Reunion.

Sometimes it’s useful, having experienced the conditions of the egg trade and become accustomed to its varying miseries. You begin to recognize the main symptoms of common sicknesses and figure out some basic, hopefully effective remedies. So when I heard about the shipment of eggs that came in, I immediately set to work pointing out things that were wrong and helping to fix them.

“See? That’s egg rot. They get that when they’ve been in a crate too long. That needs to be cleaned off, please, and you have to check and make sure the fungus didn’t go inside…”

“This one is dehydrated. It’s going to need to sit in some water. At the trade, we filled a bathtub with warm water and let it sit, halfway submerged. Don’t leave it in too long, though.”

And, now and then…“That one’s dead.”

It’s triage, except this isn’t a battlefield, this isn’t an all-out fight. Or maybe it is...there certainly are enough casualties here, in the rows upon rows of crates and eggs, swarming with ARFA nurses and volunteers. There’s enough pain and trauma for this to be a war, if not one for a direct cause. It’s a fight for life; trying to save as many as you can, however you can.

Jake walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Look, you don’t have to be here...they know what they’re doing.” His eyes were tired and wary. For a moment I remembered that he was barely an adult—a teen, shouldering a workload that few men or women can even imagine. Almost instantly the thought was pushed aside by necessity. Even if we are too young or small for the burden, we have to carry it if there’s nobody else willing to. At least for now, anyway.

“I know that they know what they’re doing. They just…they just don’t know how to do it.” I didn’t bother elaborating on what I meant, instead moving on to the next row of crates and continuing my self-appointed task. Nearby, a nurse was trying to give some food to a tiny Poleepkwa—the child was squirming and glancing around, confused. As they twisted, their back faced me and I caught a brilliant splotch of glossy red on the plating there. That kind of marking would fetch a high price, I thought sadly. That poor kid would have been sold as a pet it they hadn’t hatched and hid away—

Hatched. Observations connected quickly like tinder and a match and an idea flamed; quickly I strode over, plucked the baby Poleepkwa from the young woman’s grip and began walking to where Vega slept. Markings like those weren’t very common here, so that meant that this child would have had a parent with markings just like that. I knew someone who had them. My steps quickened to a run and I dashed the last distance, ignoring Jake as he ran after me.

“Vega.” I carefully set the little one down, brushing some of the dirt off their plating. “Vega, look…do you recognize this child?” Hope was there—I could feel it like a breeze or draft in the room. It was possible that this was a coincidence, but what where the chances? Things could be finally shaping up for us, and all it had taken was a blot of red.

She crept over to the little one, who blinked bewilderedly back at her. “I-I…I don’t…” As they wobbled around on tired, undeveloped legs, mewling for food, her expression flattened. “I…” She had noticed the red markings, that small byproduct of genes that had persuaded Blue Fly to keep her as a breeder in the first place, so very long ago. Her mandibles began to twitch and tears came to her eyes.

Jake puffed up from behind me and watched silently as Vega picked up the child and gently held them close to her. “What…?”

“My…child of mine…” Vega was beginning to cry openly now, eagerly looking over the little one and matching marking for marking, antennae to antennae, bright innocent eyes to tired, older ones. They were alike, kith and kin.

“So what’s their name?” Jake smiled. “Do you have any idea of what you’d like them to be called?”

“Sadal. Her name is Sadal.” Vega reached out blindly and awkwardly crushed the Commander of ARFA in a one-armed hug. “You…you said you would bring my children back…and you did. You brought one…thank you…” She smiled quickly and turned back to her child, her “lucky star,” and began cleaning off the muck and offering them some water.

After a few moments of stunned happiness, Jake grinned widely and leaned against the doorframe. “Yes.”

That single word, spoken quietly and quickly, described the feeling of victory that hovered in the room right then and there. Our friends and brethren may have died and may still be dying, but if one child was able . This is a war that may not be won soon, but we can still experience a victory time and again.