Make Love: Not War
Copyright© 2026 by Komiko Yakamura
Chapter 5: The Birth
Ten weeks later, Vance woke to Zanera shaking his shoulder urgently.
“Vance. Vance, wake up.”
He bolted upright, combat instincts kicking in. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. But...” She placed his hand on her belly. “I think it’s time.”
He felt it immediately—the rhythmic tightening, different from the normal movements he’d grown accustomed to. “Contractions?”
“Yes. Started about an hour ago. They’re getting closer together.”
He was out of bed instantly, reaching for his comm unit. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
“Because you needed sleep. You’ve been working eighteen-hour days at the Institute.” She stood, moving to the bathing chamber. “Besides, Valtharian labor is fast. We probably have three, maybe four hours.”
“Three hours?!” He was pulling on clothes, trying to remember every birthing protocol he’d ever learned. “Zanera, human labor is measured in hours, sometimes days. Three hours is—”
“Valtharian.” She emerged wearing a simple robe, her face composed despite the obvious discomfort. “Our bodies are efficient. First stage labor is usually two to three hours. Second stage is thirty minutes to an hour. Then delivery.”
He activated the comm. “This is Vance Riker. Princess Zanera is in active labor. We need the medical team in the royal birthing chamber immediately.”
Dr. Sythara’s voice came back, calm and professional. “Acknowledged. We’re preparing now. Bring her down when contractions are five minutes apart.”
“They’re already seven minutes apart.”
“Then you have time. Don’t panic, Director Riker. We’ve been doing this for millennia.”
He cut the connection, turning to Zanera. “Okay. Okay. What do you need? What can I do?”
She smiled through another contraction. “Breathe. Stay calm. Help me walk. Movement helps.”
For the next hour, they walked the corridors of their wing—slow, measured circuits while Zanera breathed through increasingly intense contractions. Vance tracked timing obsessively, watching her face for signs of distress.
“You’re hovering,” she said during a rest period.
“I’m monitoring.”
“You’re hovering. I can feel you analyzing every breath I take.”
“Sorry. Medical training. Can’t turn it off.”
She cupped his face. “I know you’re scared. But Vance, this is what Valtharian bodies are designed for. Multiple births, rapid delivery, minimal complications. Trust the process. Trust me.”
“I do trust you. I just—” He broke off as another contraction hit, stronger than the previous ones. Zanera’s breathing changed, became more focused.
“Five minutes,” he said, checking the chrono. “Time to go.”
The royal birthing chamber was unlike any delivery room Vance had seen in human facilities. It was large, comfortable, with soft bioluminescent lighting and a central birthing pool filled with temperature-regulated water. Dr. Sythara and three assistant midwives were already present, along with monitoring equipment that looked far more advanced than anything in the Human Alliance.
“Princess Zanera,” Dr. Sythara greeted them. “Right on schedule. How are you feeling?”
“Ready to meet my children,” Zanera said, though Vance could see the strain around her eyes.
“Good. Let’s get you examined.” Dr. Sythara gestured to the diagnostic bed. After a quick scan, she nodded. “Cervical dilation is progressing normally. All four life signs are strong. You’re doing beautifully.”
“How long?” Vance asked.
“Two hours, maybe less. First births are sometimes faster with multiples—the body knows what to do.” She looked at Vance. “You’re planning to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Valtharian births are typically attended only by females. Males are traditionally excluded.”
“I’m not Valtharian. And I’m a medic. I’m staying.”
Dr. Sythara looked at Zanera, who nodded firmly. “He stays. He’s the father. He has every right to be here.”
“Very well. But Director Riker, you follow my lead. This is my delivery room.”
“Understood.”
What followed was the most intense two hours of Vance’s life. He’d seen combat, treated catastrophic injuries, held dying soldiers—but nothing compared to watching Zanera labor. The contractions came faster, harder. She moved between the birthing pool and the bed, finding positions that eased the pressure. She was fierce and focused, every inch a warrior facing battle.
Vance held her hand, wiped her forehead, murmured encouragement. When she needed to walk, he walked with her. When she needed pressure on her lower back, he provided it. When she needed him to shut up and just be present, he did that too.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispered during a particularly brutal contraction. “So strong. I’m in awe of you.”
“Talk later,” she gritted out. “Breathe now.”
An hour and forty minutes in, Dr. Sythara checked her progress. “Full dilation. The first baby is crowning. Zanera, when you feel the urge to push, don’t fight it.”
“I know the drill,” Zanera panted.
“Director Riker, if you want to deliver your own children, now is the time to scrub in.”
Vance looked at Zanera. “You want me to—”
“Yes. Please. I want your hands to be the first ones to hold them.”
He scrubbed faster than he’d ever scrubbed in his life, pulled on sterile gloves, and positioned himself with Dr. Sythara’s guidance.
“Alright, Zanera. Next contraction, push. Director Riker, support the head as it emerges. Gentle pressure, let the body follow naturally.”
The next contraction hit. Zanera bore down, and Vance saw the crown of a head—covered in dark hair, slick with fluid and blood.
“Good, good,” Dr. Sythara coached. “Another push. Almost there.”
Zanera pushed again, and suddenly there was a head, then shoulders, and Vance’s hands were cradling a tiny, perfect baby girl. She let out a furious wail immediately.
“Kayla,” Zanera gasped. “That’s Kayla.”
“She’s beautiful,” Vance managed, his voice breaking. Dr. Sythara quickly clamped and cut the cord, then handed him the baby while an assistant cleaned her airway.
Kayla had Vance’s dark hair and skin tone, but her eyes—when they opened—were Zanera’s violet. And beneath her skin, faint silver bioluminescent veins pulsed with each heartbeat.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered.
“One down, three to go,” Dr. Sythara said calmly. “Assistant, take baby one. Princess, another contraction is coming. This one should be faster.”
She was right. Two minutes later, baby two emerged—another girl, this one with Zanera’s pink-tinted skin but Vance’s facial structure. Her hair was lighter, almost auburn, and her bioluminescence was brighter.
“Zarya,” Zanera said, tears streaming down her face.
Three minutes after that, baby three—a boy with Vance’s build and Zanera’s coloring, already kicking furiously.
“Marcus,” Vance said, laughing through his own tears. “Little fighter.”
And finally, six minutes later, the fourth baby—another boy, smaller than his siblings but with the loudest cry of them all.
“Theron,” Zanera said. “Our little hunter.”
Dr. Sythara worked efficiently, delivering the placentas, checking for complications. “All four babies healthy. Princess Zanera, you did beautifully. Minimal tearing, excellent recovery already.”
Vance barely heard her. He was staring at four tiny babies—his babies—being cleaned and examined by the assistants. Four perfect hybrid children who shouldn’t exist but did.
“Vance.” Zanera’s voice was tired but happy. “Bring them here. I want to hold them.”
The assistants carefully arranged all four babies on Zanera’s chest. She was crying openly now, looking down at them with an expression of absolute wonder.
“We made them,” she whispered. “Four perfect babies.”
“You made them. I just provided the raw materials.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You were here. You caught them. You—” Her voice broke. “Thank you. For staying. For being here.”
He kissed her forehead. “Nowhere else I’d be.”
Dr. Sythara finished her work, stepped back. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone with your family. Then we’ll do full examinations and move you to recovery.”
When they were alone—just the two of them and four tiny lives—Vance sat on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed.
“I’m a father,” he said, the reality finally hitting. “I’m actually a father.”
“Four times over.”
“Four times over,” he repeated, staring at them. Kayla had fallen asleep, her tiny hand wrapped around Zanera’s finger. Zarya was making small mewling sounds. Marcus was trying to kick his way free of the blanket. And Theron was watching everything with alert, curious eyes.
“They’re going to be a handful,” Zanera said.
“They’re going to be amazing.”
“Both.”
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