Page 5 of The First Child
Corran’s markings shift to the deep blue that indicates frustration. “Elder Lunai insists that Zephyrian children require spiritual guidance from birth. She’s prepared to cite seventeen different precedents regarding empathic development and cultural preservation.”
Both sides arguing past each other, as usual. Neither willing to acknowledge that this situation has no precedent because children like Aniska have never existed before. The first generation of truly mixed heritage, carrying genetic and empathic traits from both species.
“There’s something else,” Corran continues. “Intelligence suggests the Terran Colonial Authority is taking interest in thiscase. They see it as a test of human expansion into Zephyrian space.”
Politics. As if the child’s wellbeing wasn’t complicated enough already.
“What do you recommend?” I ask.
“Honestly? Find a compromise that keeps both sides happy and the TCA out of our business.” His expression softens slightly. “How is she? The child?”
I consider my answer carefully. “Stable, as long as Captain Blaxton remains nearby. Her empathic field responds to the human’s presence in ways I don’t fully understand.”
“But you do understand them. Enough to know they’re significant.”
Too significant. The connection between Aniska and her would-be guardian defies every theory I’ve studied about human-Zephyrian empathic interaction. It suggests possibilities that could revolutionize our understanding of consciousness, emotion, and the quantum bonds that link sentient minds.
It alsoterrifiesme.
“I need to observe them together,” I tell Corran. “Before I make any recommendation to the council.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Dr. Velanni has already transferred custody approval for overnight observation. The captain will bring the child to your quarters within the hour.”
My quarters. The private space I’ve maintained as a sanctuary from the emotional chaos of colony life, now about to beinvaded by a grief-stricken human soldier and an empathically unstable infant.
“Understood,” I say, though nothing about this situation feels understandable.
Corran’s hologram flickers. “Sylas? Try not to alienate her completely. Whatever your recommendation, the council will want to see cooperation between potential guardians.”
The transmission ends, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the persistent echo of Aniska’s emotional resonance. Through the stone walls, I feel her stirring—not distressed now, but restless in the way of all young creatures who sense change approaching.
I close my eyes and attempt once more to find the meditative state that has sustained me through decades of spiritual discipline. The breathing comes easier now, my consciousness settling into familiar patterns of contemplation.
Then the door chime sounds, shattering my concentration like glass.
Captain Blaxton stands in my doorway, a standard-issue carrier seat balanced on one hip and a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She looks tired, rumpled from the transport shuttle, and thoroughly out of place in the softly glowing corridors of Zephyrian family housing.
“Commander,” she says, her voice carefully neutral. “Dr. Velanni said you were expecting us.”
Us. I force myself to look past her defensive posture to the carrier seat, where Aniska sleeps peacefully for the first time in days. Her tiny chest rises and falls with perfect rhythm, onesmall fist curled near her face. The empathic field around her radiates contentment instead of chaos.
“Please, come in.” I step aside, acutely aware of how Captain Blaxton’s presence changes the energy of my living space. Where everything was ordered and harmonious, she brings the scent of the ship’s air and recycled atmosphere, the subtle tension of someone prepared for conflict at any moment.
My quarters reflect standard Zephyrian design principles—flowing lines, living light integrated into the walls, furniture that seems to grow from the floor rather than sitting atop it. The main living area opens onto a small garden space where bioluminescent plants provide both illumination and air purification. Everything designed to promote mental clarity and emotional balance.
Captain Blaxton takes it all in with the tactical assessment of a soldier surveying unfamiliar terrain. Her gaze lingers on the meditation alcove, the ceremonial objects arranged on floating shelves, the absence of anything resembling human technology.
“Interesting décor,” she says finally.
“It serves its purpose.” I gesture toward the seating area, where adaptive furniture will accommodate both our physiologies. “You may place Aniska there. The carrier will interface with our monitoring systems automatically.”
She sets down the seat with practiced efficiency, but her movements carry the careful precision of someone handling explosives. As if one wrong motion might trigger another empathic storm.
“She’s been calm since we left the nursery,” she reports. “Slept through the entire transport ride.”
“That’s… unusual. Zephyrian infants typically experience distress during environmental transitions.”
“Maybe she’s more human than you thought.”
