincerely before taking and examining his new weapon. A grin of unashamed delight lit up his features, but he still cast Ratar-O a curious glance. “I’m honored, but may I ask what happened to High Captain Burtakx? Those were his quarters, weren’t they?”
“Dreadful accident,” Ratar-O answered. “He was testing one of the defense systems at my base by the harbor, and the idiotic monkeys manning the switches didn’t think to check the circuits. They probably went on a banana break,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Burtakx will live, but he lost a leg and his sight, so it’ll be some time before he’s up to any sort of duty again, if at all. I gave him early retirement provided he orders his assistant—now yours, actually—to deal with the simian simpletons appropriately.”
“Oh yesss, I will make sure I do,” said Slythe, pleased that finally, after so much time and humiliation, he was being given the respect he was worthy of as a once great Mutant commander.
Ratar-O settled back in his seat and folded his hands. “Excellent. You’re dismissed, Slythe. I look forward to your report.” Slythe nodded back to the rat obediently and turned for the door just in time to hear Ratar-O add, “And a fine dinner from my staff tonight, that I’m sure you’ll see to personally before you appoint your replacement.”
The dig at his kitchen status still made him bristle, but he was in too much of a good mood otherwise to let it get to him. Instead all he said before leaving was, “As you wish, King Ratar-O.”
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