Page 4 of The First Child
“How long before they’ll judge the situation?” I ask.
“Three days minimum. Possibly longer.”
Three days. I look down at Aniska, who seems perfectly content now that someone is paying attention to her. Three days to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with a baby, half-alien or otherwise. Three days to convince a bunch ofbureaucrats that I have any business raising a child when I can barely keep myself functional most days.
Three days to deal with Commander Sylas Ominox and his certainty that he knows what’s best for everyone.
“I’ll stay at the visitor’s quarters,” I tell Dr. Velanni. “If Aniska needs anything?—”
“Actually,” Commander Ominox interrupts, “that won’t be necessary. Colony regulations require potential guardians to remain in close proximity to empathic children during custody review. You’ll stay in the family housing complex.”
“With who?”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “With me, Captain Blaxton. It seems we’ll be roommates until this matter is resolved.”
Perfect. Three days sharing living space with the most arrogant, beautiful, infuriating man I’ve ever met, while trying to prove I’m capable of raising a child whose empathic abilities could probably level a building if she got upset enough.
Aniska chooses that moment to make a soft cooing sound, as if she finds the whole situation amusing.
“Wonderful,” I mutter, but I don’t let go of her tiny hand. Whatever happens over the next three days, I made Margot a promise. And I don’t break my promises to the dead.
Even if keeping this one might kill me.
CHAPTER 2
SYLAS
The meditation chamberbeneath the family housing complex should provide sanctuary from the chaos that has consumed my carefully ordered existence.Should. Instead, I sit cross-legged on the polished stone floor, struggling to find the inner stillness that has anchored me for over a century, while waves of empathic distress crash through my consciousness like storm surges.
The child.Aniska. Her untrained abilities create ripples that extend far beyond the nursery walls, touching every sensitive mind in a three-block radius. For three days, I’ve attempted to shield myself from her emotional storms, maintaining the serene equilibrium expected of a spiritual leader. For three days, I’ve failed.
I close my eyes and focus on the breathing techniques Elder Lunai taught me as a youth.Four counts in, hold for eight, release for six. The process should synchronize my biorhythms with the planet’s natural harmonics, grounding my consciousness in the present moment.
Instead, I feel her. The tiny half-human child whose grief resonates at frequencies that bypass every mental defense I possess. Her pain echoes through the neural pathways that connect all Zephyrian minds, a constant reminder of loss and abandonment that makes proper meditation impossible.
But there’s something else now. Something that changed the moment Captain Blaxton touched her.
Peace. A warmth that has nothing to do with Zephyrian energy work or spiritual discipline. Human emotion, raw and unfiltered, flowing through the empathic connection like sunlight through crystal. Love, fierce and protective and utterly illogical, wrapping around Aniska’s consciousness like a shield.
I’ve never felt anything like it.
The human captain shouldn’t be able to provide that kind of empathic anchor. Her telepathic sensitivity registers barely above baseline for her species—functional, but hardly remarkable. Yet somehow her presence stabilizes Aniska’s chaotic emotional output more effectively than any technique in our sacred texts.
It makes no sense. It violates every principle of Zephyrian empathic theory.
It also saved the child’s life.
A soft chime indicates an incoming priority communication. I open my eyes, grateful for the interruption, and activate the holographic display embedded in the chamber’s wall. General Corran Vex materializes before me, his expression carrying the weight of bad news.
“Sylas.” He dispenses with formal greetings, a sign of either urgency or deep concern. “The joint council session has been scheduled for tomorrow morning. Both governments are sending representatives.”
Of course they are. The first half-human, half-Zephyrian child born on New Eden represents more than just a custody dispute. She’s a symbol of everything our species hope to achieve together—and everything we fear about losing our individual identities in the process.
“What’s the human position?” I ask, though I suspect I already know.
“Standard legal doctrine. Designated guardianship supersedes cultural considerations. Captain Blaxton’s military service record is impeccable, and Lieutenant Altell’s choice was made in sound mind according to all psychological evaluations.”
“And our position?”
