The Curran Sea

Saoirse

He learned that her name was Saoirse. She fingerspelled it, then the pronunciation "sore-sha". The name is as beautiful as the lass. Shame I am far too old for her. The more they spoke, the more he liked her.
   "Is it indelicate to enquire your age, girl? I am sixty two years old, so it has some bearing on your... request."
   She smiled softly. "I have not been a girl in some time," was all she'd say.
   "Do my mother's kin live long lives, then? I have but twenty years until I reach her final years. It would be a shame to attach yourself, even briefly, to one with so few years remaining."
   "In the sea, we do. On land..." She paused. "None know. This is the first we have heard of a terminal lifespan."
   He rumbled without comment.
   "My request..." She hesitated again, floating with arms crossed modestly over her large bosom. "It was not for... h a r e m." She fingerspelled the word, more slowly than some of the others; almost as though she were embarrassed to even spell the word.
   His Adam's apple bobbed. He looked to Alfie, to see if he caught her signs.
   He did.
   "Dad? How... I... It'd be weird, having a mom who's hot, but... if Grampa can't make you do the thing we don't like, I say go for it."
   Her hair floated across her face, as her head bowed.
   "It wouldn't stop him, would it?" The growl upset Emmett, but latching on settled him down. Saoirse's eyes followed the motion, with some fascination.
   "One of my many scientific modifications, lass. Does it bother you?"
   "I don't know," she signed. A small smile played around her lips. "Kind of cute."
   He grunted. "So I am told. To the matter at hand: my grandfather. What would he ask of... me, us, whoever?"
   Her hands clasped at her waist, thrusting her... assets into full view. The tactic did not go unnoticed, by either Curran.
   When they unclasped, she signed "One babe per year, for the remaining years we have."
   "Unsustainable," he snapped.
   "Not... not mine. On... top of... mine." She couldn't meet his eyes.
   He punched the airlock control, while his adult son yelped "Are you crazy?"
   Ibrahim half turned to his son. "I cannot speak with her this way. Not about such things. Not with you here, either. Do not worry, your brother is safe."
   He turned back, leveled his most Dad of Dad Stares at Saoirse. "Isn't that right, lass?"
   She was covering herself with her hair, when the Look turned her knees to jello. "If you but refrain from exuding such powerful masculine parental energy, sir, I will behave."
   He turned toward his son's image, eyes squeezed closed. When they opened, he saw pale blue torment. "Pray for me, my son."
   Alfie gulped. "You're stronger than me, Dad."
   "Let us hope." He disconnected the call, lingered with his back to her, to gain control of a body that was... more emotional than normal.
   When he'd taken several deep breaths, and turned, he saw that Saoirse had found a blanket waiting to go into the warming pod, and secured some small measure of modesty within its folds.
   "I am afraid my son must remain skin to skin, else his heart falters."
   A smile ghosted across her face. "It is... not a detraction."
   "It may be a distraction. That is my concern."
   "That is a risk I am willing to take."
   He knew what smoldered within those golden eyes. Had seen it dozens of times--and yet, it did not frighten him, as it once did.
   He paced, to dispel the nervous energy that coursed through both of their veins. His voice rumbled around the confines of the lab. Did he but know the effect it had on her, he might have modulated it for the discussion.
   But he did not, so she squirmed in quiet torment.
   "So, they would ask you to... pair with a man possibly twice your age, yet allow him to... My son's other father's people call it 'pollination'. Considering the little ears, I shall use it, for the moment. They would have you m... mate with an old man, who pollinates one woman per year, while expecting some sort of... quota, no doubt..." He looked to her for confirmation.
   "Whatever is within me to produce. The wife is not expected to do more than is physically sustainable. We are... backups. Redundancies."
   His thick, naturally sculpted brows shot high. "Wife, is it? I was not certain such... thinkers would allow for such ties."
   Her hands, now unwebbed, knotted in the blanket. He wanted to hold them, but dared not touch her. A thought occurred to him, then.
   "Tell me, woman--for that, you must be--do your kind hold sway over men, as I do women?"
   Gold eyes glinted through red hair. "None have moved you yet, good sir. I am the first to have such fortune. Many have tried."
   His brows nearly met his hairline. "I do not recall such attempts."
   "There have been mer visitations, off and on, since our arrival, sir. I had not the data to say as much, before today. My sensors are now calibrated to their signatures."
   She didn't seem to like that. Curious.
   "My niece mentioned... persuading my children to return to the sea. If she can do so, does that reduce the burden on..." His free hand wobbled between them, unable to say any word that joined them, even temporarily.
   "Aye, that it would. As he said, one virile son--"
   "So that would reduce it to one every three years, yes? For one son to return to the sea? And that is knowing that I may only provide two to three decades of offspring?"
   "As far as I am aware, yes. Do you agree to the terms herein?" she asked formally.
   "I make no decisions, until my son is in stable condition," he said, "but I am leaning favorably, at the moment. That is the best that I can offer."
   The blanket fell to the floor with a soft flupp.