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NINE

OLIVIA

I woke to the sound of my quarters’ door opening.

The moonlight that filtered in through my small, reinforced window caught the silhouette of a man I was beginning to recognize by his broad shoulders alone.

Aeon stood there, his hair disheveled as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly.

His typically composed demeanor had cracked, revealing something I hadn’t seen before—raw worry etched across his features.

“Olivia. It’s Mira.” His voice strained in the darkness. “Something’s wrong.”

I sat up, sleep evaporating instantly. “What kind of wrong?”

“Pain. Sudden onset. Thirty-six weeks along.” He spoke in fragments, his usual measured cadence abandoned. “We don’t know what— She’s asking for you.”

That was all I needed to hear. I quickly swung my legs over the small bed, grateful I’d fallen asleep in my scrubs. “Take me to her.”

The surroundings blurred as we moved. Aeon’s long strides forced me to almost jog beside him, his hand occasionally hovering near my back when I lagged, never quite touching but ready to steady me.

“She’s a councilor, as you know,” Aeon said between breaths. “Her voice matters here. If something happens to her or the baby?—”

“Nothing’s happening to either of them.” The firmness in my voice surprised even me.

The observation area doors parted, revealing the tall, elegant form of Councilor Mira on the bed, her short red hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The monitoring equipment beeped frantically beside her, displaying readings I immediately recognized as alarming.

“Dr. Parker,” she gasped, clutching her belly. “The pain started an hour ago. It’s not… It’s not right.”

I moved to the monitors, scanning the readings closer. My stomach dropped. “She’s in active labor, and the baby’s heart rate is decelerating with each contraction.” I turned to Aeon. “I need a surgical kit, sterilization field, neonatal warming unit?—”

“We don’t have all that equipment,” he interrupted, panic flickering across his face.

“Then get me what you do have.” I locked eyes with him. “Now.”

The room transformed into controlled chaos. Laine—the medical technician I’d met days earlier—appeared along with two others whose names I didn’t catch. Aeon moved with precision, gathering supplies, his hands steady despite the tension radiating from him.

“Mira,” I said, pressing my palm against her clammy forehead. “Your baby needs to come out now. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her eyes—so much like Aeon’s in their intensity—fixing on mine with complete trust that staggered me.

“I need you to hold on just a little longer,” I said, squeezing her hand before turning to the improvised surgical setup.

Aeon stepped beside me, rolling up his sleeves. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’re assisting?” I asked, surprised.

“Battlefield medic programming,” he replied. “I can follow your lead.”

For the next twenty minutes, we worked in sync. I called out instructions, and he anticipated my needs before I voiced them. His hands remained steady and his focus absolute. It struck me that I had never worked with someone who complemented my movements so naturally.

When the baby finally emerged—small but perfect—the silence lasted only seconds before a strong, indignant cry filled the room.

“It’s a boy,” I announced, relief washing through me as I checked his vital signs. “A healthy boy.”

Mira’s tears flowed freely as I placed her son on her chest. Across the bed, Aeon’s eyes met mine, something profound passing between us—gratitude, respect, and something deeper I couldn’t name.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice catching slightly. “He wouldn’t have made it without you.”

As the adrenaline ebbed, I watched mother and child, feeling the weight of what had just happened. These people—whom I’d thought were just machines, whom I’d been trying to escape—had needed me. And despite everything, I wanted to help them.

The realization settled uncomfortably within me. If I left, who would deliver the next baby? Who would handle the next emergency?

Aeon stripped off his dirtied glove before tentatively touching my shoulder, and I didn’t flinch away.

“You saved them both,” he said softly.

“I just did my job,” I replied, but we both knew it was more than that.

Later the next morning, I entered the colony marketplace with Aeon at my side, still giddy from lack of sleep after the emergency delivery.

The morning suns cut through the jungle canopy in glittering shafts of light, illuminating the surprisingly charming settlement.

Stone pathways wound between structures built from a combination of salvaged spacecraft parts and local materials.

It was primitive yet advanced, chaotic yet orderly—just like its inhabitants.

“They’re staring,” I whispered to Aeon, feeling dozens of eyes tracking our movement.

“They’re grateful,” he replied, his deep voice sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.

Before I could say anything, a group of women approached us. One carried a woven basket filled with strange purple fruits.

“Dr. Parker,” she said, offering the basket. “For Councilor Mira’s son. For my nephew.” Her eyes, the same piercing blue as Aeon’s, brimmed with emotion. “You saved them both.”

“I… thank you,” I stammered, accepting the gift. “How are they doing this morning?”

“Resting well. The baby is strong.” She smiled, revealing dimples so human it took me aback. “Like his father was.”

As we continued through the market, more colonists approached. Some offered gifts while others simply nodded respectfully. A few reached out to touch my arm or shoulder—gestures of connection I hadn’t expected. One older cyborg with silver streaks in his dark hair actually bowed.

“They weren’t programmed for this,” Aeon murmured, noticing my surprise. “This gratitude, these gestures—they’re learned. Chosen.”

I swallowed hard. “I thought they—you—saw me as just a tool, a resource to exploit.”

His tanned jaw tightened. “And how do you see us? Me?”

“I don’t know what I see anymore,” I admitted.

We reached the central plaza where Commander Helix sat reviewing documents on a translucent screen. Her pregnant belly was prominent beneath her fitted uniform. When she noticed us, she dismissed her advisors with a wave.

“Dr. Parker,” she called. “Join me.”

Aeon’s hand pressed gently against my back as he guided me forward. The touch was brief but left a lingering warmth.

“Councilor Mira is recovering well,” Commander Helix said without preamble. “You’ve certainly proven your skills.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“No.” She fixed me with an intense gaze. “You’re doing more than that. Mira says you spoke to her throughout the procedure, explaining each step. You treated her as a person, not just a patient.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “That’s standard care.”

“Not for us, it isn’t.” Her hand rested on her own belly. “Most humans see us as machines with flesh. You saw Mira’s fear and pain. Her humanity.”

Across the plaza, I noticed a tall and imposing man with auburn hair watching us. Tegan, Aeon had called him. His green eyes narrowed when he caught me looking.

“Not everyone seems to share your appreciation,” I noted.

Helix followed my gaze. “Tegan is still upset over our treatment during and after the war.” She turned back to me. “Trust must be earned on both sides, Dr. Parker.”

As we left the plaza, Aeon’s shoulder brushed mine. “You’re changing things here,” he said quietly. “Changing how they see humans. How they see themselves.”

I looked up at him, at the small scar on his jawline, at the sunlight catching in his blue eyes. “And how do you see me? You still haven’t answered that question.”

That question hung heavily between us again. His throat worked as he searched for words.

“I see—” he began but then stopped, something resembling frustration flashing across his features. “I’m still learning about what I see.”

For the first time since my abduction five days ago, I smiled genuinely. “That makes two of us.”

Later that night, I lay awake on my narrow bed, listening to the sounds of Planet Alpha filtering through my reinforced window—chirping insects that reminded me of crickets but with an alien cadence and distant calls of creatures I couldn’t identify.

The colony wasn’t what I had expected at all.

No sterile, enclosed facility with artificial air and mechanized routines.

Instead, it was a vibrant settlement carved out of the jungle with gardens and stone paths and real sunlight.

“Damn it, Benjamin,” I whispered to the darkness, rolling onto my side. “You saw this coming. Didn’t you?”

The memory of my best friend’s letter I found addressed to me surfaced—his hasty scrawl describing the cyborg unit we’d been assigned to treat.

They’re different than we were told, Liv.

Some reached out to me when no one was watching or listening.

They have the capacity to feel and think outside the “kill” programming. They just need our help and guidance.

I had dismissed it as wartime trauma and stress. Now I wasn’t so sure.

Today in the plaza, I watched a cyborg woman teaching a one-year-old to walk.

The child had fumbled, and the woman’s laughter—warm and spontaneous—had startled me with its genuine joy.

Later, I passed two men arguing about irrigation systems with the passionate disagreement of people who cared deeply about their community’s future.

They weren’t the mindless weapons I’d known during the war. They were... evolving. Finding their humanity in this new world they had claimed.

I sat up, punching my pillow into a more comfortable shape. “This doesn’t make kidnapping okay,” I muttered aloud. “They still took me without my consent.”

But would I have come willingly? Would any human doctor?

The faces of my patients on Earth flooded my mind, followed by Mira’s expression when I placed her son in her arms last night. The way Aeon had looked at me afterward, gratitude and something else—something heated and intense—in those piercing blue eyes.

My stomach fluttered at the memory. I groaned and flopped back down.

“I’m not here to teach them how to be human,” I argued with the ceiling. “I’m an obstetrician, not a—a cultural ambassador.”

Is that what Benjamin had become in those final months before he died?

I would catch him sitting with injured cyborg soldiers, explaining jokes, and showing them photos of his dog back home.

I thought maybe Benjamin was just lonely and trying to entertain himself.

But now, I recognized it as small, human moments shared across an artificial divide.

They’re listening and observing us, Liv, his last lines in my letter had said. They want to be more like us.

A tap at my door interrupted my thoughts. I froze and then heard a deep, hesitant voice.

“Dr. Parker? Are you awake?”

Aeon. My heart did a traitorous little skip.

I padded to the door. “Yes, I’m still up,” I said through the door.

The door soon opened before me. He stood there, moonlight silvering his dark hair, and his imposing frame somehow less threatening than it had been days ago.

“Is there another emergency?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I just—” His brow furrowed as he searched for his words. “I wanted to check that you had everything you needed.”

A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. It was such a human gesture of concern coming from him.

“At one in the morning?”

His posture stiffened. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me, either.” I leaned against the doorframe. “Too many questions.”

His eyes studied me intently. “Such as?”

“Such as what, exactly, am I doing here and what, exactly, am I to you? Am I your prisoner or your teacher or just your emergency doctor?”

Aeon’s shoulders tensed. “You’re none of those things. You’re…” He exhaled sharply. “Important.”

The simple word hung in the air, loaded with implications. I swallowed hard.

“Goodnight, Aeon,” I whispered, turning around before he could see the confusion on my face.

“Goodnight, Olivia,” he replied behind me before closing the door.

I returned to my bed, more unsettled than before. As sleep finally claimed me, one certainty formed in the chaos of my thoughts. Benjamin would have loved this place. And if he were here instead of me, he would already know what to do.