Evangeliya Read online

  Anar shook his head, dismissing Evan’s praise. “You can’t refuse the child.”

  “I can if I want,” Evan replied heavily.

  “Yes,” Gelin echoed.

  Anar shook his head. “You have the right to refuse, but do you have the moral right? Who will take the child if you do not? How will they treat the baby? They are second on the list for a reason. What if that reason means the child’s development will be retarded in some way? What if they are damaged physically or mentally?”

  Evan sucked in a heavy breath and let it out.

  Liya’s heart thudded heavily.

  “And what about us? Our needs?” Gelin said quietly. “What about what we want?”

  Anar picked up Evan’s hand and held it between his, halting the squeezing and wringing he was putting his knuckles through. “Less than one percent of couples selected for parenting are same sex,” he said quietly. “We never thought it was even a possibility for us. Now…this.” He swallowed. “I won’t get in the way of even one of us raising a child.”

  Liya sighed. “Yes,” she said. “Exactly.”

  Gelin glanced at her. His fingers let go of hers. “It’s not that simple. While you were digging up the statistics on parents, did you find out how many parents’ relationships with other people die an ugly death inside a year?”

  Evan hung his head.

  “What if it had been Liya selected, instead of you?” Anar asked Gelin. “What would you have said?”

  Gelin’s jaw clamped. His gaze grew flinty.

  Anar gave him a very small smile. “I can see from your face that you would say the same thing Evan would. The same thing I’m saying now. Don’t give up this chance. You’ll regret it.”

  “More than I would regret losing Liya?” Gelin shot back. “I don’t think so.”

  “Not every relationship fails,” Anar said.

  “Enough of them do to make me not like the odds,” Evan said.

  Liya didn’t speak. She knew she didn’t like the odds. If she said so, though, Gelin would be even more determined to refuse the baby.

  “It’s only twenty years,” Anar said, his voice strained, as if he was trying to convince himself of that. “The average life expectancy on the Endurance is now a hundred and twenty-five.”

  “Not my life expectancy,” Gelin said, his voice low.

  Liya flinched.

  Anar glanced at her, the movement catching his gaze. He cleared his throat but didn’t speak. Gelin’s simple observation had halted his argument completely.

  Liya drew in a deep breath. Now she could see what she had to do. “You must take the baby,” she told Gelin.

  His expression was wounded, as if she had betrayed him.

  She got to her feet. “Don’t you see? Because you don’t know what may happen in the future, is the reason you must take the baby now. You want a child. We all do. You and Evan have a chance to experience it. You have to take that chance. For all of us and because all the odds in the world don’t tell us what will really happen.”

  Anar tightened his grip on Evan’s hand. “You heard the lady.”

  Evan looked at Gelin.

  “You’re sure?” Gelin asked Liya.

  “I’m scared,” she admitted. “But I’m sure.”

  “So am I,” Anar said firmly.

  Evan sighed. “I suppose, yes, me, too.” The corners of his mouth tried to move. “We’re getting a baby…” he said wonderingly.

  Gelin pulled Liya into his arms, even though people could see them. She clung to him and pretended she couldn’t feel how he was trembling.

  Chapter Two

  Liya had grown up among the Walls, yet it was still a shock to go back there, after two years of living among the pretty market gardens and hushed corridors of the Aventine. She checked the number on the slice the spatula lifted her up to. It didn’t look any different from any other slice apartment. It certainly didn’t look any bigger, even though Evan and Gelin were entitled to a larger apartment with their basic credits, because they were parents.

  Evan had been a plasteel engineer, which put him on the same basic credit level as Gelin. He had been living in the Palatine with Anar, but moved back to the Wall because this was all the two of them could afford. Gelin had given up his Third Wall slice and the two of them had moved in here two days ago, to prepare for the arrival of the baby.

  The spatula shifted under her feet, reminding Liya that she was standing still, staring at the closed door. She pressed the alert pad and waited. The two of them would be back from the Accouchement clinic by now.

  The door was opened by Anar. He smiled grimly at her. “They just got here,” he said.

  There was a delightful soft gurgle, inside the apartment. Liya smiled at the sound and stepped inside. The spatula clanked and hissed as it moved away and she closed the door behind her.

  Evan and Gelin were standing with the small table between them. The baby was lying on the table, wrapped in a warm blanket.

  Gelin saw Liya. “It’s a girl,” he said, sounding stunned.

  “Babies do come in girl flavor,” Anar assured him.

  Liya smothered her laugh. Gelin was wearing the deep wrinkles on his forehead that said he was stressed. Laughing wouldn’t help.

  The little girl was waving her tiny, scrunched up fists and kicking. Her eyes were closed tight. Her little nose was delicate and soft and her mouth was pouting in a very small, completely adorable bow.

  Evan held out his finger. Her fist bumped up against it. Instantly, she gripped the tip of his finger. He drew in an unsteady breath. “She’s so tiny!”

  She admired Evan’s courage. She would be too afraid to touch the baby in case she hurt her.

  Instead, Liya looked around the apartment. She had forgotten how small they were. The table was small, because a larger one would have left no room for anything else. Even the table folded down from the wall.

  There was a crib in the opposite corner and boxes stacked next to it that had to be Evan’s possessions, for Gelin’s big pack and duffel bag were up against the wall next to the apartment door. They had not had time to do much with the apartment itself. The walls were still the default silver-gray. Because this was one of the “bigger” apartments, the kitchen was separate from the bathroom facilities and there were two tiny bedrooms off the main room.

  It was bigger than Gelin’s old apartment, only not a lot bigger.

  “Something wrong, Liya?” Gelin asked. There was a hard note in his voice that she recognized. He was on the defensive.

  Liya wrapped her arms around him. “Nothing at all,” she lied. “Congratulations, Gelin. She’s beautiful. What are you going to call her?”

  “A name,” Gelin breathed, his attention completely redirected.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Anar was watching her.

  “Stars!” Evan said, startled. “We have to find a name for her, don’t we?”

  Both of them sounded completely panicked.

  Anar snorted. “I think a name is the least of your concerns right now.” He patted Evan’s shoulder. “From the smell, I’m guessing your first priority is far more urgent.”

  Gelin stepped out of Liya’s arms and bent over the baby, his hands held over her as if he would dive in and fix things, if only he knew what to do.

  Evan nodded. “I remember this bit, from the clinic. They showed us.” He went over to the large bag sitting against the crib and rooted through it. “Somewhere…”

  Gelin waved the air in front of his nose. “Hurry!” he said, his nose wrinkling.

  Anar’s hand settled on Liya’s shoulder. “We should leave them to deal with this. Let me buy you a coffee.”

  Liya bit her lip, watching Gelin. He was completely oblivious to her.

  “They won’t even notice we’ve gone,” Anar assured her.

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  Anar was right. Gelin didn’t even look up as they stepped out and shut the door.

  * * * * *<
br />
  They walked from the Sixth Wall through the Aventine corridors to the markets. There was a small market surrounded by trees at the tail end of the district. One of the stalls featured real, brewed coffee, not printed beverage. Normally, Liya wouldn’t spend the money on such a luxury, yet Anar bought both coffees and a pastry for himself.

  There were plenty of empty tables to choose from, because it was a weekday and mid-morning. They settled at one located at the back, by the trees and as far away from casual eavesdroppers as it was possible to get.

  “I saw you looking at the apartment,” Anar said. “You’re Wall-raised, aren’t you?”

  She stirred her coffee, not able to meet his eyes. “I had forgotten how small they are,” she admitted. “When I first moved into my workshop here, I thought it was a gigantic space. I’ve suddenly got back to feeling it is enormous once more, even if I do keep ramming my elbows into the walls.”

  “Then you don’t think theirs is big enough, either,” Anar concluded.

  She looked at him. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Anar sat back, losing interest in his pastry. His pale eyes met hers. “I could buy a decent place right here in the Aventine for them. I wouldn’t even notice the dent. Evan refused to consider it.”

  Her pulse jumped. “You didn’t mention that to Gelin, did you?”

  Anar shook his head. “When Evan reacted that way, I thought it prudent to not say anything more. I value my neck too much.”

  Liya smiled. “They want to do it on their own. They want to be good parents. If they accept help, then it means they’re not. At least, that’s the way Gelin would see it.”

  “Evan, too,” Anar muttered. “Proud and stubborn idiot.”

  “Idiots,” she amended and sighed.

  Anar picked up his coffee cup. “Although, they’re both right. We do have to let them do it by themselves.”

  Liya nodded. “I nearly broke Gelin’s arm to make him take the baby. Now I have to stand aside and watch. I don’t think I realized how hard that would be.”

  “And we’re only on day one,” Anar murmured. Then he put the coffee cup down and covered his eyes quickly.

  Liya’s heart squeezed. “Anar?”

  He shook his head. “I’m alright.” His voice was muffled. He rubbed at his eyes and gave her a weak smile. “I think I’m losing Evan already. He’s so determined to get this right, to not let anyone down, most especially the baby. Offering to buy the apartment…well, he hasn’t really spoken to me since.” His forehead wrinkled. “I’m going to sell the house we had in the Palatine. At least I can give him half the profit from that and he can’t call it charity.”

  Liya gripped her coffee mug tightly. It occurred to her that she should say something sympathetic about his fears about Evan. Tell him they were imaginary. Except she played over and over in her mind Gelin’s coldness when he had asked her what was wrong with the apartment. His focus on the baby, when she left.

  Coldness settled at the pit of her stomach. “There should be a rule or something,” she said, her voice shaking. “A way to get your name off the list of potential parents. Then being offered a baby in this way could never happen and you’re never faced with having to pick between the baby and the person you love.”

  Anar’s expression was miserable. “Or, elect to only be considered as long as your partner is the other parent.”

  “You should tell the Captain that. You know her.”

  “You could tell her yourself,” Anar pointed out.

  “I’m just…I’m not you.”

  “I’m the ‘just’,” he said. This time, his smile looked a bit more natural. “I read your profile. I’m just a doctor. You’re the only one of your kind on the ship. What do you call yourself?”

  “A sewist.” She smiled. “I’m just another designer,” she added.

  Anar laughed. “Did you make that dress you’re wearing?”

  Liya didn’t look down. “I make all my own clothes,” she told him.

  “All of them?”

  “Everything,” she said flatly. “Gelin’s, too…” She bit her lip, not wanting to veer back to that painful subject.

  “Where did you get the idea that you could even do that?” Anar asked quickly, skirting the shoal.

  She shrugged. “I always wondered how clothes were made. Well, how anything was made, really. I would look at that shirt you’re wearing, say, and try to figure out the process to make it. The steps, the techniques. Then I heard that there was a captain, once, who made clothes—before she became captain, of course. I looked it up. Captain Emma Victore. Three hundred years ago. She would print off fabric and then design and make clothes. When I found out that things could be made, not printed, I dug into the history archives. Everything was made, once. There are books and patterns and images of the tools they used to do it and lessons…so much information and no one has ever read those files. I taught myself how to make clothes again.”

  Anar shook his head, admiration plain in his eyes. “And now you support yourself with your artisan skills.”

  “Only just support myself,” she admitted. “That’s why the apartment is so crammed. I can’t afford a bigger one and as for one that is big enough for me and Gelin, too…” She halted, realizing where she was heading. “Well, that isn’t an issue anymore,” she muttered, looking down at her coffee.

  Anar’s hand rested on hers for a moment.

  Then he sat up. “I took the day off, because of the…” He hesitated, looking awkward again.

  “Baby,” Liya said firmly. “We can’t be afraid to say it or talk about it. She’s not going away and not talking about her won’t make it so.”

  “True,” Anar said. “Very well. I took the day off to help out with the baby’s arrival. Now, I think we’d best leave the two of them alone to sort it out for themselves. At least, until they ask for help directly. So, can I take you to lunch, instead?”

  Liya hesitated. She really should get back to work. Yet talking with Anar was a respite. He was easy to talk to and she could feel knots of tension unravelling. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That would be lovely.”

  It was a very pleasant meal, at the little café up behind the arena, that Bridge staff, including the Captain, used a lot. The happy chatter around them from other luncheon diners kept them both from descending into self-pity and Liya returned to her Aventine apartment afterward feeling a tiny sense of hope about a future that had looked grim and lonely, that morning.

  She didn’t hear from Gelin at all and fought every impulse and need she had to contact him and trip him up with useless enquiries about him and the baby and Evan. Instead, she busied herself with her work. She was building another cutting file for the cutting table robot, based upon a nineteenth century pattern for a woman’s jacket. The shaping and design details of historical clothing was staggering. Studying the older patterns opened up whole chambers of understanding about fit and style that simply didn’t exist these days. The clothing that was most frequently worn on the Endurance was utilitarian, with straight lines, no shaping and no details. It was cheap to print, fit any body size with only a few print file adjustments and flattered no one.

  Two days later, a new potential client tapped on her door. The woman’s tanned, thin face and silvered hair was familiar to Liya, only she couldn’t dredge up a name.

  “You are Liya Cassel?” the woman asked, her gaze shifting to focus on the workshop behind Liya.

  “I am.”

  “My name is Pollie Gismondi,” the woman added. “May I come in?”

  The name didn’t mean anything, either. Liya made a mental note to look the woman up on the Forum as soon as she had a chance. She showed Gismondi over to the cramped sofa and sat on the stool.

  “I’m given to understand you can make clothing that is quite different from anything we can print,” Pollie Gismondi said.

  “I can,” Liya confirmed. She moved over to the clothes rack and pulled the curtain
back. “I have samples here, if you would like to see them.”

  Gismondi got to her feet.

  Liya lifted out the first skirt and held it up.

  “I have seen women wearing something similar to this,” Gismondi said. “The colors were quite astonishing.”

  “I can make the skirt up in any color you like. Or patterns, too. In a moment, I will show you some of the variations possible.”

  Gismondi smoothed her hand down the plain skirt she was wearing with a self-conscious movement. Liya knew the print file she would have used to print it. There were only two variations in the file, for the length of the skirt and the waist. Everything else was standard. It looked good on Gismondi because she was tall and slender.

  “And what is that?” Gismondi asked, pointing to the velvet riding jacket next to the skirt.

  Liya took her through the samples one by one, then pulled up a screen to scroll through all the variations for each one that she had made in the past and the drawings she had made for future possibilities.

  By then, Pollie had insisted Liya call her by her first name and was fully absorbed in studying the screen. Finally, she settled back on the sofa. “The Tankball soiree is in five weeks’ time.”

  Liya’s pulse jumped. “I’ve never been to one,” she confessed.

  Pollie grinned, her thin cheeks rounding out with mischief. “You should call that good luck. They’re tedious affairs. From a political viewpoint, more agreements and alliances and deals are broken and made on that one night that any other night of the year.”

  Liya frowned. She twitched to pull up the Forum and check out who Pollie Gismondi was, only she couldn’t do it in front of her. “I will have to take your word on that,” she said carefully.

  “How a woman looks sends a powerful message,” Pollie added. “For example, a unique style speaks of a creative mind and strong personality, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I do,” Liya said truthfully. “Are you asking me to make you a dress for the soiree, Pollie?”