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SIX

AEON

I approached Olivia’s new quarters with a weight in my chest I couldn’t quite name. The morning light cast long shadows across the colony as I placed my palm against the security panel, simultaneously turning the physical lock with my other hand. The door slid open with a soft hiss.

“Good morning, Dr. Parker,” I said, stepping inside.

Olivia sat perched on the edge of her bed, already dressed, her eyes narrowing at my entrance.

The room—though I’d personally ensured it contained comfortable furnishings, adequate lighting, and proper climate control—remained undeniably a cell to her.

Her captivity hung between us like a physical presence.

“Time for your orientation,” I announced, trying to keep my voice neutral.

She crossed her arms. “My prison tour, you mean?”

Something twisted in my gut. Guilt? Regret? These feelings were still new territory for me, emotions I was learning to process without the benefit of preprogrammed responses.

“This isn’t...” I started and then stopped. It was exactly what she thought. “The medical bay has equipment you need to better familiarize yourself with.”

“And if I refuse?”

I met her eyes. “You won’t. Your medical instincts won’t let you.”

Her mouth tightened, but she stood, brushing past me in a deliberate way that avoided physical contact.

“I’ve been locked in here all night,” she muttered as we walked. “Is that how it’s going to be? Treated like a criminal?”

“The confinement is temporary,” I said, each word heavy in my mouth. “Until we establish trust.”

She laughed bitterly. “Trust? You abducted me!”

“For the survival of our people,” I countered, my voice coming out harder than intended.

“Your people, not mine.”

We reached the medical bay in tense silence. I opened the door, gesturing for her to enter first. The facilities gleamed under bright lights, equipment humming softly.

“This area houses our prenatal monitoring systems,” I explained, pointing to a row of beds with overhead scanners. “Modified from standard human designs to account for cyborg physiology. You had some experience with a slightly different model of this yesterday with Serena.”

She barely looked at me, moving instead to inspect one of the scanners. Her fingers trailed along its surface, professional curiosity momentarily overcoming her anger.

“Your calibration is off,” she said flatly. “You’ll get false readings on fetal development.”

I moved closer. “Show me.”

She pointed to settings on the display. “This should be adjusted for the increased metabolic rate. And this…” Her finger tapped the screen. “Needs to account for enhanced neural development.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I could,” she said, her eyes meeting mine coldly. “Am I just your tech support now?”

The barb stung more than it should have. “No. Like I told you, you’re crucial to our survival. To prevent our mothers and children from dying.”

Something in her expression shifted, but her voice remained clipped. “Your interface for the amniotic fluid analysis is backward. It would be more efficient if you reconfigured it to display results simultaneously with the scan.”

I nodded, making mental notes. This was progress—reluctant expertise was still expertise. As we continued the tour, she pointed out five more inefficiencies. Each of her observations was delivered with clinical detachment, yet each one was valuable.

“You know more than you realize about cyborg physiology,” I said when she corrected our approach to placental monitoring.

“I know medicine,” she replied, not looking at me.

In the silence that followed, I fought the urge to explain everything at once in detail—our desperation, our losses, and how her arrival represented hope. Instead, I simply said, “Thank you.”

She looked up then, surprise flickering across her face. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t agreed to help you.”

“But you will,” I said with absolute certainty in my voice. “Because beneath your anger, you’re still a doctor.”

Her eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary. “Beneath your programming, what are you?”

The question lingered in the air between us, unexpected and piercing in its simplicity. What was I indeed? More than programming, less than fully human, caught in the uncertain space between.

“I’m still figuring that out,” I answered honestly.

I led her through another section of the medical bay, watching her take in every detail despite her obvious reluctance. Something in her posture had changed—a subtle shift from pure defiance to cautious professional interest. The tightness in my chest loosened slightly.

“This is Laine,” I said, introducing our senior medical technician. “She’s been overseeing prenatal care since we established the colony.”

Laine nodded, her expression carefully neutral. “Dr. Parker. Your arrival is... significant for us.”

Olivia didn’t smile, but she extended her hand. “Your equipment modifications are impressive. Not standard Earth protocol but effective.”

“Necessity breeds innovation,” Laine replied, shaking Olivia’s hand briefly.

I introduced two more staff members—Jax, our pharmaceutical specialist, and Kira, who managed our limited surgical facilities.

Their reactions mirrored Laine’s with cautious respect tinged in desperation.

Everyone in the medical division understood that Olivia represented hope where there had been little.

What I hadn’t anticipated was Olivia’s next request.

“I’d like to see some of the pregnant women I noticed yesterday,” she said, her voice firm. “Not just the equipment. The actual patients.”

The request caught me off-guard. I had planned a gradual integration, carefully controlled for her understanding and comfort. “That wasn’t scheduled for today.”

Her eyes met mine in a challenging way. “If you want my expertise, I need to understand who I’m working with. Real women, not just systems and theories.”

Heat crawled up my neck. She was right, and something about her directness sent an unexpected current through me. “Fine.”

I took her to the observation area where three pregnant women were undergoing regular monitoring. Terra, the furthest along at thirty-seven weeks, immediately caught Olivia’s attention.

“Her color isn’t right,” Olivia murmured, approaching the woman whose skin had a faint greyish hue our monitors hadn’t flagged.

“May I?” she asked Terra, who nodded permission.

I watched, transfixed, as Olivia transformed. The standoffish prisoner vanished, replaced by a confident physician. Her hands moved with practiced precision, checking Terra’s pulse, examining her eyes, and asking targeted questions about symptoms.

“How long have you been experiencing shortness of breath?” Olivia asked.

Terra looked surprised. “A few days. The system says it’s normal for the third trimester.”

“For humans, yes,” Olivia replied. “But your cardiovascular system processes oxygen differently.” She turned to me. “Her hemoglobin levels need to be checked immediately. She’s showing signs of preeclampsia, but the manifestation is different from human presentation.”

I blinked, stunned by the discovery. Our monitors had shown Terra’s readings within acceptable parameters.

“The baseline you’re using doesn’t account for the differences in cyborg maternal physiology,” Olivia explained, reading my expression. “Your women are experiencing human-like pregnancies in not quite human bodies. I mean, at least not neurologically human. The standards need adjustment.”

Within an hour, she had examined all three women, identified two previously undetected conditions, and proposed modifications to our monitoring parameters. The women responded to her with initial wariness that quickly shifted to relief as they recognized her expertise.

Watching her work stirred something profound in me—a complex mixture of vindication, relief, and something warmer I couldn’t quite name.

“You were right. These women need specialized care,” she said quietly as we left the observation area. “I didn’t fully understand the nuances of cyborg physiology in pregnancy until today.”

“Will you help them then?” I asked, my voice low and intense. I stepped closer, unable to stop myself.

Her eyes met mine and I saw the war within her—her doctor’s oath battling her justified anger at being brought here against her will.

“I’m not saying I forgive you or even trust you,” she finally said, her voice steady. “But I won’t let them suffer when I can help.”

The relief that flooded through me was staggering.

I soon escorted her back to her quarters as night fell over the colony. The jungle beyond our settlement hummed with its nocturnal symphony—whirring insects and distant calls of native fauna. Stars and the twin moons pierced the velvet sky, casting a silvery glow over her soft features.

“You probably saved lives today,” I said, hoping to ease the tension that had built between us on our walk back.

Her shoulders stiffened. “I just did my job. The job I was trained to do. It doesn’t mean I’ve accepted... this.” She gestured broadly at our surroundings.

We arrived at her quarters, and I placed my palm on the security panel. The door slid open gently.

“Tomorrow we’ll continue with?—”

“Let me guess.” She cut me off, her voice razor-sharp. “More forced labor before you lock me up again for the night?”

I felt something tighten in my chest. “Colony policy requires you to remain in secure quarters until full integration.”

“Stop.” Her eyes flashed. “Just stop with the protocol and colony policy bullshit. You’re not a machine anymore, so stop acting like one. Stop following orders blindly without questioning whether they’re right.”

Her words stunned me. I opened my mouth to respond but found nothing to say. The heat of shame crawled up my neck, and I backed away.

“I’ll return in the morning,” I managed before sealing her door tightly.

I walked quickly away from her quarters, my pulse hammering in my ears.

The night air felt cool against my flushed skin as I strode through the central pathway of our settlement.

I don’t know why her words affected me so much.

I was just following the orders I agreed to, but now after spending time with her, I felt like maybe she was right.

Maybe I knew deep down this treatment of her was wrong.

I shook off my confusing thoughts as I headed to Commander Helix’s office for my daily report on Olivia’s progress. Massive bioluminescent plants cast a blue-green glow across the walkways, illuminating the faces of colonists who nodded respectfully as I passed.

No matter how hard I tried, my mind kept circling back to Olivia.

The fierce intelligence in her eyes when she diagnosed Terra.

The gentle precision of her hands as she examined each patient.

She had moved with a confident grace that I couldn’t look away from today.

Even in her captivity, she radiated a strength that I. .. admired. More than admired.

I stopped walking, suddenly aware of where my thoughts were heading. This wasn’t part of the mission parameters. My fascination with her was becoming personal in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

Commander Helix’s office loomed ahead, its entrance flanked by native flora that twisted up around the doorframe. I collected myself before entering, schooling my features into something resembling professional detachment.

“Aeon.” Commander Helix looked up from her desk. At eight months pregnant, she embodied everything we were fighting to protect. “Your daily report?”

I stood at attention. “Dr. Parker has exceeded expectations. She identified two medical conditions our systems overlooked and has already begun recalibrating our monitoring protocols.”

Relief softened Helix’s typically stern features. “So she’s cooperating?”

“Under protest,” I admitted. “But her medical ethics won’t allow her to ignore patients in need.”

“That’s enough for now.” Helix nodded. “And your assessment of her capabilities?”

“Exceptional.” The word came out with more feeling than I intended. I cleared my throat. “She understands the unique challenges of cyborg pregnancies faster than anticipated.”

Helix’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You sound impressed.”

“Professionally speaking, she’s exactly what we need.”

“And personally speaking?” Helix had always been uncomfortably perceptive.

I shifted my weight. “Nothing to report.”

Helix’s knowing smile indicated she didn’t believe me. “Dismissed, Aeon. Keep me updated on her progress.”

As I left the council chamber, my mind returned to Olivia’s face—the flash of fear I’d seen beneath her anger, and the moments of vulnerability she tried to hide. The urge to comfort her, to somehow make this transition easier, tugged at me with surprising intensity.

I needed to show her that we—that I—wasn’t what she feared. I wasn’t just the soldier who had taken her from Earth but someone capable of understanding her. Someone worthy of her trust.

But how?

The question followed me like a shadow as I walked through our sleeping colony, the night sounds of Planet Alpha echoing my restlessness.