The stars were closer here, or so it seemed to her as she peered out the narrow viewport of the shuttle, her breath fogging the glass. In every direction, clusters of starlight shimmered in colors she'd never seen, painting the sky in fractured shades of violet and blue. Beside her, her husband squeezed her hand in quiet anticipation. He smiled down at her with that familiar, unguarded expression—one of the few faces of comfort she'd come to recognize in their life among the stars.
They'd been waiting for years, holding their breath, enduring the countless application processes, screening tests, and seminars required to bring a new life into this world. Now, all of that was behind them, and in just a few short moments, they would see her, their daughter.
She let her gaze drift back to the viewport as they cleared pass the gates, adjusting and normalizing gravity. The shuttle descended toward the medical facility, its pristine, towering structure nestled at the edge of a cliff, overlooking an ocean that sparkled under the purple sky. In this advanced corner of humanity's expansion into the cosmos, a new life could be created. Each birth was a miracle, crafted over centuries by geneticists and timed to perfection.
The shuttle touched down, and the docking clamps engaged.
"This is it," he murmured, squeezing her hand.
Together, they descended the ramp, entering the warmth of the facility. The interior glowed with soft, bio luminescent panels that lined the walls, illuminating the sterile corridors with a gentle, pulsing light. A technician greeted them, her calm smile betraying just a hint of excitement. She led them through a series of tubular-like chambers of various sizes, each step bringing them closer to their daughter.
The technician turned to them briefly as they walked, her tone unable to mask a rising excitement. "You should see her readings—they're remarkable. Stability across every band, zero anomalies, even the memory cortex is formatting faster than the modeled curve. Honestly, I haven't seen a synthetic gestation run this clean in years." She paused as they neared the final chamber.
Pride didn't begin to cover it. The mother's heart swelled, her pulse quickening as they finally reached a set of silver doors, which parted soundlessly. Inside was a small, softly lit room, where a clear cradle rested in the center, surrounded by panels reading the newborn's vitals. A staff member hovered nearby, finishing the last of the routines before releasing the baby to its parents. She glanced up and nodded, stepping aside as the mother and father approached.
There, in the cradle, was their daughter.
Her skin was luminous in the low light, a gentle blush tinting her cheeks as she stirred, her small hand curling into a fist. The mother felt the world fall away, her entire being focused on this tiny miracle before her. Tears pricked at her eyes, and beside her, the father exhaled sharply, his own eyes misting as he reached forward, hesitantly, as though she might dissolve if he moved too suddenly. But when he touched her tiny fingers, they wrapped around his with surprising strength, and he laughed softly, overcome.
"She's perfect," he whispered, his voice cracking.
The mother knelt beside the cradle, leaning close to the small, new face, studying the faint dusting of dark hair on her head, the delicate arch of her brows. She breathed in, savoring the faint scent of her baby's skin, softer than anything she'd ever touched, and somehow both fragile and resilient. The world around her had never seemed brighter, filled with the boundless, untouched potential of this tiny life.
For some time, they remained in the room, wrapped in the warmth of this long-awaited moment. They spoke in soft voices, barely audible, about the life they would build together. They imagined the worlds they would explore, the stories they would share, and the endless time they'd have with her. A millennium, They had forever.
A sudden, shrill alarm broke through.
The lights flickered briefly, and a subtle, almost indiscernible shudder rippled through the floor beneath them.
A faint chime sounded from the technician's wristband. She glanced down, then turned slightly away, murmuring into the device.
"Confirming fluctuation at Node Theta… No, I don't think it's system drift…—yes, that sector."
Her tone sharpened as she lowered her voice, almost too quiet to hear. "Protocol Two might be compromised. Eyes open for outer ring signatures."
She turned back to the family, face pale, movements suddenly tight with urgency. "We have to evacuate," she said firmly. "Please, follow me."
"What's happening?" the mother whispered, pulling her daughter close.
Her heart pounded as she clutched her daughter, a primal instinct overtaking her. The parents exchanged a look, both of them knowing without words that they would do anything to protect this child. Together, they hurried after the technician, who led them down a different series of corridors, this time darker and narrower.
The technician halted at a secure checkpoint, placing her hand on a panel, waiting at the mercy of time for authorization. The door before them slid open, and they ushered through, movements hurried and tense.
"They're after her," she said in a hushed tone, nodding toward the child in the mother's arms. "The upper facilities are no longer secure, so we'll have to reach the emergency evacuation pod."
Who would want to harm a child? Yet as the technician hurried them through the winding corridors, she realized it wasn't just any child—it was their daughter, born into a world where children were almost mythic, where birth itself had become something rare and sacred.
The sounds of the breach grew closer—the echo of boots, the crackle of unfamiliar voices, the low hum of some strange equipment drawing near.
They came to another door, and the technician placed her hand on the access panel once more, this time hesitating.
The door slid open, revealing a dark chamber with the faint outline of an escape pod inside. Just as they took a step forward, a voice rang out from behind them—a voice cold and commanding. "Stop, go no further."
They turned to see the masked figures standing at the far end of the hall. The leader, his mask a sleek, golden beak, stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the baby in her mother's arms.
"Hand over the child," he said, his tone low and unyielding.
The mother instinctively tightened her hold on her daughter. Beside her, the father stepped forward, pressing a hidden button on a small, sleek device. In an instant, a shimmering, pale blue force field appeared, forming a protective shield around his family. The field hummed softly, a barrier of light separating them from the masked figures.
The leader paused, tilting his head, his expression unreadable behind the cold gold mask. For a moment, there was only the tense silence of the force field humming between them. Then, he lifted his hand, signaling the others to hold back.
For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent standoff. The masked figures didn't move, their empty eyes watching, waiting, like hunters circling prey.
"Hand it to me, I'll hold this." The technician reached for the portable forcefeild.
"But what about you-"
"They don't need me, they're after the child-"
They felt the force of the masked men resisting against the shield.
"Go, go!" she urged, pushing them through the doorway before following and slamming her hand against a button to close the door. It slid shut just as the first of the masked figures reached it, his face barely visible through the thick glass, his mask inches from their faces.
Through the glass, the mother saw the hawk-masked figure staring at her, his eyes glinting with a cold intent. His gaze didn't waver, even as the door locked with a heavy thud, separating them by inches. He tilted his head, as though silently promising they would meet again.