Mothership by D. Kai Wilson	Table of Contents part 1 part 2 part 3
conclusion

We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz

“Stop that,” he says, a hint of tired irritation ticking into his voice.

“Sorry.” I learned to use my voice synth, but I don’t like it.

“You’re not — not really. I dread to think of the commentary we’re going to get back on you in the next two years, but you’ve proved it works, at least.”

“Ah, pay no attention to the BRAIN behind the machine, huh?” I hear a splutter of liquid. I’m guessing coffee substitute, but I can’t tell. You can only do so much with hearing synths.

“Name?”

“Cheskav, Mira” I answer automatically. I got to keep my first name, in deference to my personality.

“You can regress for a bit if you like — I have to take you offline to patch you this final time — even briefly. You don’t take well to it, so...” He sounds a bit annoyed at this, and the woman laughs again, and I can hear a tip of unkindness in there.

...I blink in the sunlight.

I’m me again. My ankles are killing me, my stomach sticking out in front of me — a cairn to the dreams of freedom I’d shared with my lover, growing higher as we realize the things we’re about to lose. All the places we’ll never be able to go, because parents are a dwindling resource — children are a natural wonder. All the jobs we’re now, automatically, and silently ruled out for, including the one I was just settling into before our little slip.

I’m jobless now, so we’re moving back from Epsilon 1, a childless colony (deliberately), to Archon 514, one of the main hubs of commerce and parenting. Economics and parenting go hand in hand.

I look down again, at the moving surface of the top edge of my stomach — a barrow to our new life. The baby underneath it stirs and wiggles, a behemoth of possibilities, my little dragon. He’s my new dream, and I’m calm. Excited even.

Jason stops me at the gates to the port, and rummages in his bag. Coming through here seven years or so ago, I think I was drunk. It was definitely night and surface — the port, was completely different. In daylight it looks like a monument to the stupidity of our belief that we could be anything we wanted — the glass misted in patches that would be charming under a night sky, but disgusting now. The floors are dusty, a shimmering, sickening haze of fairy dust that looks alluring under the bleach-lights of the port at night, but lurid now.

Jase pulls out the camera that he’s packed, hastily, in his carry-on bag. He’s jokingly told me already that he’s prepared for me to deliver just about anywhere with a bed and a seat and has epoxy to stick the camera to a surface if necessary. Underneath his laughter though, he’s as nervous and amazed as I am.

“Say goodbye to our old life, honey, and tell me how you feel.”

I do as I’m asked, looking round once more in mock wonder. The port is dulling with every second we stand here — I’m keen to get on the ship, get settled. Get off my feet.

“Good night, moon,” I say with a grin. Then I take a deep breath and say, “It’s good to be moving on to a new life. Even if I am round — rotund — moribund.” I look up at the side of the ship.

She’s called Cheskav.

Copyright © 2009 by D. Kai Wilson