“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?
