Teresa’s quarters on the station
When a young orderly arrives with Teresa’s lunch, she barely acknowledges him. The young man offers Dr. Boyd a tiny smile and sets her plate down on the metal table. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but shakes his head. Obviously fighting an internal battle in his own mind. The orderly turns to go.
“Thank you,” Teresa mutters.
She does not bother to look up. She only stares at the floor. The orderly tilts his head, as if to see her face better, and Teresa can’t help but smile. N-Vorl, and that silly yautja head tilt. So many memories from such a short period in her life. Eight days. Had it really only been eight days from start to finish? Eight days managed to turn her entire life upside down? And she wouldn’t take back a single one of them.
The orderly’s smile grows wider as he observes the smile on Teresa’s face. He nods and grips the large serving tray in his hands tighter.
“You’re welcome, Doctor Boyd!” the young man says and exits the room.
Warmth spreads through Teresa’s body and her smile grows to match that which had covered the young orderly’s face. Doctor Boyd? Had he really called her doctor? Not patient X. Not Teresa. But, Doctor Boyd? It’s been quite some time since she has thought of herself using that particular title. It feels good to be a doctor again.
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Teresa’s heart pounds in her chest as the door to her cell is opened, and a nurse steps inside. The tiny bundle wrapped in her arms can only be one thing.
Teresa climbs off of the bed and takes a step toward the open door. An electrical charge travels the floor and Teresa finds herself falling back onto the bed. The electrical hum stops and Teresa struggles to catch her breath. Did they really just shock her? That is when she notices the thickly insulated shoes on the nurse’s feet. What kind of place is this?
The nurse seems unsurprised by what has occurred. She simply takes another couple steps into the room. Her voice is as dry as her old face is wrinkly. That is to say, a lot.
“You will have limited time with the infant…If you follow the instructions we give you,” the nurse says in a nasally voice. “You may feed him, change him, whatever you need to do. Just remember…We are not far. No tricks. You’ve seen what we will do if you try to pull anything.”
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The nurse hands the infant childling to Teresa with a wry smile.
“Personally…If I’d had the choice,” the elderly nurse says. “I would have killed it. Such an ugly abomination of God’s creatures. It should not be allowed to live. And you? Well, they knew how to deal with people like you many centuries ago. A witch should not be suffered to live. And that is what you are. You have defiled the purity of humanity with bestiality! I may have given up my Earther faith. But, I still know what is right. You should have been killed also!”
Without another word, the angry nurse storms out. Teresa gently pulls back the blanket from her infant son’s face. The childling’s color is sickly pale and his eyes are squeezed shut as if he is in terrible pain.
Nearly three days without food. Teresa’s heart clenches at the idea that her son may be close to death. That is the only reason they have permitted her to see him, to feed him. They want to keep him alive. For experimentation. As a tool for torture.
Teresa unbuttons the top of her gown and folds down the front. She exposes the left side of her chest enough to where the infant can effectively nurse. Shaking her head, Teresa further removes the blanket from her tiny son’s head. She whispers softly in his ear, hands stroking the steadily growing hairs covering his scalp and hairline.
“I’m so sorry, Vor’taalnis,” Teresa sighs.
After weeks of silence, Teresa finally gives utterance to her childling’s name. Having absolutely no idea how yautja syntax works, Teresa has given him a name which represents the male members of his clan. Maybe one day, it will mean something more. As Vor’taalnis nurses hungrily, Teresa contemplates their future.
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Teresa lies with both eyes tightly shut, processing everything which has just transpired. N-Vorl’s arm is draped affectionately over her chest. She allows her eyes to flutter open as N-Vorl’s mouth tenderly grazes the flesh of her bare shoulder. Turning her head, she meets his gaze. The rugged warrior is smiling, a rare but gradually more common occurrence. She turns onto her side, in order to face him completely, and N-Vorl pulls her tight to his chest.
The steady rise and fall of N-Vorl’s chest is almost hypnotic, and she fantasizes falling asleep in his embrace forever. No more experiments, no more deadlines, and no more death. Just the two of them, making love and growing old. However, she knows that can never happen. Not in her world. Not in his. N-Vorl is a yautja, born and bred for war. And she is an ooman scientist—trained to create warriors and tools of destruction. Peace is not in their future—nor in their stars. Assuming they make it off of the ship, or the planet, alive. With a heavy heart, Teresa kisses N-Vorl beneath his chin.
"We have to get moving," she says. "They'll be back soon. I think I know you yautja pretty well by now. You're sticklers for punctuality. They won't risk missing the deadline."
N-Vorl separates from Teresa only enough to dip and kiss her passionately. No longer novices, at their particular brand of hybrid mouth massage, they take from each other what they will. Nearly starting the whole process all over again.