Page 31 of The First Child
One moment I float in the carefully cultivated stillness that anchors my spiritual practice. The next, raw emotion crashes through my consciousness with enough force to make my markings flare in chaotic patterns of alarm. The sensation bypasses every mental defense I’ve spent decades learning to maintain, striking directly at the core of awareness where thought becomes feeling.
But this isn’t my distress. The emotional signature carries frequencies I’ve learned to recognize—Hada’s consciousness amplified beyond safe parameters, her mental shields overwhelmed by something that threatens the stability of our empathic bond.
I move before conscious thought catches up with instinct, flowing from the meditation chamber to the main living space with the fluid grace that emerges in crisis situations. What I find stops me cold.
Hada stands frozen in the center of our kitchen, her face drained of color and her eyes wide with the kind of shock that precedes complete psychological breakdown. In her hands, she holds a communication pad displaying official insignia I recognize with growing dread—Terran Colonial Authority documentation marked with priority classifications that suggest bad news traveling at faster-than-light speeds.
“Hada.” I keep my voice steady despite the emotional chaos radiating through our connection. “What happened?”
She doesn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the pad’s display with the intensity of someone watching their entire world collapse in real time. When she finally speaks, her voice carries the hollow quality that follows traumatic revelation.
“They found Margot’s personal files. Her private communications during the months before Aniska’s birth.” Her grip on the pad tightens until her knuckles show white. “They know about the telepathic experimentation.”
The words hit me like physical impact. During Margot’s time studying with me, she’d undergone experimental procedures designed to enhance human empathic sensitivity—treatments that were theoretical at best, potentially dangerous under the most optimistic assessment. We kept detailed records for research purposes, never imagining they might someday be used as weapons against the child those experiments were meant to protect.
“What exactly do they know?”
“Everything. The neural enhancement protocols you developed together. The empathic conditioning that allowed her to bond with Krel’lun at unprecedented levels. The genetic modificationsthat might have affected Aniska’s development.” She looks up from the pad, and the devastation in her expression makes my chest tighten with sympathetic anguish. “They’re calling it unauthorized human experimentation. They want Aniska for study specifically because her abilities might be artificially enhanced rather than naturally occurring.”
The implications cascade through my consciousness like falling dominoes. If the TCA can prove that Aniska’s empathic abilities result from experimental intervention rather than natural hybrid development, they can claim jurisdiction under scientific research protocols. They can argue that she represents the product of illegal human experimentation and must be studied to understand the full implications of unauthorized genetic modification.
They can take her away from us.
“How did they access Margot’s private files?”
“Does it matter?” Hada’s voice cracks with barely controlled emotion. “They have what they need to build a case. Enhanced empathic abilities that shouldn’t be possible in six-month-old children. Genetic markers that suggest artificial intervention. Evidence that we’ve covered up the true nature of her capabilities.”
“We haven’t covered up anything. We’ve protected her while trying to understand abilities that have no precedent?—”
“Try explaining that to a TCA tribunal.” She gestures at the communication pad with movements that shake despite her efforts to maintain control. “They’re filing formal petitions with the joint council. Emergency jurisdiction based onpotential public safety risks and the need to contain dangerous experimental outcomes.”
The legal language carries implications that make my markings pulse with bioluminescent alarm. Emergency jurisdiction bypasses normal custody protections, allowing immediate transfer of subjects deemed potentially hazardous to public welfare. If the TCA successfully argues that Aniska represents an experimental threat, they can remove her from our care while appeals process through bureaucratic channels that could take months or years to resolve.
“When?”
“Forty-eight hours. That’s how long we have before the emergency hearing.”
Two days. Two days to prepare a defense against charges that carry enough legal weight to shatter our family before it has a chance to fully form. Two days to prove that Aniska’s abilities represent natural development rather than dangerous experimentation, despite evidence that suggests otherwise.
Through our empathic connection, I feel Hada’s emotional state shifting from shock toward something that resembles controlled fury. Her military training is reasserting itself, transforming devastation into the kind of focused anger that considers violence as a solution to problems that can’t be solved through conventional means.
“They’re not taking her,” she says quietly, and the certainty in her voice carries undertones that make me grateful we’re on the same side. “Whatever it takes, whatever we have to do, they’re not taking our daughter.”
“Hada—”
“No.” She sets down the communication pad with deliberate care, as if it might explode if handled roughly. “I don’t care about legal precedent or scientific protocols or emergency jurisdiction. Aniska belongs with us. She’s safe here, loved here, thriving in ways she never could in some TCA research facility.”
“I agree completely. But opposing emergency jurisdiction requires more than determination. We need evidence, legal arguments, expert testimony that supports our position.”
“Then we get it.” Her eyes meet mine, blue and fierce and utterly uncompromising. “We find every expert, every precedent, every legal loophole that might help. We prove that what’s between Aniska and us isn’t experimental contamination—it’s exactly what she needs to develop safely.”
“That could prove difficult. The empathic bond you’ve formed with her is unprecedented in human-Zephyrian relations. If the TCA portrays it as the result of artificial enhancement rather than natural compatibility?—”
“Then we prove them wrong.” She moves toward me with the predatory grace of someone who’s decided talking has become inadequate for current circumstances. “We show them what healthy empathic development looks like when a child is raised by people who understand both sides of her heritage.”
“How?”
“By demonstrating our bond. In front of the tribunal, in real time, with enough witnesses to make suppression impossible.” Her hands settle on my arms, and through skin contact I feel the fierce protectiveness that drives her every decision. “If they want evidence of how her abilities function, we givethem evidence. We show them that love enhances empathic development instead of limiting it.”
