The First Jumper (first draft version)

The First Jumper 03: Failure

Over the next few days, Gerleesh began the process of pouring herself into her child.  The first part was easy and natural, as her body produced the genetic material that bonded with the egg, and fertilized it.  Then, as the egg quickened, Gerleesh would begin connecting to her child directly from her own spirit.  Long before the child was hatched, she would be fully aware of her mother, and of her mother’s love for her.

At work, the news continued to be grim.  Gerleesh’s section of the Sky Research Group was evaluating the effects on planetary ecology of the recent flares.  They were more devastating than Gerleesh had let on to her mother.

Gerleesh continued to work, feeling happy and excited despite the bad environmental news, although she tended to bump into things, with a full pouch.  She could feel her body working to fertilize the egg, but she had not yet sensed that it had done so, yet.  Soon, she knew, that most wonderful feeling of them all would come from knowing her child was growing within her.

In the meantime, her spirit was already winding up to pour itself into her child.  It was not merely a birth, it was a metamorphosis.  In giving birth, Gerleesh would transform into something far beyond what she had been.  The excitement and anticipation kept her spirits up, even when she realized it was taking longer than it should.

Another week went by before she began to worry.  Her mother told her not to worry, but Gerleesh went to see a hatching specialist.  The specialist took a number of tests, then pulled Gerleesh aside to a comfort couch.

“I’m sorry,” the specialist told her.  “The egg has not quickened.”

“Noooooo!  It just needs more time!”

“There is nothing we can do,” said the specialist.   “It looks like the egg was never viable to begin with, and it has already bonded itself with the inside of your pouch.  It isn’t your fault.  Sometimes this just happens.”

Gerleesh looked around, and realized how foolish it had been to come there without her mother.  She needed her as never before.

“What can I do?”

The specialist sighed.  She loved her profession, but this was by far the hardest part of it, and she would never get used to that.  She also knew, more than anyone else, just how frequently it was happening.

“I’m afraid there isn’t anything you can do, either,” she said.  “We’ll post the notices, so G’hosh is not allowed to place any more eggs, since it was her egg that was bad.  You appear to be normal, except that this egg will never hatch, and you’ll never be able to accept another egg again.”

The world was swirling about her, but Gerleesh grabbed for the only support she could think of.

“Isn’t there some kind of surgery that will fix this?”

“There is, yes, but it is both experimental and very expensive.  It is only done for those who have performed extraordinary service to the Tarshen people.”  She got up.  “Wait here a moment.”

Gerleesh sat there in the sterile office, though it was filled with plants and flowers and life.  Red Loffa were there, and beetles flew in and out.  Yet all Gerleesh could see was death.

Now she would never have a child, and she would die alone, without ever hearing the songs of her mothers.  She might live a thousand or more years, but it would be just one life, too quickly over.  She would never know the stories and songs, never be one with her ancestors, never have a child, and she would die alone.

The specialist came back in and handed her a pamphlet.  “Here.  This describes the procedure, as well as what you have to do to qualify for it.  I didn’t want to give you false hope.  Not many qualify.”

Gerleesh thanked her, and left in a daze.  All through the ride home, she stared out the window of the tube, at the rock walls punctuated by flashes of open communities, with signs, gardens, and Tarshen walking about.

For a brief time, the tube was above ground, and she looked up to where the binary stars were visible, although the sun had gone down.  Maybe the old myths were right, after all, she thought.  Maybe that is a devil in the sky, because it has certainly cursed me.

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