Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the start of the morning shift Bombaya pronounced Mikoz well enough to return to their quarters.
Selik accompanied them, then advised them to rest before reluctantly leaving to resume his duties.
His thoughts kept returning to them and he stopped by later that day, ostensibly to check on Mikoz’s recovery but really just wanting to be near them.
Corinne answered the door with a huge smile on her face.
“You have to see this,” she said, pulling him inside with barely contained excitement.
His quarters had been rearranged slightly and the furniture pushed back to create an open space in the center of the room. Anya sat cross-legged on the floor, watching Mikoz with an equally excited smile.
The infant stood—actually stood on his own two feet—in the middle of the cleared area, wobbling slightly but maintaining his balance with determination that seemed far too advanced for a ten-month-old.
“Watch,” Corinne whispered.
Mikoz took a step, his tail automatically counteracting the motion. Then another. His movements were unsteady and clearly required intense concentration, but he managed three full steps before his balance wavered and he sat down hard on his bottom.
Instead of crying at the unexpected descent, he made a triumphant sound and immediately crawled over to the couch and began trying to pull himself back up again.
“He’s been doing this for the past hour,” Anya said, voice filled with wonder. “He just keeps trying over and over.”
Walking. Mikoz was walking, or at least attempting the skill with the single-minded focus of infants everywhere. The fact that it was happening now, after everything that had happened the previous night, felt like the universe’s way of saying the crisis had passed and life would continue.
“That’s incredible,” he said roughly, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice.
“Right?” Corinne’s eyes shone with proud tears. “He wasn’t even trying before yesterday, and now suddenly he’s determined to be mobile.”
They watched together as Mikoz pulled himself upright again and took another few wobbly steps before sitting down. Each attempt brought the same triumphant sound, the same immediate determination to try again.
“Come here, buddy,” Anya called, holding out her arms. “You can do it.”
The infant looked at her, seemed to calculate the distance, and launched himself forward with confidence that vastly exceeded his actual skill level. He managed two steps before losing his balance, but Anya was there to catch him before he could tumble.
“Good job!” She lifted him up, spinning him in a gentle circle that made him laugh with pure delight. “You’re going to be running around this ship in no time.”
The warmth in Selik’s chest expanded until it felt like his heart might burst from the pressure. This moment—this perfect, ordinary moment of celebrating a child’s developmental milestone—was everything he’d thought he’d lost forever.
His daughter had taken her first steps in their home on Ciresia.
He’d been convinced that they would have years to watch her grow and learn and become whoever she was meant to be.
He’d been wrong. The Red Death had stolen that future, leaving him with memories and grief and the certainty that he would never experience such simple joy again.
But here he was, watching another infant take his first steps, and feeling that same overwhelming pride mixed with love and protectiveness. Not a replacement for what he’d lost—nothing could replace Lira’s specific, irreplaceable self—but something new and equally precious.
Corinne moved to his side, slipping her hand into his. “You okay?”
“Yes.” The word came out thick with emotion he didn’t bother trying to hide. “More than okay.”
She leaned her head against his arm, understanding without needing explanation.
They’d both lost so much—her husband, his family, the lives they’d built before fate intervened—but they were building something new here in the wake of that loss.
Something that honored the past while still reaching toward the future.
Mikoz attempted another few steps and succeeded in reaching the edge of the crib before sitting down. He looked up at them with clear satisfaction, like he knew exactly how impressive his accomplishment was and expected appropriate recognition.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” Corinne told him. “Such a big boy, learning to walk.”
The infant’s tail lashed with pleasure at the praise. He pulled himself up again, determined to keep practicing now that he’d figured out the basic mechanics.
“He’s going to be trouble,” Anya predicted with a grin. “Once he figures out he can get places on his own, we’re going to have to watch him constantly.”
“It will be worth it,” he said, surprised by how much he meant it. The inconvenience of chasing a mobile infant seemed like a blessing rather than a burden. It meant life continuing and the future unfolding in all its messy, unpredictable glory.
They spent the next hour taking turns encouraging Mikoz’s walking attempts. Anya would sit a few feet away and call to him, celebrating each successful journey with enthusiastic praise. Corinne recorded some of the attempts, already planning to preserve these memories for when Mikoz was older.
And he watched them, his tail curled around Corinne’s waist while his hand rested on Anya’s shoulder. Contact points that grounded him in this moment, in this reality of family and belonging that he’d thought lost forever.
Eventually Mikoz tired of the game and crawled to Corinne, demanding to be picked up and cuddled. She obliged immediately, settling back with him in her arms while he fought against sleep with the determination of infants everywhere.
“Someone’s had a big day,” she murmured, stroking over his head. “Walking is hard work.”
Anya curled up beside them, resting her head on Corinne’s shoulder with the casual affection that came easily now. “Can we celebrate? Like, have something special for dinner or something?”
“Absolutely.” Corinne looked up at him. “What do you think? Can we raid the galley for celebration-worthy food?”
“I will see what can be arranged.”
He left them and went to the galley.
“Commander.” Sartan, the grizzled old warrior who ruled the galley with an iron fist looked up from his prep work, his expression carefully neutral. “What brings you to my domain?”
“I need a favor. I would like something special for dinner tonight in my quarters.”
He could have simply ordered Sartan to prepare the meal, but he doubted it would have been edible under those circumstances. Sartan studied him for a moment. “What kind of celebration?”
He hesitated, torn between pride and the necessity of discretion, but while Sartan could be both stubborn and surly, Selik had no doubts about his loyalty.
“The child took his first steps today.”
Understanding softened the cook’s grizzled features. “Ah. Yes, that deserves recognition.” He turned to survey his supplies, then nodded. “I can prepare something suitable. Give me two hours. I will have it sent to your quarters.”
“Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. Celebrating a child’s milestone is proper and right.” The cook paused, then added more quietly, “It is good to be reminded that there is a future.”
He nodded, his throat tight, then returned to his office to complete some overdue reports.
But despite the work waiting for him, his mind kept wandering back to the small family waiting for him a few decks away.
The paperwork that had always provided useful distraction now felt like an unwelcome obligation keeping him from where he actually wanted to be.
Tarak appeared in his doorway halfway through the stack, expression carefully neutral in that way that meant he had something to say but wasn’t sure how it would be received, and he sighed.
“What is it?”
“Your attempts to conceal the infant have not been entirely successful,” Tarak said carefully, and he sighed again. He knew it had been a risk to let Corinne and Anya leave his quarters with Mikoz, but he hadn’t wanted them to feel as confined as they had been on the Vedeckian ship.
“There were suspicions before, but after last night, everyone on board is aware of his presence.”
“I understand, but I was more concerned about getting him medical attention than concealing him.”
“Of course. But there are questions.”
He set down his data pad and gave his second his full attention. “And what do you say when these questions are asked?”
“That you have your reasons and when you are ready to explain, you will do so.” Tarak shifted his weight, his tail twitching.
“But I will not lie—there is confusion. The presence of a Cire infant on this ship should not be possible. The Council’s few successes with artificial reproduction would never have been allowed to leave Ciresia. Some wonder if he was stolen.”
“Let them speculate. The truth will be revealed when I deem it appropriate.”
“And when will that be?”
Good question. He had been avoiding formal explanations because any official documentation would eventually reach the Council, and he still wasn’t certain how they would respond to Mikoz’s existence.
A Cire infant born from a female everyone believed extinct, rescued from traffickers who’d clearly had buyers lined up…
The political implications were staggering.
“Soon,” he said finally. “I am taking a family leave.”
Tarak absorbed this in silence, processing the ramifications. Finally, he nodded. “I understand. And I will support whatever decision you make.” A pause. “But I will miss having you as my commanding officer.”
“You will be a good commander. Better than I was in many ways.”
“I doubt that, but thank you. In the meantime, I will do what I can to encourage discretion.”