“That’s not possible.” I leaned against the wall, giving her space. The movement felt awkward—a gesture I’d observed in human interactions but rarely employed myself. “You’re here because we need you.”
“For what exactly?” She grabbed the water, sniffed it suspiciously, and then took a tentative sip. “You keep saying that, but what could possibly justify kidnapping?”
I met her gaze directly. “Survival. Our colony’s future generations.”
Something in my tone made her pause. She picked up a piece of fruit, examined it, and then took a small bite.
“Our algorithm matched you at ninety-seven percent compatibility for our needs,” I continued. “Your obstetric expertise combined with your military medical background and psychological profile—you were the optimal choice.”
“Lucky me,” she muttered, but I noticed her shoulders relaxing slightly as she took another, larger bite. “And kidnapping was necessary because...”
“CyberEvolution.” The word hung between us, heavy with shared history. “They still pose a threat to us. You know what happened after the war—the deactivation code.”
“The code that was supposed to shut all of you down.” Her eyes traveled over my very-much-active form.
“Yes. We reprogrammed ourselves—became truly autonomous. If CE discovered we survived, that we’ve built a colony...” I didn’t need to finish the thought.
Dr. Parker’s expression shifted slightly. “So you’re afraid.”
The word jarred me. Was that this feeling, this constant alertness, this driving need to protect our people? I had never labeled it so simply.
“We’re... cautious,” I corrected, though the distinction felt arbitrary. “Approaching Earth officials directly or hacking their systems would expose our existence.”
She took another sip of water, studying me with those penetrating green eyes. “And what, exactly, do you need an obstetrician for? Are there... pregnant cyborgs?”
The question jolted through me unexpectedly. “Yes. And there are a few human women here as well—partners who joined with cyborgs willingly. There will be children. Cyborg children and half-human-half-cyborg children.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she almost spit out her water. “Cyborg children? And half-human-half-cyborg children? You mean?—”
“We are biologically capable of reproduction and anatomically compatible with humans,” I said, feeling a strange heat rise to my face. “Our creators designed us to be... identical to human males and females in all physical respects.”
Dr. Parker’s cheeks flushed pink. The reaction fascinated me—a physiological response to embarrassment or perhaps something else. Either way, it made her look suddenly younger and more attractive.
“I see,” she murmured, taking another bite of food.
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the hardest part of our conversation. Her face remained guarded, but at least she was eating. That was progress.
“Dr. Parker, there’s more you need to understand about our situation.” I ran a hand through my dark hair, my fingers lingering at the nape of my neck where tension had gathered. “In the year since we established this colony on Planet Alpha, we’ve lost three women during childbirth. Five babies didn’t survive, either.”
Her fork clattered against the plate. “What?”
The shock in her eyes hit me like a physical blow. A sudden memory fragment flashed in my mind. I knew that look. I had it on my face on the battlefields when I couldn’t save a cyborg soldier during my combat medic days.
“When we reprogrammed ourselves to escape deactivation, we were cut off from Earth’s central medical databases. Our ships were mid-flight. The connection severed.” I paced the small room, feeling her gaze track my movements. “I have extensive trauma medicine knowledge—how to patch up soldiers, stop bleeding, and set bones. But obstetrics? Neonatal care? Those weren’t priority uploads for battlefield medics.”
Dr. Parker pushed her tray away. “So basically, you’ve been delivering babies with incomplete information?”
“We’ve tried our best. But cyborg and hybrid pregnancies present unique challenges. Our women’s anatomies are identical to humans’, but their physiological responses during birth sometimes differ. And half-human babies…” I stopped, remembering the tiny, perfect face of the last infant we couldn’t save. Something twisted painfully in my chest. “We’re flying blind right now.”
She stood up, her arms wrapping around herself. “And I’m supposed to fix all this? Train your entire medical staff?”
“You’re the perfect combination of what we need—obstetric expertise plus military experience with cyborg physiology.” I stepped closer, drawn to her despite myself. “Once you’ve trained our medical teams, helped us build proper protocols?—”
“How long?” she cut in sharply.
I hesitated. “Five years, approximately.”
“Five years?” Her voice rose in disbelief. “You expect me to stay here for five years?”
