not quite a minivanHe likes to watch her sleep, chest rising and falling, stone silent but for the occasional dream, when he can hear her talking to unseen foes. Snoring was obviously a habit Peacekeepers didn't allowóunderstandable when numerous soldiers share sleeping quarters. Even her breath makes no noise, not even the occasional whistle, of which she has accused him of more than once.
He doesn't know what she dreams about; the words and guttural noises she makes are incoherently Sebecean, and when he asks, she doesn't understand. She never remembers what fills her head at night---another Peacekeeper habit, no doubt to keep the screams of their victims out of the barracks.
There's a slight swell to her waistband tonight, and it will be considerably larger tomorrow, he knows and in several days a new addition will be made to Moya's crew. Another hybrid. Another little Sun-Crichton in the universe. The anticipation is nearly killing him.
The only worry lies within their first childówill he welcome the