Her Brutal Alien (Alien Overlords)

“Whose baby is this?”

“Yours,” Tusk says.

I am confused, and frankly, horrified.

“No. It’s not mine. There’s a mother missing this baby.”

“Don’t worry about the mother. You are his mother now. Does this not make you happy?”

He has taken the smallest part of a conversation we had before the world exploded and abducted an infant over it. This, like almost all things Tusk does, is sweet and terrible.

“Tusk, I know I said I wanted a baby. But I meant…a baby of my own.”

"This baby is your own. I can have ownership papers drawn up if you so desire."

“No… Tusk… Someone is missing him. Someone who loves him more than anything imaginable.”

"The only korabi missing this baby is the one who launched an airstrike on his own palace.”

“So, this is a prince baby. This is the baby that the princess or… this is…"

“This is the rightful heir to the korabi throne. He needs you, Margaret.”

“Where is his mother?”

“She's very sick.”

"And his father?”

“Very wounded. I am led to believe that human infants need maternal attention every hour of every day. I have found some wet nurses to provide the lactation he requires, but the majority of his care will be in your hands. I think you will be good for him, Margaret. You have a steady way about you.”

I may be steady, but I also know that this is not how things should be.

“Tusk.”

“Yes?”

“If his parents are alive, if even just one of them still lives, we have to get him back to them.”

Tusk seems crestfallen, as much as a massive blue warrior smeared with the blood of his enemies can seem upset. “Why? Do you not want to keep him?”

“He's not mine. I’ll look after him as best I can, but he's not mine.”

Tusk looks at me with an unfathomable expression. “I am going to wash the battle from my body. Enjoy your present.”

There is something fundamentally wrong with Tusk, who brings me infants as though they are toys. This baby is barely born, and yet the poor thing is already caught up in korabi cruelty and chaos. I feel immense pity for the little mite. He is quiet and calm, which makes the whole situation even more tragic. Somewhere out there is a young woman who wants nothing more than to be holding this baby.

Ten

Margaret

It has been seven days.

In those seven days I have slept a total of seven hours. If I was ever tempted to keep this infant, I am more than prepared to return him now. He is a sweet little thing, but he is also a screaming monster.

“It is normal for korabi infants to wake every twenty minutes and demand food," Tusk explains.

“He has little claws and they hurt.” I am covered in scratches from the baby, who does not have control over the sharp little blades extending from his digits. Sometimes they are retracted, other times they burst out without warning. “Are his parents well enough to take him yet?"

Tusk growls. The baby growls back, and then laughs. This is a much more advanced infant than any human baby. Human babies at this age are glaze-eyed slugs unable to focus more than a few inches from their face.

“Feed him,” Tusk says. “He is growing well. I will fetch more milk from the maids.”

There are three lactating korabi women providing the milk for this baby, who seems to be consuming at a similar rate to he's growing: exponentially.

Tusk leaves. I know it will take him at least an hour to retrieve and treat the milk based on previous experiences. I take my chance and swaddle the baby nice and snugly.

"Come on, you,” I say. It feels wrong to call him you, but I have not named him, because he is not mine to name. I want to take him to the ones who should name him. I want him to be with his family.

Getting to the palace is as easy as asking one of Tusk’s men to give me a ride. They are accustomed to doing what I ask since the baby came home with us.

Once at the palace, I ask where the doctor’s medical bay is. I am directed there without any question. Tusk’s authority appears to extend to me, or maybe it is the fact that I am holding the only royal baby. Whatever the reason, finding his parents is not as hard as Tusk made it out to be. One of them, at least.

I am sure that they will repeat my actions to Tusk in short order. I do not have much time, either before he finds out, or before I lose my nerve. I cannot imagine how furious he will be.

I enter a hospital room where the baby’s mother is lying shackled to a bed. Both arms, one leg. She only has one leg. And only one eye. I can see the path where her tears have streamed a trail from that single orb. This is a sight of such immense misery I feel my chest clench in response.