Credit: Jamie Tufrey
They called the ships storks, though they didn't look anything like the birds. Callisa's was a sphere and the ship was its own engine or, more correctly, billions of engines – nanoscale field emission thrusters covered it, like pores on skin.
Calissa ran her fingers over its surface, expecting it to feel rough like a shark's skin, but it was as smooth and soft as her face.
The case of 6,000 embryos she would be taking with her was already enwombed within the Stork, and the Stork was cradled within the belly of the Wombstation Adelaide, a long glittering tube spinning steadily in the darkness of space as it orbited Earth. Wombs within wombs.
The Stork's doorifice was tantalisingly open, but she couldn't enter her ship yet, which was vexing. Bloody irritating in fact. Calissa wrinkled her nose; the hold smelled of ozone and fresh paint. The holographic projection of the W. Adelaide, looking like an old school principal in a suit, took the simulation of a deep breath.
"Calissa, as is protocol, I must ask you again. Are you sure and certain that you wish to undertake this delivery to the Regent System colony, knowing full well its dangers, and all that you must leave behind?"
Calissa smiled; all these formalities. It was still not unheard of for families to litigate against AIs, should something go wrong. Not that her family had the resources to marshal a decent team of lawyers, but there were some organisations that funded such cases. "I am a midwife. I've devoted the last 10 years to this. Of course I'm bloody sure."
Yet another simulated AI sigh. "We know full well that you are a midwife, but that still does not preclude you from doubt or fear or second thoughts. Even after the appraisals."
Because sometimes they got it wrong. This was her last chance to quit. Behind her was a door; she need only turn her back on all her training, all her dreams. It was open to her, and she considered it, but as little more than an abstract proposition. She had passed through so many other doors to get to this singularity in her life at which only she and the AI and the Stork remained.
"I'm aware of all the factors, but I'm fine." Callisa could feel the AI's doubt. It read her body, knew her intimately, her blood pressure, heart rate, galvanic skin response, all were available to it. Nosy machines. Her fingers brushed the surface of the Stork again, annoyed that such an exultant moment should be given so much scrutiny. "OK, I have fears, but I have hopes. I'm also excited. This is the task I have chosen of my own will."
There was another interminable pause, perhaps to give her a chance to take it all back and run from the Stork and out that door. She did not. "So be it. Callisa Makepeace, you have now been transferred into the care of Stork 1787a. Good luck."
"Thank you," Callisa said. "Thank you." At last, she thought. The projection of the Wombship smiled, then blinked out.
Callisa slipped through the Stork's doorifice into the narrow confines of the ship proper. Confines was right. The doorifice closed, and the cockpit of the Stork wrapped around her like a spider with many legs … cold legs. She shivered as tubes punctured her flesh. These were mechanical umbilici that measured, assessed, and fed, and not just nutrients: data flooded her vision.
Storks were high-end in their processing power, the quality was exceptional, far better than she'd ever had in her dorm. She might be crammed in a space barely large enough for her to take a deep breath, but the Stork's data feed provided her with a world. The Stork was an icon in the corner of her vision. She winked at it.
Grinning at all that virtual space, she called up a few of her favourite things: an Albrecht Dürer self-portrait, an old image of her mother and father. Setting up a virtual data-space always took a while, getting the desktop properly cluttered, making everything feel lived-in. The Stork gave her time to do it.
