Free Transformation Space by Marianne de Pierres

unconcerned about modesty.
    The sight of her bare chest made Mira gasp – not the nudity, but the myriad of finely inked lines spreading across her naked
     breasts. ‘Pensare!’
    ‘What?’ Linnea pulled the overall up and sealed the seam.
    But Mira was caught in another contraction and couldn’t speak. When the wave of pain passed, she reached out for Linnea’s
     hand.
    The woman stepped closer, surprised. ‘What is it, love?’
    ‘You belong to the Pensare.’ She traced her fingers across her own breast with her other hand.
    Linnea nodded, understanding, and smiled. ‘Aaah. I’d heard it called different things, but never that. Here we are the Swestr
     – sisters. The women’s lobby. Evenon famous Scolar, things are not always equal. Do you bear the marks?’
    Mira shook her head; another contraction was coming. ‘Mia sorella … sister … mine,’ she panted.
    ‘Roll on yer side. Let me rub your back, little Swestr.’
    But Mira barely heard her. The individual stab of her contractions turned into one long excruciating pain that shifted to
     her back. Then a strange sensation overtook her body, as though her pelvis might split apart. Her focus fell to it, and the
     sense of movement within her.
    ‘It’s coming.’ She thought she’d spoken aloud. Had she?
    Linnea began helping her onto the floor, into a squatting position. Her sturdy body bore Mira’s weight easily.
    ‘Better than on yer back, love. Use gravity to help you get yer little ’un out.’
    Mira’s legs trembled with the exertion.
    ‘It’s crowning. Now lean on me back,’ instructed Linnea. ‘I’m goin’ to get down low and make sure yer baby doesn’t slip.’
    Mira collapsed across Linnea’s broad back, fingers spasming into the folds of the cook’s overalls.
    ‘Just one little push. Now. Not too hard. This one’s slipperier than an eel.’
    Mira felt disembodied, seperate from her skin. Not able to think.
    ‘Mira! Swestr! Push!’ said Linnea, sharply. ‘Bear down.’
    Mira’s mind began to slip away somewhere, to a place that she’d been before. But then
Insignia
drew her back from that blissful oblivion, insisted she return.
    Mira?
    Insignia
had been silent in her mind until now.
    Our baby is about to be born
, said the biozoon.
You must help her.
    Mira felt something. Her eyes flickered open.
    Linnea had gripped her shoulder with one hand, reaching up, her other hand still cupped between Mira’s parted legs. The thick
     fingers bit into her flesh with no apology.
    ‘You must push now. This baby needs to be free of yer.’ Bright eyes and a sweat-glistening face. ‘This is yer important job,
     Mira,’ Linnea told her. ‘The one you were born for. Don’t fail yerself. Or yer baby.’
    The woman’s intensity grounded her. Suddenly it wasn’t Linnea, a stranger, delivering her baby, but her beloved sister Faja.
     The same look, the same voice, the same determination.
    Fa!
    Mira let the sensations back in – the pain, the sense of her own body being torn – and pushed down.
    She felt her baby’s head move.
    ‘Babe’s here!’ cried Linnea. ‘It’s here. Once more.’
    Mira pushed again, and with the sliding sensation came a release from the pain.
    ‘Here, I’ve got yer babe in my hands.’ Linnea lifted a bloody bundle up so Mira could see.
    With trembling fingers, Mira reached for the tiny body. ‘It’s a girl,’ she said.
    ‘Guess so. Can’t see no man’s tackle down there. Now lie yerself down on the bed while we deal with the afters.’
    ‘A girl,’ repeated Mira, as she weakly levered herself onto the bed. ‘Thank Crux!’
    Linnea smiled, but continued to hold the infant. ‘Yer babe looks good an all to me, love. A tad undersized, as you’d expect,
     but its lungs seem to be working fine.’
    ‘I wish to hold her,’ said Mira.
    Linnea shook her head and laid the bloody babe in the transparent crib. ‘Promised Dolin I’d put her straight in here, soon
     as I cut the cord. It’s the only