Page 34 of The First Child
So, I do. I let every barrier fall, every defense dissolve, until there’s nothing between my consciousness and his except the kind of trust that exists between true partners. The sensation is overwhelming—not just sharing thoughts, but experiencing existence through someone else’s perception while maintaining my own identity.
Through Sylas’s awareness, I feel how much he loves me. Not just attraction or compatibility or grateful partnership, but love in the deepest sense—recognition of someone who complements every aspect of his being. I experience his fierce protectiveness toward Aniska, his determination to keep our family together regardless of legal obstacles, his quiet amazement that the universe brought us together at exactly the moment when we both needed something we didn’t know we were missing.
And through my consciousness, he experiences my own emotions with the same intensity. The way my love for him has grown from initial attraction into something that feels necessary for survival. My absolute commitment to Aniska’s welfare, the maternal instincts that emerged the moment I held her for the first time. The quiet certainty that this improvised family represents everything I’ve ever wanted but was afraid to hope for.
Perfect,his mental voice breathes through our shared awareness.You’re perfect.
So are you.
The bonding completes itself with a sensation like puzzle pieces clicking into place, consciousness aligning in ways that feel inevitable rather than surprising. When I open my eyes, the world looks different—not visually, but empathically. I feel Sylas’s presence in my mind like warmth against my consciousness, constant and comforting and utterly right.
“How do you feel?” he asks, though through our enhanced connection he already knows the answer.
“Complete.” I reach out to touch his face, marveling at how the physical contact now carries emotional resonance that makes ordinary sensation feel transcendent. “Like I’ve been missing half of myself and didn’t know it until now.”
“The same for me.” His hands cover mine, and the skin-to-skin contact sends cascades of shared sensation through our linked consciousness. “Whatever happens today, we face it together. Truly together, in ways the tribunal won’t understand but can’t deny.”
A soft sound from Aniska’s carrier reminds us that our daughter has absorbed every moment of the bonding ritual through her own empathic sensitivity. She watches us with the focused attention of someone who understands far more than her age should allow, her silver-flecked eyes bright with what looks remarkably like approval.
“She’s happy,” I observe, lifting her from the carrier with movements that have become as natural as breathing. “Her empathic field is practically sparkling.”
“She’s waited for this. For us to acknowledge the permanent nature of our connection.” Sylas moves to stand beside me, close enough that I feel his warmth through multiple layersof awareness. “To her, we’ve been family since that first night when you calmed her traumatic projections. The bonding ceremony simply made it official.”
“Think it’ll be enough? For the tribunal, I mean.”
“I think they’ll have difficulty arguing that our connection is artificial when they can observe it functioning in real time.” His expression grows thoughtful. “Empathic bonds can’t be faked, Hada. What we share is either genuine or it isn’t. Once the tribunal witnesses the depth of our connection, they’ll have to acknowledge that it represents natural development rather than experimental contamination.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we find another way. But we won't give up.”
The certainty in his voice steadies something in my chest that’s been tight with anxiety since reading the TCA communication yesterday. We have a plan. We have allies. We have evidence that supports our position and expert testimony that contradicts TCA assumptions about empathic development.
Most importantly, we have each other. And whatever the tribunal decides, they can’t change that.
“I should get ready,” I say, noting the time display that shows four hours until the hearing. “Military dress uniform, professional demeanor, everything that suggests competent guardianship.”
“I’ll prepare as well. Formal ceremonial attire that establishes my credentials as a spiritual leader.”
“And Aniska?”
“Comes with us. The tribunal needs to see her interacting with us naturally, responding to our presence with the kind of contentment that only results from secure attachment.” He pauses, studying our daughter’s peaceful expression. “Besides, she’s our strongest evidence. One look at how she thrives in our care should be worth more than any amount of expert testimony.”
I hope he’s right. I hope the people who will decide Aniska’s future sees past research protocols and legal precedents to recognize something as simple as a child who’s happy and loved and absolutely where she belongs.
But hope isn’t strategy, and strategy is what we need to survive the next six hours.
The tribunal chamberlooks like it was designed by someone who wanted to intimidate everyone who entered. High ceilings, imposing architecture, seating arrangements that make defendants feel like specimens under observation. Representatives from three different governments sit behind a curved table that positions them above everyone else in the room, their faces illuminated by harsh lighting that makes every expression seem severe.
“Captain Blaxton, Commander Ominox,” Elder Lunai’s voice carries across the chamber with the kind of authority that makes everyone pay attention. “Please approach the testimony platform.”
We walk forward together, Aniska cradled in my arms and our empathic bond humming with shared determination. Ifeel Sylas’s consciousness alongside my own, offering stability and strength that makes the tribunal’s intimidating setup feel manageable rather than overwhelming.
“The Terran Colonial Authority has filed emergency petitions claiming that the minor child, Aniska Altell, represents a public safety risk due to artificially enhanced empathic abilities,” Elder Lunai continues. “Dr. Vasquez, please present your evidence.”
The TCA representative activates a holographic display showing documentation I recognize with growing dread—Margot’s private research files, detailed records of the experimental procedures she underwent to enhance her telepathic sensitivity, genetic analysis suggesting that those enhancements might have affected Aniska’s development in ways that transcend natural hybrid capabilities.
“The evidence clearly demonstrates unauthorized human experimentation,” Dr. Vasquez argues, her voice carrying the clinical detachment of someone discussing laboratory results rather than a child’s future. “Lieutenant Altell underwent illegal genetic modification that appears to have created artificial empathic capabilities in her offspring. This child represents an experimental subject rather than a natural hybrid, which places her under TCA jurisdiction for comprehensive study.”
