Page 3 of The First Child
“That doesn’t change anything,” I manage.
“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”
Aniska’s cries crescendo into something that feels less like sound and more like raw emotion given voice. The pressure in the corridor becomes unbearable—grief and fear and loneliness so acute, it makes my teeth ache.
“She’s making herself sick,” Dr. Velanni says, her voice tight with concern. “We need to calm her down before she damages herself.”
I look through the window at the tiny figure thrashing in the crib. Six months old and already carrying more pain than mostadults could handle. Margot’s daughter, born into a universe that killed her parents and left her screaming in a sterile room while strangers argued over her future.
“Let me try,” I say.
Commander Ominox raises an eyebrow. “You think your presence will help?”
“I think standing here arguing while she cries herself to death isn’t helping anyone.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he nods once, sharp and decisive. “Very well. But I will accompany you.”
“Fine.”
Dr. Velanni’s expression suggests this is anything but fine, but she keys open the door without protest. The sound of Aniska’s distress hits us like a physical force as we step inside. Not just crying now, but pure empathic feedback that makes my sinuses throb even harder and my eyes water.
The room itself is clinical but warm, designed for comfort rather than efficiency. Soft lighting, muted colors, monitoring equipment that hums quietly in the background. In the center, a standard-issue crib holds the source of all this chaos.
Aniska is smaller than she seemed through the window. Dark hair like her father’s, pale skin that carries just a hint of the luminescent patterns that mark her Zephyrian heritage. Her tiny fists wave at nothing, and her face is red and blotchy from hours of crying.
She’s also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hello, sweetheart.” I keep my voice soft as I approach the crib. “I’m Hada. I was your mama’s friend.”
The crying doesn’t stop, but something shifts in the empathic pressure. Less sharp-edged desperation, more raw grief. I understand that feeling. I’ve carried it for four days now.
“I know,” I whisper, reaching down to stroke her cheek with one finger. “I miss her, too.”
Behind me, I hear Commander Ominox draw in a sharp breath. The crying stutters, breaks, resumes at a lower pitch. Still heartbroken, but somehow less frantic.
“Remarkable,” he murmurs.
I don’t turn around. All my attention focuses on the tiny face looking up at me with eyes that seem too old for six months. Margot’s eyes, human-brown but with flecks of silver that catch the light.
“Your mama loved you so much,” I tell her. “She used to send me pictures of you every few weeks. Always bragging about how smart you were, how strong. She wanted you to have everything good in this universe.”
Aniska’s cries fade to hiccupping sobs. Her tiny hand wraps around my finger with surprising strength, and the empathic pressure eases enough that I can breathe normally.
“She knew she might not always be there to take care of you,” I continue. “That’s why she asked me to be here. Because even if I don’t know anything about empathic projection or Zephyrian customs, I know how much she loved you. And I promise you, baby girl, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe.”
The room falls silent except for the quiet hum of monitoring equipment. Aniska’s grip on my finger tightens, and her silver-flecked eyes study my face with the kind of intensity that suggests she understands far more than she should.
“Extraordinary,” Commander Ominox says softly. “Her empathic field has stabilized completely.”
I finally turn to look at him. His bioluminescent markings pulse with what might be amazement, and his expression has lost some of its arrogant certainty.
“Maybe,” I say, “she just needed someone who knew her mother.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then at Aniska, who has finally stopped crying and seems content to hold my finger while she studies the ceiling. When he speaks again, his voice carries a note I can’t identify.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps there is more to this than either of us understands.”
Dr. Velanni clears her throat from the doorway. “I should point out that colony law requires all custody disputes to be settled through the joint council. Given the… unique circumstances of this case, I suspect they’ll want to review the situation thoroughly.”
