From TALES They Fired Your Nannybot For Telling You

by A. R. Gregory

 

Miracle Mom

“Ouch!” Beth flinched. The sting to her gut was so sharp, she hugged her belly as she collapsed to one knee. But then, just as suddenly, before she could even pray about it, the pain was gone. She felt completely normal again.
     What was that? she wondered as she climbed back upright. It wasn’t her time of the month. Besides, she’d never felt anything like that from her period before. Gas maybe? Something she ate? She stood up straight, swayed her hips, even gyrated her belly before she suddenly froze, glanced around, hoped no one had noticed her. But all the other protesters seemed busy chatting and unpacking their own signs too.
     Beth shrugged. Whatever it was, she seemed fine now. She bent over the trunk of her little Toyota, hoisted out her Abortion is Murder sign. Then she strode toward the clinic.

 

Quirlent Dornt’s looming mass dominated the glowing visiport. The old quirlent looked somber, negulated, fit to be rambuckled. He rocked forward, focused all of his triverlent osulobes on Rigator Shim.
     “Very clever of you, Shim. The Grand Slakturn’s clone spawn grows on yet another planet. But could even Duxgangor Norlax have foreseen such a lackluster host species?” The quirlent snoggled, shook his flemnocks. “When the All-Wise Duxgangor seeded the galaxies, one planet each, could even he have predicted the evolution of a race as self-absorbed and self-destructive as the humans of Earth? They haven’t colonized a single planet beyond their stinking little nest! Haven’t spread their species out of their own solar system! And they wonder why they haven’t detected intelligent signals from anywhere else in their galaxy. They’re even plinklier than the muggelsguats of Turgashunk.” The quirlent jiggled till he flemgaggled, till even his glintfloks sangplucked.
     Rigator Shim puffed up. He rocked forward on his nappotodes, bristled his forenackles. “True, even Earth’s insect species are more purposeful and successful than the humans. The all-important delusion humans call the unitary self has stunted their evolution. But the Grand Slakturn’s progeny will put an end to all that. Don’t you see, quirlent. That’s the beauty of my pick. The greater the challenge, the greater the Grand Slakturn’s glory! Think of the accolades he’ll receive when he shows he can mindlock even such retrograde primitives to his bidding, whip even them into galaxy conquering shape.”
     Quirlent Dornt shook his flemnocks again. “You’re quite a gambler, Shim. Conquering an empty galaxy with such small-planet vermin? Could be entertaining, all right — or disastrous.”
     “Even the humans’ greatest ‘geniuses’ pale next to the intellect of our newspawns, quirlent. But what the humans lack in wits, they make up for with their competitive fierceness. What species has more of a taste for the blood of its own kind? The human eagerness for internecine conquest alone should amuse the Grand Slakturn.” 

     The quirlent snuffgroaked. “Competitive fierceness? Eagerness? Yet still hunkered on their seed planet?” The quirlent shook his nogganoids, then snuffgroaked again. “Never mind the fabled failings of their species. Tell me, Shim, what of the female human you’ve picked to host the Grand Slakturn’s clown spawn, this Elizabeth Margaret Gallagher? What of any problems with her before she ejects that hideous blob the humans call a ‘baby’ into their world...?”

 

Copyright 2020 A. R. Gregory