Page 72 of What Makes an Alien a Dad?

“Ugrrr,” I groaned through yet another contraction. The whole world seemed to be reduced to the endless tide of pressure and pain. “Get this thing out of me, Kear. Now!”

The sweet little baby that I willingly grew in my belly for months, getting along with it just fine, had now become “this thing” I couldn’t wait to be rid of because that seemed the one and only way to finally stop this torture.

“Use those fucking muscles of yours,” I gritted through my teeth, bracing for another swell of pressure, “and pull that thing out. You put it in, you get it out.”

“Not long now, dearest.” He smiled at my verbal abuse, probably just happy that I was still alive and kicking.

One thing I no longer felt was fear.

Even when the foreheads of his assistants wrinkled in worry, Kear remained calm and in control. His confidence gave me strength, for which I was grateful. Despite his earlier lies and deception, I trusted his promise to keep me safe.

At the end, he did use his muscles, literally. A suction cup was attached to the baby’s head, and Kear pulled it out by a rope in a rather primitive looking fashion. His arm muscles bunched up with strain against the resistance of the baby stuck in my birth canal. He pulled gently but steadily.

A tiny wail shrilled through the bustling activity in the room, and I knew it was finally over.

The pressure eased momentarily. The pain dulled to a faint shadow of its former self. I drew in my first deep breath in what felt like centuries.

“Are the parents here?” I croaked, feeling like I’d just run a marathon, with a bucket of rocks tied to my middle.

I had no idea how long it all took or even what time of the day it was. But something significant had just happened in the life of a couple who had put their trust and hopes in me. I expected the parents of the baby to burst into the room. They surely had been pacing outside the door all this time, overwhelmed by hope and worry.

All I wanted after all this torture was to see the smiles on their faces as they held their baby for the first time.

The room went still. Other than for the team of pediatricians busying themselves over the baby’s miniature bed under a lamp dome, no one moved. Nobody burst through the door, eager to see their new child.

“She is perfect,” a pediatrician announced.

She.

My face split with a smile so wide, my cheeks felt sore. “It’s a girl?”

“Congratulations, Professor Thormus.” The pediatrician put the tiny bundle into Kear’s arms.

He froze. His breathing halted as he looked down at the baby. He blinked rapidly, tilting his head. His eyes studied the baby’s face intently. The veil of confidence wavered, giving way to vulnerability in his expression.

I realized the pediatrician didn’t just congratulate a renowned professor on a successful completion of the most important study of his career. He congratulated the father on the birth of his child.

“She’s yours?” I exhaled.

He nodded, not taking his eyes off his daughter’s face, scrunched into a grimace to accompany her wailing scream.

“Just yours?” I clarified.

He nodded again. “The egg came from an anonymous donor.”

There was no mother. No happy couple, waiting impatiently to claim their baby. All this little girl had was Kear.

But he turned around, handing the baby to one of his assistants. “Situate her into the capsule for observation.”

She, just like me, was nothing more but a subject of his study.

As two nurses cleaned me, Kear faced me again.

“You will stay in bed until the end of today. We’ll assess your status in the morning.” He stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. He was wearing gloves, and his touch reminded me of the many medical tests he’d performed on me. “How are you feeling, Maya?”

I stared straight ahead at the horns of one of the nurses who were changing the sheets under me and tucking clean covers around me.

“You know exactly how I’m feeling, Professor.” I tipped my chin at the walls of monitors surrounding my bed. Every aspect of my physical existence was scrupulously documented and displayed in the neat charts and graphs for him to see.

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