It's a Boy!

"Who are you?" D'Argo growls in Inquirer's direction.

"I'll introduce myself later," she says. "Right now, I really don't think we have the time."

D'Argo growls again, and his hand twitches in the direction of the qualta blade sheathed on his back. So young and impulsive, our beloved D'Argo. So quick to violence. I step forward and lay my hand on his arm. "She's right, D'Argo. We have little time. I only came here to pick up some herbs that we might need for Moya."

"Moya?" he says, confused, looking away from Inquirer for the first time.

As if in answer to his question, the floor heaves beneath us, as Moya's body shudders.

"Her baby," I say. It's coming."

"And you trust this woman?" he says, indicating Inquirer again with his blade.

I hesitate. I understand so little of what has been happening, and my mind is still hazy in the aftereffects of the solar flares. But as my eyes dart away from D'Argo's, I can see Aeryn lying on a bed, alive and awake, with Crichton hovering protectively beside her. "Yes," I say finally. "I do, because Crichton does."

D'Argo snorts. "Crichton is fahrbot."

Chiana laughs, though whether in denigration or agreement, it is hard to say.

"D.," says Crichton, "gimme a break. These people saved my life. They saved Aeryn's life."

D'Argo still looks dubious, but he lowers his weapon. I give him a reassuring smile, then quickly go about obtaining such medicines and herbs as might be needed for the delivery. Though, ignorant as I am of Leviathan births, it is difficult to know what will be useful, and many of the most likely substances I do not possess in great enough quantity to have any effect on Moya at all.

"Is there some way we can get a scan?" asks Inquirer. "A picture of where the baby is and what it looks like?"

"No problem," says Gilina, and moves to a console to comply.

A moment later, I look up from gathering the last of my supplies to see her frowning over an image. "This doesn't make any sense," she says.

A groggy voice comes from the bed. "What? What is it? What's wrong with Moya's baby?"

"Shh," says Crichton, pushing Aeryn back down as she struggles to sit. "It's OK, baby. You just lie there and rest. They can take care of it."

"Frell you," she says, and sits up anyway. Crichton wisely backs off, and we all gather around the holo image.

Chiana is the first to put into words what we all have seen. "He's... He's covered with weapons! I didn't... I didn't think Leviathans came with weapons."

"They don't," I reply grimly. Dear Goddess, what have the Peacekeepers done to Moya while she was in their captivity?

"He appears to be stuck," says Gilina. "Look."

I immediately see what she means. "The vent is too small."

"So, what?" says John. "We have to do a C-Section?"

"If those really are weapons," says D'Argo, "maybe he could shoot his way out."

"We could attempt to enlarge the chamber by cutting," says Gilina.

"Won't that hurt Moya?" asks John. "We don't have anymore chlorium aboard to numb the pain."

"I can help take her pain," I say, though inwardly I am wincing at the memory of the last time I had to do that. "And I do have drugs which could relax the opening, make it wider." I look at Inquirer. "It could work."

"Sounds good to me," she says.

A few hundred microts later, we are in the birthing chamber, into which Pilot has pumped a breathable atmosphere for us, and I get my first, partial glimpse of Moya's child. He is beautiful, and terrifying. I feel tears pricking at my eyes as I whisper a prayer over him, asking for the Goddesses' protection and her blessings on this birth.

"Are you ready?" says Inquirer. She and the others are already in position: Chiana and Gilina to do the cutting, and Inquirer to help guide the child free. The drugs are working, and all is, indeed, ready. A good thing, as the offspring is clearly becoming agitated, his gun turrets -- an obscene thing to discover grafted to a Leviathan -- twitching rapidly. If he is not able to fly free soon, I fear D'Argo may be proved right, and he will attempt to shoot his way free from his mother.

I nod, gathering my thoughts and focuing my energies, and place my hands on Moya's wall. This time, the pain is but a small thing, a burden Moya and I gladly bear together. In a short time, it is over, and I know by the overwhelming joy coursing through Moya and into me that all is well even before I hear Pilot's voice saying, "He's out! The baby is free of Moya... And he is OK!"

"Congratulations, Moya," I whisper, stroking her gently as I break contact. Around me, the other "midwives" are laughing and smiling.

"Excellent," says D'Argo's voice over the comms. "I'm very relived to hear it. Now, will someone please tell me what the frell is going on?"

I throw back my head and laugh, but the moment does not last long

1. D'Argo's right. There are many unanswered questions here, and many problems to deal with. I wonder what these strangers' next move will be?

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