Mons angels, p.23
Mon's Angels, page 23
Just as quickly, like a will o’ the wisp, they disappeared.
Haig and Smith locked eyes, expressionless.
“Another one, sir,” Smith said.
Haig nodded.
The sightings had neither helped nor hindered them the last few days, other than to slow down the German advance at times.
“Saint George’s own army, come to march with us, sir?” the wounded man said, drawing the men’s attention back to him.
“Could be,” Haig said with an indulgent smile. “Could be. We certainly have some angels looking out for us. Pass the word about what we just saw.”
If those apparitions keep slowing Jerry down, Haig thought, whatever they are, we’ll take any help they have to offer.
The wounded man seemed to visibly lift out of his stupor. He walked taller, more confident than before.
“I will, sir. I’ll tell them all.”
Let’s hope we all live to tell the tale, Haig thought.
56
A door leading inside the vault’s inner circle on the surface banged open. Pierre ran out with his machinegun scanning for threats.
He crouched behind the nearest air cowl and peeked over the top. But no one waited in the center. He made a beckoning motion with his hand and Marceau stepped through armed with a handgun, followed by Gigi with her crossbow.
The Umbrians came out, also armed. But no threats appeared inside the circle, only a column of liquid green light shooting straight up into the sky.
Everyone looked up. The tail end of the Steel Comet had already passed through the beam, and the ship slowly circled back around.
“Fire the flare, Bobby,” Rip said. “Let’s make sure he knows we’re here.”
Chance nodded and retrieved a flare gun from his wallet. He aimed in the path of the dirigible, to make sure Powell would see it, and pulled the trigger. A smaller streak of light flew through the sky, past the big green column, and burst in front of the ship.
The Steel Comet completed turning and headed back for the circle. This time, Powell aimed his nose to one side, giving the pillar of light plenty of room. He spied the party down below, evidently, because he headed toward their side.
As he approached, Powell reversed his engines. They roared to life, belching black smoke, and the ship slowed to a crawl. The cabin’s trap door opened and rope ladders dropped down to the metal floor below.
Rip said, “I guess your army out there is preoccupied. Looks like this will be one of our more uneventful extractions.”
“Don’t jinx us!” Chance said, looking askance.
Rip smiled as Chance and Twig headed for the ladders, strapping guns over their shoulders. The Verez sisters simply misted and floated up to the cabin, hurrying to visit Powell again.
Blair and Gigi hugged. Then Blair smiled at Pierre when Rip shook his hand.
Rip turned to Marceau and said, “I want to thank you for getting us down there and back.”
The big man pulled him into a hug, then gave a European kiss on each of Rip’s cheeks, surprising him.
Marceau said, “Mon ami, should you have need of my team in the future, you need but ask and we will be there. You have proven yourself a true Darhaven foe, and we shall be allies against them until the end.”
Rip thought the phrasing a bit odd, then decided if another war were to be declared between France and Umbria, or if Venture Society teams were ever to meet the Foreign Legion in conflict somewhere, Marceau’s declaration made more sense. It held the caveat of fighting a common foe.
“Thank you. Ripley’s Rangers extends the same courtesy to you and your team.”
Blair moved to a dangling rope ladder and Rip followed her.
He stopped and said, “Do you need a ride? I’m sure I can talk our pilot into going to Paris.”
“Non. The army, they sound distraught out there. We will stay and make our report.”
“Alright. So long, Marceau.”
“Until we meet again, mon ami.”
Rip started climbing up even as he felt the winches kick in, pulling him into the cabin even faster.
Above, the Steel Comet’s twin engines thrummed to life once more. The ship pulled away from the metal circle and its shaft of green light.
Looking up, Rip watched Blair reach the trapdoor and step inside the cabin. He gave a final glance over his shoulder at the vault and the eerie columns of light streaming from its middle.
It blinked out suddenly, as if somebody cut a switch.
-+-
“Turn it off!”
Some of the troopers further back in the hall, unaffected by the blast from the booby-trapped door, poked their heads in to look around. Caul immediately put them to work.
The hapless fellow he directed to the U toggle dutifully jogged over and grabbed the handle with both hands, only to be electrocuted. A green nimbus of light surrounded his body along with crackles of lightning until he slumped over, lifeless.
Caul glared at the others until a couple of them approached the toggle again. This time, one of them used a gun. Holding it from the wooden stock like a club, he whacked at the switch, knocking it back down into the off position without physically touching it.
The green shaft of light flickered out. The tabulator hummed down, the remaining tubes slowly dimming. The resonator clicked off, its final streaks of lightning leaving only retinal afterimages behind.
Dar Caul walked around the room, examining the damage. Another vacuum tube popped as he approached the tabulator.
“Ruined.”
He glanced at the table and noticed all the punch cards were missing.
Turning to the nearest trooper, Caul said, “Search the room for any cards.”
The man nodded reluctantly. Despite all the destruction, it seemed obvious no cards remained anywhere nearby.
More men entered the area. Dar Licken stepped in, disbelief and anger mixed on his face. He approached Caul quickly.
“Where are the cards? We are lost without them!”
Caul glanced at the other Dar, irritation creasing his face.
“We have more sets of punch cards. Did you think these were the only ones?”
The other man calmed down with those words, but lines of stress remained etched on his face.
“We must begin again immediately. I demand another set. And another machine. This one is kaput.”
“We will get both, of course,” Caul said slowly. “I’m just not sure our next series of experiments will take place here, in this vault.”
“What? You can’t go back to Gretna Green. It’s been compromised!”
“And Calais has not?”
The questioned lingered in the air between them for a long moment.
“Then we move elsewhere. I know we have a Hallwood T-1 installed in the vault near Rothenburg ob der Tauber.”
Caul absently waved him aside, watching the men begin to clean up the room.
“I will let you know what our next steps will be, Dar Lichen. As soon as a decision is made.”
Lichen spluttered and continued protesting, but Caul ignored him and left the room.
57
The following morning, the team waited patiently in a private meeting room at RVS Headquarters. As usual, the room contained a heavy wooden table with several leather wingback chairs around it.
The Verez sisters spoke quietly together in one corner, comparing notes about their recent experiences. Chance and Twig played a game of gin rummy. Both cheated, hiding cards in various spots under the table, up their sleeves and elsewhere.
Rip sat quietly next to Blair near the door, idly watching the game. Chance carefully hooked a card with a paperclip attached to a rubber band. When he let go, it flicked inside the sleeve of his shirt.
Twig didn’t notice. He scratched his head, deftly pulling a card out from his derby hat and adding it to his hand.
Rip smiled and glanced at Blair to see if she caught their shenanigans. Instead, she stared at the table, looking sick. He touched her hand and she glanced up at him.
“You okay?”
She smiled, but with thin lips.
“I’m feeling just a little queasy this morning. I don’t think the vaults and the air ride were very kind to my stomach.”
“Was it something you ate? Because I’m not sick, and I ate the same things you did.”
“No. I don’t think so. I’m just a little under the weather, that’s all.”
Before he could query her further, a panel in the far wall slid open. Everyone stood up as Sir Jefferson Prescott, the Lord High Steward, stepped into the room. Flickering lights in sconces set inside the stone walls of the secret passage behind him brightened the room a bit more.
A bit of tension leeched out of the air when the panel slid shut, with no King Alto following the steward.
“As you were. I’m here on behalf of His Majesty. He was briefed this morning by Dr. Oggolopoli on the nature of the material you retrieved from the Calais vault. His Majesty wishes you to avoid having your team present a public report this morning, and asks that you keep all recent findings under your hat for now.”
This statement raised some eyebrows around the room.
“I’m sure you can understand his concerns, especially with the mission taking place on French soil rather than the Empire. Beyond that, we don’t really want the newspapers to discover ongoing efforts by Darhaven to open a portal to another world, despite how farfetched that proposal may seem to some people.”
His comments made sense, and several on the team nodded.
“I’m here to listen to your private report, with all the gory details and nothing excluded, as usual. His Majesty wishes to hear it all.”
Rip stood and cleared his throat before beginning. He decided he much preferred these quiet settings rather than the public ones with everyone in an amphitheater staring at him. He could handle his team listening in while he addressed only the Lord High Steward.
When he concluded half an hour later, Prescott looked troubled.
“This puts some of what Oggy was telling us earlier this morning in a bit of perspective.”
“How so?” Rip said, taking his seat again.
“The professor suggested certain altered numbers on the card sets not only changed the date and location for an appearance on your world, but they altered other aspects of the person going over as well. I think it’s clear the Darhaven boffins were unaware of the purpose of some of the datasets they played with. Or, perhaps they simply made some mistakes. Oggy assures me mistakes with punchcards are common.”
Prescott stood up and paced behind his chair for a moment.
“When your French counterpart appeared as a giant ghost figure, for instance, Oggy noted where the numbers had been changed on her card to . . . let’s see if I can remember the phrasing he used . . . ‘drastically diverge the spatial parameters of the subject upon transference,’ or some such boffin blather.”
“Hm. Okay.”
“I think we can safely conclude that the biggest problem they are having seems to be actually transporting someone physically to your world, as Oggy did in your case but in reverse. Some of the papers you retrieved are records of recent experiments down in the Gretna Green vault. Those failed as well. But in those cases, they hewed closer to Oggy’s original parameters.”
“What exactly did their notes say? We didn’t have time to review everything before handing it all over upon our return.”
Rip had, in fact, scanned over the notes, taking pictures with his implant. But they made little sense, and he had not had time to go over them in detail.
He regretted not making a physical copy to share with others, and started idly thinking about introducing the concept of mimeograph machines to this world.
And maybe copiers, if camera technology improves enough, he thought.
“Oggy was a bit hazy on this, but from what he said it appears their experiments in Gretna Green opened a door to one of your electronic theaters. It seems they were subsequently unable to pass through to your world.”
“Ha! They were probably trying to portal a living body into an online game or something. You know, I was online when he brought me over.”
“Yes, that’s the confounding part, evidently. In Calais, they were trying to send an electronic version of their subjects. That was the green light you observed, if I understand things correctly. They were trying to send this electronic essence of a person into the physical portion of your world. I think that may have had something to do with their choice of dates.”
“Ah . . . so they were trying to get to a pre-electrical point in time, when there were no online games. Or something.”
“Or something. Oggy sends his regards and requests you retrieve someone who knows more about what they’ve been doing, or trying to do, next time. ‘Preferably a Dar,’ I believe were his exact words.”
Everyone around the table chuckled at this remark.
“We’ll see if we can accommodate him next time,” Rip said.
Blair smiled and added, “But tell him not to count on it.”
58
The following morning, Rip walked out of the large bathroom connected to the townhouse’s master suite only to find Blair still in bed. She sat propped up on pillows, staring down at her lap with a mottled face.
“Hey. You feeling alright?”
She looked up and smiled, despite the thick dark circles under her eyes.
“I . . . I didn’t sleep much, I’m afraid.”
“Hm. Yeah, you don’t look like you slept well at all. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“There’s that word again. It’s not going to catch on, you know.”
“Okay. Well, we’ll see about that. I think it’s going to be catchier than you think.”
Blair smiled, but then her expression changed. She squinted and her cheeks bulged out. Throwing off the sheets, she ran into the bathroom.
He watched her go, then winced as sounds of intense retching drifted back into the bedroom.
She returned several minutes later, wearing a rather embarrassed smile.
“Much better. I must say, your Dr. Colfax’s mouthwash comes in rather handy at times like this. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so refreshed after throwing up, before.”
Rip stared at her stomach as a notification appeared in his mind’s eye.
He said, “You’re pregnant.”
“What?”
Blair sounded genuinely shocked. She stared at him as if he had just slapped her.
“What do you mean? How do you . . . ?”
“It’s what my implant is telling me. You’re six weeks along, and . . . it’s a girl.”
His eyes met hers and he smiled.
“We’re going to have a baby girl!”
Blair stared at him, open-mouthed. She placed both hands around her middle and stared down.
“Are you sure?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. The implant has never been wrong. Although, I gotta admit, this is the first time I’ve tried it on a pregnant woman. Interesting reading, by the way.”
He trailed off, eyes focused inward.
Blair said, “But . . . how did this happen?”
His eyes snapped back to her and he chuckled. Blair’s face turned red.
She said, “Oh, stop it. I mean . . . we’ve been using the rhythm method. This was not supposed to happen.”
Rip shrugged and said, “I have heard it’s the least effective form of birth control. In fact, an old joke on my world is . . . ‘What do you call couples who use the rhythm method? Parents!’ ”
He gave her a lopsided grin.
“I don’t think that’s a very funny joke right now, Ripley.”
His smile turned sympathetic. He walked over and hugged her.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re going to be a great mother.”
“I just . . . I wasn’t expecting this. It’s so soon. So sudden. I’m not sure I’m ready to be a mother.”
He gently squeezed her shoulders.
“It’s going to be alright. But listen, and this is important. We’ve got to come up with a really good name for the baby.”
She looked up into his face as he smiled down at her.
“Are you certain it’s a girl?”
“Pretty sure. At least, that’s what my implant’s telling me. I’m presuming it’s accurate, and I can take additional readings in the months ahead. Seven and a half months or so, that is.”
“Very well. Then we shall consider it. I like Betsy, it’s the name of my great aunt on my mother’s side.”
“We are not naming our daughter Betsy.”
“We’re not?”
“No. She’s going to have a cool name like . . . Alexandra, or something.”
“That’s a terrible name. We’re not naming her after a city.”
“Not Alexandria. Alexandra.”
‘Alexandra Coulter?’ I think not.”
“That’s a great name. It’s got an X and an R. We can call her Alex for short. And she’ll probably get married. It’s not like she’ll have the last name of Coulter forever. I’m sure she’ll grow up to be stunning. I mean, look at her parents.”
He gave her a wide grin.
“Absolutely not.”
His grin dropped.
“Well, Betsy’s out. That’s for sure.”
“What’s wrong with Betsy? It’s a fine Umbrian name.”
“I dunno. It sounds fuddy-duddy, like some name an old person would have. Not a baby.”
Blair’s face grew red again, from the heat of the argument rather than embarrassment this time.
“Need I remind you, that our timeline is old compared to yours? It’s perfectly acceptable in our day and age to name daughters Betsy. Besides, it starts with a B, rather like my own name. And I like that.”
“Hm. Well, we’ll think about it.”
Blair looked ready to escalate the argument. Mindful of her temper, though, Rip changed the subject.
“Come on, let’s see if Nancy has made breakfast yet. Maybe we can find something that you can keep down this morning, and not throw up again.”
Haig and Smith locked eyes, expressionless.
“Another one, sir,” Smith said.
Haig nodded.
The sightings had neither helped nor hindered them the last few days, other than to slow down the German advance at times.
“Saint George’s own army, come to march with us, sir?” the wounded man said, drawing the men’s attention back to him.
“Could be,” Haig said with an indulgent smile. “Could be. We certainly have some angels looking out for us. Pass the word about what we just saw.”
If those apparitions keep slowing Jerry down, Haig thought, whatever they are, we’ll take any help they have to offer.
The wounded man seemed to visibly lift out of his stupor. He walked taller, more confident than before.
“I will, sir. I’ll tell them all.”
Let’s hope we all live to tell the tale, Haig thought.
56
A door leading inside the vault’s inner circle on the surface banged open. Pierre ran out with his machinegun scanning for threats.
He crouched behind the nearest air cowl and peeked over the top. But no one waited in the center. He made a beckoning motion with his hand and Marceau stepped through armed with a handgun, followed by Gigi with her crossbow.
The Umbrians came out, also armed. But no threats appeared inside the circle, only a column of liquid green light shooting straight up into the sky.
Everyone looked up. The tail end of the Steel Comet had already passed through the beam, and the ship slowly circled back around.
“Fire the flare, Bobby,” Rip said. “Let’s make sure he knows we’re here.”
Chance nodded and retrieved a flare gun from his wallet. He aimed in the path of the dirigible, to make sure Powell would see it, and pulled the trigger. A smaller streak of light flew through the sky, past the big green column, and burst in front of the ship.
The Steel Comet completed turning and headed back for the circle. This time, Powell aimed his nose to one side, giving the pillar of light plenty of room. He spied the party down below, evidently, because he headed toward their side.
As he approached, Powell reversed his engines. They roared to life, belching black smoke, and the ship slowed to a crawl. The cabin’s trap door opened and rope ladders dropped down to the metal floor below.
Rip said, “I guess your army out there is preoccupied. Looks like this will be one of our more uneventful extractions.”
“Don’t jinx us!” Chance said, looking askance.
Rip smiled as Chance and Twig headed for the ladders, strapping guns over their shoulders. The Verez sisters simply misted and floated up to the cabin, hurrying to visit Powell again.
Blair and Gigi hugged. Then Blair smiled at Pierre when Rip shook his hand.
Rip turned to Marceau and said, “I want to thank you for getting us down there and back.”
The big man pulled him into a hug, then gave a European kiss on each of Rip’s cheeks, surprising him.
Marceau said, “Mon ami, should you have need of my team in the future, you need but ask and we will be there. You have proven yourself a true Darhaven foe, and we shall be allies against them until the end.”
Rip thought the phrasing a bit odd, then decided if another war were to be declared between France and Umbria, or if Venture Society teams were ever to meet the Foreign Legion in conflict somewhere, Marceau’s declaration made more sense. It held the caveat of fighting a common foe.
“Thank you. Ripley’s Rangers extends the same courtesy to you and your team.”
Blair moved to a dangling rope ladder and Rip followed her.
He stopped and said, “Do you need a ride? I’m sure I can talk our pilot into going to Paris.”
“Non. The army, they sound distraught out there. We will stay and make our report.”
“Alright. So long, Marceau.”
“Until we meet again, mon ami.”
Rip started climbing up even as he felt the winches kick in, pulling him into the cabin even faster.
Above, the Steel Comet’s twin engines thrummed to life once more. The ship pulled away from the metal circle and its shaft of green light.
Looking up, Rip watched Blair reach the trapdoor and step inside the cabin. He gave a final glance over his shoulder at the vault and the eerie columns of light streaming from its middle.
It blinked out suddenly, as if somebody cut a switch.
-+-
“Turn it off!”
Some of the troopers further back in the hall, unaffected by the blast from the booby-trapped door, poked their heads in to look around. Caul immediately put them to work.
The hapless fellow he directed to the U toggle dutifully jogged over and grabbed the handle with both hands, only to be electrocuted. A green nimbus of light surrounded his body along with crackles of lightning until he slumped over, lifeless.
Caul glared at the others until a couple of them approached the toggle again. This time, one of them used a gun. Holding it from the wooden stock like a club, he whacked at the switch, knocking it back down into the off position without physically touching it.
The green shaft of light flickered out. The tabulator hummed down, the remaining tubes slowly dimming. The resonator clicked off, its final streaks of lightning leaving only retinal afterimages behind.
Dar Caul walked around the room, examining the damage. Another vacuum tube popped as he approached the tabulator.
“Ruined.”
He glanced at the table and noticed all the punch cards were missing.
Turning to the nearest trooper, Caul said, “Search the room for any cards.”
The man nodded reluctantly. Despite all the destruction, it seemed obvious no cards remained anywhere nearby.
More men entered the area. Dar Licken stepped in, disbelief and anger mixed on his face. He approached Caul quickly.
“Where are the cards? We are lost without them!”
Caul glanced at the other Dar, irritation creasing his face.
“We have more sets of punch cards. Did you think these were the only ones?”
The other man calmed down with those words, but lines of stress remained etched on his face.
“We must begin again immediately. I demand another set. And another machine. This one is kaput.”
“We will get both, of course,” Caul said slowly. “I’m just not sure our next series of experiments will take place here, in this vault.”
“What? You can’t go back to Gretna Green. It’s been compromised!”
“And Calais has not?”
The questioned lingered in the air between them for a long moment.
“Then we move elsewhere. I know we have a Hallwood T-1 installed in the vault near Rothenburg ob der Tauber.”
Caul absently waved him aside, watching the men begin to clean up the room.
“I will let you know what our next steps will be, Dar Lichen. As soon as a decision is made.”
Lichen spluttered and continued protesting, but Caul ignored him and left the room.
57
The following morning, the team waited patiently in a private meeting room at RVS Headquarters. As usual, the room contained a heavy wooden table with several leather wingback chairs around it.
The Verez sisters spoke quietly together in one corner, comparing notes about their recent experiences. Chance and Twig played a game of gin rummy. Both cheated, hiding cards in various spots under the table, up their sleeves and elsewhere.
Rip sat quietly next to Blair near the door, idly watching the game. Chance carefully hooked a card with a paperclip attached to a rubber band. When he let go, it flicked inside the sleeve of his shirt.
Twig didn’t notice. He scratched his head, deftly pulling a card out from his derby hat and adding it to his hand.
Rip smiled and glanced at Blair to see if she caught their shenanigans. Instead, she stared at the table, looking sick. He touched her hand and she glanced up at him.
“You okay?”
She smiled, but with thin lips.
“I’m feeling just a little queasy this morning. I don’t think the vaults and the air ride were very kind to my stomach.”
“Was it something you ate? Because I’m not sick, and I ate the same things you did.”
“No. I don’t think so. I’m just a little under the weather, that’s all.”
Before he could query her further, a panel in the far wall slid open. Everyone stood up as Sir Jefferson Prescott, the Lord High Steward, stepped into the room. Flickering lights in sconces set inside the stone walls of the secret passage behind him brightened the room a bit more.
A bit of tension leeched out of the air when the panel slid shut, with no King Alto following the steward.
“As you were. I’m here on behalf of His Majesty. He was briefed this morning by Dr. Oggolopoli on the nature of the material you retrieved from the Calais vault. His Majesty wishes you to avoid having your team present a public report this morning, and asks that you keep all recent findings under your hat for now.”
This statement raised some eyebrows around the room.
“I’m sure you can understand his concerns, especially with the mission taking place on French soil rather than the Empire. Beyond that, we don’t really want the newspapers to discover ongoing efforts by Darhaven to open a portal to another world, despite how farfetched that proposal may seem to some people.”
His comments made sense, and several on the team nodded.
“I’m here to listen to your private report, with all the gory details and nothing excluded, as usual. His Majesty wishes to hear it all.”
Rip stood and cleared his throat before beginning. He decided he much preferred these quiet settings rather than the public ones with everyone in an amphitheater staring at him. He could handle his team listening in while he addressed only the Lord High Steward.
When he concluded half an hour later, Prescott looked troubled.
“This puts some of what Oggy was telling us earlier this morning in a bit of perspective.”
“How so?” Rip said, taking his seat again.
“The professor suggested certain altered numbers on the card sets not only changed the date and location for an appearance on your world, but they altered other aspects of the person going over as well. I think it’s clear the Darhaven boffins were unaware of the purpose of some of the datasets they played with. Or, perhaps they simply made some mistakes. Oggy assures me mistakes with punchcards are common.”
Prescott stood up and paced behind his chair for a moment.
“When your French counterpart appeared as a giant ghost figure, for instance, Oggy noted where the numbers had been changed on her card to . . . let’s see if I can remember the phrasing he used . . . ‘drastically diverge the spatial parameters of the subject upon transference,’ or some such boffin blather.”
“Hm. Okay.”
“I think we can safely conclude that the biggest problem they are having seems to be actually transporting someone physically to your world, as Oggy did in your case but in reverse. Some of the papers you retrieved are records of recent experiments down in the Gretna Green vault. Those failed as well. But in those cases, they hewed closer to Oggy’s original parameters.”
“What exactly did their notes say? We didn’t have time to review everything before handing it all over upon our return.”
Rip had, in fact, scanned over the notes, taking pictures with his implant. But they made little sense, and he had not had time to go over them in detail.
He regretted not making a physical copy to share with others, and started idly thinking about introducing the concept of mimeograph machines to this world.
And maybe copiers, if camera technology improves enough, he thought.
“Oggy was a bit hazy on this, but from what he said it appears their experiments in Gretna Green opened a door to one of your electronic theaters. It seems they were subsequently unable to pass through to your world.”
“Ha! They were probably trying to portal a living body into an online game or something. You know, I was online when he brought me over.”
“Yes, that’s the confounding part, evidently. In Calais, they were trying to send an electronic version of their subjects. That was the green light you observed, if I understand things correctly. They were trying to send this electronic essence of a person into the physical portion of your world. I think that may have had something to do with their choice of dates.”
“Ah . . . so they were trying to get to a pre-electrical point in time, when there were no online games. Or something.”
“Or something. Oggy sends his regards and requests you retrieve someone who knows more about what they’ve been doing, or trying to do, next time. ‘Preferably a Dar,’ I believe were his exact words.”
Everyone around the table chuckled at this remark.
“We’ll see if we can accommodate him next time,” Rip said.
Blair smiled and added, “But tell him not to count on it.”
58
The following morning, Rip walked out of the large bathroom connected to the townhouse’s master suite only to find Blair still in bed. She sat propped up on pillows, staring down at her lap with a mottled face.
“Hey. You feeling alright?”
She looked up and smiled, despite the thick dark circles under her eyes.
“I . . . I didn’t sleep much, I’m afraid.”
“Hm. Yeah, you don’t look like you slept well at all. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“There’s that word again. It’s not going to catch on, you know.”
“Okay. Well, we’ll see about that. I think it’s going to be catchier than you think.”
Blair smiled, but then her expression changed. She squinted and her cheeks bulged out. Throwing off the sheets, she ran into the bathroom.
He watched her go, then winced as sounds of intense retching drifted back into the bedroom.
She returned several minutes later, wearing a rather embarrassed smile.
“Much better. I must say, your Dr. Colfax’s mouthwash comes in rather handy at times like this. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so refreshed after throwing up, before.”
Rip stared at her stomach as a notification appeared in his mind’s eye.
He said, “You’re pregnant.”
“What?”
Blair sounded genuinely shocked. She stared at him as if he had just slapped her.
“What do you mean? How do you . . . ?”
“It’s what my implant is telling me. You’re six weeks along, and . . . it’s a girl.”
His eyes met hers and he smiled.
“We’re going to have a baby girl!”
Blair stared at him, open-mouthed. She placed both hands around her middle and stared down.
“Are you sure?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. The implant has never been wrong. Although, I gotta admit, this is the first time I’ve tried it on a pregnant woman. Interesting reading, by the way.”
He trailed off, eyes focused inward.
Blair said, “But . . . how did this happen?”
His eyes snapped back to her and he chuckled. Blair’s face turned red.
She said, “Oh, stop it. I mean . . . we’ve been using the rhythm method. This was not supposed to happen.”
Rip shrugged and said, “I have heard it’s the least effective form of birth control. In fact, an old joke on my world is . . . ‘What do you call couples who use the rhythm method? Parents!’ ”
He gave her a lopsided grin.
“I don’t think that’s a very funny joke right now, Ripley.”
His smile turned sympathetic. He walked over and hugged her.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re going to be a great mother.”
“I just . . . I wasn’t expecting this. It’s so soon. So sudden. I’m not sure I’m ready to be a mother.”
He gently squeezed her shoulders.
“It’s going to be alright. But listen, and this is important. We’ve got to come up with a really good name for the baby.”
She looked up into his face as he smiled down at her.
“Are you certain it’s a girl?”
“Pretty sure. At least, that’s what my implant’s telling me. I’m presuming it’s accurate, and I can take additional readings in the months ahead. Seven and a half months or so, that is.”
“Very well. Then we shall consider it. I like Betsy, it’s the name of my great aunt on my mother’s side.”
“We are not naming our daughter Betsy.”
“We’re not?”
“No. She’s going to have a cool name like . . . Alexandra, or something.”
“That’s a terrible name. We’re not naming her after a city.”
“Not Alexandria. Alexandra.”
‘Alexandra Coulter?’ I think not.”
“That’s a great name. It’s got an X and an R. We can call her Alex for short. And she’ll probably get married. It’s not like she’ll have the last name of Coulter forever. I’m sure she’ll grow up to be stunning. I mean, look at her parents.”
He gave her a wide grin.
“Absolutely not.”
His grin dropped.
“Well, Betsy’s out. That’s for sure.”
“What’s wrong with Betsy? It’s a fine Umbrian name.”
“I dunno. It sounds fuddy-duddy, like some name an old person would have. Not a baby.”
Blair’s face grew red again, from the heat of the argument rather than embarrassment this time.
“Need I remind you, that our timeline is old compared to yours? It’s perfectly acceptable in our day and age to name daughters Betsy. Besides, it starts with a B, rather like my own name. And I like that.”
“Hm. Well, we’ll think about it.”
Blair looked ready to escalate the argument. Mindful of her temper, though, Rip changed the subject.
“Come on, let’s see if Nancy has made breakfast yet. Maybe we can find something that you can keep down this morning, and not throw up again.”
