Quiet Birth (In Death)

Quiet Birth (In Death) Part 2

August 2075

"I didn't keep any kids' stuff except the crib," Peabody said brightly, shuffling through her stack of binders. "I never thought you .... well, it's been a while. Davie has been out of it for ten years now, so it's in storage at mom's. But you remember it, right?" She helpfully brought out a page-sized photograph.

Delia Peabody had greeted her ex-partner's plans with joy bordering on fanaticism. Even Roarke was a bit alarmed. "Yes. It's a beautiful piece," he said, moving the photo a little on the coffee table. "Your brother Zeke's work." Eve nodded along.

"Reclaimed redwood all the way through, but it has all the features of a commercially made crib," Peabody said. "Adjustable height, and boy are you guys and the nanny going to be happy about that. It's a just little chewed on from all mine. And I talked to Zeke. He's making two more. Our baby shower present to you. They won't both be finished in time for the big day. You know Zeke does everything by hand. But you can put two in one crib while they're little, no problem."

Roarke squeezed her hand. "It's a princely gift. More coffee?" he said when Peabody showed signs of diving straight into binder number three.

"Yeah, maybe a bit of a break for all of us," Eve suggested. "You, er, certainly are organized."

"You taught me to be a detective," Peabody said. "This is something *I* know."

They'd set up in the main parlor of the house, just inside the entry foyer. Peabody was a little stouter than she'd been, but it concealed muscle. Like Dallas had been, she was a hands-on lieutenant in the field. Beside the pot of coffee, the table was scattered with fabric samples, paint fans, pictures of top of the line baby-handling equipment. And for some reason, a pacifier.

A chime that they recognized as the private house line. "Hologram," Roarke said. Dr. Minchenko's head and torso appeared above the coffee table.

Even semi-transparent, Eve knew that look. Notification. She clutched Roarke's hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Roarke, I'm afraid I have some bad..."

"Just say it," Eve cut in. Peabody started to stand up. Eve clamped onto her hand, too.

"It's embryo C." Minchenko looked flustered at the interruption. "Embryos A and B are fine, they made the transfer to the full-sized replicators in excellent condition. Pre-Apgar scores in the ninetieth percentile. But C... I'm terribly sorry. The placenta just came apart."

Roarke's eyes were dangerous. "Exactly what happened?"

Minchenko took a moment, clearly to regain his own composure. Roarke allowed it. "We tried too hard to get all three," the younger man said bluntly. "C was always marginal. The placental development was more than ten percent slower than the average - more like twelve percent slower than your other two. And the cells weren't differentiating from the blastocyst at nearly the expected rate. It was ... no one could have done anything, Mr. Roarke." Roarke didn't correct him.

"And ma'am," Minchenko's eyes moved to Eve, "We want to express our condolences on behalf of our entire facility. In vivo ... the miscarriage would have shown itself as a later and heavier menstrual period. Without lab tests, a woman might not even have suspected she was pregnant. I wish I had clearer answers to offer. We do plan an analysis. But some gametes fail."

Roarke closed his eyes. Breathed. "You say our other two are all right."

"Among the healthiest we've ever hosted here. They're thriving." Minchenko looked grateful to have something else to say. "And it says in your records that you do want to know the gender?" Nod. "A boy and a girl."

Peabody glanced at Eve and Roarke. "How old ... how big was it?" She ventured.

"Three point eight weeks. About the size of a grain of rice."

Eve could only think that at some point she'd been that size too, inside the hostile environment of a woman called Stella. God, how did this business ever work right at all? "Yeah." Blood roared in her ears. It had crossed her mind, once, that fewer kids meant less work. That felt like a century ago.

Minchenko was frankly babbling, dumping out all the information he had about embryos A and B. Developing normally. Too early to determine hair and eye coloring. Everything on schedule. They were settling in to the main replicators with no problems.

Roarke cut him off. "Dr. Minchenko, what was the sex of Embryo C?"

He consulted a note. "Male, sir. A boy."

"Thank you. We'll call back with any other questions." Roarke cut the comm.

Eve felt her gather him in, held against his chest. She felt like wood in her husband's arms. "I guess..." *not so bad* was poison in her throat. "They said it could happen. Does happen."

"I should go," Peabody said.

Roarke cradled Eve's head on his shoulder. "Please. Delia. You're family."

Without any sound, Eve's face was wet. She felt Roarke's breath catch, and she was holding him with all her strength.

Peabody looked desperately for tissues, found none. She wiped her own eyes. "Dallas. Three weeks, four weeks is tiny. Before the heart starts beating, before there's anything you'd call a brain. That doctor is right about that. It ... he wouldn't have felt any pain. Roarke, I'm so sorry." Roarke caught her hand, brought her close too.