Page 50 of Company of Thieves
“All right, but don’t leave the ship,” he said when Octavia pulled him to his feet so they could go to bed.
“Are you kidding? I damned near killed myself getting here,” I said wearily, stifling a yawn. “I just want to go to bed and sleep for a good week. I haven’t gotten much sleep, what with all the vomiting, despite trying to nap where I could.”
“Of course, you must be exhausted,” Octavia said at the door, and hesitating for a moment before turning back to me. “Oh, but your cabin is in use.”
“It is?” I hadn’t noticed any new crew members. “By who?”
“What, not who.” Jack grimaced. “I’m building a new autonavigator, one that we’ll be able to use punch cards on for more commands and higher accuracy. It’s spread out all over your cabin. If I have to move it, it’ll set me back weeks.”
“I don’t honestly care where I sleep,” I said, drooping a little for effect.
“I’m sure Mr. Ho won’t mind in the least if you use the spare bunk in her room,” Octavia said.
“Sounds good to me. Good night.” I smiled when Jack, with a waggle of his eyebrows at Octavia, hustled her off to their cabin.
“Ah, young love,” I said to myself, and wondered what Alan was doing at that moment. Was he missing me? Was he looking up at the night sky, and wondering what I was doing? Was he still fighting with his father? I shook my head, and tapped quickly before opening the door of the assistant steward, a very nice—if quiet—woman named Beatrice Ho, who was referred to, for some bizarre holdover of official air corps etiquette, in the male determinative. “Beatrice? I hope you aren’t asleep, but I need a spot to crash for the night—”
A lamp was lit in the room, allowing me to see the wide eyes of Beatrice as her head popped up from under the blankets ... as well as that of a dark-haired man, who blinked owlishly at me. “Oh. Uh. Good evening, Mr. Llama. I ... yeah, OK. I guess I’ll go sleep with Jack’s automaton. Sorry for disturbing you.”
Mr. Ho said nothing, just watched me, while Mr. Llama slowly sank down into the blankets until nothing of him remained to view.
I closed the door softly, bit back the urge to laugh, and, with a sigh, went to my old cabin. I managed to snag a pillow and blanket, and used both to curl up on the window seat that lined one side of the mess.
I threw up twice in the night, forcing me to face a few hard facts. When morning dawned, I was sitting in the window seat, a freshly scrubbed bucket at my feet.
Mr. Ho was one of the first people into the mess, and she stopped at the sight of me, gesturing at nothing before coming over with an apology. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t know you would be wanting to sleep in my cabin—”
“It’s not your fault. I didn’t realize Jack was building a computer in my room. You’ve got first aid training, don’t you?”
Her eyebrows rose at the change of conversation. “Yes, some. Captain Pye sent me to a training course that lasted six weeks so that I could learn what is called triage. Is something wrong?” She glanced at the bucket.
“I think so,” I said slowly, my mind numb around the edges. It was hard to think. Not when nothing made sense. “If a woman came to you and said she was sick a lot, and very sleepy, and prone to frequent naps, and one of her breasts was a bit sensitive, and not in a good way, what would you say?”
Her eyes widened. “I would ask her when her last courses were.”
“Uh-huh.” I stared at the table for a few minutes. “My oncologist said it was unlikely. He said that due to the type of chemo, my eggs wouldn’t be viable. He said that I could try fertility treatments, but at the time, I didn’t want kids, and so it didn’t seem worthwhile pursuing. But now ... now ...”
She put a hand on my arm, giving me a little pat. “Is your stomach unsettled?”
I nodded.
“I will get you some soda water. My mother had fourteen children, and she swore by it.”
I murmured a thanks, my mind spinning and swooping like a bird on the wind. How could this be? And more important, if it was so, what did I feel about it? I wanted to talk to Alan about it, but how would he feel? He hadn’t expected this any more than I had, and he had so many things that he had to deal with—did I want to dump the responsibility of a child on him? DidIwant the responsibility? I could barely handle my own life, but the idea of giving up everything I was in order to care for a child ...
A rush of warmth swamped me, a fierce sense of protectiveness that filled me with an odd sort of elation. If my body had managed to pull off a miracle and produce a baby, then by god, I’d just get my shit together, and be the best mother the baby could ever have.
And what about the father?a snarky voice in my head asked.
I didn’t need him. Lots of women were single parents, loving, successful single parents who had loving, successful children. I was strong. I had a warrior breast. I could do anything.
That’s what I told myself, but my Inner Hallie knew better. I stood up when Mr. Ho stopped in front of me, a glass of bubbly water in her hand. “He’s just going to have to get with the program. There’s no way in hell I’m doing this by myself! I know it’s a shock—hell, I didn’t think it could happen even with fertility treatments—but he can just get over that. I did, and I have the right to be more shocked than him. I refuse to let him off the hook just because this wasn’t planned! He’s as responsible as me. More, because he doesn’t have to go through hell for the next eight months.”
“Er ... no?” Mr. Ho asked.
“It’s only fair,” I told her. “Do you mind if I have a little nap on your spare bunk? I didn’t sleep very well.”
“By all means,” she said.
