Aetherbound - E.K. Johnston Page 0,39

person for what I want.”

“I think I understand,” Ned said. “No one would have designed Fisher, and he’s perfect.”

“My family wouldn’t have designed me either,” Pendt said. “And if any of my older siblings or cousins had star-sense, none of the rest of us would exist.”

So she didn’t design the genes. She picked her own egg at random, releasing it into her uterus to wait. She made sure it connected to the right sperm, but her only requirement was that there be a Y chromosome. It was intention, she supposed, but not deliberate design. It was the most and the least that she could do. When she was sure implantation had been successful, she waited until Fisher was home for breakfast before telling them both at the same time.

“I’m pregnant,” she said with no preamble, and then slathered strawberry jam onto her toast. Jam made bread even better than bread already was.

Ned froze with his own toast halfway to his mouth. Fisher waited a beat for him to say something first, and then pressed forward.

“That’s good news,” Fisher said. “Is everything in order?”

Bless Fisher for keeping everything professional. Ned ate his toast.

“Yes,” Pendt said. “I would like to talk to the doctors here and get another opinion or two, and then we should work out a way to test if I can manage the station controls.”

“That part’s pretty straightforward,” Fisher said.

“We aren’t doing it that way,” Ned protested, finding his voice at last.

“What way?” Pendt asked.

“When our mother was pregnant and our doctors confirmed I was male, they put her in a pod and sent her to Katla,” Ned said. “She kissed our father on the colonnade, and then walked into the docking bay all by herself. He took the lift up to operations and sent her through. The whole station stopped work, waiting for Katla to send her back. Either the Net would activate and catch me, or we would all be lost to space.”

Pendt swallowed.

“Everyone was very relieved, obviously,” Fisher said. He blinked several times to clear his eyes. “They love my mother, and they were glad of an heir.”

“I would prefer a less dangerous method,” she said. “But I understand if that is necessary.”

“We’ll take you to see Dr. Morunt,” Fisher said.

Pendt started visibly. “Doctor who?” she demanded.

“Dr. Morunt,” Ned said, confused. “He’s the best one on the station. He’s the one who took care of our mother when she was pregnant with us.”

“The Harland doctor was named Morunt,” Pendt said. “She was almost good to me.”

“We can take you to one of the others, if you like,” Fisher said.

Pendt considered it. Even if this new Morunt was related to the Harland’s, he had no way of communicating with her. He couldn’t betray them, even accidentally. And it would be nice to see a familiar face, even if it was only familiar by proxy.

“No, it’s fine,” Pendt said. “Just let me get ready.”

* * *

• • •

Brannick Station’s Dr. Morunt was a heavyset man, well into his fifties. There was an infinitely higher number of body types on Brannick compared with the Harland, but Pendt still stared when she saw someone who looked different. She felt like an infant when she did it: Even working solely off genetic diversity, Brannick would have more phenotypes than the Harland, but she couldn’t quite stop herself yet. She wasn’t used to so many variations on living well.

He had the same open face as the Harland Morunt, but his was not weathered the way hers was, pale from years in space and gaunt from exact nutrition. He examined Pendt quickly and professionally, confirming that she was pregnant and that the foetus had a Y chromosome. He gave her advice on how to deal with her body as it changed and recommended a slight increase to her daily fitness regimen.

“Is it still a slight increase if I’ve never had a daily fitness regimen?” she asked.

He guffawed, which made her jump.

“Well, I suppose not,” he said. “But walking around the station would be good for you, in any case. You’re putting on weight very well, especially in your muscles, and I want to be sure your body learns to use them as they develop.”

“Thank you,” said Pendt. “I like how round I am starting to look.”

“You are still distressingly scrawny,” the doctor informed her bluntly. “If I hadn’t heard through station scuttlebutt that you’d come off a merchant ship, I would be questioning your guardians about their mistreatment of you. As it is,