Metamorphosis by mosylu

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Brenda dropped her voice so it hummed with suspense. "And so, on Halloween night, Janet went to the forest where she had first met Tam Lin. Hiding behind the well, she waited and watched for the elves’ procession, her heart in her mouth. When she saw Tam Lin, she leapt from her hiding place and pulled him from his horse."

When Lynnie had been smaller, she’d always jumped in at this point, squealing gleefully, "An’ the queen was mad, wasn’t she, Mama?" But now she lay silent, eyes focused but blue-veined lids drooping. She’d drifted out of her latest coma earlier that day, and Brenda had started telling her favorite story to distract her from her wooziness.

"The queen spun around in a fury. Wind whipped the trees and the horses screamed in terror."

There were little gasps from the rest of her audience. A few other Syndrome children had snuck over, in their chairs or sitting up in bed to listen. Darla was there too, with Angie in her lap. Everybody knew Lynnie’s mom told the best stories.

Brenda continued. "The wicked queen began to work her terrible magic. In Janet’s arms, her Tam Lin suddenly became--"

She always paused so her children could name horrible animals for Tam Lin to turn into. Ryan loved to say things like kangaroo and buffalo, things that had most definitely not been around in old Scotland. But Ryan wasn’t here. He was off somewhere, and Brenda didn’t have the energy to be angry with him for not letting her know his whereabouts.

From behind her, Angie said, "A bear?"

Brenda looked over her shoulder and nodded. "--a bear, huge and smelly, with terrible claws ripping at poor Janet. She wanted to let go, but she held on, for it was the only way to save him. Then he turned into a snake, wrapped around her and squeezing tight until she thought her ribs would break. She wanted to let go, but she held on, for it was the only way to save him."

As she recounted the various animals that poor enchanted Tam Lin was turned into by the furious queen, Brenda watched her daughter’s eyes go unfocused. She was falling asleep again. Brenda envied Janet. At least the creatures that Tam Lin had turned into were ones that could be fought, not like this insidious condition that was stealing her daughter away piece by piece.

"Then in her arms, he became a pillar of living fire, and she let out a cry of pain as her skin burned. She thought, I must hold on, I must hold on. But then she remembered what Tam Lin had told her. He had said ‘When I turn into a pillar of living fire, then you must let go and throw me into the well, lest we both be burned to ash. Then help me out and cover me with a green cloak, and I will at last be free.’ At once, she flung the fire into the water. A great gush of steam went up, and when she looked into the well, there was her own beloved Tam Lin once more. She helped him out of the well, dripping wet and not burned at all, and covered him with her green cloak. With one final scream of rage, the elf queen and all her court disappeared, and Tam Lin put his arms around her. ‘My Janet,’ he said, ‘you have freed me.’"

A smile flickered across Lynnie’s face just as her lashes settled on her pale cheeks. Brenda checked the machines. She wasn’t medically trained, but after so many years, she could tell by the brain and heart monitors that her daughter was asleep, not unconscious. She let out her breath, then remembered that she still had a little bit of the story to tell for the children still awake. "Janet took her Tam Lin home, and they were married. And the evil, greedy elf queen, her power broken by Janet’s love and determination, was nevermore seen in the land. The end."

If only it worked that way in real life.

Figuring that another story was unlikely, the children drifted away or laid back down, some giving dutiful thanks. Angie’s head drooped against her mother’s shoulder, and Darla rose. She paused and said in a low voice, "Bren?"

Brenda looked up, relieved at the excuse to look away from Lynnie’s too-thin fingers in hers. "What is it?"

"I’m going to put Angie down, but I need to talk to you. Don’t go anywhere, all right?"

"All right." Brenda watched her go, wondering what her friend needed to say.

When Angie was asleep, Darla motioned Brenda to follow her. Brenda gave her daughter's fingers a squeeze and followed her friend to one of the little waiting areas, enclosed in the moving walls. In the open-plan hospital, it offered a vague approximation of privacy.

Darla prowled around the plain wooden chairs, apparently unable to sit. Brenda was too tired to do otherwise. "What is it?" she asked, dropping her head back against the wall. "What's wrong?"

"We're leaving."

Brenda straightened up, suddenly wide awake. "What do you mean, leaving?"

"I mean, when that ship is fixed, Rob and the girls and I are going to be on it."

"What about Angie?"

Darla made two circuits of the waiting area before she answered, somewhat defensively, "She’s strong. She bounced so well from the cold sleep, she was walking an hour later. I don’t have any worries about the return trip."

"I mean the cure."

Darla let out a scornful noise. "There’s no cure here, Brenda. All this fresh air and natural setting that Devon talked about on the stations aren’t doing any good."

"You have to give it time," Brenda said, trying to convince herself as much as her friend. "It's only been two weeks."

"And in two more weeks, we’ll have lost our only chance of going home." Darla crossed her arms, gripping her elbows. "Devon Adair made all these promises and not one of them came true."

"She never promised it would be instantaneous."

"Isn't that what she's saying now? All we have to do is give them up to those monsters. I didn't sign up for this." She swept her hand out, indicating the hard wooden chairs, the unpainted walls, the squat buildings that made up New Pacifica. "By the time we get home, it’ll be fifty years since we left. They have to have found a cure by that time."

Brenda rose and went to her friend. "Dar, you knew this was a gamble. Give it a chance."

"I’ve given it a chance," Darla said. "We’re going back home."

"What about Molly? She loves it here. So does Angie."

"It's the novelty, that's all. They doesn't really belong here. None of us belong here." Her eyes drifted over the uneven grass just outside the window, now rippling gently in the wind, then rose to take in the endless expanse of sky. A deep shudder rocked her body. "I hate this place, Brenda." She looked away from the infinite space. "We have to go home."

Except for a small pool of light near the back, the garage was dark. Devon navigated carefully around patches of deeper darkness on her way back. She didn’t know if they were something she would bark her shins on or just tricks of light, but she didn’t feel like finding out the hard way.

"Hey," she said.

John gave a grunt, not looking up from the tiny meter in front of him on the bench. He wore magnifying goggles that made him look like a mad scientist, but Devon didn’t feel like laughing.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?"

She looked at the meter. He was calibrating it--one of the mindless, annoying tasks that he either saved until a slow day, or did when something else was bothering him. Since slow days were virtually unknown in New Pacifica, she said, "I heard you had to be at the hospital today."

"Dialysis machine was on the fritz," he said.

"Oh," she said.

"I hate that place," he muttered after a long silence.

"I know," she said.

Through another long silence, the only sounds were the tiny clicks and buzzes of the meter as he tested it, then went back in and made more adjustments.

"So you haven’t talked to Braxton?" she asked.

"No," he said shortly.

"What if you asked Alonzo--"

"No."

"Just a thought."

He tested and adjusted, tested and adjusted. It was like pulling teeth.

Suddenly, he slapped the tiny tool down. "Jesus, would it kill you to tell me I’m right on this? You don’t even have to believe it."

She let out her breath. He was going to talk. "Like all the times you’ve blindly supported me when you thought I was dead wrong?" she said.

"She’s a kid," he said through his teeth. "She can’t deal with this."

"You always wanted it to be her decision," Devon pointed out.

"When she grew up. When she could handle it. When she could understand."

"Who’s the one who told me my son understood more about my own death than I was giving him credit for?"

"That was different."

"It looks remarkably the same to me. Look, it took you close to eleven years to tell her the first thing about her mom. Is it going to take another eleven years for you to talk to her about this?"

He shoved the goggles up over his forehead. "What do you want me to say? ‘Guess what, baby. I’m sending someone back to the stations to pull the plug on your mom, so they can throw her away like a used Kleenex.’"

She reached out and grabbed his hand tightly. "You know it’s not like that. You know it."

Their gazes locked. After a moment, his eyes dropped. "No. It’s not like that."

She let go of him and continued, more quietly, "What if she finds out on her own, sometime? Are you prepared for that conversation?"

He closed his eyes. "She won’t find out. Not until I tell her."

"She has a mind. Give her credit for the ability to use it."

He propped his head in his hands, digging his fingers through his hair in frustration. Devon softened. She knew how hard the initial decision had been for him. But she’d always thought he was making a mistake, not bringing True into it. She said, "At least this way, you could go through it together."

He said flatly, "I’m not putting this on her. All right? I’m just not."

Devon looked at the set of his jaw, the look in his eyes, and mentally threw in the towel. "All right."

He looked at her suspiciously, as if waiting for further arguments. "That mean you agree with me now?"

"It means I disagree but I know when you’re dug in."

He made a "hunh," noise, second or third cousin to a laugh. "Dug in. Yep."

"You’re so frustrating," she said.

"Yeah, and you’re so reasonable yourself."

With the effort at teasing, the tension seeped away. "Dinner’s almost over," she said. She indicated the meter. "Are you done with that?"

He looked down at it, gave it one last test, and nodded. "It’ll do." He closed it up, put away his tools, and snapped off the light.

She said into the darkness, "Wasn’t it easier when all they needed from us was a clean diaper?"

This time the sound was at least a first cousin to a laugh. "Yeah, but these days we get a little more sleep.

Days Until Moon Cross: 13

Rita drew herself up, folding her hands at her waist. "Dr. Heller?"

The other woman turned, acknowledging her presence with a nod. "Dr. Vasquez."

They had an audience of nurses, parents, techs, and other doctors, all of whom were so blatantly disinterested they would probably be able to recite the conversation word for word.

"You're Hari Bakshi's primary physician. Do you think he's fit for a session with me? We were scheduled."

Julia referred to the files on her datapad. "He should be just fine, although if he shows any sign of strain, you'll have to let me know when you bring him back."

"Of course. Thank you." Rita set off for Hari's bed, congratulating herself. Perfectly professional, perfectly courteous. Perfectly not letting little things like adultery affect her work.

Behind her, a medtech let out a low whistle. "Frostbite."

Maybe a little too professional.

But damn it, how was she supposed to treat her husband's little side piece? Ex-side piece, she reminded herself. Miguel had given her up.

I love you, he’d said that night on the Virginia, less than three weeks ago. I'm sorry. Don't throw twenty-seven years of marriage into the recycler. We'll make it work. You're just so busy all the time. I get lonely. I'll never do it again.

She'd always thought she had a good marriage. Her husband was intelligent, compassionate, a good provider, encouraged her in her own life's work. She'd seen many women who had it much worse. But lately--just since coming to this planet--she'd started to feel as if something was missing, and not just because of her discovery of Miguel’s infidelity.

Rita rubbed her temples. Marriage was work, she reminded herself. You didn't get to sign the contract and then coast for the next ten or twenty or thirty years. A relationship took upkeep, especially when both members were under stress. Didn't she know that from countless sessions with worried Syndrome parents who had forgotten to be spouses?

On impulse, she detoured when she saw her husband speaking with a nurse. He glanced at her and held up a finger, then finished giving his directions. When he was done and the nurse had left to do his bidding, he turned to her and said, "Yes, dear?"

"What time do you anticipate signing off tonight?"

He glanced at his watch. "Barring any emergencies? Three hours, perhaps three and a half."

"I should be done by then. Would you like to take a walk?"

He gazed at her blankly. "A walk?"

"I thought perhaps to the beach."

"If you need to speak with me about something, I can take a break--"

"No. Just a walk. Spending time together. I'd like to spend some time with you, Miguel." She tried to remind him, without saying it out loud, that they were trying to repair their marriage.

He must have remembered that salient little fact as well. "Yes, of course. I can do that. This evening, then." He kissed her. "Excuse me, I need to check on Lena Guerrero."

"Yes, of course," she murmured, and watched him go before turning and heading toward Hari Bakshi's bed.

The little boy's parents were with him. His father was telling a grandiose story about his adventures on the water. "It was this big!" He held his arms out wide, indicating something closer to a full-grown dolphin than a standard fish.

Hari, knowing full well who had all the common sense in the family, said, "Mama, was it?"

Layla Bakshi laughed. "Your papa is telling tales again. It was little. Itsy." She pinched thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate.

"Your mama doesn't know what she's talking about," Rajiv countered, grinning at her. "It was a champion among fishes. But one day you'll catch one bigger."

Rita paused at the end of Hari's bed, smiling at the family. The parents looked up. "Good evening, Dr. Rita," Layla said.

"Good evening. I hate to interrupt story time," she said lightly. "But I have a date with this handsome young man."

Hari sat up hopefully. "Can we go outside, Dr. Rita?"

She had taken to conducting some sessions outdoors, both for the sake of privacy, hard to obtain in the crowded hospital, and also because the children asked her to. "Well," she said. "I'll let your parents decide."

Hari's big eyes turned to his parents. "Mama . . ."

Layla felt his forehead. "How are you doing? What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Heller says he's quite fit this evening. We'll take a chair, of course." Which Hari would climb out of the minute he was out of the hospital, but the rules were the rules.

"Please?" Hari wheedled.

Layla and Rajiv exchanged a look, then Layla said, "You take care and tell Dr. Rita if you feel tired."

Hari cheered, and threw back his covers so his father could pick him up and carry him to one of the chairs that clustered near the doors. Once Rajiv settled him in, and Layla had fussed with his headpiece, Hari bounced. "Let's go."

His mother smiled at him. "We'll see you after dinner, darling."

As Rita wheeled Hari away, waiting until they were more private to activate her recorder, she glanced back. His parents stood just outside the doors, looking after them. Rajiv leaned down to say something in his wife's ear, and she touched his arm lightly, in comfort or reassurance, before they both turned toward the dorms.

Layla and Rajiv had gone through a rough patch in their marriage a year before, one so bad they'd thought seriously about dissolving their marriage contract early and taking the penalties. But they had worked it through, both for Hari's sake and because they truly still loved each other. It could be done, Rita thought. If they could do it, so could she.

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