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The Rozinante was equipped with a bay of egg incubators, one of the more visible leftovers of its time as the Sfiera; after it had been determined that they couldn't double as slow-cookers, the chamber that housed them became little more than an extra storage room.
Of all the things the crew expected to see that afternoon, it wasn't Vince headed straight for the chamber with what was unquestionably a Pfhor egg bundled in his jacket.
“This was the only one I found that wasn't smashed open.” Luckily, the incubators started up without issue; Vince placed the still-warm egg in one and sealed it up. That was all the elaboration he was giving the sword siblings; just thinking about the sight he'd stumbled onto made him nauseous.
Durandal leaned in for a closer look. “Was there anything there that could point us towards its family?”
Vince shook his head; the mildew-infested concrete bunker hadn't contained anything but that crime scene and scattered havoc rifle bullets. There hadn't even been a single computer or camera, nor evidence that any had been installed at one point; that was something for the Empire to sort out...assuming they'd give a damn.
“So, what's the plan?” Cortana asked. “Find an existing egg batch and sneak it in?”
“Maybe, but I have no idea how we'd even get close to one without being shot. Teleportation's better for things that can handle being dropped.” And simply phoning up High Command and telling them, with no evidence whatsoever, that a ship full of people they despised just happened to rescue an egg from the middle of nowhere—probably wouldn't go over well. “Besides, what if the parents react badly to getting another kid foisted on 'em?”
Nobody in the chamber really wanted to acknowledge the possibility that the poor grub was here to stay.
–
Roughly a week later (and with consistently non-existent luck persuading anyone else to take in the egg), Vince's morning nap was interrupted by an insistent shaking from Durandal.
“The egg's hatching!”
“Yeah?” Vince attempted to roll over. “Lemme know when there's an actual grub.”
In response, Durandal wrapped his arms around Vince's upper torso and began hauling him right off of the mattress. “You brought it on board; shouldn't you be present for this?”
...that was a fair point. “Okay, okay. After I get dressed.”
–
Despite his best efforts to wake himself up more, Vince practically had to be dragged all the way to the incubator; Cortana was already there, with a very grumpy Lh'muria in the far corner.
Vince barely had the chance to ask how it was going before the grooves of the egg parted with a squelch and a tiny, very wet baby Pfhor flopped out of it.
It only just occurred to him that he hadn't seen one up close until now. Vince knelt down for a better view and watched the little grub start munching on its own eggshell; kinda looked like one half of a human newborn stapled to the back of a particularly fat caterpillar.
“So, I did some research over the past week,” Cortana said. “Hope you like the smell of pea soup, 'cuz that's all that'll be safe to feed 'em for the next few months.”
“Months? You really think we're gonna hold onto them that long?” Even so, Vince found himself opening the incubator and pulling the baby into his lap; to think that if he hadn't acted on that hunch, they wouldn't be alive now…
Durandal sat down next to him, silently watching the grub squirm around in confusion before finding and latching onto Vince's hand; when it looked like they might slip off, he carefully reached over to prop them up.
Lh'muria huffed. “You two sure aren't acting like this is a temporary thing.”
Maybe they weren't, but what else could they do at the moment? “It might just take us a while to find a good family for 'em, is all,” Vince said, not entirely sure of it.
The grub opened all three of their eyes and looked right up at Vince, and he did his best not to appear like he still needed an hour of sleep; they buried their small face in his wrist and made a noise he could only describe as trilling.
Durandal smiled. “Think they like you?”
“I'd hope so.”
–
–
A few months later, it happened.
Vince had been in the middle of both a conversation with Durandal and taking the still-nameless grub's empty bowl to the sink when she (and they were probably a 'she', the medics said) cheerfully chirped, “Papa!”
He and Durandal both froze and slowly turned to stare at the grub; sure enough, she was beaming right at Vince, blissfully uncomprehending of his shocked expression.
Durandal stifled a laugh. “W-well. I guess this was inevitable.”
“But—I--” Sure, the two of them had ended up being the grub's primary caretakers, but the kid had to be able to tell that she and Vince weren't even the same species—right?
While Vince continued fumbling over his words, Durandal walked over to unstrap the grub from what passed for a hi-chair—and the grub, without missing a beat, piped up with “Mama!”
Vince had to admit: it was kinda funny watching Durandal jolt, go stiff, then bury his face in his hands out of embarrassment. “Yeah,” he said, “we're gonna have to work on that...”
Left unspoken was that they would definitely have to keep her now.