Page 30 of Human Reform (Cyborg Planet Alpha #3)

DAXON

Something shook me from the deepest sleep I’d had in days. My consciousness fought to break through the fog, my instincts immediately heightening to assess for threats.

“Daxon. Daxon, wake up.”

Alora’s voice. Her hand gripped my arm, shaking me with surprising strength. I blinked hard, forcing my vision to focus in the darkness of our bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice rough with sleep. Then I saw her face—her eyes wide, one hand pressed against her swollen belly, the other still gripping my arm.

“It’s time,” she said, a mixture of excitement and fear in her voice.

Time? Time for what? Then it hit me with the force of a tactical assault.

“The baby?” I bolted upright, suddenly wide awake. “You’re sure?”

“Unless your child is practicing hand-to-hand combat in my uterus, yes, I’m sure.” Her breathing hitched as another contraction swept through her. “Been timing them. Getting closer together.”

I leapt from our bed, suddenly aware of my complete nakedness, and nearly tripped over my own feet in my haste to get dressed. Alora laughed—actually laughed—despite her discomfort.

“Watch yourself. I need you in one piece.”

I yanked on my black boxers and then grabbed my tactical pants from where I’d draped them over a chair the night before. My hands were trembling. I, who had faced down Nescot battle squadrons without flinching, was shaking like a new recruit on his first patrol.

“I already messaged Olivia and Aeon,” she said, watching me struggle with my pants with undisguised amusement. “They’re preparing the medical bay delivery room.”

I pulled my fitted black T-shirt over my head, not bothering to smooth it down. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Should I carry you? How far apart are your contractions?”

Her gray eyes softened with affection. “Pretty sure I can still walk, but I’m not saying no to your arm for support.”

I knelt before her, taking her hands in mine. Nine months. Nine months of watching her body change and feeling our child move beneath my palms. Nine months of planning and preparing and worrying. And now it was happening.

“I love you,” I said, the words still a revelation every time they passed my lips. A year ago, I didn’t even comprehend what love was. Now it flooded every cell of my being. “Both of you.”

“I know.” She squeezed my hands. “Now get my bag before your offspring gets impatient.”

I grabbed the bag we’d prepared weeks ago—Olivia had insisted we have it ready a full month before the due date—and looped it over my shoulder. Then I helped Alora to her feet, supporting her with an arm around her waist.

“Remember when you had Aeon kidnap me and bring me here to help you with your glitch problem?” She winced as another contraction hit, leaning heavily against me. “Never imagined I’d be having your baby nine months later.”

“Remember when you tried to escape and slammed yourself into that door?” I countered, guiding her carefully through our home. “Never imagined I’d be so terrified of losing you.”

As we stepped outside, Planet Alpha’s nocturnal symphony greeted us—the whirring of insects, the distant calls of jungle creatures, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

The twin moons were high in the sky, casting enough silvery light to illuminate our path.

The air was thick with humidity, carrying the sweet scent of night-blooming flowers.

Our colony slumbered around us, structures of metal and salvaged materials nestled among the jungle foliage.

Lights still glowed in some windows—night shift workers, other expectant parents, perhaps even Commander Helix reviewing security protocols.

No matter the hour, our little civilization pulsed with life.

“Almost there,” I assured Alora as we made our way along the stone path toward the medical bay. I’d walked this route countless times but never with such urgency and purpose.

Alora’s grip on my arm suddenly tightened. She stopped, a small gasp escaping her. “That one was stronger.”

I fought back panic. “Do I need to carry you?”

“No, just… give me a moment.” She breathed slowly and deliberately, the technique Olivia had taught her. “Okay. We can keep going.”

The medical bay came into view, its white exterior gleaming in the moonlight. Unlike most structures in our colony, it was purpose-built rather than cobbled together from salvage. The large doors slid open as we approached, the lighting in the corridor brightening in response to our presence.

Olivia was already waiting, her brown hair pulled back in a practical bun and her green eyes alert despite the late hour. “The expectant parents arrived,” she said with a warm smile. “Come on back. Aeon’s setting up the delivery room.”

“How far apart are your contractions, Alora?” Olivia asked as she led us down the curved corridor.

“About seven minutes now. Getting stronger.”

Olivia nodded. “Perfect timing. Not rushing but definitely on the way.”

The delivery room was warm and inviting, nothing like the sterile, clinical spaces on Earth. Aeon stood adjusting equipment, his tall frame dwarfing the birthing bed. When he saw us, a rare smile crossed his face.

“The big night finally arrived,” he said, his voice carrying the same steady calm he’d maintained through countless medical emergencies during the war.

“She needs to change into a gown,” Olivia told me, taking the bag from my shoulder.

Aeon placed a hand on my shoulder. “You look more terrified than when we faced that Nescot battalion outside sector seven.”

“I was originally programmed for combat,” I muttered. “Not fatherhood.”

His eyes met mine with understanding. “Some things can’t be programmed, Daxon. They have to be learned through experience.”

Another contraction hit Alora, and I was instantly at her side, my arm supporting her back as she breathed through it. The sight of her pain made something primal surge within me—a desperate need to protect, to fix, and to make everything better.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered against her temple. “I’ve got you both.”

When the contraction passed, she looked at me with a fierce determination I’d come to cherish. “We’re ready for this,” she said. “Our little family.”

Our family. The concept still stunned me daily. Before Alora, I’d been a collection of protocols and duties, emotion buried beneath logic and purpose. Now I stood on the precipice of becoming a father, feeling everything with an intensity that would have once terrified me.

As Olivia helped Alora change and get settled on the birthing bed, I watched in awe. This brilliant, beautiful woman who had once lived isolated in Earth’s mountains now carried our child—a perfect synthesis of human and cyborg, of logic and emotion, and of past and future.

At that moment, standing in the warm light of the delivery room, I knew with absolute certainty that whatever challenges came next, we would face them together. Just like we had for the past nine months.

Another hour passed like a tactical assault—swift, intense, and overwhelming.

Alora’s contractions grew closer, and her pain became more acute.

Every muscle in my body tensed as she cried out, her fingers digging into my forearm.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, dampening strands of dark hair that had escaped from her braid.

“God, this hurts,” she gasped, between contractions. “Remind me why we thought this was a good idea?”

I brushed the hair from her face, feeling utterly helpless. “Because we’re creating something perfect.”

Her scream tore through me like a physical wound.

The sound scraped against every protective instinct I possessed, igniting an ancient rage with nowhere to direct it.

I had faced down enemy fire without flinching, but the sight of Alora in pain made me want to tear the world apart with my bare hands.

“Breathe through it,” Olivia encouraged, her voice calm and steady. “You’re doing beautifully, Alora.”

“I’m not feeling particularly beautiful at the moment,” Alora gritted out.

I pressed my forehead gently against hers, our eyes locking. “I can’t take away your pain,” I whispered, the admission burning in my throat. “But I would if I could. I would take all of it.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I know you would.”

Aeon placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his presence steadying. “First-time fathers always struggle with this part,” he said quietly. “It gets easier.”

I’d never felt more human—more fallible and raw—than in that delivery room. The perfectly calibrated neural framework that had once governed my existence seemed laughably inadequate for processing the enormity of what was happening right now.

“The head is crowning,” Olivia announced, her professional demeanor unwavering despite the hour. “Alora, on the next contraction, I need you to push.”

Alora’s grip on my hand tightened to a crushing force. I barely registered it, my entire focus consumed by her face and by the determination in her gray eyes.

“You can do this,” I told her. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“Flatter me later,” she gasped and then bore down with a primal sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep and ancient.

“That’s it,” Olivia encouraged. “Perfect, Alora. Again on the next one.”

Time compressed and expanded strangely. Each contraction seemed to last an eternity, each brief respite gone in a flash. I murmured encouragement, wiped Alora’s brow, and anchored her with my presence, feeling simultaneously powerful and powerless.

“One more big push,” Olivia instructed.

Alora summoned some final reserve of strength, her body arching with the effort. And then—a miracle. A cry pierced the room, high and indignant, announcing itself to the world.

“She’s here,” Olivia said, her voice tinged with wonder. “You have a daughter.”

My vision blurred as Olivia placed our daughter on Alora’s chest. A tiny, perfect being with a shock of dark hair and skin flushed pink with the effort of her arrival. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could only stare in stunned reverence at the two most important people in my universe.

“Hello, little one,” Alora whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

My hand trembled as I reached out to touch our daughter’s cheek, softer than anything I’d ever felt. Her eyes opened, revealing glimpses of blue, startlingly similar to my own. Something molten and fierce expanded in my chest, a love so overwhelming it threatened to consume me entirely.

I hadn’t realized I was crying until Alora reached up to brush tears from my face.

“She needs a name,” she said softly.

The perfect name came to me without hesitation. “Hope,” I said, my voice rough with primal emotion. “Her name is Hope. Because that’s what you gave me when you came into my life. Hope for a future I never thought possible.”

Alora’s smile was radiant despite her exhaustion. “Hope Bridges,” she tested the name on her tongue.

“Hope Bridges,” I agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to Alora’s forehead and then to our daughter’s. “The most precious gift Planet Alpha could ever receive.”

As I held my family close, the sounds of Planet Alpha—our home—continued outside.

The nocturnal creatures calling, the gentle hum of the settlement’s systems, and the whispering leaves of the jungle.

But here, at this moment, my entire universe had contracted to just these two beings—my reason for existing, my purpose given form.

“Welcome to the world, Hope,” I murmured. “We have so much to show you.”

* * *

We hope you enjoyed HUMAN REFORM as much as we enjoyed writing the book!