Chapter 3 #2
“Her coat requires daily brushing to prevent matting. I will show you the technique.” I pulled up the schedule on my data pad, projecting it into the air between us.
“This is her routine. Feeding every three hours is the worst part.
She requires a specialized formula that I have stockpiled, but we will need to order more within two weeks.
Brush her fur twice daily. Temperature check every four hours to ensure she is not becoming hypothermic.
She needs tactile stimulation throughout the day and vocal interaction to aid in language development.
You must not leave her alone for more than thirty minutes, or she will become distressed.
Danielle stared at the schedule, her eyes wide. “Woah.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been doing this alone for eight months?”
“When I first brought Pip home, my sister visited for three weeks. But she has her own nest-clan to care for, and her own responsibilities.” I dismissed the projection. “Since then, yes, mostly alone, with varying degrees of success from temporary caregivers.”
“What happened with them? The nannies who left?”
I considered how much to share and decided that honesty had worked so far, so I might as well continue. “The first lasted two days. She could not tolerate Pip’s crying. Yxian infants cry frequently. This particular nanny found it ‘grating’ and ‘impossible to endure.’”
“That’s horrible.”
“I thought so as well. I screened more carefully for the second candidate. She lasted five days before admitting that she found my appearance too disturbing to work with. Apparently, Torzi made her nervous, and she refused to touch Pip.” I kept my tone neutral, but the memory stung.
Danielle looked up at me, Pip still cradled in her arms. “For what it's worth, you’re not as scary as I thought you’d be.”
“That is perhaps the kindest thing anyone has said to me in months.”
“I said ‘not as scary,’ not ‘not scary at all.’” Her voice held a hint of a smile. “What about the third nanny?”
“She lasted the longest, at three weeks. I thought perhaps she would work out. But the isolation of the house and being confined to Pip proved too much. She missed her family and her friends. She was a social creature, and out here, there is only Pip, myself, and silence.” I looked out the window toward the vast expanse of red cliffs and empty sky. “Not everyone can tolerate that.”
“Understandable.”
“And you need to be free.” Andrek pinned me with his gaze.
Free from what? I wondered, but didn’t ask. What had she been running from when she’d fabricated references and credentials? What was so terrible that lying her way into an isolated job with an alien employer had seemed preferable?
“You are wondering if I will last,” Danielle said.
“I hope you will last.”
Pip stirred in Danielle’s arms, a small chirping sound coming from her throat. Danielle tensed, but I shook my head.
“You’re doing fine. She is dreaming. Those chirps mean contentment. If she were distressed, the pitch would be higher.”
“How do you know all this? About Yxian infants?”
“Research. Extensive, obsessive research.” I pulled up another projection, this one showing the resources I’d compiled. “I found medical journals, and cultural databases curated by Yxian elders. I’ve studied them every night.”
Danielle stared at the data. “That’s dedication.”
“And necessity. I knew nothing about infant care when I found her. I had to learn, or she would not have survived.” I closed the projection. “You will need to learn as well. I can teach you what I know, but ultimately, you will need to develop your own understanding of her needs.”
“What if I can’t? What if I’m not capable?”
“Then you will try anyway, and we will see what happens.” I moved closer, careful not to loom. “Danielle, I am not expecting perfection. I am expecting effort. Can you give me that?”
She looked down at Pip, who had stirred. Six tiny hands flexed, reaching for nothing. “I can try.”
“That is sufficient for now.” I checked the time. “She will wake soon, and when she does, she will be hungry. Her bottle preparation requires precise temperature and mixture ratios. I will demonstrate, and then you will practice.”
Sure enough, Pip’s eyes opened, those enormous violet orbs focusing first on Danielle, then searching the room until they found me. Her mouth opened, the precursor to crying, and I stepped forward.
“Transfer her to me before she becomes upset. We will work up to you handling her while she is awake and alert.”
Danielle stood, and I took Pip back. She stopped fussing and snuggled into my chest, but her eyes remained on Danielle, curious now, instead of afraid. That was progress.
“Come,” I said. “The kitchen is this way. I will show you the formula preparation, and then we will discuss the rest of your duties.”
We walked through the house, and I pointed out the medical supply closet, the emergency communication system, and the backup power generators. Danielle took it all in with wide eyes, asking questions that proved to me she listened.
In the kitchen, I sat Pip in her supported seat, a contraption that kept her upright and stimulated, and began pulling out the formula supplies.
“This canister contains the base nutrients. This one has enzyme supplements. The ratio is three parts base to one part enzyme, mixed with water heated to this mark.” I pointed to the thermometer.
“Is there a range?”