Clever Cargo: A Scifi Alien Romance

(Forgotten Cargo Series Book 2) Beva

John [John
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 CLEVER CARGO
A Forgotten Cargo Romance

Beva John
 Copyright © 2020 by Beva John
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical without permission in writing from the author.
Cover by beetifulbookcovers.com
Cover image by conrado/shutterstock.com
Table of Contents
Title Page

Copyright Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR’S NOTE
 CHAPTER ONE
MAGNAR
It is time to make a baby.
As much as I would like to postpone the process, my mother is dying and if I inherit the throne
without an heir, it will cause unrest among my people.
Historically, the Brune are creatures of habit. They do not like uncertainty or risk. They want to
know that the royal line of succession is secure.
Which is why I now stand with my fiancé Lady Jing at the summer home of my future uncle-in-
law, Lord Kitre.
“Have you ever seen such an extensive collection of vintage human females?” Kitre asks. He
motions to the rows of stasis pods with a satisfied air. He is a small, wiry traveler with dark blue
skin, dressed in ornate robes that brush the floor.
“No,” I say honestly. I have never seen such a collection, and the reality of it disgusts me. I find it
morally reprehensible that anyone can own sentient beings – even if they are in stasis pods and have
no consciousness. I estimate that there are over eighty women on display – possibly more.
Over eighty women trapped in a thick clear liquid that preserves them.
All of them wear ownership collars around their necks.
Disgusting.
Purchasing humans is illegal now throughout the Intergalactic Cooperative, but Brune law does
not require owners to free their prior purchases. Technically, humans in stasis only have rights once
they are released.
I hope one day to make and enforce laws requiring all such humans to be freed.
But until then, I will keep my radical opinions to myself and wait for an opportune time to express
them.
My father, King Tormag taught me well. Words cannot be unsaid. It is better to be silent than to
speak unwisely.
I ask Kitre, “When did you start your collection?”
“Actually, the collection was started by my grandfather and I have merely added to it,” he says
with false humility. “I believe that it has great historic value, and I think you’ll be surprised by some
of the human females that are here.”
Kitre is an obsequious rodent.
I have no doubt that he litters all his conversations with the phrase “my niece Lady Jing, fiancé to
Prince Magnar.” And once our baby is born, he will regularly entertain his guests with a description
of today and how he helped me acquire a surrogate.
My fiancé Jing urges me forward to see the collection more closely. “Many of them are from the
Red Sands Company. Everyone knows they make the best surrogates.”
I inwardly cringe at the phrase “Everyone knows” because if a statement of fact needs bolstering,
it is merely an opinion, not a fact.
But as I have often been reminding myself lately, I did not choose my future wife for her ability to
discuss matters logically. I chose her for her aristocratic bloodlines. Jing is a suitable age, with
suitable looks and suitable manners. She was the best candidate out of all those travelers I
considered, and I have known her since we were children. Her mother is a close acquaintance of my
mother, and over the years, Jing and I met at various social gatherings.
 Before I proposed, I had the head of our Military Civil Intelligence Serat prepare a detailed
background report on her – as well as all the eligible single females in the top 100 families of
Allathone. Jing was one of the few candidates who were not addicted to Trig or alcohol, have an
eating disorder or come from a family with a historically poor birthrate.
Jing is no scholar, but she should be able to converse in public without embarrassing me or
causing an intergalactic scandal.
It is enough for me.
As the Crown Prince of Allathone, I do not expect my marriage union to be a love match. My
parents did not love each other; they respected each other.
I know for a fact that my father had several mistresses and years ago my mother dallied with her
footmen. But they were discreet, just as Jing and I will be discreet.
I do not care if Jing has a fetish for the natives of Enset with their beady little eyes and long hairy
arms. Biologically, they are unable to breed with Brunes, so as long as she doesn’t pick up some
nasty rash, we will be fine.
We will combine her eggs and my sperm and together we will share a lifetime of distant
politeness.
As I approach the pods, I realize that some of them have surprisingly ancient technology. I grasp
my hands behind my back and ask, “Do the pods ever malfunction?”
Kitre says, “Occasionally. When that happens, if the human female is viable, she is then hired to
work in my home. One of my housekeepers is a human.”
I hope he is paying her adequately, but historically, Brunes have not treated humans well, and
there are still strong prejudices against humans, with many travelers considering them mentally and
morally inferior. Fortunately, those prejudices are gradually lessening, particularly since recent
changes in the law have given all the inhabitants of Allathone civil rights – whether they are Brune,
Namvire, Katoll, Human, or even Teek.
Jing tugs on the sleeve of my coat and I follow her. As much as I dislike choosing a surrogate, I
prefer to have a human womb, rather than a mechanical one, carry my future heir. Statistically, fetuses
have a greater chance of being born live if they gestate inside a living womb.
And Brune females have been unable to bear children for over a thousand years.
Choosing a human surrogate, therefore, is a necessity if we want to have healthy children. Either
we choose a surrogate from her uncle’s collection, or we arrange for another human female –
possibly a current immigrant or we could hire one to travel here from Little Earth. Freeing someone
from a collection seems to be the most expedient and ethical choice.
As I walk down the aisles between these rows of women fully dressed within their pods, I notice
their closed eyes and the attachment that fits over their mouths. I try to imagine how they will feel and
what they will think when they are released into a new environment after who knows how many years
in stasis. I have heard tales of some earth women going mad and others striking out violently when
they are released.
“Do you have a favorite?” I ask Jing.
She looks over her shoulder, smiling at me. “I do have a few favorites, yes, because I have been
looking at my uncle’s collection ever since I was a child. For years I’ve wondered which one I might
choose when I was engaged.”
“Show them to me.”
She beams and almost skips down the row as she points at some of the pods. “I like the older ones
best. I am fascinated by their clothing.”
 “I am more concerned about the width of their hips.”
“I agree. We want our baby to have enough room to grow properly.”
Not for the first time, I wish that my species had valued the health of their offspring more than
fashionable fads.
Historians argue over why a narrow waist became the ultimate symbol of feminine Brune beauty
but following that fashion for centuries has permanently damaged our species, resulting in a negative
birth rate. If it weren’t for carefully maintained intergalactic immigration, Allathone would be unable
to function.
I see from their attire that most of the human females were collected during the last few years of
Old Earth’s occupancy. But there is one human female wearing a fitted dress that flares out over her
hips. Her skirt is wide, and it is crammed into the pod, completely obscuring the shape of her lower
limbs. “She needs a bigger pod,” I comment.
“Ah, yes,” Kitre says. “She was abducted from Earth in the mid-19th Century, according to their
calendar. She is my most recent acquisition.”
I raise my eyebrows. “It is illegal to buy women in pods.”
Kitre smirks. “Are you going to put your own future uncle-in-law in jail?”
I will not cause scandal over one human female. I say, “I am not an enforcement officer. But
truthfully, sir, you must not continue buying these. It just encourages piracy and bad behavior
throughout the Cooperative.”
“I will be discreet.”
Discreet seems to be the fashion in the Brune aristocracy. I begin to wonder at the wisdom of
choosing to marry Jing if her relatives are criminals.
But to be fair, I must admit that a good percentage of my ancestors were criminals, too. No one
becomes and remains King of a vast empire without some ruthlessness.
Besides, if I don’t keep Jing, who will I choose? I don’t have time to find a different fiancé and
my people would not think well of a ruler who abandons one female for another. It could make me
seem impulsive or irresponsible.
Kitre adds, “You may change your mind when you see her. She is beautiful. Look at that skin.”
Human females come in a variety of skin tones – from pale pink to shades of brown – none of
them a healthy blue.
I lean closer to this one pod. The woman’s skin is pinkish, but I can’t see much of it other than her
face and throat. Unlike many of the other women in Kitre’s collection, she is covered from head to
toe. Her plain dress has a high neck with a lace collar, long sleeves, and the skirt reaches down to the
floor.
Her brown hair is styled in a knot on the back of her head with a few tendrils floating in the thick
liquid.
“Look at her earrings,” Jing says with a tone of wonder.
The woman has small, rounded human ears with one set of earrings in her lobes, unlike Jing
whose pointed blue ears have six sets of tagium rings glittering with jewels.
The human’s earrings are tiny delicate ovals with a blue background and a white silhouette of a
human female head and shoulders.
“They are called cameos,” Jing says. “Very rare.”
I recognize that tone of voice. I’ve heard it many times when I have taken Jing shopping. I narrow
my eyes, wondering if Jing wants this woman merely because of her earrings.
“She is short,” I say dismissively.
 “No shorter than I,” Jing says, standing closer to the pod. The contrast between them is marked –
Jing so modern and the human woman so old-fashioned. Jing is wearing a short skirt and her long legs
are half covered with boots that come up to her knees. In the current style of the day, she has long,
shoulder length white hair. Her skin is blue, her ears are pointy. Her very small waist is decorated
with a jeweled belt like most Brune females.
I look closer at the woman in the pod. Other than her dress, she is unremarkable. A very average
nose and chin. I have never found human females particularly attractive. Unlike many of my
associates, I never obsessed over human porn viewings or requested human females at the exclusive
brothel I visited with my father when I was a younger traveler.
The Katoll seem obsessed with humans, considering their females to be the most responsive
species sexually, but I have never bothered to make a personal case study.
Not that I am considering any of these women as sexual partners.
I am choosing a surrogate, nothing more.
I decide that it does not matter which human female we choose. One will be very much like the
next. As much as I would fight to the death to preserve any species’ rights in our society, I do not
expect much from humans. With a few exceptions, like my own dear Nanny, humans are notoriously
impulsive, naïve and often devious. It is our job, as Brunes, to gradually elevate them, setting a moral
standard and encouraging civilized behavior. “Very well,” I say finally. “If you want this female to be
our surrogate, I have no objections.”
Jing squeals. “That is marvelous.”
As we turn to leave, I notice that the female in the pod has black stains on one of her hands – on
her thumb and two of her fingers. “What is that?”
Kitre looks at data on his arm screen. “Ink stains, apparently.”
It is too blotchy and random to have been added intentionally like a tattoo. “Can it be removed?”
“Certainly,” Kitre promises. “And if not, you can always choose another human female.”
I nod. “That is true. You may proceed, take the human female to an immigration center.” If the
human woman is mad or violent, I do not wish to see it.
 CHAPTER TWO
LOTTIE
I had the strangest dream last night and now I am standing in a room with – well, perhaps I am
still dreaming because the people in front of me are blue. It is the oddest thing. Their ears are long
and pointed at the top, like elves or imps in a fairy story. But I have never heard of six-foot tall elves.
I am standing in a glass tube and thick, sticky water is draining out around my feet.
One of the blue elves holds out a hand to help me step out of the tube. “Welcome to Capital City.
How are you feeling?”
How odd. His lips are moving, but they don’t seem to match the words coming from them.
“I don’t know.” I look around the brilliantly lit room and see that there are at least six blue elves.
“What is your name?”
“Charlotte Jamison. I go by Lottie.”
“Lottie,” one of the elves says and touches a dark piece of curved glass attached to his forearm.
The picture on the glass changes like magic.
“Good heavens. What is that?”
“It is a data screen.”
What a clever device. I would like to learn more about it, but I have other questions that are more
important. “Where am I?”
“Ah,” the blue person says. “You are on Allathone in Capital City. You were recently activated.”
None of this makes sense. “I don’t understand. How did I get here?”
“You were abducted or taken from your own planet, Earth, in the past. Do you remember what
year you were taken?”
Abducted? I must be dreaming. But then someone asks me to please sit down, asks me if I would
like something to drink. “I would not say no to a cup of coffee or tea,” I answer. Truthfully, a glass of
whiskey might be a better choice given my bizarre situation, but I don’t want to appear less than
genteel for my blue hosts.
Someone hurries out of the room and returns a few minutes later with a cup of hot tea in a bowl
with no handle and I sip it. It has a strange flavor, but the liquid is hot and I appreciate it.
The physical touch of the bowl in my hands and the steam that rises from above it makes me know
that I am awake, although I am in very strange circumstances.
I look around the room and notice that the blue people are wearing matching uniforms – light blue
trousers and long coats that button up the front. There seem to be several males and the lone female
has the most astonishingly small waist, accented by a wide belt.
One of them says, “Let us continue. What is the last date you remember?”
“As far as I know, the last date I remember is September 1872.”
The blue person nods. “Yes, that matches our records. You were abducted and sold to a company
called Red Sands and were recently found in a storage unit and then sold to a collector here on
Allathone.”
He says Allathone as if I am supposed to know what that is. “What is Allathone?”
The blue person smiles. “Allathone is the home planet of the Brune.” He places a hand on his
chest. “Our species. And you are in our capital.”
This is amazing to me and fascinating. I had never thought there were other species in the great
expanse of space. Or that I would ever be an explorer like Mr. Darwin. I frown. “How far away is
Allathone from Earth?”
“I have no idea,” the blue person says. “Earth is in a different galaxy.”
Galaxy. I know little of astronomy, but I know galaxies are vast. “Good heavens,” I murmur.
The blue person says, “No doubt it seems strange now, but you will learn more in time. We hope
that you will be happy and productive here.”
It is all too much for me to understand. “What year is it now?”
The blue person gives a calendar year and says, “That is according to the Intergalactic
Cooperative timeline, which is a different calculation than yours. It has been approximately 652
human years since your abduction.”
This seems absurd and yet, well, I will continue to observe and get more information before I
decide whether I believe these people. It could be an elaborate hoax.
But over the next few days, I don’t believe it is a hoax – the entire situation is too elaborate to be
a hoax. First, there are dozens of blue people. And occasionally, there are other species as well. In
the hallways, I see one yellowish person that looks similar to a large lizard and several other massive
creatures with light brown skin and rings of hair or fur around their shoulders and tails that look like
lions.
I learn that everyone does not speak English. Instead, I have a miniature translation device
inserted under my skin, behind one of my ears that translates all the languages into English for me.
It is like something out of a Jules Verne novel.
I am taken to a facility where I am examined medically. I have a place to bathe and I am dressed
in new clothes which are different from any clothes I have ever worn before.
I love wearing trousers instead of skirts and I am given an item of clothing called a bra to replace
my chemise and corset. I find it a great improvement.
I also meet with a human official who patiently explains my rights and obligations on the planet of
Allathone. She is dressed like me in trousers and a high-necked blouse. Her blonde hair is cut short
and curls around her ears.
She says, “Hello, my name is Elizabeth and I am here to act as a liaison, to help you get situated.”
She holds out her hand to greet me.
I can’t help but smile. It is so good to see someone who looks like myself. I shake her hand,
grateful for the familiar gesture. I take a chair and sit across a table from her.
She seems tired and I wonder how many women she assists. Elizabeth explains that I do have
some rights here as a citizen on the planet Allathone, but that there is no long-term public assistance.
“Within a month, you will need to find employment.”
I nod. That makes sense. In Boston, people who fall upon hard times can get some assistance from
the local parish, but no one is willing to support someone for years if they have the means of
supporting themselves. “I am not afraid of hard work.”
“Excellent. Fortunately, you have some options. Historically, humans have been abducted by
travelers for hundreds of years. Many of them were abducted as sex workers.”
I gasp. “Prostitutes?”
“Yes,” she says, and I feel a moment’s panic. Have I safeguarded my virtue for so many years only
to become a harlot now?
But she continues calmly, “However, you were bought more as a decorative item and now you
have the opportunity to become a hosting vessel or surrogate.”
That sounds better than being a whore. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“No doubt you have noticed that Brune women have very small waists.”
 “I have. It is most peculiar. Even with the tightest corset lacing, I could never have a waist that
small.”
Elizabeth says, “It is not natural. Over thousands of years, Brune females have modified
themselves.” She looks at me closely. “When you were on Earth, were you aware of the different
breeds of dogs?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it is something like that. The Brunes valued some physical aspects over others and now
they are physically unable to bear children.”
I shudder. “That is terrible.”
Elizabeth shrugs, not willing to criticize the ruling species. “It is an opportunity for us – for
humans – to provide wombs.”
“How is that possible?”
“Perhaps this was not scientifically possible in your day, but later there were women who chose
to be the surrogates for others. Doctors would take an embryo – the sperm and egg – from others and
place it inside the woman’s uterus and then the baby would grow. When the baby was born, it was
returned to its biological parents.”
I am amazed that such things are possible.
“Would you be willing to do this?” Elizabeth asks.
“I think so.” I would consider it an act of charity to help others create a family.
The truth of the matter is, I never thought that I would have children, because there was never
anyone who wished to marry me. After the War of the Rebellion, single men were scarce, and at
twenty-seven I am too old to be an ingenue.
Also, I was not foolish enough to lie with some man before a ring was on my finger. I have seen
too many young women abandoned by their lovers and dying in poverty.
“The benefit of becoming a surrogate is that it gives you more time to choose a career. Many
women use the time of their pregnancy to educate themselves and become trained in other fields.
Some women, of course, go on to have several children, although I do not recommend that because I
believe it taxes the body.”
I remember some of my neighbors in Boston, poor women in their twenties who looked twice as
old because they had given birth to so many children. But one child should not be too difficult to bear.
“Yes, I will do it.”
Elizabeth smiles. “Excellent. You have already been chosen by an aristocratic family who will
pay well. That is why you were released from stasis.”
That is good, I suppose, although I am not in favor of a class system. As an American, I feel that
every person has dignity and that everyone should be equal. But it is not my place to change Brune
society. I must take care of myself first and leave philosophy to the philosophers.
Elizabeth says, “We will arrange the contracts and then you will move to the Maternity Sector,
better known as Baby Town.”

BABY TOWN IS MY UTOPIA. I am surrounded by women at various stages of pregnancy, which can
be emotionally challenging, but I have all day, every day, to do what I please. We live in large
buildings, like the best hotels in Boston, but four times as tall, with individual rooms. The buildings
are light and bright, decorated with pastel colors and large floral paintings on the walls – very
soothing.
 I can read, I can study, I can sit for hours, talking to others about their lives and the history of
Earth. I learn that Earth destroyed itself in 2081 in a nuclear war. Before everyone died, however, the
Katoll – the lion looking race – helped thousands of humans escape. Their descendants now live on a
planet called Little Earth. Some of my companions are from Little Earth – others were abducted like
myself and stored in stasis for hundreds of years.
It is sobering to consider that I might have remained in a pod until my body eventually died, but I
have been released, and I am determined to learn all I can about my new world.
And I am grateful. Three times a day, there is hot food in a cafeteria. I sleep in a warm room with
clean sheets, and I can wash and dry my hair every day if I wish. There are beautiful walled gardens
where I can walk and enjoy nature.
I have met some women who were abducted from Earth as I was, and they are still grieving their
past lives.
Not I.
I have never been happier.
Back in Boston, I was starving and freezing, supporting myself by sewing doll clothes or working
as a domestic and writing for the newspapers by candlelight in the evenings.
And now, I am free.
Apparently, there are still some arrangements to be made before I become a surrogate, but I am
not in a hurry. I am perfectly happy to remain in Baby Town.
There is so much to learn about this new world and new culture. In my day, people travelled by
horse drawn carriage or possibly by train. On Allathone, people travel in individual vehicles that
levitate and move forward without tracks. I haven’t seen one yet, but there are also large spaceships
that can take thousands of people to different planets traveling through something called wormholes.
It all seems like magic to me, but I know there is science behind it.
My favorite device is the data screen on my left forearm. By merely speaking to it or pressing
buttons, I have access to all the information in the five galaxies. It is like living in the Boston Public
Library on Bolyston Street, which contained more than 70,000 books.
But now, with my data screen, I have access to millions of books. And I can translate books from
German or French into English by the touch of another button.
I feel as if the entire world of knowledge has opened up to me, but it is overwhelming – like
taking a drink of water from a fire hydrant.
Can one drown from too much information?
If so, I will happily drown.
One day, as I am sitting with some women, playing cards, one of them sitting by a window notices
a vehicle outside. “That’s a royal car, isn’t it?”
Several of the women look out the window. “I think so,” one says.
“Holy shit. Is that the Crown Prince?” This is from my new friend Dorothy. She lives in the
bedroom next to mine and was abducted from Earth in the 1950’s. She has short, bright blonde hair
and wears red lip paint like her idol – an actress named Marilyn Monroe. I find her manners brusque
and bold, and I wish that I were more like her.
I don’t bother to look out the window myself, because I have little interest in Brune’s royal family.
I understand that King Tormag died a few years ago and now his wife, Queen Erdene, is ruling. I have
seen photographs and she reminds me of Queen Victoria – a white-haired alien, ornately dressed –
but with blue skin and pointy ears. In her younger years, she was pretty with a tight hour-glass figure,
renown for her miniscule waist.
 Someone says, “Prince Magnar did get engaged this year. Perhaps he is arranging for their first
child.” In Brune society, couples do not actually marry until an heir is born alive and healthy.
Another woman touches her rounded stomach. “Maybe I’m carrying the heir.”
“You wish,” Dorothy says dryly, and everyone laughs.
Obviously, it would be considered an honor to be the royal surrogate.
For the most part, the biological parentage of the babies carried in Baby Town remains
confidential.
The women around me gossip and talk for the next half hour. Out of idle curiosity, I press the data
screen on my left arm. I see a digital image of Prince Magnar. He is tall, as most of the Brunes are
tall, and fit, with short dark hair and a strong jaw.
He's handsome, if one doesn’t mind blue skin and pointy ears.
I wonder what he is doing in Baby Town, but since it has nothing to do with me, I darken the
screen on my arm and return to the card game.
Then one of the Brune staff members comes into the room. “Lottie?” she says. “You have a
visitor.”
 CHAPTER THREE
MAGNAR
The human female is not what I expected. She is no longer wearing the historic dress from her
pod. Now she is wearing white, loose pants and a matching blouse that flows down to her knees. As
she moves, I can see the curve of breast and hip under the soft fabric. Unlike Brune women, she wears
no belt around her waist. Her face is clean, free of any cosmetics and her pale pinkish skin glows
with health. I have never considered a human female to be pretty before, but her features, especially
her bright, intelligent eyes, are attractive. She wears no jewelry other than the cameo earrings that
Jing coveted. Her brown hair hangs down her back in a long braid.
The worker introduces us.
The human’s name is Lottie.
She looks at me directly, with curiosity rather than deference, which startles me. I am accustomed
to deference.
“I wish to speak with this woman privately,” I say curtly. “Please leave.”
The worker bows her head. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Once the door closes behind her, I motion to a chair. “Please be seated.”
Lottie sits in a chair opposite to me. She sits quietly, knees together, with her hands resting in her
lap. I notice that her hands are perfectly clean now, with no ink stains. Her fingernails are cut short
and have no decoration. Most Brune women paint their nails as well as their faces with swirls of
color.
“Do you like it here?” I ask.
She smiles slightly. “Yes, very much. Thank you, sir.”
She has a pleasant, melodic voice. “I am glad.”
After that, I don’t know what to say, which is strange for me. From my infancy, I have been
schooled in polite conversation. But I rarely speak with humans, I realize, and I have never had a
private conversation with a human female other than my Nanny before. I clear my throat. “You may
have guessed that my fiancé and I are considering you as our surrogate.”
She nods.
“But I wanted to meet you first.”
She waits.
“I assume someone has explained all the rules to you – the obligations you will have, and that
after the birth, if all parties agree, you may remain as a nanny.”
She nods. “I have heard of that, yes.”
“Is that something you would consider?”
She looks at me directly. “Surely that is for you and your fiancé to decide.”
It is, but for some unfathomable reason, I want her approval as well. I say, “Yes, and that will
depend on whether we think you are suitable. Naturally, that decision will be made later, after the
baby is born.”
“Yes, sir, although to be perfectly honest, you may find that I would not be suitable.”
She has my entire attention now. I raise one eyebrow inquiringly. “Why is that?”
She lifts her chin. “I don’t approve of monarchy,” she says bluntly. “My ancestors fought against a
monarchy in a war – some of them died. I believe that every person’s voice should be heard, and that
democracy is the best form of government.”
 Rather than taking offense, I am amused by her vehemence. I find it astonishing that a human dares
to criticize the Brune culture when her own civilization self-destructed centuries ago. I say only, “You
have not been on Allathone long enough to understand our government – let alone judge it. Perhaps by
the time a baby is born, you will have come to appreciate our way of life.”
Her cheeks flush at my gentle rebuke and she lowers her gaze. “Perhaps.”
I rise to my feet. “Very well. We shall proceed with the fertilization process. Thank you for being
willing to carry my child and I wish you a safe, happy pregnancy and birth.”
She nods. “Thank you, sir.”
“If you have any concerns or additional requests, you may contact my secretary.” I hold out my
hand for her to bare her data screen, but instead she grasps my right hand with hers.
Appalled, I step back, breaking her hold on me. “Whatever are you doing?” No one touches me
without permission.
She says, “I was shaking your hand. I thought that was what you were doing.”
“No. I merely wanted access to your data screen to enter the access information for my secretary.”
“Oh. I beg your pardon, sir.” She appears flustered as she rolls her sleeve up and bares her left
forearm. She stands still as she lets me enter data on her screen so she can contact my secretary Naj.
As I do so, I can’t help but notice how good she smells – a combination of a floral scented soap
and the underlying scent that is hers alone.
I wonder if I licked her if she would taste as good as she smells.
I brush that unsettling thought aside quickly.
Normally I do not touch others and I do not let them touch me.
Once that task is finished, I step back and ask, “The hand shaking. Is it a human custom?”
“It is. In ancient times, men shook right hands as a matter of good faith, to show that they were not
carrying weapons.”
How odd. Statistically Brunes are predominantly right-handed as well.
I smile. “I see. But I already know that you do not have a weapon. None of the females in the
Maternity Sector are armed.”
“As far as you know. Perhaps one of them is sharpening an eating utensil.”
From her wry tone, I don’t know if she is joking. I hold out my right hand, wanting our skin to
touch again, if only for an instant. “Then I accept your gesture, Lottie, in the manner in which it was
intended.
She takes my hand in her small warm hand and gives it a quick, downward motion. “Thank you,
sir.”

LOTTIE
After Prince Magnar leaves, I sink down onto my chair; I feel light-headed, unsteady. My heart
beats rapidly. The Prince was taller than I expected, at least six foot six or seven, and so handsome. I
wish I had kept my mouth shut instead of rudely blathering on about my political views. And I touched
him, taking his hand without permission, which I am certain was against the protocol rules. What was
I thinking?
The truth was, I wasn’t thinking. I was reacting. The moment Prince Magnar entered the room, he
took my breath away.
He is a beautiful creature: magnificent with his broad shoulders, high cheekbones and square
jaw.
 He moves with the grace of an athlete or a professional dancer, but there is a stillness to him,
confidence and power.
His commanding voice, low and steady, sent ripples of pleasure through me, like no one else
before.
And when he held my hand I almost swooned.
I absent-mindedly rub the back of my neck, wondering why I was chosen to be his surrogate.
And how am I going to do my job without making a fool of myself?
I feel giddy, which is foolish.
I am not a young girl. I am twenty-seven years old – too old for infatuation.
And he is just a man.
No, I correct myself and take a deep steadying breath. He is just a traveler, as the species here are
called. A Brune. An aristocratic Brune.
And he is the Crown Prince, for heaven’s sake, engaged to another.
He will never be anything more to me than my employer.
I must ignore my silly physical response and refuse to let him fluster me.
 CHAPTER FOUR
LOTTIE
It takes three attempts for the fertilization to succeed. I am concerned at first, thinking that I might
be at fault, but Dorothy tells me not to worry. “The success rate is even worse for artificial wombs.”
She, like me, is happily pregnant now, although she conceived earlier, and her stomach is already
growing round.
We spend our days reading, watching viewings and walking in the gardens.
All our physical needs are met in Baby Town, and we are treated like queens. Servants daily
massage our bodies and curl our hair. Every week we go the doctors to be measured and prodded,
making certain that our little surrogate Brune babies are progressing appropriately.
We wear medical bracelets on our right wrists that constantly monitor our heart rate and multiple
other aspects of our health as well as the babies’.
And then when my pregnancy is one month along, I am told to pack my few belongings because I
will be moving to the palace.
This causes some commotion among the other surrogates. I hear murmurs that I am a lucky bitch.
Dorothy says, “They are just jealous. Every one of them would like to be in your shoes.”
When it is time to leave, I cling to Dorothy’s hand. “Please keep in touch with me.”
Dorothy assures me, “Of course I will. I’m not stupid. I’ll want an invitation to the Palace.”
“I don’t know if that is possible, but I will do my best.”
At our final good-bye, she kisses my cheek, then laughs and rubs at the lip paint mark she left.
“Oops.”
When arrive at the palace, I am met by a Brune woman, a household manager, who escorts me to
an elegant suite of rooms where I will be living. Not for the first time, I notice that most of the Brunes
I have met walk slowly. I don’t know if this is a physical limitation or a cultural norm. All I know is
that I must slow my natural human pace to match theirs.
The palace is much more ornate than the buildings in Baby Town. Everywhere I turn, there are
expensive items of art as if I am in a museum. There are stone statues – most of them blue – as well as
enormous paintings that cover walls, frescoes on the ceilings, intricate carpets on the floor and gilded
furniture.
The manager takes me to a massively sized suite with two different sitting rooms that look out
over a garden. I had thought that I would be living in the servants’ quarters, but it looks like I will be
more of an honored guest.
The manager is outlining the rules and schedule of the palace, when we are interrupted by Prince
Magnar himself.
I am stunned. I did not think I would see him again, not possibly for months. I have heard that most
surrogates never meet the parents of their babies.
“Your Royal Highness,” the manager says and bows her head.
Magnar strides into the room. He is wearing an ornately embroidered long coat over pants and is
as breath-takingly handsome as I remembered. “Welcome Lottie,” he says formally, in that low sexy
drawl of his. “I heard that you had arrived and thought I should give you a tour of the palace.”
I see surprise in the manager’s eyes, which is quickly masked.
“You may go,” Magnar says to the woman, who swiftly retreats, leaving us alone together.
 “Shall we?” Magnar asks. His tone is pleasant. He stands formally, with his hands clasped behind
his back.
“Yes, sir.”
He nods. “We will begin with a tour of your rooms and then go through the public rooms. If you
have any questions, feel free to ask them. I wish you to be comfortable here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He looks at my face closely. “You have a red mark on your cheek. Has someone struck you?”
“Oh, no,” I say nervously, alarmed by the anger in his eyes. I rub my cheek. “I think that is face
paint.”
He glowers at me. “Why do you have lip print on your cheek?”
“One of the other women at the Maternity Sector kissed me when I left.”
His brows lower further with disapproval. “Are you a lesbian?”
“No, sir.”
“Not that it matters,” he says quickly, his countenance brightening. “It is not a requirement of your
surrogacy for you to be heterosexual, but I was merely surprised. Lesbians were not common in your
day, I believe.”
“No, they weren’t. If they were present, they kept themselves well hidden.” I was not aware of
any lesbians back in Boston – although from my reading, I did know that some ancient Greek women
loved each other. I was quite surprised to meet several lesbians during my stay at Baby Town. It was
all discussed matter-of-factly there.
Most of my prior friends would have been scandalized, but they were from the old Earth, six
hundred years ago. I am living in a new age now, and I needed to learn new ways of thinking.
Personally, I have no romantic attraction to other women, but I find it interesting that some women do.
Some of the women at Baby Town planned to marry their female lovers and have children through
artificial insemination.
There are so many different ways to make a family now.
“Hold still,” Magnar orders, interrupting my thoughts.
I freeze and he reaches over to my face and rubs his blue thumb over my skin. I hold my breath.
“There was still a small spot,” he says and tilts his head, surveying me with his dark eyes. “There,
you look fine, now.”
“Thank you.” I glance down to hide my flustered response. For a second there, when he reached
over toward me, I did not know what he was going to do. For an instant, I thought he might kiss me,
which was foolish.
I clench and unclench my hands, striving for composure.
We then walk back to the bedroom, where there is a wall of cupboards containing clothes for me.
“I hope that these will fit you. If they do not, they can be altered.”
I am astonished by the dozens of dresses and suits. “So many? I doubt I will be able to wear them
all.”
“As the baby grows, you will need newer, larger clothes.”
For a moment, I had forgotten the purpose of my living here. I place a hand on my stomach.
“You are well?” he asks with concern.
“Yes, I am well. The doctors say that the baby is growing right on time.”
He tells me that he has arranged for a doctor to be at the palace. “You will meet with her every
week to ensure that all is progressing as it should.”
 “Thank you.” I am pleased to see that so many of the doctors on Allathone are women. In my
time, I only knew of one – Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, and I envied her education. I say, “Would it not
be wiser for me to stay at the Maternity Sector, where there are multiple doctors and they have a
proven history of live births?”
Even with surrogates, the birthrate for Brunes is not what it should be.
Magnar says stiffly, “My surrogate lived at the palace before I was born.”
“Oh. If it is a tradition, then.” I worry that I may have offended him. I must learn not to blurt out
all my suggestions. It was something that caused me trouble in school and at home with my father. All
my life, I have had too many ideas and I had to learn that not everyone wants to hear them. Especially
not a Prince, who is accustomed to having his own way.
He glances at me. “Besides, I want you here. I want to get to know you better.”
His words make me happy, until I remind myself that he wishes to know whether I will be a
suitable nanny. He has no real interest in me as an individual.
As we walk into a hallway, I ask Prince Magnar how many rooms there are in the palace.
“Over two thousand.”
More than Buckingham Palace and the Palace at Versailles combined. “I will not be able to see
them all today.”
“No, but we can see the main rooms together.”
I am surprised that a person as busy as he must be wants to give me a tour. Magnar has a reserved
manner, but behind that, he is kind. I say, “I assume parts of the palace are off limits.”
He says, “If you wish to see a room, ask one of the servants and he or she will accommodate
you.”
“There are no locked rooms like Bluebeard?”
He frowns. “I do not recognize the reference.”
“It is from a fairy tale. From Earth. In it, a new bride is shown her new home and there is one
locked door that she is told to never open.”
The corner of Magnar’s mouth quirks upward. “Since humans are notoriously curious, I assume
she does open it.”
“Yes. Otherwise, it would be a boring story.”
“What does she find in the locked room?”
“The bodies of her husband’s prior six wives. All murdered, all hanging from the ceiling by
hooks.”
His lips twitch. “Gruesome. I assume this story is told to make obedient wives.”
“Perhaps. Either that, or to warn the reader that actions can have unforeseen consequences.”
“Is the man punished for his crimes?”
“Yes.”
“As it should be.” He looks at me thoughtfully and adds, “Rest assured that if you find any locked
doors in the palace, there are no prior dead surrogates hanging on hooks. You are my first.”
“I am glad.” But the cynical side of me thinks that is no reassurance.
“What is it? What are you thinking?”
“That there would have been no locked room for Bluebeard’s first wife.”
He bursts out with a quick bark of laughter, which takes my breath away. When he laughs, Prince
Magnar is more open, even more charming. He says, “True. You are wise to be cautious.”
I think that is one of my primary traits – to be cautious. I do not trust everything I see or hear –
even handsome princes.
 He clasps his hands behind his back – a formal gesture – and asks idly, “Is blue an ominous color
to your people? Was there a reason for the beard to be blue?”
As a traveler with blue skin, it is an insightful question. “Not that I know of – other than the fact
that humans don’t naturally have blue hair.”
“Although I understand blue hair is a popular fashion on Little Earth.”
“And at the Maternity Sector. The women there have every color of hair imaginable.”
He glances at my long brown braid. “But not you?”
“No.”
“You don’t want blue hair?”
“No. I have never been tempted to dye my hair.”
“You have beautiful hair. You should never dye it.”
I don’t like his tone. It is true that I have never wanted to dye my hair but being told that I
shouldn’t makes me want to consider it. “Is that a suggestion or a command?”
His eyes look at me narrowly. “Neither. It is merely my opinion.”
I snort. As if he doesn’t know how compelling a royal opinion can be. I imagine that he has rarely
expressed an opinion or desire that was not immediately granted.
He stiffens and tightens his lips, obviously offended, and whatever camaraderie we were enjoying
vanishes.
Not for the first time, I regret my impulsive tongue. I cannot count the number of times I lost
employment for being too willful, too pert. As much as I want to be genteel and ladylike, I have rough
edges. I find it impossible to be quiet and discreet. And obvious bunkum infuriates me.
But that doesn’t mean I should be disrespectful. “I am sorry,” I say quietly. “I should not have
taken offense at your remarks. I appreciate the opportunity you have given me to be your surrogate and
now, to live in the palace. Thank you.”
He nods, but I can tell that I am not forgiven. I sense that he does not approve of me.
 CHAPTER FIVE
MAGNAR
I walk back to my chambers, irritated. Lottie is a most uncomfortable woman. She is unlike any
other female I have met. She is rude and opinionated, and I begin to question the wisdom of having
her move into the palace.
She walks swiftly, with purpose, like a Brune male.
She expresses her opinions like a Brune male.
And yet, she is completely feminine. Disturbingly so. I have never been so stirred by a female
before. I want to rub my hands over her face and bury my face in her throat to see if her skin is as soft
as it looks.
I am fascinated by the curve and subtle sway of her breasts beneath her blouse. They look like the
perfect size to fill my hands. Ripe and round. I wonder what the color of her nipples would be. For
Brune women, they are a darker blue. But with humans, I do not know.
I want to undo her braid and run my fingers through her long hair.
I want to kiss her smart mouth and see how she responds.
I feel like a Katoll with a permanent cockstand around her.
But that is not right.
Lottie is my surrogate, not my mistress.
And I can’t send her back to the Maternity Sector because I don’t want the gossip.
I decide it would be best to ignore her – to keep my distance.
After a week, I am still restless and unsettled, so I visit my cousin Tomor, who lives outside the
Capital City in a large estate famous for its vineyards.
As I approach the large house, leaving my bodyguards behind, I feel a pang of guilt. Tomor was
my closest companion when we were younger, but as I assumed more royal duties, we have not had as
much time for each other, but I should have made greater efforts to see him. How long as it been since
we talked – four months or five?
I have heard through my advisors that his health is failing. Tomor is the third in line to the throne,
so his health is a matter of government concern. According to the reports I’ve seen, he is on his third
artificial heart and the doctors do not think his body capable of withstanding another replacement. His
liver is failing and there is water in his lungs.
Tomor’s servants greet me with low bows and escort me to the rooms where he is resting.
I push through large double doors into a room with high ceilings and a wall of windows that looks
out onto the vineyard below.
Tomor’s bed is enormous and covered with naked human females writhing on the bedclothes in a
pile somewhat like a nest of young Namvires but without scales and tails. They are a tangle of arms
and legs, breasts and butt cheeks. At my entrance, one of the females with long blonde hair pops her
head up from the fray to see me and says, “Fuck. Oops, I shouldn’t say that.” She giggles as she
covers her breasts with her hands. “Sorry, Your Highness.”
Tomor sits up with a smirk on his thin face. “Greetings, Magnar. How nice to see you.”
I am shocked by how frail and pale he is. He looks like he is on his deathbed, but I know he
wouldn’t want my pity. He is a proud man, just as I am. I say, “Pardon me. I didn’t realize you were
so busy.”
Tomor waves his hand. “It is nothing.”
 “I don’t want to interrupt your orgy.”
Tomor smiles wryly. “It’s not an orgy. My heart is not the only organ that is failing. I can’t brix
anymore, but I like human females best, so I always keep a few around.” He claps his hands and tells
them to leave. The women scatter, running to the doorway, breasts and butts jiggling. One of the young
women giggles and another glances over her shoulder looking at me boldly and winks at me before
slipping out of the room.
I roll my eyes and Tomor laughs. “Can’t blame her for trying,” he says as he slips his thin arms
into a silky robe to hide his bare sunken chest. He starts to cough, a deep, hollow sounding cough that
lasts for nearly a minute. “Who knows?” he says finally. “Maybe you can hire them when I’m dead.”
I don’t think so. I say, “How many human females do you have in your employ?”
“I have no idea,” he says frankly. “Thirty. Maybe more.”
I tsk my tongue. “I suppose they are not very expensive since you don’t bother with providing
them uniforms.”
He pretends to take offense. “Not all of them are naked all the time.”
I raise one of my eyebrows. “Just most of the time?” I guess and he nods with a little laugh.
“It makes life much more pleasant,” he says, and I imagine how much I would like it if Lottie
were naked and writhing on my bed.
But I don’t think she would approve.
Tomor coughs again and I wait for him to recover. I worry that our conversation is tasking his
strength.
When he finishes coughing, he sighs and lies back down on his sheets. “Forgive me,” he says
weakly.
“Nothing to forgive.”
He looked at me closely. “What is it? Why are you here?”
“Can’t I visit my cousin without having a reason?”
He shakes his head. “No. I know you hate sick rooms.”
He’s right. I do. I hated visiting my father when he was dying.
He points to a chair. “Pull that closer to the bed and sit down.”
I obey him and sit next to his bed. Now that I am closer, I can see how pale his skin is – and it
looks loose and fragile. His eyes are yellowish, and my heart tightens. Tomor is only a few years
older than I. He should be young and vibrant, but like so many of our people, he is ill and will die
while still a young traveler. The average life expectancy for a Brune is only fifty years now. My father
lived to be seventy-six and my mother is almost seventy.
I have been blessed with greater health and stamina than most of my contemporaries, so I hope I
will have a longer life like my parents.
Tomor looks at me expectantly and I say bluntly, “I have a surrogate.”
“Yes, I heard of that. Congratulations. I hope all goes well and the baby is born healthy.”
Goddess willing. “Thank you.”
“Although I don’t envy you taking Lady Jing as a bride. It will take a lot of work to keep her
happy. She’s flighty and superficial.”
This from a person who is lounging with four naked human females. I say, “Well, considering my
options, she was the best choice.”
Tomor shrugs. “Better you than I.”
Yes, for if I were as ill as my cousin, the empire would be in crisis.
 I vaguely remember that years ago, Tomor spent more time with Jing and there was talk of a
possible engagement between them. But Tomor’s health began to fail and those talks ended.
I look at him now, wondering if his criticism of her is partly a response to her breaking his heart.
Did he ever care for her or would their marriage have been like mine – a marriage of convenience
only?
I say, “Jing will make an adequate Queen someday.”
“Adequate is a poor endorsement.”
He’s right, but I don’t want to dwell on that, so I make a joke. “It is not as if I expect a mind bond
with her.”
Tomor smiles, amused. “Can you imagine mind bonding with Jing? Your poor brain would be full
of fashions and cosmetics.”
Or hairy Enset natives. What a dreadful prospect. “I know.”
He says, “But that’s all nonsense, anyway. I’ve never known anyone who had a mind bond.”
Neither have I. “I think it’s one of those ancient myths, created by the poets to make the rest of us
poor travelers feel deficient.”
“I agree. But maybe if I had experienced a mind bond, I wouldn’t feel that my life has been
wasted.”
I don’t know what to say now, because Tomor and I both know he is dying. I say, “Don’t give up
all hope. Who knows? You might mind bond with one of those naked women.”
He just laughs, which turns into another coughing session. He croaks out the words, “Highly
unlikely.”
After a silence, he says, “No. Truly. Why did you come to talk with me?”
He is my closest friend. I don’t have to pretend with him. I say, “My surrogate’s name is Lottie.
And she is very distracting. I shouldn’t have brought her to live in the palace. But I like her, and I find
her fascinating.”
Tomor pushes himself up on one elbow. “Tell me more.”
“I think about her all the time and I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s simple. Brix her.”
I look at him sharply. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Isn’t it?”
Tomor knows me too well.
He says, “Brix or as humans say fuck her. Have sex with her. Spend time with her. I have found
that human women may be interesting for a week or two, but after that, they are all alike. You’ll be
bored within a month, and then she will no longer be a problem.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? You’re not ill, are you?”
“No, I’m in excellent health.”
“Then what is holding you back?”
“Lottie is my employee. If I brix her, I’m taking advantage of my position.”
Tomor snorts. “Everyone does.”
He’s right. Nearly everyone I know would take advantage of a human female if the opportunity
arose. But it’s against the principles that my father taught me. “If I do not treat her with respect, then
how am I any better than the Katoll, abducting women and taking them off to their caves until they
give birth? We’re supposed to be better than that.”
Tomor says, “You’re not a Katoll. She’s already pregnant, anyway.”
 Tomor isn’t helping me. He is only saying what half my mind said to me already.
After a silence, Tomor says, “You always did think too much. Why can’t you just enjoy life?
Have fun?”
I smile wryly at that. “It is not in my nature. I am ruled by duty not fun.”
“I may live only half as long as you do, but I’ve enjoyed myself three times as much.”
I nod. “That is true, Cousin.” When he was younger, Tomor lived his life dangerously – fast
vehicles, intergalactic travel, constant brixing, and drinking nearly everything he could find. No doubt
he finds my life boring in comparison.
We are very different travelers.
When we were younger, Tomor had a dozen mistresses while I had only one. It was expected. My
mistress was a beautiful, experienced Brune female eleven years older than myself. I enjoyed her
company, but over time, she had expectations – wanting me to buy her more jewelry or help her
relatives advance with political appointments. When we would have sex, she would often look at me
with a calculation that chilled me to the bone.
During sex, at the moment of release, one is momentarily vulnerable, and I discovered that I did
not like that.
I decided that it was better to keep myself to myself.
Since then, I have been alone.
My hand was perfectly capable of meeting my sexual needs.
Gradually, I learned to keep my distance from others, not wanting to be touched.
As Prince, I would give my life for the benefit of my species, but my body was my own.
And now, for the first time in a long time, I want to touch another creature – my surrogate Lottie.
It does not make sense, but I was hoping that Tomor could understand.
But he does not.
We chat of other things. Tomor asks about the health of my mother and my sister. I do not ask
about his family, because he is the last of his line. His parents died years ago, and he never had
siblings. I wonder if he surrounds himself with human females because he is lonely. I wish to
encourage him. “Get yourself another heart so you can come to the naming ceremony.”
Tomor coughs. “I don’t think I’ll last that long – even with a new heart.”
I look down at him and my heart fills with sorrow. Tomor is my cousin, my friend, one of the few
people who sees me as an equal instead of a prince. “I shall miss you.”
He smirks. “No farewells, yet, if you please. I am still breathing.”
“As you wish.”
I return to the palace, determined more than ever to keep my distance from Lottie.

LOTTIE
The palace gardens are vast and ornate, even more beautiful than the drawings I have seen of
Central Park in New York City. There are walkways and fountains and ponds, and various buildings
similar to pagodas where one can sit and admire the expansive views. I think I will never get bored
here.
One day as I am admiring some waterfowl that are like ducks but with orange stripes on their
wings, I notice a man silently trimming one of the trees and placing the unwanted limbs into a machine
that grinds them into woodchips.
 It is rare to see a human male in the palace, and I watch him for a moment. He is a tall man, about
six feet tall, and athletically built. His dark hair is longer than the styles of 1872 – he has tucked it
back behind his ears and it brushes his shoulders. He is clean shaven, though, which I greatly prefer
to all the scruffy beards of my era.
When he notices my presence, he turns off the equipment he is using and makes a little nod,
acknowledging me.
“Hello,” he calls out.
I smile. It is so nice to hear English and not just the translation in my head. “Forgive me,” I say
quickly. “I don’t mean to interrupt your work.”
He sets the motorized trimmer down, removes his heavy work gloves and approaches me. “I don’t
mind,” he says cheerfully. “I always talk to the humans. There aren’t many of us working at the
palace.”
“I had noticed that.”
He says, “So what do you do here? What is your position?”
“I’m the royal surrogate.”
His eyes widen. “Ah, well, good for you. Do you like it?”
He has an engaging smile and a warm, friendly personality. I do not mind his questions. “Well, so
far it is nothing, really. I don’t feel any different than I did before. But as I get bigger and ultimately
give birth, I may feel differently.” I have already watched dozens of birth viewings to prepare myself
for the big event, and it is a little scary. However, I am promised that with modern Brune medicine,
there will be no pain.
He asks if I am from Little Earth or from Old Earth.
“Old Earth.”
“When?”
“1872.”
He whistles. “What a trip that must have been. You didn’t even have airplanes back then.”
“No,” I agree. “Many things are new to me. It is all very exciting. Are you from Old Earth, too?”
“Oh no. Men were almost never taken from Old Earth. Just women.”
I feel my face flush with embarrassment and awkwardness as I remember that women were
primarily taken as sex workers. “So, you’re from Little Earth?”
“Right o.”
He speaks English, but his accent is not one I recognize. “What brought you to Allathone?”
“Education. A job. A chance to do something.” He motions to his gardening equipment. “I’m very
happy here. There aren’t many opportunities for men on Little Earth. Too many prejudices there.”
I have read about that. I think it strange that Little Earth and its culture seems to be the opposite of
Old Earth. On Little Earth, women rule, and it is the men who cannot always find work. I wonder if it
is inherent in human behavior for one sex to subjugate the other.
He talks about how he obtained work as a gardener and how it is an excellent opportunity – a
dream come true. The conversation then turns to Allathone being the cradle of civilization. The Brune
were the first travelers to colonize in the five galaxies. “There is so much to learn here,” I agree.
He says, “Do you get any time off?”
I frown. “I don’t know exactly what you mean. I have very little duties. Very few things are
required of me. All I do is let this baby grow.” I pat my stomach.
He says, “Are you allowed to leave the palace grounds?”
“I don’t know. I never asked.”
 “Well, if you would like, we could go out to get something to eat, possibly find a coffee shop or
see a music performance.”
I realize belatedly that he is asking me out on a date. It is so strange. I know that customs have
changed a lot since I was in Boston 600 years ago. I understand that the courtship process is not as
formal as it once was. No one will care or gossip if I “step out” with him. But I don’t even know if I
am reading his request accurately. I don’t know if he’s merely being friendly – one human to another –
or if he is romantically interested in me. I shake my head and say, “That’s very nice of you to ask, but
right now, I am still getting to know my place here. I am not ready to leave the grounds. Maybe
another time.”
“Of course, no problem,” he says and makes another bow. “I won’t be a stalker, I promise.”
I haven’t heard that phrase before, but I appreciate the sentiment. “Thank you.”
“I’m Christopher, by the way. Christopher Wilson.”
He shakes my hand.
“I’m Lottie Jamison.”
He smiles. “Very nice to meet you, Lottie. Maybe we’ll see each other again one of these days.”
“I would like that,” I say and realize it is true. I don’t have any real friends at the palace, and I
could use another friendly face.
He waves and says, “We humans must stick together, eh?”
“I agree.”
He returns to his work and I walk back to the main building of the Palace, deep in thought.
Christopher seems very nice, but oddly enough, now that I have spent so much time with the Brune, I
think his skin looks pale and sickly, although logically I know that’s not true. Christopher is in prime
physical condition. He’s what the young women in Baby Town would consider an excellent catch.
He just isn’t blue.
 CHAPTER SIX
LOTTIE
I think someone is watching me.
It’s not just the occasional servants – and the palace is full of them – but all of them: Brune or
Katoll seem to be pleasant people, doing their jobs. None of them frighten or alarm me.
No, I think it is someone else. I sense someone present, and I am not naturally suspicious.
I don’t believe in ghosts or fairies or vampires, but something is definitely unsettling me.
Sometimes I turn around abruptly, hoping to catch someone hiding behind a pillar or in a doorway,
but so far, I haven’t caught anyone.
Then one day as I’m walking back to my quarters, I hear it – a swish of fabric and what sounds
like a foot fall behind me.
Rather than turn around, I continue my way down a hallway but walking slowly.
Then suddenly, I bolt back down the hall and turn right. There is someone in long flowing robes. I
grab at the clothes and it rips as the person tries to get away. “Who are you and why are you spying on
me?” I demand.
Then the person turns around and I see it is a Brune woman with long brown hair instead of the
usual white. She is only a few inches taller than I am, but judging from her face, possibly a few years
older. Most Brune women wear earrings, but her ears are bare. Her eyes are wide, and her breath
comes out in gasps. “I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”
“Well you did,” I say bluntly and release my hold on her clothes, but then I notice that she looks
familiar. “Who are you?”
“Emjer.”
She says it like I should know who she is.
“Princess Emjer,” she says irritably. “And who are you?”
Dear God. A princess. Am I in trouble now? “Are you a sister to Prince Magnar?”
“Yes, I’m his older sister, but who are you? I see you all the time, walking around the palace
aimlessly. What is your position?”
“I’m the royal surrogate. Lottie.”
Her face brightens. “Oh, this is marvelous. Are you pregnant?”
I am relieved that she isn’t going to send me to the Tower to have my head cut off. “I am.”
Without asking, she reaches out and touches my stomach over my tunic. “I will pray to Goddess
that the babe is healthy and strong.”
“Thank you.”
She continues. “No one tells me anything. How long have you been here?”
“Only two weeks.”
“And Magnar must be engaged.”
“He is. To Lady Jing.”
The princess winces. “Surely he could have found someone better than she. Jing is an idiot.”
I smile. I cannot help it. Princess Emjer seems to be one of those people who will say anything,
and I feel as if we might be kindred spirits. I murmur, “I don’t know about that.” I have yet to meet
Lady Jing. I might never meet her.
Princess Emjer says, “Come with me. We can sit and eat, and you can tell me all about Earth. You
are from Old Earth, I presume.”
 “Why do you say that?”
“Your earrings,” she says simply. “I’ve never seen anyone from Little Earth with a pair of
cameos.”
I am surprised that she knows about Earth jewelry and fashions, but I gladly follow her. We go to
her rooms which are a large suite on another floor of the palace. She orders the servants to bring us
tea and cakes for as she says, “I know how humans like their sweets.”
I am flattered.
We sit down on large comfortable chairs and she tucks her feet up under her robes as she sits.
“So, tell me, what do you think of Allathone?”
I tell her about waking in the Immigration Center and agreeing to be a surrogate. She asks about
Earth and I tell her about Boston and the War of the Rebellion.
“I know so little about Earth history,” she murmurs.
And why should she? My history, my culture is insignificant compared to hers. The Brune have
been traveling around the galaxies for thousands of years.
A servant returns to our room with bowls of tea and a tray filled with sweet cakelike squares
covered with a brittle frosting. She asks me what I think of Magnar.
She is his sister. I can’t tell her that I think he is most handsome Brune I’ve ever met. I take a
dainty bite of one of the squares. “He seems very ... regal.”
She laughs at that. “He was born that way. He was a very serious little traveler.”
As we continue to talk, something confuses me. “Pardon me, but I thought men and women could
both inherit the kingdom.”
“They can,” she says. “Men and women are equal on Allathone.”
“But you are older than Prince Magnar?”
She nods. “I am, but I’m addicted to Trig.”
I don’t understand her, so she opens the neckline of her blouse and shows me a thin rope – more
like a shoelace – which is wrapped loosely around her neck several times. As I watch, she tears off a
piece of the rope and pops it in her mouth. She sighs as she sucks on it and then after a moment, she
chews on it with a euphoric smile.
I could research Trig on my data screen, but that seems impolite, so I wait for her explanation.
After a long silence, she says, “Forgive me. That was rude of me. I should have offered you some.
Would you like some Trig?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“It is a painkiller.”
“Like opium?”
She smiles. “I don’t know your human drugs, but Trig is ours. And to answer your question, I like
it more than I should. I use it more than I should, and I was never a good little traveler like Magnar.
When I was sixteen years old, the Assembly changed the order of succession, declaring me unfit to
rule.”
“Good heavens,” I murmur. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
She shrugs. “I don’t mind. I didn’t want to rule anyway. Magnar will make a much better King
than I would make a Queen.
As we continue to talk, she continues to consume little pinches of Trig. She asks about my family
and I learn more about hers. Apparently, she had two older brothers who died as children and a sister
that died as a baby. “They were all very sickly. It is very sad.”
By this time, her words are becoming slurred and she yawns. “We must talk again,” she says.
 “Yes, ma’am,” I say and rise to my feet.
She takes my hand in hers. “I mean it. I need a friend. No one ever talks to me. They ignore me.
I’m never invited to the parties because I might embarrass them.”
My heart goes out to her. “I will be glad to be your friend. I need a friend, too.”

MAGNAR
For several weeks, I do not converse with Lottie at all. I know how she is doing because she
wears a medical band on her right wrist that keeps constant check on her and the baby’s health. The
data is sent to our doctors and myself. I also hear daily reports from my secretary Naj that she takes
very long hot baths and keeps herself busy during the day, reading and studying, and that she spends
half her salary on instruction and classes on her data screen. After a while, Lottie requests permission
to leave the palace and see different parts of the city. She wants to go to museums and gardens and
shopping at the markets. I arrange for her to have a Katoll bodyguard accompany her, even though I
am briefly tempted to accompany her myself.
I would enjoy seeing Lottie’s reactions to Capital City and all it offers.
But that is not wise.
I speak with her bodyguard Urit privately to learn more about her. He tells me that Lottie is
fascinated by science and has talked about becoming certified as a biologist, although that process
might take years.
I am impressed by her ambition and determination.
One morning as I dress for the day, Naj interrupts me. “Your Royal Highness.” He bows his shiny
bald head. Naj served as my father’s secretary before he became mine. And like many of the older
Katoll on Allathone, he shaves his entire body, removing all hair except for the tuft on the end of his
tail.
My valet withdraws from the room to give us privacy.
“Yes?” I prompt.
Naj hesitates.
“What is the problem?”
“It is your surrogate.”
My heart shudders. “Is she ill? Is the baby ill?”
He shakes his head. “No, sir. Both are doing excellently.”
I am relieved. “Then what is it?”
“Your surrogate is hoarding food. One of the cleaners found a traveling bag under her bed filled
with bread and fruit. The bread was stale and the fruit overripe.”
“Did anyone speak with her about it?”
“No, sir. The palace manager and I thought it best to talk to you first.”
“Excellent. Do you think she is planning to run away?”
“I don’t know, sir. But it is troubling.”
I agree. “I will speak to her myself.”
I finish dressing and walk briskly over to Lottie’s rooms. One of the servants announces me. When
I enter her sitting room, she is brushing her long hair. She is wearing soft trousers that swirl around
her legs and a long tunic in a pale green. She startles, dropping her brush, and it falls to the carpeted
floor with a quiet thud.
“Forgive me,” I say, just as she stands and says, “sir” and bows her head.
 Her face is flushed as she faces me with her beautiful hair flowing about her shoulders. I have
never seen her hair down loose before – it reaches nearly to her waist – and my fingers itch to touch
it.
But that is wrong. I tighten my hands, just as I tighten my self-control. She is my surrogate not my
mistress. “You may finish dressing your hair,” I tell her, and my tone is harsher than I intend.
She deftly wraps her long brown hair into a knot on the back of her head, securing it with some
long pins. Several shorter, errant strands curl above her forehead and her ears. She tries to smooth
them back with her hands.
I admire the grace of her motions and the curve of her neck and throat. She is one of the most
beautiful women I have ever seen and my blood races. Why can’t I do as Tomor suggests and brix her
until I no longer have a passion for her.
But I have a feeling that it would take more than a few weeks to become bored with her. There are
so many things I would like to do with her.
It would be the work of an instant to carry her to her bed and remove her clothes.
The work of another instant to slide my aching cock into her warm depths.
“Sir?” she prompts, and I remember why I came to see her.
I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat, schooling my thoughts. “I have learned that you are
hiding food under your bed. Do we not feed you enough?”
She looks away, embarrassed. “That is not why.”
“Then why? Are you planning to run away?”
“Oh, no!” she says quickly and places a protective hand on her stomach, which I am happy to see
is growing slightly round now. “I would never do that.”
“Then why do you keep food in your room?”
Lottie sighs. “It is an odd habit of mine, based on my past. I feel better, safer, if I have extra food.
I know it is foolish of me, but I sleep better knowing that I have reserves.”
I begin to understand her better now. “In the past, did you not have enough to eat?”
“Sometimes,” she admits.
“Tell me about it.”
“In my day, there were not many opportunities for a woman to find employment and sometimes I
was hungry.”
This infuriates me. “What of your family? Why were your father or uncles not taking care of
you?”
“My father did not have brothers and my mother died when I young. That side of the family never
cared for me.”
“And your father?”
Lottie said, “He liked the drink – alcohol – and was incapable of working regularly.”
I bite back an exclamation of disgust. “So, you had to support yourself?”
“Yes, with inconsistent results. In fact, the last night I remember in Boston, I opened my bedroom
windows, hoping to freeze to death during the night.”
My heart sinks imagining how she must have felt. “No.”
She shrugs. “I thought it would be better than starving.”
No wonder she is saving food.
She continues in a calm tone, “But as it turns out, that was probably the night I was abducted, so
perhaps it was all for the best.”
 As much as I despise her original abductors, I am glad that she is here now with me. “I find your
attitude remarkable.” I know that Jing would never be as resilient.
She smiles at me. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
I have nothing more to say, but I don’t want to leave. I remember the first time I saw her in the pod
and say, “The day you were abducted, you had ink on your fingers. Why was that?”
She looks uncomfortable but says, “I used to write stories for some of the local newspapers.”
“Stories? Like in the viewings?”
“Yes but written on paper.” She holds up her left wrist. “We didn’t have these wonderful data
screens back then. We wrote on paper with ink pens that often leaked.”
“What kind of stories? Romances?” Both my mother and Jing like to watch romantic viewings.
“No. Gothics and sensational stories.” She looks embarrassed and I am captivated by the fleeting
expressions on her face.
“I shall have to find one in the Earth data archives. When would this have been published?”
“1870 and 1871. And I didn’t publish under my own name. I wrote under the name of William
Jamison.”
I frown, trying to understand the need for her deceit. “Because women weren’t allowed to write
stories?”
“It wasn’t proper.”
I don’t understand humans and the world she came from. As a society, the Brune may have
problems, but our women have had equality for centuries. Humans truly are an immature species.
She says, “But I don’t think you would enjoy the stories. They were silly, absurd stories of women
being pursued by ghosts or werewolves or wicked priests.”
I am amused. “No blue travelers with pointy ears?”
“No,” she says and smiles at me. “It is too bad I can’t go back, because now I would have much
better stories to tell.”
“I think I will like them. I would like to understand your people and you better.”
“I am afraid you will think I am ridiculous.”
“No,” I say seriously. “I think you are very clever.”
“For a human, you mean?”
She is clever because she has discerned my underlying prejudice against her species. As much as
I wish humans well, I don’t think they are as advanced as the Brune or the Namvire. Their own
history betrays them. I say, “You would be clever no matter what species you were.”
“Then I will accept the compliment, Your Highness, in the manner in which it was intended.”
She smiles at me again and I stare at her in admiration, until I suddenly realize that we have been
talking for a long time, and I must return to my duties. I say, “You should meet my Nanny.”
She is surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
“I will take you to see her. Once you meet her, you will see that we take good care of our royal
surrogates. Then you won’t feel the need to hide food under your bed.”
Later that evening, before I go to a palace dinner, I search earth data archives and find one of the
stories Lottie wrote for the newspapers. A push of a button translates it on the data screen, and I
quickly read a story of an explorer who steals a necklace from an Egyptian tomb called a pyramid. A
little further research reveals that ancient humans buried themselves in brick buildings with square
bases and sloping sides that met in a point at the top – somewhat like the Katoll, I think, although their
burial monuments are not as large.
 In the story, the man brings the necklace home to New York, a city in the United States, and gives
it to his fiancé as a present.
I smile to think that all fiancés must enjoy jewelry.
The woman adores the necklace and wears it night and day, refusing to remove it.
In time, the fiancé begins to change – speaking forcefully and drinking alcohol – embarrassing the
man before his flattering friends.
One evening after a disastrous dinner party, when the explorer reprimands her in her apartment,
she laughs at him, telling him that she does not have to obey him. “For I am the Pharaoh’s wife!”
The explorer is frightened and tries to remove the necklace by force.
But the fiancé grabs a metal poker from a fireplace and stabs him through the heart.
“Your Highness?”
I look up from my data screen, momentarily disoriented. Lottie’s words and descriptions are so
vivid that I could imagine myself in the story. I see that my intruder is Naj. “What is it?”
“They are waiting for you at the dinner.”
I nod and straighten my clothes. “Yes, I am on my way.”
At the dinner table, I cannot help but compare my company to those described by Lottie in her
story. I am surrounded by well-dressed sycophants just like the explorer. Normally, I would not notice
or care, but tonight it bothers me. I ask Jing what she did that day. Her white hair is styled on top of
her head in what I realize is a pyramid shape, and her forehead is covered with ornate cosmetic
swirls – the latest fashion. She would be much prettier if she adopted a more natural style like Lottie.
She looks at me, confused. “What do you mean?”
“What did you do today?”
She sets down her tagium eating utensils and sighs. “I went shopping, ate a midday meal with
friends and then prepared for dinner.” She smiles and preens before me, plucking at her sleeves.
“This is a new gown. I hope you like it.”
It is a green silky material and looks like many of her other dresses.
I persist. “Did you read anything today?”
She frowns with growing unease. “No.”
“Did you write anything?”
“What an odd question. Whatever do you mean?”
I know it is foolishness, but I continue my interrogation. “Did you study or learn anything today?”
She laughs nervously. “You know that I finished my schooling years ago. Whatever should I be
learning?”
Whatever, indeed.
“It does not matter,” I say politely. I should not verbally attack Jing. It is unfair to expect more of
her. I take a bite of the noodles before me and send a silent prayer to Goddess that our baby will be
more intelligent than its mother.
 CHAPTER SEVEN
LOTTIE
When Prince Magnar and I travel to meet his Nanny, we have half a dozen Katoll bodyguards
accompany us, including my bodyguard Urit. I ask, “Are so many guards necessary or is it for
ceremony?”
Magnar says, “It is a precaution, only. Not everyone on Allathone is in favor of the royal family.”
“Are we in danger?”
“Not at all.”
Magnar’s Nanny lives in a tall building in the center of Capital City, near another ornamental
garden with a pond. I think Allathone must be the most beautiful planet in the five galaxies. Everything
I have seen is beautifully designed and cared for – like drawings I have seen of Versailles. Not
everyone lives in a palace, but as far as I can see, there is no poverty, no ugliness anywhere.
Everything is organized and implemented with care.
There are also workers everywhere, keeping the grounds and roads clean.
The Brunes were the first travelers in the five galaxies and the first colonizers, which made their
species very rich. In the past few hundred years, some of their colonies have become independent, but
as a civilization, the Brunes’ extensive wealth and influence is beyond my comprehension.
Magnar’s Nanny is an older woman named Rosalind. She is taller than I, but delicate and
graceful. She wears her white hair up in an elaborate bun. Her clothing is simple and elegant – a pale
peach colored long sleeved dress that shows her ankles. On her feet are delicate sandals decorated
with ribbon flowers. Her face brightens when she sees the Crown Prince.
He introduces me and she seems very happy to meet me. She asks about my pregnancy and my
health and tells me that she enjoyed excellent health when she was carrying Prince Magnar.
She assures me that having the King’s baby, being the surrogate, was the best decision of her life.
She looks at Magnar and smiles. “Of course, it was because I was able to be your Nanny as well.”
He nods his head, pleased by her comment.
She asks, “Are you planning to have Lottie be your Nanny?”
He looks surprised. “I haven’t made that decision yet.”
“Forgive me,” Rosalind says quickly. “I shouldn’t make assumptions.”
He looks flustered and will not look me in the eye. I smile awkwardly at Rosalind, but inside I am
offended. Why wouldn’t he want me to be the nanny for his baby? I thought we were becoming
friends and since his surrogate had stayed at the Palace, I thought I could as well.
But showing my annoyance will not further my cause or future employment. So I ask Rosalind if
she came from Old Earth.
“No, dear. I came from Little Earth.”
“What made you decide to leave there and come to Allathone?”
“When I was young, I was brave. I wanted adventure. I was so relieved that I wasn’t one of the
lottery brides for the Katoll, but I still wanted to travel.”
I nod. I’ve heard something about the Katoll brides – Little Earth’s payment for Katoll protection.
It seems barbaric to me.
She gives a little shudder. “The Katoll always seemed very hairy and big. The Brunes seemed so
much more civilized.”
 Magnar murmurs, “We are more civilized,” and I smile to myself. Magnar is arrogant, but I
suppose that is his right as the Crown Prince.
He sees my fleeting expression and says, “You think differently?”
I choose my words carefully. “All the Katoll I have met seem very nice. My bodyguard is a true
gentleman.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Magnar says. “But the Katoll on Allathone are different from Katoll
elsewhere. In their own environment they can be brutal.”
“I think every species can be brutal,” Rosalind says. “It depends on the situation.”
“I agree,” I say, thinking of my own planet’s violent history.
Magnar says to his Nanny, “You are right, as always,” which makes her smile.
I can tell that Magnar cares for his nanny by the way he speaks to her. He asks about her health
and makes certain she has all she needs. She expresses some concern over a trash collection issue,
and he promises that it will be resolved quickly.
But mostly, he sits back, allowing the two of us to talk.
Rosalind asks me about Old Earth and my life so many years ago. I am pleased to learn that she
knows something of Dickens and Emerson, two great men of my era.
“And Lottie is a writer as well,” Magnar volunteers.
“Truly?” Rosalind asks, intrigued. “Tell me about it.”
“It is nothing,” I say, shooting Magnar a warning glance. I do not want his Nanny to read my
vulgar stories. “I wrote a few stories for a local newspaper. I am no Shakespeare.”
“I read one of her stories,” Magnar says. “It found it entertaining.”
I blush, astonished, and Rosalind looks between the two of us with narrowed eyes. She then asks
me what I like to read, and I tell her about my bird studies. “How interesting,” she says politely. “But
why birds specifically?”
“I first became interested in birds when I read Mr. Darwin’s On the Origin of the Species. When
he wrote about the differences between various types of pigeons, I was fascinated. Since then, I have
had an interest in all birds – how they are similar and how breeds can change over time.”
Magnar says, “Evolution?”
“Yes. Mr. Darwin referred to it as natural selection.”
“Well, you will find thousands of species of birds on Allathone. How they compare to Earth
birds, I don’t know.”
“Neither do I,” I say. “But I am eager to learn. I find it interesting that so many habitable planets
have birds. Are they precursors to intelligent life? I don’t know.”
Rosalind smiles at me. “You seem like the kind of person who could be happy anywhere, because
you are always learning.”
“I hope so.”
When we leave, Rosalind asks for my data address and I willingly provide it. “Write to me,” she
says. “And I will write to you.”
I feel very fortunate to be making friends on Allathone.

MAGNAR
I say little to Lottie as we travel back to the Palace. I always enjoy spending time with my nanny,
but I could tell from the way Rosalind looked at me that she suspects that I have feelings for Lottie.
 That’s why I haven’t decided whether I should keep Lottie as my nanny once the baby is born. Do
I want to keep this woman in my house, tormenting me – making me want what I can’t have – or
should I let her go?
But I can’t let her go.
I don’t speak or see Lottie for the next few weeks. I have royal obligations on two other planets,
and it gives me time and space to think more clearly about our situation.
When I return to Capital City, I ask Naj about Lottie. He looks disconcerted.
“Is there a problem?”
He hesitates.
“Is she ill?”
“No. She and the baby are fine.”
I have read the weekly health reports. “Is she still hoarding food?”
“No, sir. It is not that. But there is a matter that just recently came to my attention. It seems she is
not using the assistors in the bathing room.”
I have a quick mental image of Lottie using an assistor, holding the device against her human cunt
and throwing her head back and crying out as she climaxes. Brixing hell, this is not what I need right
now for my peace of mind. My cock immediately reacts, overriding all my good intentions and I take
a deep breath, trying to ignore the pressure in my trousers. I run my shaking hands through my hair to
steady them. “How do you know this?”
Naj says, “There is her medical wrist band, obviously. And there are recording devices in all the
rooms of the palace.”
I knew that, but I hadn’t considered all the implications. I hate the thought of my security officers
spying on Lottie, but I know that is needed for her safety.
Naj continues. “Her doctor is concerned. As you’re aware, Your Highness, it is a matter of health,
but of course, human cultural patterns may be different. Particularly the patterns of a vintage human.”
I hate the term vintage human. Lottie is a human, not an antique pet for sale.
“If she were modern, there would not be a problem. A woman from Little Earth would have
brought her own assistors. But Lottie is not modern. And I wish to know how you want to have this
situation handled.”
I know I should let the doctor tell her, but I will take this excuse to speak to her myself. I have
missed her and our conversations. “I will handle it.”
Naj looks relieved. “Thank you, sir.”
I walk to Lottie’s rooms, eager to see her again. When am announced, I enter the room, I see that
she has acquired several bird cages and she is seated at a table, busily drawing on paper. Goddess, I
think I had forgotten how beautiful she is with her hair falling out of its bun and her clothes are
wrinkled, as if she has been busy for days and slept in her clothes. “Oh, sir,” she says happily,
standing up to greet me. “You have returned.”
Do I flatter myself to think that she has missed me?
Her stomach is definitely rounded now, and I feel a sense of proud possession. That is my baby.
She is carrying my child.
“What is this new project?” I ask.
She points at the different birds. “Your secretary has been very helpful, providing me with several
specimens to study.”
“And what are you learning?”
 She rattles on for several minutes, telling me about the difference between the bird’s plumage and
their diet. “I know this all seems very ordinary to you, but to be able to study these birds closely is
joy for me.”
I want her to be happy. At this moment, I would be willing to build an entire bird sanctuary for her
on Allathone, if it will make her even happier.
She says, “But I doubt that is why you are here.”
“You are correct. I came to see you and to talk to you.”
She frowns. “Is something wrong? Is it the birds? I know they smell, but I’m having the cages
cleaned every day.”
“It is not that,” I assure her. “It is something else entirely. A health matter.”
Her hand goes to her stomach. “Is the baby all right?”
“Yes, the doctors say the baby is fine. This is something that should have been covered when you
first came here, but I did not think of it, and apparently no one else did, either.”
Lottie looks at me quizzically, waiting for me to explain.
“Let us go to the bathing room, and we will take care of it right away.”
Lottie follows me. When we enter the room, there are the obvious washing facilities, the shower
room and a toilet. I slide open a panel that reveals a collection of assistors. “Has anyone explained
this part of the bathing facilities?”
She glances at the various tubes and attachments. “No, sir.”
I pull out one of the cylindrical tubes. “Well, these are to be used once a day. Just like cleaning
your teeth.”
She smiles at me. “That is one of the things I like best about Allathone. Your teeth cleaning foam.
It is most excellent.”
She looks at me so openly, without an inkling of what I am going to show her, and for an instant,
my usual composure faulters. Lottie is from another planet, another time. Should I have let the doctor
handle this?
I say clearly, “This is what we call an assistor.” I motion to the other tubes in the cupboard.
“These are all assistors. Their purpose is to bring a person to climax.”
I look her straight in the eyes, but I can tell she doesn’t understand me.
She taps her finger behind one ear. “I assume it must be a translation issue. What do you mean by
climax?”
Brixing hell.
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