Fictionlet
“Cute,” said Brigid. “Cute kid. Boy or girl?”
“One would presume so, anyway,” said Greg.
Brenda laughed a light tinkle. “This is Chestina Elizabeth,” she cooed, adjusting the infant’s blanket again. “She was born eight weeks ago.”
“Chestina?” said Brigid.
“Born? Willingly?” said Greg.
“What?” said Brenda.
“I must admit, I admire the heroic spirit of any baby born of their own volition. I sure wasn’t.”
Brigid looked sideways at him. “What are you going on about?”
“Well, the way I remember it is that I fought tooth and nail against the idea. ‘You’ll never take me alive!’ about summed up my attitude. They eventually had to use drugs and a scalpel to get me out, and I put two interns down for the count.”
The two women stood there and blinked at him. Greg shrugged. “Well, what can I say? I resented the whole thing. I wasn’t even consulted! I wrote the doctor in charge a scathing letter of rebuke, once I could hold a crayon.”
“What?” Brenda said again.
“Ignore him,” Brigid said, patting Brenda’s arm soothingly. “They just dropped him off the mother ship a few days ago, and he hasn’t become acclimated to life on Earth yet.”
-The Gneech
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