{Reipon | Two Months Later}

“Dr. Suarez, how is Triss feeling, tonight?”

“She’s still cursing your name, General.”

Korac peered into the infirmary and found the doctor sitting on a rolling stool. He rummaged through drawers until he found a bag of yellow fluids. Kitted out with a combination of Earth and Enki tech, the 24x24 space served its purpose. The black tile floors, gray walls, and white ceilings matched the rest of the villa’s interior decorating.

Triss rested in a room next to the infirmary ever since her condition deteriorated two weeks ago. Her sanity went with it. They worried day in and day out that she’d negate the pregnancy. After all the work Sagan put into the nursery, it would break her heart. Thus, Korac’s investment in the Lyrik’s condition.

Pablo stood with his supplies and walked to the door. “I’m about to go in and see her, if you want to join me?”

“Absolutely.”

Before entering, the doctor whispered, “The pain is pretty severe. We’re keeping her sedated, but the baby’s metabolism is too fast for the drugs to help much. Go easy on her, okay?”

The man’s brown eyes were warm with compassion and professional commitment to his patient. No matter how she came to them.

Korac nodded, and they went inside.

“Hi, Triss. How is my favorite Lyriki patient, today?”

“I’m dying.” She laid in a simple four-poster bed. The sheets thrown off her swollen belly like the baby kept her plenty warm. Her true-red feathers and gliders flared at Korac’s entry. “Graced by the contaminant’s presence. That’s twice this week. Worry not. I still carry my lover’s child, mongrel.”

Pablo ignored her barbs and carried on with his work. Vitals checked. New IV bag exchanged for the old. Listened to the baby with the stethoscope. To her, he tipped the device. “Do you want to hear?”

Wincing and gritting her teeth, Triss weakly sat herself forward. “Yes. Thank you. You’re proof not everyone associated with this cult of repressed children is worthless.”

What a fucking compliment.

Korac settled into leaning his side against the door frame. No sense in entering and causing her further stress. Her bitterness might poison the baby.

Just as he wondered what Razor ever saw in the viper, Triss’ eyes lit up like bright citrines and a glamorous smile graced her lips. She was beautiful in a rabid groupie sort of way. Like an addiction too dangerous to kick.

Listening to the baby’s heartbeat, she announced proudly, “She’s strong.” The joy melted from her features as she glared at Korac. “She’s stronger than you.”

Pablo interjected as he retrieved his stethoscope, “She’s a fighter all right.” He squeezed Triss’ hands, encouraging her to squeeze back. “Like her mother.”

Triss cried out and contorted in pain. After a few gasping breaths, she whispered weakly, “I think she wanted to prove your point. I’m tired, Dr. Suarez.”

He attended a few tasks in the room as he assured his patient, “We’ll go. I’ll see you for your midnight blood transfusion. Hang in there for the little one.”

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“Good night, former Executive Warden.” Korac turned to leave.

She stopped him. “Your brother was a better man than you, but for the life of me, I couldn’t make him see it. I’d hoped fathering her would open his eyes. Now I pray to Elden you find the best of him buried in your similarities, and you raise this girl like an Aegis ought to. Don’t hide her history from her. Swear to me now, or I’ll end this pregnancy.”

Korac let her see the ice in his gaze. Let it into his voice. “We will raise her to know where she came from and who parented her. But we will also bring her up to be better than those who conceived her. I want her to be like Sagan.”

Triss sneered. “That will have to suffice.”

After his good nights to the doctor, Korac retreated to his oceanside corner suite, where Sagan waited after a long day of Seamswalking the teams throughout the Vast Collective.

Organizing. Plotting. Enacting.

They asked much of her, and he often found her in bed by this time. But tonight she rummaged in their walk-in closet.

Thubgy, one of Pisces’ Hellkittens, played at her feet. Aptly named by Pax, who officially employed himself as stress relief coordinator for the entire household. The precious critter often referred to Korac as “Uncle Kor.” After Korac noticed the vein in Xelan’s forehead throb at the sentiment, the Icarus encouraged the toddler to do so at every given opportunity.

Korac slipped his white tee off his back and fixed his rib-length hair before Sagan spied it, all tousled. Tying it back for his shower, he hopped under the spray. She left the door connecting the bathroom to the closet open. It made her available to his intrusive shower thoughts.

This one, for instance. “Have you given any thought to naming our daughter? Dr. Suarez gravely insists Triss’ pregnancy won’t last to full term.”

“Echo.”

Of course. Rayne was never far from Sagan’s mind, and even Korac couldn’t think of a better woman to honor with the girl’s name. Except maybe Karter. The very thought of the abducted Valkyrie—his mother—choked the life out of him. “Echo is a beautiful name for the daughter of one lost race and of another known for their vocal lethality.”

“I’m so relieved you like it. It’s been on my mind.”

No shit.

The entire house witnessed Sagan shop, decorate, and baby-proof with a mixture of adjacent joy and cautious trepidation. Welcoming a child into the worlds while hiding from a ruthless secret organization left them all apprehensive. But not his girl. She knew this was right.

Mercy for Korac’s mind.

He finished drying and stepped into some silk pajama bottoms. White. Sagan’s favorite. He brushed out his hair as he walked back into the bedroom and—

Sagan stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a pinstripe pencil skirt and a matching bustier that emphasized the tan swells of her breasts to perfection. The six-inch stilettos gave her petite frame some added legginess he wholly appreciated. She knotted her short hair around a pencil and found her old glasses. Useless to her now, she perched them on the tip of her adorable nose. Heavy kohl accentuated the violet of her eyes. Deep red lipstick. Enough said.

Korac’s mouth hung open until he noticed the antique typewriter on the desk.

Oh.

Sagan cutely adjusted her glasses and demurely batted her mascaraed lashes at him. “Here are my terms.”

That perked him back up.

“For every ten thousand words, I’ll perform a sexual act of your choosing. No limitations.”

Gently, Korac delved, “Are you certain these are the terms you want?” They spent the last two months helping Sagan recover her trust. To help her return to herself. He didn’t want this to set her back.

Sagan beamed and dropped a pen. She placed her hand over her mouth with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh. How did that happen?” At his wry smile, she bent in half to pick it up. The slit in the back of her skirt parted high enough to reveal lacy black panties.

Korac swallowed his drool as she straightened and faced him again.

“I am positive.”

He rushed over and cupped Sagan’s face before kissing his gratitude into her.

With a giggle, she pushed him off. “Nope. Not until we complete the first ten thousand.”

“All right.” Korac crossed the room and pulled out the desk chair for Sagan. He scooted her in and waited for her to set up. “Here are my terms. I bare my soul to you and to Rayne, and I leave it to you for redacting whatever you deem necessary before dissemination. Full. Collective. Broadcast. So that wherever she is, she’ll hear us.”

At Sagan’s firm nod, Korac began.

“I am not the monster you once thought me to be. But I’m not sure I qualify as a man. I have always been lesser, and my gravest fear is that the ones I love most will one day see me for what I am.

“A slave without a people. A slave without a home.”