Chapter 22 Every Lifetime
Every Lifetime
Fenrir Prime found Upsilon standing outside of his south-facing sleeping quarters when he alit.
His flame had gone mostly dark, and the too-bright white of Widower’s Madness circled his head like a second crown of horns.
“Did she expel you from our rooms?”
“Yes, for attempting to godspeak her into the squatting position once more. She has already tired. And she begged to lie down. But…”
The Widower’s Madness white flared, pressing further into the black. “You must convince her to try. It’s the only thing we can think of to ease the pathway of the hatchling.”
Fenrir Prime re-shelled into his hominid form, knowing he would more than try. If he had to plug his ears—like the tale Dorie 998, the European Mythology professor, had told him of Odysseus and the sirens—he would do so if there was even a small chance she would survive this pregnancy.
Dorie 998…
They had done everything right, given her species every advantage and superhuman powers, and still she had died from being unable to expel the baby from her body.
Fenrir Prime entered the room to find Dorie upon the bed, naked and propped up against Omicron. She wore no clothes muting her burn, and Omicron had a cool cloth pressed to her forehead, his own flame blue and calm, despite the circumstances.
His other hand stroked her large, distended belly while they engaged in the conversation they were both so fond of, even though her flame had gone gray and weary.
Fenrir Prime often came home to find them in this position, especially on the occasions when he missed last meal to work on the solution he’d been trying to synthesize, aided by journals from the Dories who’d fallen through the fertility matching portal with an abundance of medical and fauna knowledge.
Omicron looked up toward Fenrir Prime, but Dorie’s eyes remained closed, her head resting against the variant’s chest. “You know, I really liked keeping the journal this cycle,” she said. “I think next lifetime I want to do something like that.”
Widower’s Madness flared around Omicron’s steady blue flame. He knew what their mate did not. Right before their deaths, the last few hundred Dories, including the ones who did not know they would be returning, had posited about what they would do in the next lifetime.
Even the one who had returned to her original Wolfennite faith in her adulthood had suddenly believed in reincarnation.
Still, Omicron indulged her. “Will you write stories again, like Dorie 981?”
“No, not even.” She let out a weak laugh.
“I don’t think I have the attention span for whole books.
Maybe I’ll become a holoscribe. That’s like a reporter who uses avatars to tell important news stories.
Have any of the Dories been a reporter? I didn’t see any in the journals—though, of course, I didn’t have enough time to read every single one of them. ”
“We do not know what a reporter… ah!”
He paused, obviously receiving the definition Dorie pushed into his head over their mate bond.
Fenrir Prime stepped forward to answer for his variant. “No, Treasure, none of the Dories have been a reporter.”
She opened her eyes and rolled her head over on Omicron’s shoulder to behold him.
And though mostly gray, her flame was… so very beautiful.
“Aw, Fenny, don’t molt.” The lower half of her burn lit up with a small smile. “We talked about this. Me being sad is cute. You being sad is disgusting.”
Fenrir Prime brushed aside the chest scales he had not realized he’d shed while gazing upon her burn. “My apologies.”
“I told them not to bother you. The contractions are farther apart now.”
That is not a good thing, he thought inside the cold blizzard of his widow-maddened head.
Out loud, he said, “You are not a bother.”
Yet, she continued to regard him with regret in her flame. “This has been so hard on you. I don’t want you to be sad if it… doesn’t go the way we want it to this time.”
Not just this time. Ever. It always began the same and never ended the way he’d endeavored. He castigated himself for not being able to synthesize the solution fast enough.
Letting out a steaming sigh, he said directly to his variant, “Leave us.”
The protest region of Omicron’s brain lit up.
“I will call you when the contractions start again,” Fenrir Prime assured him.
He said “when” but meant “if.”
998 Dories.
Omicron rose from the bed, easing her against the pillows Dorie 82 had taught him to sew. “Prime, with permission, please ask her to let Diarmuid back in. Our fellow variant will be highly upset if…”
He trailed off.
Upsilon will be highly upset, either way. Another thought Fenrir Prime kept to himself.
“I will call both of you back in,” he vowed, while keeping the crux of that promise vague.
“I’ll release him from Reverence before I die if that’s what you two are alluding to,” Dorie called out from the bed.
Silence.
The fire in Omicron’s throat constricted. No more negotiation. He rushed past Fenrir Prime to the glowing access slider. To molt where she would not be able to see him.
Leaving Fenrir Prime alone with his mate of 999 lifetimes. “Upsilon fears you have given up.”
She stared at him, her stubborn spark worming like a thread through her gray cranial flame. “I’m tired, Fenny.”
“I know you are.”
“DiDi’s heart is in the right place, but I’m tired.”
“I know. I wish for nothing but your comfort, but more than that…”
Steam gathered in his throat, choking him. “I do not wish to lose you again.”
He knew it was disgusting, but he could not stop the molt.
He turned his back so she would not have to see the way his scales fell away.
“Fenny, don’t… don’t do this. Look at me.”
Suddenly, she was on her feet, at his back, turning him to face her. She tugged on his neck, pulling him down so she could wrap her arms around him the way he had seen hybrid mothers hold their crying children.
“We’ve been through this,” she reminded him. “So many times.”
998.
“It never becomes any easier. I find I only love you more each cycle.”
“Me, too,” she agreed with complete confidence, even though her memory was wiped when her new life began. Unlike theirs.
“That’s why we’ve got to take what we can get. Nine months 999 times. That’s almost 1,000 years we’ve been in love, babe.”
Dorie’s math was, as usual—with the notable exception of the physicist—not accurate.
More often than not, they had been denied the privilege of nine entire moon cycles with her. Nor did she understand that 1,000 years to a drakkon was but a wingbeat.
Still, she was right.
“I love you,” he breathed out. “More than my flame can hold.”
“In every lifetime?” she asked with a hopeful note in her voice.
Even though she already knew the answer.
“In every single lifetime,” he vowed. “I will never stop.”
The eye water that she expelled for various reasons appeared again, even though her entire being burned yellow with her love.
“Well, if you love me, I guess I can try this squat method of Diarmuid’s one more time.”
“I will hold you steady.” He took her by her hands and led her toward the nest. “We will do it together.”
The gratitude she’d bade him to feel for what little time he had with her lit up his chest. Save for a clawful of cycles, Dorie had died in his arms.
She would do so again.
And perhaps she, too, felt the futility of Upsilon’s exercise.
Even as she lowered into Upsilon’s recommend squat, she said, “Promise you’ll bring me back. I know it hurts, but don’t do anything stupid, like not looping me back around to make sure I get to love you again.”
“Treasure…” He brought her hand up to his mouth and licked it, savoring the salt on her skin. “You have my word.”
She twisted her lips and rolled her eyes. “Okay, you two, you can come back in.”
Not even a wingbeat later, Omicron’s and Upsilon’s footsteps sounded on the fur path they’d laid down so her sensitive feet might stay warm.
She’d called both variants back in, making it unnecessary for Fenrir Prime to break his promise.
“We give you great thanks, Reverence,” Upsilon said. He fell to his knees beside where she leaned against Fenrir Prime in her awkward squat.
Soon after, another contraction started. Weak, but enough to encourage her.
“Every lifetime…” she whispered.
Before she bore down to push. One last time.