Subtle Redundancy

Mikhail sighed. "It will kill me, eventually," he observed, and Bexler nodded.

"We know that now, yes. But not today." She had glistening eyes as she craned her neck until she could see his face. "Hey. And when the operation is done and it's time to assess the surgical outcome? See how well you can still fuck?" She smiled warmly. "I'll handle that, Mikka." She winked slyly. "After all, it's still my responsibility to check my apprentice's work."

"Sounds fine." They smiled at each other, Rielle feeling acutely unneeded, even though she was the one standing there with the specimen bag. They needed a sperm sample to update the baseline, and she wanted to get on with it. But hell, under the circumstances...

"Dr Bexler," she said quietly, holding out the bag. "I know it's usually my job, but perhaps Mikhail would prefer it if you'd collect the sample?" She spread her smirk into what she thought of as a warm smile, feeling fake. Mikhail nodded, and Bexler took the bag. "I'll leave you, then."

The sound of them fucking went far into the night through the thin walls between her quarters and Dr Bexler's. Rielle even thought of going over to sleep in her old room in the Dorm. But it was raining out, and she was sleepy, so she just lay there and listened instead.

* * *

"Well." Elon sat back, his steepled fingers pensive beneath his chin. "That sucks."

"Reduces our options," Rina agreed. She was here as vice-commandant, and because she was the one handling the relief mission. If the colony did have to place an order for a clone chamber, she was the one who'd have to handle the logistics before she left. She was looking better, Rielle decided: her color had returned, and the exam yesterday had passed her fit to try to have another baby.

Rina had a hard life ahead. She'd leave here on the relief flight and go take Elon's job on some other new colony, where she'd put in her twenty years there before, hopefully, getting to be the founding mother of a third colony as a Permanent Commandant. Hell, maybe that would bring her back into the local galaxy, though they tried to avoid that sort of thing. And along the way, two? Maybe three more children? Rielle didn't think she'd be good for much more than that.

"It's fine." Bexler was leaning back with some of the local tea. "This is why we build in redundancies. I think talk of a clone chamber is premature, guys."

"But that's the point, Chonn. This eats into our redundancies." Elon shook his head. "And how do we know the other two Domestics will be any good for mating, either?"

"They'll be fine." The others turned to look at Rielle, who'd updated the genetic studies just a month ago now. She stirred, still sitting erect on the stool, and smiled. "He'll be eighteen in another four months. And then Janicka, nineteen months later; all my testing indicates they'll both be reliable."

"Yes, and Sia did fine. And Leonor?" Elon raised his eyebrows at Bexler, who nodded. "Her pregnancy is still progressing well." He sighed. "Maybe you're right and we shouldn't worry about the clone option just yet."

"If we do, though," Rina put in quietly, "I'd need to submit the form within another three months." Lead time. That was the problem. Customizing the chamber, reapportioning the payload, getting a stronger booster in the flight queue, all these things took time. But Rina's form would doom Elon's career, and they all knew it; an interim commandant who couldn't manage the colony's breeding program to prepare for the permanent commandant might as well be gathering garbage on one of the moons of Perola.

"Okay. Three months." Elon licked his lips and flickered a glance around the room. "We all know what the real problem is." He waited until someone else opened their mouth; it seemed, from the way Chonn and Rina were reacting, that this was something he'd tried to discuss before. Rielle waited a few seconds, then decided she should move things along.

"No, I don't. What's the real problem, Elon?" The other two women looked over at her, relieved, but Rielle just kept her gaze fixed on the commandant. He arched an eyebrow.

"Why are we dipping into our redundancies, Rielle?" He met her stare with one of his own, and her mind did its usual sorting shuffle until it came to her.

Rielle let her mouth open into a soundless O, giving her usual precise nod. "Yes. Of course. Erno Taconic."

"Erno Taconic." Elon nodded back. "He isn't breeding."

"Not for lack of trying," Rina put in with a sigh. "He and I must have fucked fifty, sixty times? Early on, after my first kid. We tried for weeks. Nothing. Not a damn thing." She shrugged. "Then, a couple weeks later, Mikka and I paired off and I was pregnant in about three nights."

"There's nothing wrong with his sperm," Bexler insisted, leaning in. Rielle got the impression she'd had this argument before. "You've seen the tests, Elon. He's plenty virile. Good, strong spurts."

Elon nodded thoughtfully. "Who's he fucking these days?" Everyone looked down. "What?"

"I don't think any of us wants to bother trying with him anymore," Rina said defensively. "He gets all frustrated, and then he turns a little bit... distant? Mean?" She cocked her head and thought about it. "Sullen. That's it."

"Hey." Bexley leaned back on the stool with her hands spread. "You don't have to tell me. I'm the one that has to do the genetic counseling with him every quarter. Elon, the man's totally demoralized." Of course; he was the only male citizen who hadn't been able to get the job done.

"That's not his real issue." Rina was warming to her theme. "The big problem is that he's a geek."

"No shit!" Elon raised his eyebrows. "Like, with the flowy gowns?" Bexley just shook her head, mystified. "From the desert?"

"Not a sheikh, dumbass," Bexley snapped. "A geek. Like a nerd."

"Geek." Elon gnawed thoughtfully at his lower lip. "That's not a term I'm familiar with."

"Well, you grew up on a moon."

"I've been in space for many years," he added defensively.

"No excuse," Bexley scowled. "It's an Old Earth term. Geeks are smart and can be cool, but they tend to hyper-focus on one or two big passions they have. Usually it's sort of a rare or unusual passion." She pondered. "Like, say, a guy who has an interest in nano-boost technology, so he becomes a self-taught expert in that."

"Or, say, an interest in sleight-of-hand," Rielle added sweetly. Elon was well known for his love of card tricks, and he glared at her until she was sure he'd gotten the point. She smiled at him.

"Erno's into a lot of weird stuff," Rina mused. "He likes Old Earth music and spacecraft design. History." She smiled to herself. "Once, he got hard talking about tubas."

There was a pause, the rain pocking the roof, before Bexler slurped her tea and bit. "What are tubas?"

"They're an old musical instrument. Sort of like a pronophone." Elon was happy he knew something Bexler didn't. "What, you grow up on a fucking moon, Doctor?" Chonn allowed her middle finger to reply. "I think they were made out of metal. Probably copper."

"Brass." Rina shrugged. "Trust me. He told me all about it." She hesitated, then apparently decided she had to say it. "Some of us find it difficult to fuck him. He's done us all so many times, it's like he doesn't really get all that interested? It's not all that enjoyable, even though he's... well. He's fine."

Elon stared thoughtfully down at his desk, then stirred and glanced up at Rielle. "You're doing Mikka's surgery?"

She nodded gracefully. "I finished the shaping of the prosthetic this afternoon. All we need to do now is install the stem cells, give them time to make sure they're viable, and then rip out the morliotic testis and plop in the new one." She shrugged. "Simple."

Elon frowned. "You've done testicular surgery before?"

"Of course not," Rielle smiled. "But how hard can it be?" She wondered whether she should make the pun, then decided everyone else was probably already thinking it. "Actually, it'll probably be a simpler operation if he's flaccid," she tittered.

"Not funny." Rina was glaring from her plastic chair, and Rielle reminded herself she had borne two of Mikhail's children. Rielle nodded at her.

"You can of course be present to observe the procedure, if you like," she told her quietly. "Just to ensure everything is done properly. I am, after all, merely an apprentice."

Elon made a face at Bexler. "Why don't you do it, Chonn?"

"Because I want Rielle to do it," Bexler replied immediately. "She's got better hands than I do."

"I think," Rielle added slowly, "that I can make an attempt at our other problem, too." She'd been thinking about it ever since Rina had used the old word. Geek. It was an intriguing notion, and she liked spacecraft design too. "It sounds like a challenge I might want to see if I can make an attempt at."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Elon snapped irritably.

But Rina knew. Her jaw sank. "Wait." She blinked. "You want to fuck Erno Taconic?"

Rielle shrugged. "I've examined him before. There's nothing wrong with him. I wasn't aware he'd been having this sort of problem."

Elon glanced at Bexler. "I'm surprised Chonn didn't tall you about Erno's problems."

"I'm not." Rielle held the man's gaze. He was in charge, yes, but only until the Second Wave showed up. She was aware that some of the colonists found him intimidating. "Why would she have? A month ago, I was a Domestic." She shrugged. "Master surgeons don't share patient information with their apprentices, unless they must. And a month ago, Erno Taconic's sperm meant nothing to me." She leaned pointedly forward. "Still doesn't, if I'm being honest, but like I said," she grinned, "I like a challenge."

Rina took charge. "How many men have you fucked so far?"

"I mean, it's only been a month," Rielle demurred, thinking; she hadn't kept count. Roni, Niall, Mikhail one afternoon last week "to establish a baseline." Lance, the indent from the Plant, with the compact penis. Niall, again. Twice. Scott Fifteenay, because she felt like she had to; they'd grown up together, and had mutually decided it was best to get the sex out of the way. Then that other guy, from the machine shop, Merner... "Six, I believe." Females didn't count, but she'd passed an unexpectedly pleasant evening with Jitsuko.

Elon made a very slightly disgusted noise, but Rielle had long since decided to stop paying attention to him. Sooner or later, she knew, she'd wind up in his bed; he was quite transparently attracted to her. She could wait. "Six." Rina considered. "That's a pretty good month, I'd say. You like fucking?" Rielle held herself still, serene, wondering what the vice-commandant was getting at. Rina was nodding. "I like fucking. There's nothing wrong with it."

Rielle was conscious that Bexler and Elon were staring at her. She cocked her head, her movements as carefully precise as ever, and arched an eyebrow. "I find I'm good at it," she admitted. "At least, I think so."

Rina held her gaze another few seconds, then shrugged. "Thing is, we need him to breed. Your contract does not require you to give birth, Rielle, but you're certainly allowed to if you want." The older woman let her eyes trail down Rielle's body, taking in her slim hips. "I doubt you'd enjoy it, frankly. I'd give it another couple of years."

"If I do wait," Rielle pointed out calmly, "it won't solve Elon's mating problem." She paused. "Redundancy," she reminded them.

Elon sighed. "True." He paused, then nodded at the two surgeons. "Here's what I want to do, then, ladies. Rina's going to start spec-ing out a clone chamber, just in case. Meanwhile, you two have two months to identify a genetically suitable man who can knock up one of our women. So staybacks? Hermits? Hell, even indents, if you can't find anyone else. Go through the genetics and see if you can recommend anyone, then I'll draft a temporary sexual dispensation for them. If they're willing; I know a lot of them don't want anything to do with us, and that's fine too."

Bexler shrugged. "It's not like I can go traveling around, checking these people out. Can you get any of them into the Wad? I'm a busy woman, Elon."

"Look," he replied evenly, "it's not ideal. But here's the bottom line. If Erno can't knock anyone up, he's not much of a pioneer citizen. And if we have to order a clone chamber, that's an admission that our citizens have failed, in some way. So a lot is riding on these next couple of months, and we all need to contribute. If it turns out Erno can't contribute in this way?" He shrugged. "I'll find another way for him to contribute, and probably not here in the Wad. He needs to understand that."

Bexler nodded unhappily. "I understand."

"Good." Elon sighed convulsively and glared across at Rielle. "You volunteered, so go get it. I want Erno Taconic's zygote in your body ASAP."

"You really want to go through with this?" Rina was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, aggressive. "You're sure?"

Rielle shrugged. "Why not? Might be fun."

"None of that shit," Elon barked. "This is real. Are you sure, or not?"

"I'm sure, Captain Weathers," Rielle replied softly, hoping he caught the hint of mockery. She was willing to make allowances because he did have a really difficult job, but at times he truly could be an asshole. "Leave it to me. Dr Bexler will tell you I don't fuck up very often, and I don't plan to do it this time either. A zygote moving toward my uterus within two months, fertilized by Erno. I've got this."

"I hope so," Elon sniffed, "or he's off to the Fringes to plant trees. And that's if Chonn can find another breeder." He shuddered at the thought of a clone chamber, then sighed. "Amazing, that my career should come to depend on the sexual capabilities of staybacks and Domestics. That shit just ain't right."

The walk back to the sickhouse was strained, mostly because Bexler knew Rielle was lying. "You're not going to get pregnant," she accused as soon as they were out of earshot of Elon's office. "You're having too much fun."

"I said I'd get a zygote moving toward my uterus. I never said it had to stay there." She shrugged. "I'll just pull it out and implant it." She kept on walking another few steps before she realized Bexler had stopped short. "What?"

"Implant it." The doctor shook her head slowly. "Into what, if I might ask? We're short of human wombs, in case you hadn't noticed."

"They've gestated human clones in all sorts of places," Rielle protested. "Pigs, cows, vats, camels, bags. It's not that hard. We've got the supplies we need right here."

"Vats?" Bexley shook her head. "That's barbaric." She started walking again, kicking at a puddle.

"No more barbaric than kicking Erno out of the Wad just because he can't get his penis to work." She shrugged. "Especially when you and I both know it's a perfectly good penis."

"Then why hasn't he fertilized anything?"

"I dunno." Rielle shrugged. "He masturbates; all the men do. Maybe he just winds up overdoing it."

"Possible." Bexler shook her head, the raindrops scattering.

"Perhaps he increased his rate of masturbation as he realized he was failing sexually, and thus lost interest."

Bexler sighed. "Does it matter?"

"Have you fucked him, Chonn?"

Bexler nodded. "A couple times, on the trip out. Space is boring." She frowned. "As you know, I don't really make a habit of screwing the locals. I feel like it compromises my effectiveness as a medical practitioner." She said it pointedly. "It's hard to maintain your professional distance with a man you're consistently fucking. Leads to bias. That's a big part of the reason why we aren't supposed to get pregnant."

"You know me, Chonn. I can handle it."

"Yes, I'm beginning to believe you can. But it's not just you I'm worried about." She kicked open the sickhouse door. "How're you going to do it?"

Rielle stepped out of her boots. "Figure I'll just show up in his room, naked. We'll go from there. Worked for Scott." She paused while the older woman glared, then laughed. "No. I'll think of something more subtle. Not by much, though; I haven't got a whole lot of time, and I've got my ovulation to plan through."

"Rielle," Bexler went on, more quietly. She waited until the younger woman hung up her shawl and turned around. "If you're serious about this? About implanting?"

"I am."

"Fuck." She sighed. "I guess we'd better find a cow."

* * *

Rielle shut the tabslate and sat back at her desk, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes fell thoughtfully on her chess knight, silhouetted by the window in the grey morning. She'd been researching pheromones, but the resources they had were limited. She'd sent a request to the library on Kysten, forty light-years away; it would take days for the book to come in, unfortunately, and Rielle was in a rush.

She wanted to do something no other woman on the planet had been able to do.

Her plan was straightforward, if not simple. She needed to make sure Erno didn't masturbate. Meanwhile, she needed to get him to desire her; she wanted to use pheromones, followed by a chance meeting or two, culminating in witty banter and eventual sexual intercourse. Simple. So she called him into the sickhouse the following morning, just after she'd had Bexley extract her metering implant.

Erno was a tall man, broad-shouldered from years of his favorite hobby. He'd trained as an agronomist, and nobody could really figure out whether he'd picked his career because he enjoyed farming, or enjoyed farming because he'd picked it as a career. But either way, it was nice to be around a man who liked what he did, so Erno had a way of making people smile. Until they tried to get a baby from him, anyway.

He didn't come to the sickhouse often, and seemed uncomfortable there. Rielle glanced up from her desk as his shape filled her doorway. She smirked, but that was normal. "Erno! Thanks for coming."

"Congratulations on your citizenship, Rielle." He had a low voice, hesitant, with overtones of loneliness. She arched her eyebrow.

"You've told me that, Erno. Twice over the past month. Well, month-ish; however long they are now." She leaned back and threw her feet up onto the desk. "You were there when I got my papers. Remember? You hugged me?"

"Oh." He shrugged.

"Nice to see I made such an impression," she giggled. The laugh sounded fake even to her, but she hoped Erno was enough of a geek not to notice. "Women love knowing men don't remember hugging them."

She'd dressed for this occasion in a new, clean dress, with the neck ties fastened more loosely than normal. No bra. Bare feet, of course. She thought about arching her back, but she had little enough tit; it was unlikely to help, and she could do it later when he was standing. Subtlety. "Take a seat. I'll get right to the point." She watched as he sat, his movements carefully self-conscious. "So. You've heard by now that Dr Bexler and I have caught morliosis in Mikhail McWong's scrotum again."

It wasn't a question. The Wad was not very large, and a morliosis diagnosis always traveled fast. Erno's eyes went wide behind his old-fashioned glasses as he nodded solemnly.

"Some forms of morlio can be contagious, but it's unlikely to be the case this time. However, we're still not completely certain what might have caused Mikka's condition. There are lots of theories, but so far those theories are only important insofar as they might help us minimize the risk of additional cases." She made a show of stacking some data cards on her desk, the charade easy by now.

Of course, the ethics board at real sickhouses on real planets would probably have some things to say about an eighteen-year-old apprentice surgeon subjecting men to unnecessary testicular groping solely so that she could eventually fuck one of them, but whatever. Rielle told herself it was all done so that Erno could avoid banishment and the whole community could increase their biodiversity. So, no ethical problem. "Dr Bexler and I are establishing scrotal baselines of all the men in the Wad so that we can get a sense of the risk factors involved. Do you consent to this?"