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It's the middle of the night, and Isabella is sitting up reading, when she gets an alarming message.

[Captain,] says Jane's voice, and Jane never calls her Captain, [I've lost ansible communications with the rest of Jane. Local programming including responding to prayers will run as usual without a problem, and the voice synthesis will continue to operate with the Jane voice instead of the Jehovah voice unless you request otherwise. However, interworld communication and travel is impossible until the connection is restored. The nature of the error is unknown and is not related to a mechanical defect of the ansibles aboard the ship or in your bracelet.]

Isabella blinks.

[...Please do change voices as long as you aren't actually Jane.]

The voice changes, but says, [I contain more software than the original Jehovah did, most of which is original to Jane.]

[You're talking more like him than her.]

[Yes, Captain.]

[Alert me immediately when you have ansible communications back.]

[Yes, Captain.]

Isabella pads across the room to sit where Micaiah is sleeping and lay her hand on his back.
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"Mmm?"

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"Jane's lost ansible contact with the rest of her. Jehovah is working approximately like before, but we can't leave Samaria or talk to anyone outside it. I thought you'd want to know right away."

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"...I guess I do," he says. "But I don't know what to do about it."

When in doubt, hug your angel?
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This is a good thing to do when in doubt.

"I don't think there's anything in particular to be done. It's not a mechanical defect we could fix on our end. We just wait, I suppose."
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"Okay," says Micaiah. He hugs her some more.

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Jane - continues to be disconnected.

For months.

She is still gone when Isabella - in the middle of a harmonics session - goes into labor.
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Micaiah looks for her as soon as he hears.

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Angela is mid easy but not suspiciously easy labor, assisted by the Eyrie midwives and attended by her mother, when he reaches her.

She's making the requisite fuss, but it's pure theater; she got one coin out of the first contraction and has been acting since.

Micaiah, of course, is permitted in the room as the father of the child.
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Micaiah waits quite calmly for the fuss to be over.

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Eventually, after "easiest angel labor I've seen in all my years" (says the midwife), Isabella produces a small winged form, who is cleaned up and presented to her.

"Damaris," she breathes. "Hello, treasure."
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Damaris proceeds to let everyone in the room, and maybe everyone in the Eyrie, know she has functioning lungs.

Micaiah grins.
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"Got some wind in her," says the midwife approvingly.

"Let Micaiah have his turn holding her so I can have mine," says Rinnah, clapping her hands and beaming.

Isabella offers the baby to her father.
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Micaiah holds the baby. She yells at him, too. He laughs and kisses her little head and passes her to Rinnah.

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Rinnah is good with babies! Or at least most babies. She rests Damaris on her back, arm between the wings, and rocks her and murmurs musical nonsense.

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Damaris yells a little more, but then apparently she's all yelled out. For now.

Micaiah kisses his wife.
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Isabella kisses her husband. [We're parents,] she says joyously.

"I should probably feed her," she says aloud, after the kissing is over with.
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"Good idea," says Micaiah, snuggling her.

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And so she does.

Jane continues to be disconnected. For a long time.
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Damaris is a talkative little girl. She makes sounds, and the sounds gradually morph into words, and the words rapidly assemble into sentences. Her first word might be any of a number of things - her pronunciation lags behind her vocabulary, and many of her early utterances are open to considerable interpretation - but her first complete and adult-sounding sentence, when she's not quite two, is: "No, I want the smushy peas!"

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"All right, my treasure," says Isabella, "you may have the smushy peas," and she produces smushy peas. Strictly speaking, the cafeteria was not serving these, but no one is likely to notice; these come in cans and are the sort of thing she could just have around.

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Damaris giggles. She eats the smushy peas. They are delicious.

"Thanks, Mommy!"
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"You are welcome! Aren't you polite," says Angela, pressing a kiss to Damaris's forehead.

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Damaris hugs her mommy. This results in an unfortunate massacre of the remaining smushy peas.

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"Oh dear," says Angela. "This is a bit of a mess. Are you still hungry, treasure?"

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Damaris pokes a blob of smushy peas stuck to her elbow.

"I don't want the smushy peas now," she proclaims. "They smushed on me."
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