The first vision every morning of late was that of his wife. Papa Smurf admired her swollen belly, a pale mound rising above the blanket like that of a white whale breaching the surface. Thar, she blows. He whispered and toyed with her, walking his fingers over the hump, feeling the kicking. She was uncomfortable and hot, he knew; ripe, heavy, and slow. A few more days before baby Claire came out, their fourth. All girls -- something Rotter and T-Bone had snickered about and elbowed each other -- it takes a man to produce boys. Dimwits. He could care less. He loved his girls. Soon he would be locked in a fortress of estrogen and subjected to nail paintings and hair braiding. He wouldn't have it any other way. This was true bliss, the perfect life.

Usually, three minutes after the alarm, the door to the bedroom would fly open as the older girls, aged six- and four would burst in with high-pitched screams, jumping on the bed. The two-year-old toddler was still in her crib. He'd scoop the invaders up before they could ram into their mother and would roll with his girls in fits of kisses and laughter.

The morning ritual always ended with his wife saying, "You'll be late, Papa."

"I know, love. It's the best part of my day. Just another five minutes . . . with these monsters -- Roar."

She smiled seeing him so happy.

"Aw, pooh," Papa blew them bubble kisses. The girls squealed with joy.

Bonnie struggled to rise, which at once made him stop his horseplay with the kids.

She put on the robe that barely contained her jutting belly and engorged breasts, and lumbered downstairs. Papa took a long steam-shower, taking up five minutes and seven quarts. The DC-Maryland-Virginia conurbation, known as the DMV or Sector 3, was the least dense hub of Megacity East and didn't lack for potable water.

A low cloud blanket had covered most of the East Coast for two weeks. The incessant torrent had mired flood zones and had buried large swaths of Megacity East under mud and muck. The continuous downpour had complicated transportation and aggravated a rash of malaria. Elsewhere, the news reported, droughts endured, severe enough to turn arid tracts of the southwest into dust bowls. In LA-Diego, South California's equivalent of Megacity East, soaker baths, swimming pools, car washes, lawn watering were prohibited and fined for overuse. The strict local ordinance required retooled toilets to use suction tanks, needing no water.

After changing into khakis and a sleeved shirt, Papa came down to the kitchen and headed over to the coffee machine. Before he could pour some into a mug, the two monsters in pigtails and ribbons clung to his pants wanting to play. He picked them up and secured them in chairs around the morning table, a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with colored syrup in front of each.

"Ugh," the eldest girl grimaced. "Looks like Katie's doo-doo."

"I hate to leave you like this," he said to Bonnie, leaning over to touch her arm. "Who can you get to help?"

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"Annie said she'd be over this morning," Bonnie said. "She'll get the kids to school. Don't worry, my water shouldn't break 'til Thursday at 2 PM–that's the time the doctor's aiming for."

He exhaled. "Three days and six hours. Okay -- no heavy lifting. You just relax."

"I'm fine, love." She kissed him. "I'm not dilated yet. Contractions are mild and far apart."

"When they rush you, you call me? Promise?"

"For sure I will. You're not leaving me like this, darling."

The news turned their attention to the TV wall: "Futures from overnight trading in Asia has taken a precipitous fall by 5%, the Hang Seng undergoing a stunning 7% drop as trade worries sour sentiments, promising New York's open to be abysmal. Oil has spiked for the fifth day, raising the specter of out-of-control inflation. The Consumer Price Index isn't for release until the 15th of this month but analysts have forecasted a jump to 458 -- that's a three hundred fifty-eight percent increase in inflation since a decade ago. In other financial news, there has been a spike in physical silver and gold and heavy buying in Gold Futures contracts. Market analysts believe Typhon Holdings, the investment arm of TexPax Paramountcy is behind this massive bid to accumulate precious metal positions. The firm is acting on the belief that inflationary pressures would destroy the value of any investments denominated in or tied to paper currency.

"In federal news, newly appointed Supreme Court judge Mortimer has granted an injunction against Great Pacifica in its bid to acquire 10% of Midland's sphere of influence in Idaho. Justice Mortimer has determined these measures would violate the size limit of a paramountcy and that they should cease post haste or face stern federal criticism . . ."

"Another day in paradise," Papa laughed, glancing from one corner of his eye.

"Paradise is un-affordable," Bonnie said, her mood deflating. "My sister tells me prices around where she lives are skyrocketing. The basic stuff. Milk, bread. And fuel. Even electricity."

"She's panicking for no reason," Papa said dismissively, though deep down, he felt they were symptoms of events in which he was partly responsible. A pang of guilt welled up in his throat.

"I'm worried . . . About you -- the video, I mean."

"Hey, you have a bun in the oven, sweetheart. You need to relax and clear your mind and stop listening to that crap. I wasn't in it."

"How can you say that?" Bonnie raised her voice. The girls stopped poking their oatmeal and looked at their mother.

"Everything will be okay."

"Really? Where's the serum they promised? It's been two weeks since your last refill. Your stash runs out in a month."

"I'm sure more will get here tomorrow, don't worry."

"And what about this company that hired you, it's an orphan," Bonnie objected, rolling her eyes, "with no guarantees. We'd be on the street if something were to happen."

"We need the income, Bonn," Papa said. "See how it goes, okay? Besides, they don't know who I am."

"In other news, the Council of Regents has subpoenaed Secretary Balkan to appear and answer charges of tampering and conspiracy. Mounting international pressure aimed at Washington to produce the Caracas trio for questioning has largely gone unanswered as the two men and one woman remain at large."

"You're right. Thank God you weren't on that video," she sighed.

He wondered how the three were coping: Alex, Warchild and T-Bone. The team's sudden break was rash, everyone scattered, denying they ever knew one another. Himself included. But he had his family to protect, and children to feed.

"Well, you'd better hurry. Don't want a bad first impression."

"You trust me?" He touched her shoulder with sincerity.

"Who else if not you, Papa Smurf you big galoot."

He hugged her, and patted her belly. He planted kisses on the six and the four-year-old.

"What time will you be home?"

"The usual nine to five, I hope."

"Don't you leave me by myself for too long."

"Never in a million years."

"Go get 'em, tiger."