The infirmary was a strange place. Rather than being sterile and white as Amber had expected, it was thick with plants, an indoor garden, the floor lined with soft green moss and the ceiling hung with flowering hydrangea. She could hear water, feel a breeze.

It felt closer to being outdoors than she'd felt since arriving on this ship. Lepidopterix lay on their stomachs in the moss or under the flowering shrubs, some just resting, others talking with Lepidopterix in white wearing the healer's mark on their clothes.

Amber had read that their medical technology was enough to handle almost any injury or illness, so it was primarily mental health that dedicated healers spent their time tending to. The actual diagnostic and treatment software could more or less be used by anyone, but the healers learned to handle it more efficiently.

A healer led her back through the flowering trees to a white framework that she could have easily mistaken for a piece of modern sculpture and sat her down inside it. Atropos hovered nearby, watching with a worried frown.

A moment later, the healer worked silently at the controls as a series of thin, graceful white armatures extended from the framework and took her wrist, straightening it and examining it with a variety of devices that moved past too quickly for Amber to distinguish them or guess their purpose.

"It looks as though your skeletal structure is not very different from our own," the healer said, peering at their screen. "We should be able to repair the damage quite quickly. First, something to dull the pain."

The computer buzzed, a sign even Amber could recognize as refusal. The healer frowned.

"Why not? We have human-safe anesthetics. We use them on the hosts!"

The computer buzzed in denial again.

More arms were extending, pulling Amber to her feet and scanning her from head to toe.

"What's going on?" she asked, beginning to get worried.

"Is she hurt?" Atropos asked, his wings fluttering in agitation.

"I am not certain," the healer said, their own small white wings flared with confusion. "I have never seen the equipment behave this way. It will not administer human-safe medical treatment as though she were Lepidopterix. But it won't use Lepidopterix medicine either. It is acting as though she is neither, or both. Or as if . . ."

The healer's wings fluttered rapidly and it fell silent. Something had occurred to it, but it said nothing, instead rapidly scanning through the data on the screen. Abruptly, it stepped away.

"One moment," it said and hurried away.

"Wait," Atropos tried to call out to the healer, but it was already gone. He turned to Amber instead, his expression anxious. "How do you feel?"

"Fine?" Amber said, baffled. "I mean, my wrist hurts. It really hurts. But other than that . . .?"

"Do you have any illnesses, allergies?" he asked. "The equipment should detect those, but it isn't used to humans, so maybe—"

The healer returned, bringing another healer with them. The two ignored Amber and Atropos entirely, leaning over the console and discussing what they saw in hushed voices. The two soon waved over a third, and then a fourth.

" . . .could not possibly have done it without help," Amber heard one of them saying. "And look, there are no surgical markers. Even if they could pull it off unassisted, it would still leave signs—"

"And the way it is attached!" said another. "That is not how it is supposed to work at all."

"But it could never have just happened spontaneously."

"Sir Atropos?" The first healer stopped the others to look at Atropos seriously. "Have you implanted this host ahead of the Gifting?"

Atropos looked startled, color draining from his face and leaving him ashen.

"No, of course not," he said. "Actian gave me the option but I chose to wait."

The healer looked at Atropos, gauging his honesty.

"But you have been intimate?" it guessed. The color returned to Atropos's face abruptly.

"Yes," Amber said when Atropos seemed unable to answer. "He said it was safe."

"Theoretically, it should have been," the healer said, looking at Amber with a kind of curious awe. "Lepidopterix cannot reproduce on their own. It's common knowledge. But you are carrying a Lepidopterix child."

Amber's eyes widened, stumbling a little as a wave of shock and confusion washed over her. Her uninjured hand went to her stomach in surprise.

"But," she whispered, "I thought—"

"So did we." The healers shook their heads, clearly baffled. "And please let me clarify that this is not an egg, as a Gifting would have implanted. It does not even appear to be a larva. It is something we cannot identify."

Amber's knees gave out, and Atropos was beside her in a second, the wind of his wings stirring her hair as he caught her, lowering her gently to the floor. Amber was too shaken to read his expression.

"Based on our limited knowledge of human reproduction," said another of the healers, gesturing to a screen showing a kind of color ultrasound in which the tiny, abstract beginnings of life were taking shape, "it is behaving more like a human fetus than a Lepidopterix larva. But at the same time, all the scans show it to have a distinctly Lepidopteran makeup. Although it is impossible to say how it will continue to develop . . ."

"But, it's too soon," Amber said, latching onto that fact and trying to gather her senses. "We only slept together a few days ago—less than a week! Human pregnancies aren't detectable for at least two weeks."

"As I mentioned, the physiology is clearly Lepidopteran," the healer said. "And the gestation period for Lepidopterix larva is much more rapid than human. This is not as far along as we would expect a pure Lepidopterix egg to be at this point, but it is still proceeding quite quickly."

Amber looked down, stunned beyond thinking. She was pregnant. She was going to have a baby. Atropos's baby. She couldn't think any further than that. The future was suddenly a fearful blank.

"Will it hurt her?" Atropos asked. "Is she in danger?"

"It is hard to say," the healer admitted with a frown. "This is not something any of us have seen before. We have no idea of how it will develop. Everything may be fine. Or it may grow too quickly for her body to adjust, or her immune system may attack it, or it may drain her parasitically to fuel its accelerated growth. These are all conditions that killed or critically endangered hosts in the early generations of host use."

Atropos squeezed her tighter, his expression pale.

"Can you remove it?" he asked.

"Possibly," the healer confirmed. "We've discovered it early. It would be dangerous, but potentially less dangerous than carrying it to term. We will need to run more tests."

Atropos helped her to her feet and back into the diagnostic machine. With some difficulty, the healers found a treatment for her wrist that wouldn't harm the strange life growing within her, promising her it would be as good as new within the hour. Then they began a barrage of tests and scans to determine more fully the genetic makeup of the fetus and how it had come to be within her in the first place. They tested Atropos as well, exclaiming as they read over his results.

"He's fertile," one of them said to Amber, their eyes blown wide and exhilarated. "Fully fertile! He may be the first fertile Lepidopterix in centuries!"

"Shouldn't you have seen that in medical scans before?" Amber asked.

"Why would we look for it?" the healer replied. "Most procedures are automated. And sterility has been the standard since the beginning."

Amber still didn't know how to react. With her wrist repaired and the tests taken, Atropos carried her back to his rooms, both of them silent. The healers had promised to contact them if they discovered anything critical.

"Are you all right?" Atropos asked, setting her down gently on the bed. He knelt before her, his wings standing away from his back a sign of his tension.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, her hands tense in her lap. "I don't think I've really . . . processed it yet. I just feel . . . lost."

"It will be all right," he promised. "The healers will remove it and you will be fine."

Amber frowned, touching her stomach.

"What if I don't want to do that?" she asked quietly.

"Why would you not?" Atropos asked, confused. "It could kill you."

"I don't know." Amber shook her head again, looking away.

"You told me yourself that you do not want children right now. That you had a life on earth, school, a career."

"I know! I just . . . this is different."

Atropos stared at her with grim, taut expression. He took her hand, thumb running over the back of her knuckles in smooth, soothing passes.

"This is your decision," he said, though she could tell it strained him to admit it. "I cannot make it for you. If you choose to remove it, I will be nothing but relieved. That you remain alive and healthy is more important to me than anything."

He squeezed her hand tighter, gathering his thoughts.

"But if you do not," he said. "If you choose to take the risk of carrying it, then I will still be here for you. Whatever danger comes, whether it is born or not, I will take care of you."

No one had ever promised her so much in such straightforward terms. Amber was frozen for a moment, realizing for the first time just how much she meant to Atropos. She hadn't realized how quickly she'd gone from something he considered barely above an animal to a person he was willing to spend his life with, to protect and support the way he was saying he wanted to. It was, in a way, terrifying.

What if she couldn't feel the same way? What if they ended up separated by everything that was going on? What if she wasn't ready for a relationship like that?

But looking at him kneeling before her there, looking up at her with nothing but devotion in his eyes, regardless of what she chose to do, made her certain those problems were worth facing. She felt tears sting her eyes and slid off the bed into his arms, kissing him hard.

He pulled at her clothing and she whispered her approval against his lips, moving into his touch. They came together gently, slower and more tender than their earlier reckless joining. They melted and moved together, seamless and silent except for their breathing.

What had been a wild dance, a mad pleasure-seeking sprawl, had become something almost ritual. Heavy with meaning, potent with an energy that was almost divine, they wrote their hopes for the future into one another's bodies.

Later, they lay together on the floor, skin cooling, a sheet dragged down from the bed to wind around them like a veil in a classical painting. He had a hand on her stomach, his face lined with contemplation. Her hand was over his, tracing the tiny, shimmering scales of his skin, wondering what it would be like to have a family with him.

"We have to free the last of the humans," he said at last.

She looked up, surprised.

"You have a plan?" she asked.

"We will not be able to be subtle this time," he said, looking down at their hands, lashes casting shadows on his cheek. "We will not have time. When we do this, we will be caught."

"But your brother," Amber said. "If he finds out it was you—"

He met her eye with a small smile and she lost her train of thought.

"If you are going to carry my child," he said, his hand warm on her stomach, "I cannot very well allow Actian to destroy your species, can I? How would you ever be able to look at me again, the way you are right now?"

Amber touched his cheek and kissed him softly.

"But what will happen to us?" she asked. Atropos looked away.

"My brother is a good person," he said. "I believe, when he sees the lengths to which we are willing to go to stop this, that he will understand. And if not . . . I can challenge him."

Amber remembered what she'd read about the Lepidopterix and tensed.

"You'd fight him for control of the flight?" she asked.

"If necessary," Atropos said with a frown. "I do not want to be leader. I don't believe I have what it takes to lead us as he has. But if he refuses to give up this plan, then I will do what I must."

Amber looked away, her thoughts racing.

"Then I think I know what we should do."