Greg Bear - Darwin's Radio

“Never mind the damned towels!” Mitch shouted. He helped her to the Toyota. She pulled the seat belt low around her stomach. Nothing like the dreams, he thought. The thought became a kind of prayer, and he repeated it over and over.

“Nobody’s heard from Augustine,” Kaye said as Mitch pulled onto the paved road and began the two-mile drive to the clinic.

“Why would we?”

“Maybe he’ll try to stop us,” she said.

Mitch gave her a funny look. “That’s as crazy as my dreams.”

“He’s the bogeyman, Mitch. He scares me.”

“I don’t like him either, but he’s no monster.”

“He thinks we’re diseased,” she said, and there were tears on her cheeks. She winced.

“Another?” Mitch asked.

She nodded. “It’s okay,” she said. “Every twenty minutes.” They met Jack’s truck coming from the East Ridge Road and stopped long enough to confer through the windows. Sue was with Jack. Jack followed them.

“I want to have Sue help you coach me,” Kaye said. “I want her to see us. If I’m okay, it will be so much easier for her.”

“Fine with me,” Mitch said. “I’m no expert.”

Kaye smiled and winced again.

Room number one in the Kumash Wellness Clinic was quickly being converted into a labor and delivery room. A hospital bed had been rolled in, and a bright round surgical lamp on a tall steel pole.

The nurse midwife, a plump, high-cheeked, middle-aged woman named Mary Hand, arranged the medical tray and helped Kaye change into a hospital gown. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Pound, a young, wan-looking man with thick black hair and a pug nose, arrived half an hour after the room was prepared and conferred with Chambers while Mitch crushed ice in a plastic bag in the sink. Mitch put ice chips into a cup.

“Is it now?” Kaye asked Chambers as he checked her.

“Not for a while,” he said. “You’re at four centimeters.”

Sue pulled up a chair. On her tall frame, her pregnancy seemed much less obvious. Jack called to her from the door, and she turned. He tossed her a small bag, stuffed his hands in his pockets, nodded to Mitch, and backed out. She placed the bag on the table next to the bed. “He’s embarrassed to come in,” she told Kaye. “He thinks this is woman stuff.”

Kaye lifted her head to peer at the bag. It was made out of leather and tied with a beaded string.

“What’s in the bag?”

“All sorts of things. Some of them smell good. Some don’t.”

“Jack’s a medicine man?”

“God, no,” Sue said. “You think I’d marry a medicine man? He knows some good ones, though.”

“Mitch and I thought we’d like this one to come naturally,” Kaye told Dr. Pound as he brought in a rolling table with his tanks and tubes and syringes.

“Of course,” the anesthesiologist said, and smiled. “I’m here just in case.”

Chambers told Kaye and Mitch there was a woman living about five miles away who was going into labor, not a SHEVA birth. “She insists on a home delivery. They have a hot tub and everything. I may have to go there for a while this evening. You said Dr. Galbreath would be here.”

“She should be on her way,” Mitch said.

“Well, let’s hope it works out. The baby’s head down. In a few minutes we’ll attach a fetal health monitor. All the comforts of a big hospital, Ms. Lang.”

Chambers took Mitch aside. He glanced at Mitch’s face, his eyes tracking the outline of the skin mask.

“Fetching, isn’t it?” Mitch said nervously.

“I’ve delivered four SHEVA second-stage babies,” Chambers said. “I’m sure you know the risk, but I have to spell out some complications that might happen, so we can all be prepared.”

Mitch nodded, gripped his trembling hands.

“None of them were born alive. Two looked perfect, no visible defects, just…dead.” Chambers stared at Mitch with a critical expression. “I don’t like these odds.”

Mitch flushed. “We’re different,” he said.

“There can also be a shock response in the mothers if the delivery gets complicated. Something to do with hormone signals from a SHEVA fetus in distress. Nobody understands why, but the infant tissues are so different. Some women do not react well. If that happens, I’m going to do a C-section and get the baby out as quickly as possible.” He put a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. Chambers’s pager beeped. “Just as a precaution, I’m going to take extra care with spilled fluids and tissues. Everybody will wear viral filter masks, even you. We’re in new territory here, Mr. Rafelson. Excuse me.”

Sue was feeding Kaye ice and they were talking, heads together. It seemed to be a private moment, so Mitch backed out, and besides, he wanted to sort through some difficult emotions.

He walked into the lobby. Jack sat in a chair by the old card table there, staring at a pile of National Geographies. The fluorescent lights made everything seem blue and cold.

“You look mad,” Jack said.

“They’ve almost got the death certificate signed,” Mitch said, his voice trembling.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Sue and I think maybe we’ll have the birth at home. No doctors.”

“He says it’s dangerous.”

“Maybe it is, but we did it before,” Jack said.

“When?” Mitch asked.

“Your dreams,” Jack said. “The mummies. Thousands of years ago.”

Mitch sat in the other chair and put his head on the table. “Not a happy time.”

“Tell me,” Jack said.

Mitch told him about the last dream. Jack listened intently.

“That was a bad one,” he said. “I won’t tell Sue about it.”

“Say something comforting,” Mitch suggested wryly.

“I’ve been trying to have dreams to help me figure out what to do,” Jack said. “I just dream about big hospitals and big doctors poking at Sue. The white man’s world gets in the way. So I’m no help.” Jack scratched his eyebrows. “Nobody is old enough to know what to do. My people have been on this land forever. But my grandfather tells me the spirits have nothing to say. They don’t remember either.”

Mitch pushed his hand through the magazines. One slid off and hit the floor with a smack. “That doesn’t make any sense, Jack.”

Kaye lay back and watched Chambers attach the fetal health monitors. The steady beep and pulse of the tape on the machine by the bed gave her confirmation, another level of reassurance.

Mitch came back with a Popsicle and unwrapped it for her. She had emptied her cup and took the sweet raspberry ice gratefully.

“No sign of Galbreath,” Mitch said.

“We’ll manage,” Kaye said. “Five centimeters and holding. All this for just one mother.”

“But what a mother,” Mitch said. He started working on her arms, pushing the tension out, and then moved to her shoulders.

“The mother of all mothers,” she muttered as another contraction hit. She bore down into it, held up the bare Popsicle stick. “Another, please,” she grunted.

Kaye had become acquainted with every inch of the ceiling. She got off the bed carefully and walked around the room, gripping the metal rolling stand that held the monitoring equipment, wires trailing from beneath her gown. Her hair felt stiff, her skin oily, and her eyes stung. Mitch looked up from the National Geographic he was reading as she duck-walked into the rest room. She washed her face and he was by the door. “I’m fine,” she said.

“If I don’t help you, I’ll go nuts,” Mitch said.

“Don’t want that,” Kaye said. She sat on the side of the bed and took several deep breaths. Chambers had told them he would be back in an hour. Mary Hand entered with her filter mask on, looking like a high-tech soldier prepared for a gas attack, and told Kaye to lie back. The midwife inspected her. She smiled beatifically and Kaye thought, Good, I’m ready , but she shook her head. “Still at five centimeters. It’s okay. Your first baby.” Her voice was muffled beneath the mask.