Papa blinked. “I couldn’t do that. My place is in the Nursery. Only the pilots go to the Head.”
The birthing tube gurgled. Something landed on the bedding with a splat. Rak craned her neck to look.
“But look, there’s a baby,” she said.
The lumpy shape was raw and red. Stubby limbs stuck out here and there. The head was too big. There were no eyes or nose, just a misshapen mouth. As Rak and Papa stared in silence, it opened its mouth and wailed.
“I don’t know what to do,” whispered Papa. “All the time, they come out like this.”
He gently gathered up the malformed thing, covering its mouth with a hand until it stopped breathing. Tears rolled down his lined cheeks.
“My poor babies,” said Papa.
As Rak left, Papa rocked the lump in his arms, weeping.
Rak didn’t return to the Belly. She went forward. The corridor quickly narrowed, forcing Rak to a slow crawl on all fours. The rumble and sway of Mother’s movement, so different from the gentle roll of the Belly, pressed her against the walls. Eventually, the tunnel widened into a round chamber. At the opposite end sat a puckered opening. On her right, a large round metallic plate was set into the flesh of the wall, the bulges ringing it glowing brightly red. Rak crossed the chamber to the opening on the other side. She touched it, and it moved with a groaning noise.
It was a tiny space: a hammock wrapped in cabling and tubes in front of two circular panes. Rak sat down in the hammock. The seat flexed around her, moulding itself to her shape. The panes were streaked with mucus and oil, but she could faintly see light and movement on the other side. It made her eyes hurt. A tube snaked down from above, nudging her cheek. Rak automatically turned her head and opened her mouth. The tube thrust into her right nostril. Pain shot up between Rak’s eyes. Her vision went dark. When it cleared, she let out a scream.
Above, a blinding point of light shone in an expanse of vibrant blue. Below, a blur of browns and yellows rolled past with alarming speed.
Who are you? a voice said. It was soft and heavy. I was so lonely.
“Hurts,” Rak managed.
The colours and light muted, and the vision narrowed at the edges so that it seemed Rak was running through a tunnel. She unclenched her hands, breathing heavily.
Better?
Rak grunted.
You are seeing through my eyes. This is the outside world. But you are safe inside me, my child.
“Mother,” said Rak.
Yes. I am your mother. Which of my children are you?
The voice was soothing, making it easier to breathe. “I’m Rak. From the Belly.”
Rak, my child. I am so glad to meet you.
The scene outside rolled by: yellows and reds, and the blue mass above. Mother named the things for her. Sky. Ground. Sun. She named the sharp things scything out at the bottom of her vision: mandibles¸ and the frenetically moving shapes glimpsed at the edges: legs. The cold fear of the enormous outside gradually faded in the presence of that warm voice. An urge to urinate made Rak aware of her own body again, and her purpose there.
“Mother. Something is wrong,” she said. “The babies are born wrong. We need your help.”
Nutrient and DNA deficiency, Mother hummed. I need food.
“But you can move everywhere, Mother. Why are you not finding food?”
Guidance systems malfunction. Food sources in the current area are depleted.
“Can I help, Mother?”
The way ahead bent slightly to the right. Mother was running in a circle.
There is an obstruction in my mainframe. Please remove the obstruction.
Behind Rak, something clanged. The tube slithered out of her nostril and she could see the room around her again. She turned her head. Behind the hammock a hatch had opened in the ceiling, the lid hanging down, rungs lining the inside. The hammock let Rak go with a sucking noise and she climbed up the rungs.
Inside, gently lit in red, was Mother’s brain: a small space surrounded by cables winding into flesh. A slow pulse beat through the walls. Half sitting against the wall was the emaciated body of a male. Its head and right shoulder were resting on a tangle of delicate tubes, bloated and stiff where they ran in under the dead male’s body, thin and atrophied on the other. Rak pulled at an arm. Mother had started to absorb the corpse; it was partly fused to the wall. She tugged harder, and the upper body finally tore away and fell sideways. There was a rushing sound as pressure in the tubes evened out. The body was no longer in the way of any wires or tubes that Rak could see. She left it on the floor and climbed back down the hatch. Back in the hammock, the tube snuck into her nostril, and Mother’s voice was in her head again.
Thank you, said Mother. Obstruction has been removed. Guidance system recalibrating.
“It was Ziz, I think,” said Rak. “He was dead.”
Yes. He was performing maintenance when he expired.
“Aren’t there any more pilots?”
You can be my pilot.
“But I’m female,” Rak said.
That is all right. Your brain gives me sufficient processing power for calculating a new itinerary.
“What?”
You don’t have to do anything. Just sit here with me.
Rak watched as Mother changed course, climbing the wall of the canyon and up onto a soft yellow expanse: grassland, whispered. The sky sat heavy and blue over the grass. Mother slowed down, her mouthpieces scooping up plants from the ground.
Angular silhouettes stood against the horizon.
“What is that?” said Rak.
Cities, Mother replied. Your ancestors used to live there. But then the cities died, and they came to me. We entered an agreement. You would keep me company, and in exchange I would protect you until the world was a better place.
“Where are we going?”
Looking for a mate. I need fresh genetic material. My system is not completely self-sufficient.
“Oh.” Rak’s mouth fell open. “Are there… more of you?”
Of sorts. There are none like me, but I have cousins that roam the steppes. A sigh. None of them are good company. Not like my children.
Mother trundled over the grassland, eating and eating. Rak panicked the first time the sun disappeared, until Mother wrapped the hammock tight around her and told her to look up. Rak quieted at the sight of the glowing band laid across the sky. Other suns, Mother said, but Rak could not grasp it. She settled for thinking of it like lights in the ceiling of a great room.
They passed more of the cities: jagged spires and broken domes, bright surfaces criss-crossed with cracks and curling green. Occasionally flocks of other living creatures ran across the grass. Mother would name them all. Each time a new animal appeared Rak asked if that was her mate. The answer was always no.
“Are you feeling better?” Rak said eventually.
No. A sighing sound. I am sorry. My system is degraded past the point of repair.
“What does that mean?”
Goodbye, my daughter. Please use the exit with green lights.
Something shot up Rak’s nostril through the tube. A sting of pain blossomed inside her forehead, and she tore the tube out. A thin stream of blood trailed from her nose. She wiped at it with her arm. A shudder shook the hammock. The luminescence in the walls faded. It was suddenly very quiet.