copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
The Birth of History
Hector’s breath hissed through the ventilator and he surveyed the delivery room through the windows of his mask. All outside sounds were muffled, including the wail of his newborn son, lying in its mother’s arms.
“The doctor says all is well,” she said. “He can breathe normally.”
Hector nodded. “I wish I could touch him.”
“At home. The atmosphere is optimized for all three of us there.”
“Do you think he will be alright?”
His wife took his gloved hand. “He will be celebrated. The first offspring between a Terran and a Venusian is a cause for joy, not shame.”
The Green-Walled Tower 