Page 15 of The First Child
“Then we make them understand. Together.”
Something passes between us in the quiet kitchen—not just shared determination, but recognition of deeper connection that transcends species boundaries and cultural differences. We’re not just advocating for Aniska anymore. We’re choosing each other, accepting responsibility not only for her future but for whatever this growing bond between us might become.
“Together,” she agrees.
Aniska stirs in her arms, silver-flecked eyes opening to focus on my face with remarkable directness. For a moment, I swear she understands exactly what we promise—not just protection, but the kind of fierce love that will never let her face the universe alone.
“Time to get ready,” Hada says. “We have a war to win.”
“Yes,” I agree, watching the morning light transform her face into something beautiful and determined and utterly uncompromising. “We do.”
CHAPTER 5
HADA
The New Edencouncil chambers look like the designer tried to merge a corporate boardroom with an alien cathedral and somehow made it work. Curved walls pulse with soft bioluminescent patterns while holographic displays project data streams that shift between human and Zephyrian script. Representatives from both species sit at a crescent-shaped table that seems to grow from the floor itself, their faces illuminated by the gentle glow of integrated lighting systems.
I’ve faced combat tribunals that felt less intimidating than this.Great.
“Captain Blaxton.” Elder Lunai’s voice carries the precise diction of someone who learned English as a secondary language but speaks it better than most natives. Her silver markings pulse in complex patterns I can’t interpret, but her age shows in the deep lines around her eyes and the way she holds herself with careful dignity. “Please state your qualifications for guardianship of the hybrid child.”
Straight to the point. I respect that, even if the clinical way she refers to Aniska makes my teeth ache.
“Eight years of military service, including three years serving alongside Lieutenant Margot Altell. Extensive training in crisis management, emergency medical care, and high-stress operational environments.” I keep my voice level and professional. “More importantly, I was Lieutenant Altell’s closest friend and the person she trusted most to care for her daughter.”
“Friendship is not a qualification for child-rearing,” observes Dr. Cuzzort from the human side of the table. Her expression suggests she’s already made up her mind about my suitability, and the conclusion isn’t favorable. “Do you have any experience with infant care? Child development? The unique challenges of raising empathically gifted children?”
“No formal training, no. But I have something the TCA research facility doesn’t—I knew Aniska’s mother. I understand what she wanted for her daughter.”
“What she wanted,” Elder Lunai interjects, “may not align with what the child requires. Zephyrian empathic development follows specific patterns that require expert guidance. Without proper training, Aniska could become dangerous to herself and others.”
“Or she could become exactly what she’s meant to be, given the love and stability she needs.” I glance toward Sylas, who sits with perfect posture at the far end of the table, his bioluminescent markings calm and controlled. “Commander Ominox and I work together to provide both human and Zephyrian perspectives on her care.”
“Working together.” Commander Genova’s tone suggests he finds this concept dubious. “Captain, with respect, your militaryrecord shows a pattern of independent operation. You’re not known for collaboration or compromise.”
The comment stings because it’s…accurate. I’ve spent most of my career operating solo or in small units where my decisions affected only myself and my immediate squad. The idea of permanent partnership with anyone—let alone a Zephyrian priest whose approach to life is fundamentally different from mine—should be terrifying.
Instead, it feels like the most natural thing in the universe.
“My approach to military operations doesn’t define my capacity for family relationships,” I say. “And that’s what this is about—giving Aniska a family instead of turning her into a research project.”
“The TCA proposal offers significant advantages,” Dr. Cuzzort argues, activating a holographic display that shows detailed schematics of Europa Station’s research facilities. “Controlled environment, access to the galaxy’s foremost experts in hybrid development, resources that a frontier colony simply cannot provide.”
“Resources.” I let the word hang in the air for a moment, watching the faces around the table. “You mean isolation from anyone who might actually care about her wellbeing. Clinical observation instead of human connection. The chance to map her abilities without the inconvenience of treating her like a person.”
“The TCA’s methods are scientifically sound?—”
“Their methods are inhumane.” The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don’t take them back. “You want to knowabout Aniska’s development? Let me tell you what happened last night.”
Elder Lunai’s markings shift to what might be curiosity. “Explain.”
I look toward Sylas, who nods once in encouragement. We discussed this moment during the transport to the council chambers—the decision to reveal details of our empathic work that could change everything about how both species understand consciousness and connection.
“Aniska experienced traumatic empathic echoes. Reliving her parents’ final moments every time she fell asleep.” The memory of that shared agony still makes my chest tight, but I push through it. “Commander Ominox and I worked together to help her process those memories—not by suppressing them or studying them, but by giving her the emotional anchor she needed to integrate them safely.”
“That’s…” Dr. Cuzzort’s expression shifts from skepticism to something approaching awe. “Captain, are you claiming you formed a direct empathic bond with a six-month-old hybrid infant?”
“I’m not claiming anything. I’m telling you what happened.”
