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Click hereMoving on, there was the percentage game. 1% chance of not surviving the consciousness extraction versus 10% chance of not surviving pregnancy -- to say nothing of labor. And it wasn't just me, it was the blastocyst clinging to the side of my womb. Already a fierce maternal protective desire was cutting in, hormones again maybe. The right decision was pretty clear cut to me.
So, if I decided that I wanted to help my boyfriend and to keep his child, it seemed pretty straightforward what I should do. Scary as fuck, but straightforward.
Did I want those things? I'd said I loved David and I meant it. Was that just a kinda convenient, go with the flow love? Or was it for better or for worse? The latter, I think. Was I scared shitless about where he was and what they were doing to him? Yes and yes. Did I want to help, even if I didn't have a great plan to do so? Yes, I did.
Did I want this child and did I want it to have a Father? Yes, and yes again. Could I care less if that Father was a telepathic space octopus? No, the amount of fucks I gave about that was zero.
So there it was. David, I love you too. I want to have our child. And I'm coming to get you. I don't really know how I'm going to do this, but God help any motherfucker who gets in my way.
I followed his instructions and the machine whirred into life. Fingers crossed, Emily. Fingers crossed.
Endnotes
Acknowledgements
Wow, what a brain that made this. This is the best combination of top tier SF and smut.
Truly good sexy sci fi in paper form is way too rare, but one I recommend is Waves, by M A Foster.