Dome of Souls (Book 2 of 2, after Story Less Told)

Ch7: Story Time with Grampa Greg

Greg sat with his size-28 shoes on the coffee table, watching his smartglass as Mari sat down on the couch next to him with a plate of snacks. He snorted lightly and began wheeze-chuckling to himself as the video played.

"Oh man, look at this dumb bastard fall of the stage. Clipped that speaker-stack mid headbang and just, ragdolled right off the edge. What a tool." he snickered. She looked puzzled as she panned her eyes up from the phone to his face.

"Grampa...that's you." she said shyly informing him.

"I know, I didn't even drop my bass. Just... face to grass in a split second." he chuckled to himself, at himself. "Damn I was fun back then."

"You should have a concert here." she suggested.

"That would be great, and Aunt Izzy would hate it, so it would be really great...but I can barely get access passes for a few people, let alone a full concert. Those days are done, I'm afraid."

"I like your music." she smiled.

"Thanks kid." he said ruffling her icy blue hair as Rika arrived to see what everyone was up to.

"Have a seat." he offered, throwing a pillow at her head as she deflected it.

"Hey, check out this video. This loser totally eats it in front of a million people." she said holding up her smartglass and showing the same video he just watched and sent her.

"Amateurs. Get some non-slip boots, you clown." he yelled playfully.

"Still hiding in the basement from Aunt Izzy?" Rika asked, plopping down and grabbing a wedge of turkey and Swiss sandwich.

"I'm not hiding, I'm evading. I'm not afraid of Izzy, I just can't stand her face and she makes me sad." he shrugged. "Hiding suggests fear."

"Yea, well it's bumming me out. We can't do anything cool anymore."

"No joke." he scoffed.

"Tell a story. Tell us where Osirian babies come from." Mari grinned cheerily. Greg scrunched his eyebrows in dismay.

"You know this story, I told you numerous times when you were a kid. You're almost 15, you have 3 college degrees." he scoffed.

"Yea but I'm bored and I like when you tell stories. Dad doesn't tell them right."

"Not enough profanity, I told him he needs to step up his vulgarity vocabulary if he wants to keep you kids interested, but does he listen?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Nope." she sighed.

"Shit no, he doesn't. Now gather round chumpwads and titheads and I'll tell you a tale of how the Osirian baby is born."

"Do I have to stay for this?" asked Rika.

"I have vodka, but it doesn't leave this room." he said as if proposing a riddle. She shrugged and got comfortable. He tossed her the bottle and they settled in.

"Well...when a Momma Osirian and a Daddy Osirian love each other very much, or have been cohabitating enough to ensure social compatibility, and have been approved by the council's secondary tier evaluation department, they go into a room together and something very magical happens. They do something very private...involving needles and a tissue sample. It's very intimate. A vial of Genetic bio-gel is taken from both parents cranial ganglia, right at the nape of the neck. It takes 2 parents...or one parent and a donor, or even in some cases just one parent, and then that gel is stored in the lab for deep scans to ensure a healthy baby. Then the parents go home and return to regular life as the factory goes to work doing all the messy stuff." he smiled.