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.”
