Daddy Material

Chapter Seven

Two Weeks Later

They were in the cafeteria on lunch break, and Bull informed them that Buddy would be bringing Rankin around by the end of the shift. "How did Rankin manage to get another over night pass so soon?" asked Christine. "I thought they generally limited them to one or two a month, even for the patients they were getting ready to release."

Bull shrugged. "What can I say? The man is a hell of a schmoozer. He's got his doctors thinking they're a combination of Freud and Dr. Phil even though they HAVEN'T cured him. He has the nurses thinking they're a cross between Florence Nightengale and either Halle Berry or Cameron Diaz, depending on their complexion, and he has at least one bald orderly convinced that he's the spitting image of Vin Deisel. Plus the fact that he's volunteered to Windex every piece of glass or counter top has really endeared him to the kitchen staff. They always give him double cookies to go with his chili."

Christine made a face. "Some of his food combinations... I thought I was weird when I was pregnant and got hit by a snack craving at three in the morning, and all there was in the house was pretzels and peanut butter."

"You didn't," said Dan. Christine mimed unscrewing a jar, then dipping in a pretzel stick and eating it. "You did. Well, you've gone a long way toward cooling any passionate interest I have left in you."

"They were honey-mustard pretzels."

"And there went the last of it."

"I knew I'd find a way eventually."

"Anyway, Christine," said Bull, "Rankin doesn't eat like that because of pregnancy. It's just that his race has different dietery preferences and needs. For instance, you have no idea how many rice cakes they need to eat a month. Rankin once forgot. Thirty days was coming up fast, and he was getting kind of sickly because he hadn't eaten enough. He tried to make up for it in one day." Bull frowned. "He probably would have been all right if he hadn't drunk that 2 liter bottle of rootbeer on top of it. You know how rice swells from moisture."

"Bull," said Harry, "I'm really becoming concerned about this. Having a dream is fine. Heck, it even wouldn't be bad if it was an ambition..."

"Yeah," said Dan. "Never can tell when you could make some extra bucks by volunteering for medical experiments."

"Look, you guys, I'm not making this up." The patience in Bull's tone was finally starting to wear thin. He stood up and unbuttoned his jacket, spreading it open. "Look."

They all leaned forward and peered closely at his abdomen. There WAS a swell there. Bull's usually-admirably-flat abs were pushed out in a shallow convex shape. Harry sat back. "Okay, this is serious. Any unexplained abdominal swelling needs to be checked out immediately. I'm going to send around to the other court rooms for a couple of substitute bailiffs. Roz, I want you to take Bull to the emergency room--now."

"But Harry..." Bull began.

Harry pointed at him, and his voice was hard. "No! No arguments. This is your health we're talking about, and we're not gonna screw around. That could be an obstruction, or a tumor..."

"Or gas," murmured Dan.

"SHUT UP, DAN!" It was four part harmony from Christine, Roz, Harry, and Bull. Dan held up his hands in a surrender gesture.

"Bull, as your superior I'm ordering you to go with Roz to the hospital and check this out. I'd be criminally negligent if I didn't."

Bull's forehead wrinkled. He looked at Christine. "Can he do that?"

"Um... Well... I'm pretty sure a personal injury suit lawyer could try to make a case out of it," she hemmed.

Bull made a face. "They can try to make a case out of your junior high prom date dumping you. I'll go, if only to finally let you guys know that I'm all right."

"That's all we want," said Harry. "If Rankin shows up before you get back... And knowing the state of emergency rooms there's a very real possibility... We'll tell him what's going on."

Bull and Roz had stood up, preparing to leave. Bull hesitated. "Harry? Be careful how you break it to Rankin. He's gonna be very, very worried when he learns I'm at the hospital, so if I were you I think I'd start the explination with 'Bull is safe and sound', then move on to where I am. Otherwise he's liable to climb the walls, and take you with him." He followed Roz out of the courtroom, muttering to himself.

Dan was chuckling to himself. "What's with you?" asked Harry.

Dan laughed again. "I'm really looking forward to seeing the look on that fruitcake's face."

"Good, because you're going to be the one who tells him." Dan's face fell. Rankin and Buddy entered the room, and Rankin made a bee-line for them. "You've got that disposable camera for candid snaps of the girls that you're trying to convince you work for Girls Gone Wild. Get me a picture of his reaction." He started to leave.

Christine put a hand on his arm. "Harry, you can't."

Harry sighed. "Curse this ethical nature."

Rankin had arrived. He was smiling, but his gaze was darting around the room, and his smile was becoming tighter by the second. "Hi, all. Where's Bull?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Rankin..."

Rankin grabbed his robe. "WHERE IS HE? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM? DO I NEED TO KILL SOMEONE?"

"Bullissafeandsound."

Rankin let go, instantly calm. "Okay. Where is he?"

"He's at the hospital, and..."

Ranking grabbed him again. He was shorter than Harry, but he managed to lift the judge up on his toes. "HE DIDN'T MISCARRY?"

"RANKIN--calm down! No."

Rankin was once again serene. He put Harry down. "Did that purple rash come back? I told him that if he just ate enough fish products it would go away."

"Look, Rankin, this pregnancy obsession that he's sharing with you is going too far. It might be affecting him physically..." Rankin started giggling. "Right, I get it. What I meant was that his abdomen is swelling..."

Rankin brightened. "I haven't seen him for a week. Is he finally starting to show? Oh, he's going to be happy about that. He's been waiting for that more anxiously than I understand most of your young women wait for their boobs to sprout."

"I had him go to the emergency room to have the swelling checked out. If it's anything serious he might need an immediate operation..." Harry was up on his toes again, and this time Rankin was baring his teeth at him. "NO, I'M NOT SUGGESTING AN ABORTION!" Rankin let him down. "I'm going to have to check--I think that last one ripped me under the sleeves. You're going to have to face the fact that it might be anything from a tumor to impending appendicitis."

Rankin looked at him narrowly. "Are you sure that you didn't send him there to get a psychiatric evaluation?"

"I thought about it, but not this time."

"Because that wouldn't be so bad. They'd probably send him over to my place. We wouldn't be able to share a room..." Rankin giggled, "but they don't always lock the closets. Buddy, will you accompany me over to the hospital? You know they don't want me roaming around without my keeper." He looked back at Harry. "Normally I wouldn't worry about it, but one of the doctors might work at my facility, too, and if he reported me they might take away my privileges."

"Sure thing," said Buddy. As they started for the door Buddy said, "You know they won't let you back into the examining area?"

"But aren't they supposed to allow spouses?"

"You aren't his spouse."

"Well, we haven't had the ceremony, but surely they wouldn't hold us to the technicalities of common law union. I WOULD have been living with him if I could..."

"They're short sighted buggers. We'll let the nurse in charge know that you're the next of kin, and you can wait for him in the lounge. I'll go bring you something from the cafeteria."

"You don't have to do that, Buddy."

"Nonsense. I've seen what happens if you go too long between meals. Besides, I have my mouth set for some of those tater tots they make. They use onion, you know..."

Dan looked at Christine. "Want to start a pool on what happens to him when he goes too long between meals? I have dibs on his stomach talking--in Swedish." Christine and Harry stared at him. "If Roz was here she'd want some of that action, and you know it."

"Let's get back to the court room," said Harry. "If we can get through with what we have, I'm closing early."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"It's good to be the judge."

~*~

It was a quiet night. They got their case load done quickly, and headed for the hospital. There hadn't been any question that Christine would go, but Harry was a little surprised when Dan tagged along. It was his usual night for a Swedish massage, given by a genuine Swede, but he proved that his curiosity could sometimes outfight his libido by cancelling.

Buddy was sitting in the waiting room, munching tater tots, when they arrived. "Hey, Buddy." Harry glanced around. "Where's Rankin?"

Buddy indicated the nearby men's room. "He drank two colas to calm himself down."

"But colas pep you up."

"Not with Rankin. Anyway, the one other effect affects him just like it does for humans, and he had to take a nature break."

The door to the men's room opened, and a startled looking middle aged man stumbled out. He walked past them, muttering. "Purple. It was purple. What the hell would make it be purple? I've heard of some drugs that'll make it blue, but purple... God, I hope it's not catching..."

Rankin came out a couple of seconds later. Sitting next to Buddy he said, "I think that man was attracted to me. He kept staring into the urinal while I was eliminating liquid waste. It's a good thing he didn't try something, but if he had I guess it would have been all right--we ARE close to medical assistance. Did they...?"

"Nothing yet," said Buddy.

Rankin's expression darkened. "I'm giving them ten krelbourns. If we don't hear something by then, I'm going in after him."

Christine leaned over and whispered to Buddy. "What's a krelbourn?"

"I'm not exactly sure," said Buddy, "but it's less than a minute. I hope they hurry up."

A nurse came out, calling, "Is there anyone here for Bull Shannon?"

Rankin shot to his feet. "Me! Me! I'm ALWAYS here for him!" He started over toward her, and Harry followed.

She glanced between the two men, then said, "I'm sorry, only one of you."

"I'm his mate," said Rankin.

"Oh. Uh..." She looked at Harry. "You, sir?"

"Kind of his employer," said Harry.

"Mate beats employer," said Rankin.

"Ma'am," Harry showed her his ID. "I'm a judge, and Mister Shannon is my bailiff. My concern for him is both professional, and personal. Let me go back there, too, and I promise that there won't be any repercussions for you."

"Well..."

"If anyone tries to make trouble, I'll tell them that they'll be buried in more misdemeanor charges than anyone has ever seen."

"You got it. Follow me."

Chapter Eight

The moment they got into the back hallway (it was lined on both sides with curtains, concealing examination alcoves), Rankin lifted his nose, took a deep sniff, and made off down the corridor. "Sir!" the nurse called, hurrying after him. "Sir, we can't have you..." Rankin was turning a corner. She looked at Harry appealingly as she started after him. "We can't have him just bursting into random alcoves. There are some pretty sick people in some of those, and..."

"You're preachin' to the choir," said Harry coming after her. "I sing tenor, by the way." She gave him a startled look as they turned the corner. "That WAS a joke. Just trying to ease the tension, here."

She gave him a stiff smile, her eyes darting around the new hall. "Amusing, but we have to be sure..." There was a loud growl, and she started. "What was that?"

"I wouldn't care to speculate, but we should hurry, but did the doctor give him a physical examination?"

"Of course."

"Did it involve a prostate exam?"

"It might have."

"We should hurry."

She spotted one alcove down the hall on the left where the curtains had been whipped open. "Well, I'll be."

They'd slowed down, and Harry said, "Let me guess--he picked the right one?"

"How did he know? Those curtains brush the floor, and there isn't more than an inch gap when they're pulled closed. I shut those myself when I went out. How on earth...?" Her expression cleared. "I know. The woman with him must've opened the curtains, at least a little."

"Yeah," said Harry. "That's the ticket. Just keep telling yourself that."

It was a bizarre, but rather touching, tableau they found when they got to the alcove. Roz was sitting in a chair against the wall. Bull, wrapped in a sheet and looking a bit like the World's Biggest Hari Krishna, was perched on the end of an examining table. Harry knew that almost everyone in the world needed to use the built-in step at the foot to get up high enough to sit on the padded table--Bull was so tall that all he'd had to do was lift on his tip-toes and edge his butt onto the seat. The back of his ankles were bumping against the edge of the step now, feet dangling only a couple of inches from the floor. Rankin was kneeling before him, reaching up to clasp his hands and gazing up at him with worried adoration. "You're sure you're all right, Pookie?"

Bull patted his lover's hands. "I told you, I'm fine. I'm surprised my blood pressure was so good, given how ticked off I was at having to come here."

Rankin looked over at Roz. "Is he? He might not say anything if he thought it would upset me."

Roz nodded. "Though he did seem pretty interested in that lump he felt in Bull's abdomen."

Rankin's expression cleared. "Oh, that." His brows lowered. "He didn't mash it, did he?"

"Raaaan-kin." Bull's tone was chiding, and Rankin drooped sheepishly. Bull looked at Harry. "Hi, Harry. I told you I was all right."

"I'm glad to hear it, Bull," said Harry. "But I'll want to hear that from the doctor."

"He should be back in a moment," said the nurse. "I believe he was going to set up a couple of tests. You can wait here, if you like. There's another chair in the hall, if you want to bring it in." She left.

"Bull," said Harry, indicating the sheet. "What's with that?"

"Harry," said Bull. "Have you ever seen me in one of those open up the back hospital gowns that are inadiquat for even a small person?" Harry smiled. "And you're not going to, either. Look, if that doctor doesn't hurry up, I'm leaving." He reached down and caressed Rankin's hair. Rankin pushed his head up into Bull's touch, like a cat. "I don't have much time to spend with my sweetie, and I don't want to waste what little I have."

A man in a white lab coat, stethoscope slung around his neck, came into the alcove, reading from a clipboard. "Well, Mister Shannon, you seem to be doing well, but that mass in your abdomen is worrying. I'm not going to feel comfortable till I know what it is and set up a course of treatment..." He looked up. "Oh, hello."

"Doctor Firken," said Bull, "This is my boss, Harry," he stroked Rankin's hair, "and this is my Rankin. I told you about him."

"He sure did," Roz murmured. "I'm never playing poker with that man--not with the straight face he can keep."

Rankin hopped up and went to the doctor, thrusting out his hand. The doctor shook hands as Rankin said, "Pleased to meet you. How old are you? Where did you get your degree? Do you specialize in obstetrics? We'll need a good doctor in case the transport is delayed. How do you feel about natural childbirth?"

"Rankin!" said Bull.

Rankin gave him a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I forgot that you'll have to have a C-section." The doctor cleared his throat, and Rankin looked at him again. "He DID tell you that he's pregnant?"

"Tell me? He bragged about it," said the doctor. Rankin let go of him and strutted back and forth a few paces. "Ah. I see. You're the... uh..."

"I'm the sire, the progenater, the old man, I'm the DADDY!" crowed Rankin.

Bull smiled at him fondly. "It's his first." He frowned, then smiled again. "Well, first for both of us."

"Doctor?" said Harry. "I don't know about Rankin, but Bull is generally a sensible person. If you can just offer him medical proof, I'm sure he'll get over this delusion..." Rankin turned to stare at him, "This conception? Anyway, he'll believe you if you tell him he isn't pregnant."

"HA!" From Rankin.

"There are several tests," said the doctor, "And I'd like to do the most inexpensive and least invasive first. Mister Shannon, if you'd only agree to a prostate exam..."

Rankin was instantly between the doctor and Bull, arms spread like a man guarding a basketball goal, teeth bared. Bull patted his shoulder soothingly. "Raaaan-kin? He's a doctor. They do that."

Rankin looked at him doubtfully. "They do?" Bull nodded. He looked at Harry. "They do?" Harry nodded. He looked at Roz. "They do?"

Roz answered, "I couldn't say from personal experience, but rumor has it that they do."

Ranking made a face. "Seems awfully personal to me. What else have you got?"

"An X-ray of the abdomen," said the doctor.

"Do you usually do that for your patients in their first trimester of pregnancy?" said Rankin.

"Well," said the doctor, "we routinely try to avoid it if we can--if they're pregnant."

"We think he's about fourteen weeks along," said Rankin. "I say that's too close to risk it. Next?"

"That would be an ultrasound, and those are perfectly safe," said the doctor. "For anyone."

"Okay. We'll agree to one of those, if it'll make everyone happy." He turned a melting gaze on Bull. "As long as that's all right with you?"

"Suuuure." Bull gave him a reassuring smile.

"All right." Rankin looked at the doctor. "Can you do it quickly? He really needs to get home and get some rest. Stress is never good, but in his condition..."

Roz was filing her nails, and looked up. "Damn sure sounds like a first time expectant father to me."

"There's a free sonogram just in the next alcove," the doctor assured him. "And the operator is in the lounge. Five minutes." He left.

"Sonogram," said Rankin. "Does that mean that the test will be delived by a very short human with a mustache, who used to be married to a very tall human with long hair, and..."

"No," said Bull. "Son-o, not Sonn-y."

Rankin smiled blindingly at Bull and started to sing 'I Got You Babe'. He had a nice voice. "Rankin," said Harry. "For a visitor from another world, you're pretty familiar with American pop culture."

He shrugged. "What can I say? The transmission waves we catch from earth are a lot more interesting than our own televison. You can only watch the same patch of paint dry so many times."

"So you catch television shows from the seventies and eighties?"

"Delayed because of distance traveled," he explained. "I'm a little bit country."

"Don't wince, Harry," Roz told him. "He could be singing the theme from 'Love Boat'."

"Hey," Harry protested. "I LIKE that."

"Gotta love a man in a uniform. Boy, that Gopher had nice knees," said Rankin. He gave a wolf whistle. When Harry stared at him, Rankin said, "Hey, Bull doesn't mind if I just look."

Harry looked at Roz. She shrugged. "Don't look at me. I had the hots for that blond photographer."

A tiny woman dressed in scrubs came in, pushing a machine on a cart. She smiled at them brightly. "Hi. I'm Christa, and I'll be your imager today."

"Great," said Rankin. "Do you do eight by tens?" Bull nudged him. "Well, Pookie, we COULD get wallet sized for Christmas cards." He held up his hands, as if framing something. "Baby's first picture."

Christa's smile had gotten a little bewildered. "Um... Sir, could you move a little, so I can reach that plug?"

Harry shifted over so that she could plug the machine in. The doctor came in as she was switching it on. "Ah, thank you for being so prompt, Miss Messerschmidt. I'll want a very thorough imaging of this patient's abdomen, if you please."

Rankin looked at Bull. "If she pleases? You mean people can turn down orders on their jobs around here? That's wonderful for civil rights, but doesn't it make it a little difficult to get things done?"

"It's called 'a polite figure of speech'," Bull explained. "He wasn't really giving her a choice in the matter."

Rankin sounded doubtful. "He was trying to give her an order without SOUNDING like he was giving her an order?"

"Yeah."

"But what if she didn't understand that, and refused?"

"That was unlikely. Just about everyone understands the concept, and knows when it's being used."

"Damn. Seems like an awful lot of trouble. Bull, I love you, but your species is very weird."

"Mister Shannon," said the doctor, "I'm going to put up the lower section of the table, so that you can lie flat. We'll need you to stay quite still while we do this."

"All right," said Bull as he lay back, propping his legs on the section that the doctor lifted into place (his feet still hung off the end). "But use a firm hand, Doc. I'm ticklish." Rankin gave a dirty snicker. "Don't you DARE comment on that." The sheet was arranged so that Bull's belly was bared, and the doctor asked if Bull wanted any of his visitors to leave the room. Bull gripped Rankin's hand and said, "The interest is common with him, and the only reason I'm here is because the other two are worried, so they might as well stay."

"All righty," said Christa. She had pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and unscrewed a jar, dipping up some clear gel.

Rankin got between her and Bull, frowning ominously. Bull grabbed his arm. "Rankin, she's not intending to do what you think she is."

"How can you be sure? Why else would she--?"

"Miss, please explain that gel to him."

"This?" She looked down at her fingers. "I'm sorry. I do this so often that sometimes I forget to explain. This will be rubbed on your abdomen in order to help the sonowand make a better image."

"Oh. All right, then." Rankin stepped aside.

"What did you think...?"

"Don't ask him that," said Harry.

Rankin watched narrowly as Christa spread the gel over Bull's tummy, only relaxing when she stepped back. She turned the machine on and checked a few dials. Rankin came over and peered at it closely. He laid a hand against the back of it, closed his eyes, then concentrated. After a moment he chuckled, then opened his eyes and gave the doctor a merry glance. "Do you still play with Tinkertoys, too?"

"Sir," said the doctor, "that's a state of the art machine."

"Hey, I've seen what kind of state your species' art is in--I can believe it."

"Rankin," said Bull mildly. "What have we said about speciesism?"

Rankin looked abject. "I'm sorry, Pookie. You know I don't mean it. It's just that this planet throws me so many good straight lines."

Christa pulled a high stool up near the exam table and perched on it, leaning over Bull. She picked up the 'wand' attached to the machine by a spiraled cord, and said, "This is why I leave my gloves on." She put her hand over the wand's head, rubbing it.

Rankin watched, fascinated. He whispered to Bull, "I thought that the only sex between females and machines was when they took a..."

"Rankin," Bull sighed.

"Or maybe when there was a washing machine that had a really rough spin cycle, or a motorcycle, or..."

"I knew I shouldn't have let him read the Letters to the Editor in Penthouse," said Bull. "I believe she's doing that to warm the thing, so it isn't such a shock to me."

"How thoughtful!" Rankin reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly squashed, individually wrapped Twinkie. He laid it on the machine's ledge, saying. "That's for you, and there's more where that came from if he comes through this easily." He winked and said in a conspiratorial tone, "That's the kind with the green filling, from Halloween."

She blinked. "This is February."

"Yeah! I was so lucky to find that box pushed to the back of the shelf. And they only charged me the regular price for them. HA!"

She looked at the doctor, who shrugged. "Hey, with all the preservatives they put in those things you could probably save it to eat on Easter without a problem. Let's get on with this."

She pressed the wand firmly to Bull's belly. The doctor leaned over to examine the screen on the machine as she began moving it. "Okay, move it up a little. Now to the right. I think I see a shadow... A little more. There! Okay, move it around right over that area, tilt it to give me a little of a side view... That's definitely a mass." He frowned. "It looks as big as my hand."

Rankin was nodding. "Yep, that's about right."

"What's it look like?" asked Harry. "I mean, is it, like, a neatly contained cyst, easily removed? Or is it one of those nasty octopus things that are hard to clear out?"

"Let me look a little closer. Miss Messerschmidt, I want you to hold it there steady." He leaned closer to the screen, peering at it intently. "It looks like... It looks like..." He leaned back abruptly, eyebrows shooting up in an 'I can't be seeing what I think I'm seeing' expression. He cleared his throat. "It... uh... It looks like a fetus."

Chapter Nine

Rankin crowed, jumping up and down and clapping his hands. "Take the picture!
Take the picture while he's smiling!"

"Smiling?!" said Harry.

"Well, sure. The way they were poking with that wand thing it had to tickle."

"Doctor," said Harry. "You're not trying to tell me that he really IS
pregnant?"

"Oh, of course not!" said the doctor quickly. "That would be impossible. It's
just that I've never seen anything shaped like that... that... wasn't..."

"A BAY-bee!" crooned Ranking. He leaned over and pressed his cheek to Bull's
tummy, embracing his legs. After a second he looked up at Bull and said
tenderly, "I have goop in my hair now."

"Um," said the technician. "It'll wash out."

"As I was saying, "said the doctor. "It has to be an unusually shaped cyst or
tumor."

"What's the river that runs through Egypt?" said Bull.

"Uh... the Nile?" said the doctor.

"Right." Bull and Rankin chorused, "De nial, de nial, de nial."

"Mister Shannon, be reasonable. If this was a pregnancy I would be able to see
the heart beating."

"In a strictly human pregnancy," said Rankin. "With my people the infant
depends on the parent's blood system right up until birth. It's a very sensible
system. Less wear-and-tear on the organ."

"With your... people..." The doctor's voice faded. "I'm going to assume that
you don't mean Republicans or Methodists?"

"I'm a member of the Right Silly Royalist party." He pumped his fist in the
air. "Go His Exalted Regalness Poo-bah Hamlam the 20th! And I attend the
Church of the Nurple Concordancy." He patted Bull's hand. "But we're going to
raise the baby interdenominational, so he'll know about his daddy's people."

"Bull, once and for all, YOU'RE NOT PREGNANT!" said Harry.

Bull reached over and patted Harry on the head, while Rankin said, "Well, that's
one man's opinion. Boy, you're stubborn." He looked over at Bull. "Man's got
a head like an unripe Quitkin melon."

"Are those hard?" asked Roz.

"You know those machines they use to knock down buildings?"

"Bulldozers?"

"No, no. The ones with the hangy-down, swingy things..." He glanced at Bull,
"And don't you DARE laugh about that." He leered. "Since there hasn't been
much hangy-down, swingy with us since..."

"WE GET THE PICTURE!" Harry almost shouted.

"Wrecking ball?" said Roz.

"Exactly!" said Rankin. "When they aren't ripe you could use one of those to
take down cement. You have to pull them during their five minutes of ripeness,
or they go from *thud* to *squish*." He looked at the doctor expectantly. "I'm
doing everything I can for him from my biological perspective. I expect you'll
want to advize him, maybe load him up with prenatal vitamins, mineral
suppliments, stuff like that there. Think you might manage a mild relaxant for
when the hormones get crazy?"

"I'll have to think about this," said the doctor. "Christa, you can go on,
now."

Christa unplugged the machine and made ready to push it out of the room. She
paused at the examining table and smiled shyly at Bull. "Have you started
picking out names yet?"

"I'm sort of favoring Cliffnagle," said Rankin, "But probably not. I mean, he'd
get in school and every other kid would have the same name. The teacher will
holler 'Cliffnagle!' and get trampled by the stampede."

"Give him a 'place' name," she suggested. "Those are cool. Like 'Montana',
'Dakota', 'Dallas'..."

"Drikkel," Rankin agreed. "No, wait--that sounds a little too girlie.
Urganzi." He looked at Bull. "What do you think, hon?"

"I like Copernicus," said Bull.

"Oooo..."

The doctor beckoned Harry out into the hallway. Once out of the room he said,
"Mister Shannon really DOES believe that he's pregnant. I mean, he doesn't wish
it, and he doesn't suspect it--he's 'look, there's a blue plus sign' sure."

"Doctor, he's 'let's buy the layette' sure," said Harry. "And I don't know what
to do with him. What would you suggest?"

The doctor pondered. "Well--have you considered just leaving him alone?"

Harry stared. "Correct me if I'm wrong. I was under the impression that a man
believing he was pregnant came under the heading of 'not normal'."

"Yes, but as far as I can see it doesn't come under the heading of 'illness'.
It would qualify as questionable mental health, but that's not my field. Is
Mister Shannon functioning well aside from this?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess so. You just got through saying he's healthy. He
isn't neglecting himself, he's as friendly and cheerful as usual. He doesn't
seem to have lost touch with... Well, let's put it this way--reality doesn't
seem to be any further off than it has been."

"Then where's the problem? Personally I'd say wait till it seems to be
affecting him adversely. You shouldn't set about trying to interfer with him
just because it's making YOU uncomfortable. Don't look at me like that. It's
called 'minding your own business.' I would, however, like to see him in..."
the doctor rolled his eyes up thoughtfully, "another two weeks to check that
mass. I want to be sure it doesn't grow or change. If it does, I might
prescribe a biopsy to be sure it's benign. And if it IS begnign we'll still
need to keep a watch on it, because those suckers can grow, and when they grow,
they can change. I'll set up an appointment for him for two weeks or so from
now. You can pick it up at the registration desk. Oh, and Judge Stone--I WILL
recommend you interfering to the point of seeing that he keeps that
appointment." He hesitated. "What the hell. I'll go ahead and leave some
samples of vitamins and suppliments at the desk. It won't hurt him, and you
can't be too healthy."

As the doctor walked off Harry thought, *I don't know where to praise him for
his compassion or curse him for enabling the delusion.* He went back into the
room. Roz was sitting facing the wall, and Rankin was just finishing buttoning
Bull's jacket. He slipped the last button into place, then embraced Bull,
laying his head on the bigger man's chest with a blissful smile. Bull looked
down at him with an expression that could only be tenderness, and stroked his
hair.

Harry felt a twinge. Ever since Harry had known Bull, he'd known that his
friend longed to be a father. It was his greatest dream, and he'd tried so
hard. Bull was a gentle giant, but his unconventional looks had worked against
him with a system that was sometimes too shallow to see past physical
impressions. He'd been turned down to be a Volunteer Father because the people
in charge of the program were worried that his appearance might be upsetting to
the children. What really pissed Harry off was that they'd actually TOLD Bull
that. They didn't even have the grace to lie about it. But then they couldn't
have, because there was absolutely no good reason that Bull couldn't have filled
the position. He was steady, respectable, reliable, honest, upright, humorous,
and patient with children. He'd never committed a crime, and he always paid his
bills. He had a great reputation, and could produce sterling character
references--and he'd been turned down because of his looks. Harry would never
forget Bull's bewildered pain. While he couldn't have brung himself to commit
violence, Harry wished he could have hunted down whoever was responsible for
that decision and used every annoying, embarrassing, and uncomfortable gag and
practical joke in his extensive arsenal. All Bull wanted in the world was to be
a daddy, and they'd told him he couldn't because of something he had no control
over.

Seeing how happy Bull looked with Ranking, Harry thought, *We don't have to do
anything about it right now. I mean, even if it IS his imagination, as long as
he's healthy PHYSICALLY, right? Unless he starts to fall apart, or those follow
ups show something alarming... Hm. Ya know, he's so happy he almost seems to
glow...* Harry's eyes popped wide open, then he shook his head violently.
*That way lies madness.*

Chapter Ten

The doctor was as good as his word. When they checked out at the front desk
there was a small plastic bag waiting for Bull, filled with blister packs of
different sorts of capsules and tablets, each one packaged with copious notes
and instructions. While Bull patiently made arrangements to have Blue Cross
take care of the expense, Rankin dug through the contents. "Where's the
literature? Don't they usually hand out a honking pile of literature for
situations like this? What to expect. What not to expect. How to expect the
unexpected. What you never even suspected you should expect."

"I'm not sure how relevant those would be," said Harry, "since they're all
written from the viewpoint of it being a woman who's pregnant."

Rankin snorted. "Blatant bias. And your country prides itself on being
unprejudiced."

"But this... They..." Harry looked helplessly at Roz.

"Don't look at me," she replied, dead-panned. "I agree with him on this one.
That series where they had the aliens where the women were spotted and the men
carried the baby the last few months and gave birth? Hell, I'd marry one of
them."

Bull finished, putting away his wallet, and patted Rankin. "Don't worry about
it. Remember those great things with all the books I told you about?"

Rankin's eyes brightened. "Libraries? With stories and information you can
actually hold in your hand instead of reading off a screen or having it stuffed
directly into your brain? Coooool."

"Anyway, every one of them has an extensive collection of books about
pregnancies. You don't have to be back till noon tomorrow, right?" Rankin
nodded. "We'll go by the library tomorrow morning and I'll pick up a stack."
He grinned. "And you know that book I read you? There are a lot more by the
same author."

Rankin gasped. "No way! How could he possibly keep up the standard of Green
Eggs and Ham?"

"Wait till you hear 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas'."

"Oo. I love mysteries." He looked at the nurse, who was watching him, bemused.
"You have an appointment for him?"

"Oh. Uh, yes." She held out a card toward Bull. Rankin snatched it away and
examined it narrowly.

"This isn't the same doctor we talked to. I'd rather he saw the same doctor
through this entire thing. Who is this guy?"

"He's our finest diagnostician, sir. Aparently the attending doctor thought
that Mister Shannon's case would interest him."

Now Rankin looked bewildered. "A simple pregnancy? He must have seen hundreds
of them."

"Trust me, Rankin," said Harry wearily. "He hasn't seen one like this before."

~*~

One week later

Harry was bending over to get a drink from the hall water fountain when a voice
behind him said, "Why don't you just paint a bullseye on your bottom?" Harry
straightened up quickly, turning around to find Rankin. Rankin shrugged. "Oh,
you don't have to worry about me--NOW. Before I met Bull, though, you'd have
gotten a goose bigger than most people in Victorian England had for Christmas."

Harry looked around. "Where's Buddy?"

"Well, depending on how much traffic there's been, and the number of people
ahead of him in line, he's either just finished his dim sum at Witchee Wu's
Chinese Chop House, or he's buying popcorn before the Mae West film festival
starts."

"But are you supposed to be wandering around without him?"

"I'm not wandering. I knew exactly where I was going."

"You know what I mean, Rankin."

"Yes, I'm out without my keeper. But frankly, Harry, do you REALLY think that
Buddy is the most sensible choice in the world to ride herd on someone who's
supposed to be nuts? What's that saying--blind leading the blind? On a side
note, you have some lazy, greedy buggers in scientific research. They've come
up with high definition, fiber optics, plasma screens, and devices that let you
photograph any square foot of land from space, but they still haven't come up
with a simple optical implant to relieve blindness."

"The fact that I agree with you aside, what gives?"

"I had a phone call from Bull yesterday and he believes that you still haven't
come to grips with our situation. It's bothering him, and I can't have that in
his condition." Rankin gave Harry a gimlet stare. "Not that I'd tolerate it
whatever his condition. So I figured the thing to do was to have a private chat
with you."

"I think that might be a good idea. Luckily it should be a quiet night tonight.
We came off the full moon two days ago and all the luna..." He trailed off.
Rankin looked at him expectantly. Harry cleared his throat. "All the Moonies
have worn themselves out."

"Yeah, those guys can get a little bonkers with that bouncing and chanting,"
Rankin agreed. "And they put ME in the hospital. So--the cafeteria at lunch
break?"

"Sure." Rankin started to walk away. "Wait. Aren't you going to observe the
session?"

"Not tonight. I have something important I have to do."

"What's that?"

"I've got to draw a diagram of the courthouse roof, and I need to get it
accurate down to the brick count."

Ranking walked away. "Silly me for asking," murmured Harry.

~*~

Rankin was waiting for him in the cafeteria. Rankin was sitting at a table off
to the side. Dan and Roz were sharing one a little farther toward the middle of
the room. Roz was calmly eating a cheeseburger. Dan had an almost untouched
club sandwich in front of him, and he was watching Rankin like he expected the
other man to either pull out an assault rifle, or start riverdancing.

Rankin waved cheerily at Harry, beckoning him over to the table. "I ordered for
you."

"Oh. Um."

"Don't worry. I just had them give you one of their recommended specials.
Meatloaf, au gratin potatos, and brussel sprouts." He gave that 'Mork from Ork'
bark of laughter. "Man, you people have some weird tastes. Imagine sprouts
being used as a side dish instead of a dessert."

"Imagine sprouts being used at all," said Harry, sitting opposite him and
drawing the tray of food at that place setting closer.

"Well, it IS a waste to get 'em while they're still so young, when you can wait
a few weeks and have a great, honking cabbage instead." He smiled brightly.
"This is nice, having a culinary discussion where I don't have to worry about
'fitting into the scenery'."

"Let me get this straight--you've been TRYING to fit into the scenery?"

"It's a strain. I never have been much of an actor. Well, except during
romantic role playing, and Bull told me I probably shouldn't mention the Czar
and Cossack thing because..."

"He was right. Rankin, you mentioned that I'm having trouble coming to grips
with the situation. I'm not--I've accepted the fact that Bull may very well
have a medical condition that's leading to an emotional condition, and that as
well meaning as you are, you're contributing..."

"You've got a grip, all right, but it's on the wrong end of the stick. Harry,
why can't you just accept this and be happy for us?"

Harry put down his fork and said slowly. "Because---it's not---possible. I'm
sorry, Rankin. I can guess how much it means to you, and I KNOW what it means
to Bull. Hell, ever since I've known that man his most cherished wish has been
to have a child to nurture and love. Fate has seen fit to frustrate him so
far..."

"Four effs. Alliteration. And totally WRONG!"

"Sh!" Rankin's voice on that last word had been at about triple volume, and
heads were turning.

Rankin continued in a subdued voice. "What you call fate I call the viciously
blind pigheadedness of small minded people who have felt helpless to affect
anything around them in their life suddenly finding themselves in a position of
limited power and suddenly acting like they're a half-step down from Jesus
Christ on the wisdom and authority stepladder."

"You..." Harry blinked. "You know about Jesus Christ?"

Rankin shrugged. "Don't start with the Earthly chauvinism, Harry." Rankin
snorted. "That's pretty exclusive, thinking you're the only place God made and
keeps an eye on. But we're not here for a theological discussion." He pointed
at his own chest. "I'm an alien. At least I'm an alien when I'm on earth. I
got stuck here and during my marooned time I had the great good fortune to meet
Buddy, and through Buddy the even greater fortune to meet Bull. We fell in
love. Unlike most of the other creatures on the face of this planet he believes
in me, and we fell in love. We made a baby together. Deal with it."

"Ranking--YOU'RE BOTH MEN."

"You keep saying that like it has some some sort of special significance."

Harry let his head thump down on the table, narrowly missing the slice of lemon
meringue pie Rankin had gotten him for dessert. Not lifting his head, Harry
said, "To think that I watched the entire Star Wars and Star Trek series so
avidly."

"Nice shows. A little primitive in some areas, but nice. What I want to know
is why didn't they provide Kirk with some savage green dancing BOYS instead of
just the girls?"

"I don't think America was ready for that back in the sixties."

Rankin pointed. "Are you going to eat that cherry tomato?" Harry shook his
head. Rankin picked up a spare fork and speared it. Munching the little red
globe he said, "They don't taste anything like cherries." He swallowed. "Look
Harry, I'm no good at guessing on something like this because as much as I love
Bull, much of the ways of the human mind will be forever shrouded in glorious
mystery as far as I'm concerned. You tell me--what do I have to do to convince
of of what I am, and what's happening?"

"Rankin, I don't think you can."

Rankin scowled. "Bull's talked a lot about you. I'm not going to believe you'd
be so pig-headed that you'd deny physical proof. Let me think..." He rolled
his eyes at the ceiling. "I suppose seeing the transport come back--at close
range--would do it, but that's not for some time. I suppose if I'd thought to
bring my climber along with me he'd have persuaded you."

"Climber?"

"My pet. He's sort of a cross between your marmosets and an iguana, with a
sarcastic sense of humor."

"He TALKS?"

"Oh, that's right--your pets don't except for a few of the birds. Dull. Anyway
it was time for his physical, so I left him with a friend." Rankin sighed.
"He's going to be so pissed with me when I get back, but hopefully Bull and the
baby will offset that." Rankin thought a little more. "I think we're going to
have to go with technology. What do we have that you don't have that I
brought..." His face lit up. "I've got it! Are you done with your lunch? We
ought to be somewhere a little more private for this."

"Is it a portable porn show-er?" asked Harry. "Because if it is Dan will never
forgive me for not letting him in on it."

"Nah, it's just a kid's toy, but I know that you people don't have anything
equivalent. Finish up and we'll find somewhere quiet for the demonstration."
He pointed. "Are you going to eat the merengue?"

Harry pushed the pie slice toward him. "Knock yourself out."

~*~

They went back to Harry's office, and Harry locked the door behind them. He
intended to give this his complete attention, and he didn't want an
interruption. Harry went and took his customary seat behind the desk and folded
his hands. "Okay, Rankin. I'm open minded here."

"That's an odd term." Rankin sat in a chair across from Harry. "Wouldn't you
risk losing your mind if you went around with it open all the time?" Rankin
fished in his pocket, tongue poking out the side of his mouth. "Just a second.
I know I have two of them here, and I want both of them for this demonstration.
Not that one wouldn't convince you, but I have a cool trick with two of them.
AH-HA!" He pulled out two balls, both somewhere between the sizes of a large
marble and a ping-pong ball, and laid them on Harry's desk.

Harry bent over for a closer look. They were made out of some sort of a
rubbery, clear material, and there was a multitude of glitter specks caught in
them--red in one ball, blue in the other. Harry looked back up at Rankin.
"Super balls."

Rankin shook his head. "Ploppitz. I've had 'em since I was a sprat. Got them
from boxes of tish-ting. That's kind of like..."

"Don't tell me--let me guess. Cracker Jacks?"

"Amazing the sort of parallel evolution that crops up, isn't it? Anyway, it
took me practically forever to get two of them. They were the best prize, so
you didn't run across them very often." He grimaced. "Then they quit giving
them at all. There was some sort of nonsense about them worrying that people
would try to eat the tish-ting too quickly and accidentally swallow them. Now
all they put in the boxes are crappy paper things like mini-joke books and tiny
body stencils. A few idiots ruined things for everyone."

"I'm afraid that's pretty universal, Rankin. The point is, though, that these
aren't anything I haven't seen hundreds of times right here on earth."

"Really, now?" Rankin held his hand out flat, palm down, and passed it over the
two balls. The balls quivered. Surprised, Harry sat forward. He was willing
to believe that perhaps they were overly sensitive to static electricity and
Rankin had been surreptuously rubbing his palm on his wool pants while Harry
wasn't looking. *Except that he's wearing jeans,* Harry thought as he realized
that the balls weren't quivering--they were lifting and lowering about a
sixteenth of an inch, over and over.

"Interesting." Harry leaned closer. "How do you do it? I can't see the
mechanism in the balls, so..." Rankin snapped his fingers and the red glitter
ball gave a sudden hop, bouncing against Harry's forehead, then settling back to
quiver beside the other one. Harry sat up abruptly. "HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO
THAT?"

"Don't be impressed so easily. You haven't seen anything yet." Rankin pointed
at the balls. In a moment they were bouncing up and down in unison, always
rising to exactly the same height at exactly the same moment. Then Rankin
flicked his fingers and they started bouncing seperately in perfect rhythm. A
twist of his hand and the glitter inside strated to swirl and glow. "I just
wish I could reach the light switch. This is really pretty in the dark. And
for the finale..." He rapidly clenched and extended his fingers several times.
The balls sped up till they were not much more than colored blurs, rapping
sharply against the desktop in a hauntingly familiar rhythm...

Harry clapped his hands to his head, but his voice was almost eerily calm as he
said, "That's the drum solo from Wipe Out."

Rankin nodded. "If you can dance all the way through that number, you're a real
dancer." He held out his hand and the balls gave a final bounce and landed
neatly in his palm.

As Rankin slipped the balls back into his pocket Harry said, "I'll trade you my
car for those."

Rankin shook his head. "I already told you how hard they are to find."

"First born child?"

"You don't have one."

"I MIGHT--some day."

"Let's get back to the main reason I showed them to you. Do you believe me
now?"

"Unless I'd rather believe that someone slipped acid in my apple juice back at
the cafeteria, I'll have to. And I happen to know that my reaction to acid
tends more toward making me artistic. Lots of sketch books of naked warrior
babes hidden in my college stuff--long story. So yeah--I believe you." He held
out his hands. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Rankin, you're a patient man."

Rankin shook hands with a goofy smile. "When it counts."