Cut off in midstream, the doctor blinked at him. "Well, sure she's all right. Barring that she needs more rest and better food, anyway—and, if you can possibly arrange it, Stan, as little aggravation as possible. Those contractions she's been having—"
Stan instantly turned his attention to Estrella. "What contractions?"
She shrugged. "Well, they weren't very strong and I didn't want to worry you."
"But—" he began, but the doctor overrode him.
"She was fine, Stan. They were just the Braxton-Hicks contractions that are perfectly normal at this time. Think of it as the uterus practicing up for when the labor starts, all right?" She glanced at her wrist screen, moving her lips silently as she checked over her notes and finally said, "I guess that's about it. I'm going to make some dietary recommendations, but outside of that—What?"
Stan was demanding attention. "The baby. When is it going to get born, can you say?"
The doctor pursed her lips. "Ah. Good question. It's a little tricky to calculate, because I don't know exactly how long you were Outside," she said, "but probably somewhere around two to four weeks from now. Maybe six. Stork will keep an eye on things and let us know how they're progressing."
She looked up as the door announced another visitor. "I'll get it," Estrella said, rising with some difficulty from the deep armchair she had been sitting in. With mixed emotions Stan watched her—what was the word?—yes, waddle toward the door. Pregnancy was not just a dangerous event that at some point involved a lot of misery, it was an event which, every day, was a stiff pain in—well, in everything there was to have a pain in.
The person standing outside was again Klara's shipmind, Hypatia of Alexandria. She acknowledged Estrella's introduction to Dr. Kusmeroglu civilly enough, but then turned her back on the doctor to address Stan and Estrella.
"Klara has a suggestion. Everyone you ever met has been calling her, wondering when they can see you. She thought you might like to do them all at once and get it over with. A little gathering at her home, for instance."
Stan was suspicious, but Estrella wasn't. "That's a wonderful idea," she said. "Stan? When would you like to do it?"
"Well," he began, "I'm kind of tired—"
She made a face. "Let's not put it off. Hypatia, we could do it right now, if that's all right."
"Well," Hypatia began, and then stood glassy-eyed for a couple of moments, letting the rest of the sentence hang there, until she finished. "Yes, that would be fine." Then she turned to Dr. Kusmeroglu, who was looking as though she wanted to say something. "Yes?"
"I've never actually met Dr. Moynlin," the doctor said, sounding wistful. "I don't suppose—I guess it wouldn't be a good idea at this time—"
"You are quite right," Hypatia told her. "It wouldn't." Then she dismissed the doctor from her attention. "I've ordered a car. Shall we go?"
II
This time it was a Heechee car, driver and all, open to the world. As soon as she saw it, Estrella insisted they go straight across the valley instead of on the usual underground roadways.
Stan had to agree that she'd made a good decision. After their captivity on Arabella, their valley was like a brief cruise through Heaven. The whitenut trees smelled as sweet as ever, the flying tree snakes were as hungry, the open air was filled with a cinnamonly tang. "You know," he told Estrella when they were not much more than halfway across, "this isn't such a bad place."
She didn't answer him directly, just sat up straighter and tried to see something that was going on at the entrance to the institute. "What in the world is that?" she asked.
Stan couldn't answer. Their Heechee driver did. "Persons there are recent fellow shipmates of both you, names of those being Salt and Achiever, plus certain others desirous to make welcoming home for you. You wish to stop for conversing? No? All right, those two to join you later and anyway are almost at destination. Are already here," she corrected herself as the little car reached Klara's entry porte.
Klara herself opened the door. Herself. Manually. "Come on in," she said. Stan half expected that she would say something about that baffling mothers-in-law thing. She didn't. She gave them each a hug. "We're ready for you," she said fondly. "My dears." They were clearly still getting the return-of-the-heroes treatment. Not only from Klara, either. The second thing Stan noticed—the first having been the beaming, welcoming presence of Sigfrid von Shrink, who obviously was failing to hug them both only because he physically couldn't—was the trays, bowls and platters of good things to eat that filled every flat surface in the room. "From Marc," Klara explained. "You know, the chef? Or general, or whatever he is right now. I think it's his way of saying thanks. Maybe he'll do it in person—I expect he'll drop in a little later—but don't count on it."
"Oh," Sigfrid put in, "I think you can count on it, Stan. Marc doesn't make friends easily, but he thinks quite highly of you." Stan started to assume his aw-shucks look, but Sigfrid paid no attention. "I believe Hypatia told you that Klara was expecting some guests, but I don't think she told you who they were. One of them's a woman you may have heard of. She's stored, and—what? Oh, of course," he said remorsefully. "Estrella, Klara would like you to go with her into another room. Bring your Stork thing. I suppose she wants some of what is called 'girl talk.' Go ahead, dear. Dears. Stan and I will be fine out here." He smiled benevolently at the sight of Estrella giving Stan a kiss on the cheek before letting Klara lead her away.
Stan was already returning to Marc Antony's spread. Chewing, he said, "You were talking about some woman."
"Yes. She's quite an unusual person. Her name is Rowena McClune." He paused long enough for Stan to make the connection, then nodded. "Yes. Orbis McClune's—well—is 'widow' the right term? At any rate, they were once married. She's been in machine storage since McClune himself was organic—quite a bit longer than he, in fact. She hasn't wasted her time, either. Unlike those organics who seem to think that machine storage is just a license to do nothing but play and have fun for eternity. I'm sure you know what I mean."
Stan, who didn't, said absently, "Of course," while prospecting among some tiny meat tarts.
Sigfrid went on, sounding oddly proud. "Marc had located her out of his client list here in the Core—she's been here for a couple weeks, it seems—and, actually, it turned out I'd known her long ago, because she was one of my students."
That explained the pride, Stan decided. Making conversation while sampling some of Marc's exotic dips, he asked, "And she's coming here?"
"Indeed she is. In fact, I expect she's here already. Just a minute—yes. Stan, this is Reverend Doctor Rowena McClune."
Stan looked up. Sigfrid was now accompanied by an attractive woman. Though no longer young, she was quite beautiful, with her blonde hair done up in a swirl that Estrella later identified as a French twist. ("A real old lady hairdo," she called it, but added, "All the same, she looked pretty good.")
"I've been hoping to meet you and your wife," the woman said. "I don't know whether you know it or not, but she's even more famous than you are in some ways. Because of the baby."
"That's nice," Stan said, wondering whether it was worth it to correct that word "wife." He didn't get the chance. On his right side Yellow Jade appeared, with only one of his senile sons. ("Warm now with Stored Minds," he reported. "I and Ionic Solvent very happy.") And at his left Sigfrid showed up, shepherding a couple of other Heechee. "This is my dear Stored Mind friend, Twin Hearts—I don't think you've met him before—" And when Stan looked around Rowena McClune was heading toward a quite different group at the far end of the room.