Darkness Stirring: Through the Shattered Glass Series, #1

Copyright © 2023 by John Levenick

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Fox Pointe Publishing, LLP. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

www.foxpointepublishing.com/author-john-levenick

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Levenick, John, author.

Eckman, Raven, editor.

Town, Scotty, designer.

Hudson, Becca, cover designer.

Darkness Stirring / John Levenick. – First edition.

Summary: Under the threat of a deadly enemy returning to Antarian space, the High Council authorizes a project to genetically enhance unborn children and create a new generation of super soldiers. The family of one of these children takes steps to uncover this plot while navigating an increasingly complicated political climate.

ISBN (hardcover) 978-1-952567-76-6 / (softcover) 978-1-952567-77-3

[1. Space Opera – Fiction. 2. Genetic Engineering – Fiction. 3. Science Fiction – Fiction.]

Library of Congress Control Number: 2 0 2 3 9 3 1 2 6 1

Printed and bound in the United States of America

First printing April 2023

In memory of my favorite uncle,

Roger Gray.

Your gentle encouragement,

unsolicited advice,

wild tales of teenage adventure,

and ever-present strangeness

helped me to become the writer I am today.

Love you, you weird old Dragon.

You are greatly missed.

Table of Contents

A Note from the Author

Prelude

One: Labor

Two: Secrets

Three: Echoes in the Rock

Four: Numbers

Five: Home

Six: History Lessons

Seven: Visitors

Eight: The Knights

Nine: Preparations

Ten: Royal Introductions

Eleven: Colleagues

Twelve: Others

Thirteen: The Dance

Fourteen: Home Again

Fifteen: Doctors

Sixteen: Intricate Work

Seventeen: Success?

Eighteen: Looking Glass: Ambassadors

Nineteen: Concerns for the Queen

Twenty: Preadate: Revelation

Twenty-One: Highlord

Interlude: Seasons & Years

Twenty-Two: Unexpected Guests

Twenty-Three: Summer Lessons

Twenty-Four: Autumn Festival

Twenty-Five: Darkafter

Postlude: The Mirror Breaks

Glossary

A Partial List of the Antarian Sphere

On Planetary Sectors

On Predator Hunters, the Preadates

Military Rank Equivalents

The Horned Horses and Deer of Kammilonn

Acknowledgements

About the Author

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

I would like for you, when you read the following story, to keep in mind a few things.

FIRST: The characters in this story are not human. They are Antarian. Antarians are outwardly identical to humans, but evolved eons before and thousands of light years away from humanity.  

They originated on a planet they call Kammilonn, the fifth planet in the system of Antaria. When they colonized two of the other planets in the Antaria system, they took the name of their sun as their own. Doing so is common practice in the universe and is considered the mark of a traveled species.

It is also important to note that in their language, Antaria translates literally as life giver.

SECOND: The average Antarian life span is 120 Antarian years. However, they develop and reach maturity earlier, so the ages of societal marks and rites of passage happen at an earlier point in their lives. For example, an Antarian child will be walking quite well at six months; at a year old, they typically have great command of their native language and can usually understand at least some of another language.

At age six, they are considered adolescent, and twelve is their coming of age, when the same rights and responsibilities are bestowed on them as a human at the age of twenty-one. At age fifteen, all Antarian citizens go through a year of mandatory basic military training.

Antarians are physiologically different from humans as well. Antarians have a third bone in each forearm, in addition to the radius and ulna. The same is true of the lower legs. The structuring of their joints is subtly different, allowing greater flexibility. They can see a slightly wider spectrum than humans, a few more angstroms into the infrared and ultraviolet. Their hearts are slightly decentralized, the atrium and ventricle on each side being connected by a muscle bridge of sorts. If one side of the heart sustains damage, the other does not quit immediately. These are the most outstanding differences, though there are others.

THIRD: Antarians have a host of emotions outside of the human norm. Indeed, in at least one point in the story, an Antarian character must clumsily search for the words to describe what he is feeling in a way that another character can understand. Although outward appearances between races may be similar, this does not mean they think, feel, or assign value in the same way.

Similarly, there are Antarian words and idioms that do not translate into English well, or at all. These words are left as is, though meaning can be gleaned from context.

FOURTH: Race does not mean skin color, eye shape, or hair color. Race means a group of beings who evolved together and are bound by genetic likeness. While an Antarian and a Kalinthian may have the same chromosome count and therefore can interbreed, they evolved not just on different planets, but in different star systems. They are, therefore, a separate race from one another.

There is no difference, however, between a light-skinned Antarian and a dark-skinned Antarian. Any civilized race would not make the distinction.

FIFTH: Travel between planets and star systems takes time. Just as you can’t tear down city streets at a hundred miles per hour, most travel within a star system is regulated by two factors: safety laws (think speed limit signs) and the star’s gravity. Stellar gravity affects how a warpfold works, just like wind pushing a bullet or arrow off course.

Astrogation is an exacting and precise discipline, an art and science that requires calculating a course between at least two moving objects. Even with a jump-capable voidship, it takes time to travel hundreds of light-years.

SIXTH: To Antarians, Earth is an unknown planet. It may have a reference number as the third world from an obscure third magnitude star in the complete astrogational catalog, but it has had no formal or casual contact with anyone from the Antarian Sphere. If I had to say where Earth is in relation to the locations in this story, it would be deep, deep into Landrozi territory.

Do not expect to see any reference to Earth, humans, or Terrans within these pages. When an Antarian says man, it is in reference to their own race or to an individual.

SEVENTH: The forms life takes in the universe repeat. This is a basic function of life in the universe—a premise of existence. The basic shape of a cat repeats. The basic shape of a fish repeats. The basic shape of a humanoid repeats, as do the shapes of spiders, dogs, birds, deer, beetles, trees, flowers, and a myriad of others.

Why? Because they are evolutionarily the best suited form for their role in their native ecosystems.

Dominant intelligent species tend to be humanoid in shape, but not always. There are several races that are decidedly not humanoid.

Also, please note not all the humanoid races get along. Just because you resemble your neighbors does not mean you invite them over for coffee or to watch a ball game. Indeed, some of the races don’t get on well with anyone, and therefore choose not to venture out into the universe from their homeworlds.

EIGHTH: There will be places where I have used the English word for the closest analogue the reader would understand. When I say, She picked up an apple or This could use some pepper, I do not mean an actual apple, or the exact same spice we know as common black pepper. What is meant is that the flavor, texture, and smell of the fruit/spice/whatever in question would be recognized as being most like that item.

There are also instances where I use the English word for an item simply for clarity and to avoid confusion. If I say reactor or uranium fluoride, you instantly know the meaning behind these words. Antarians would obviously have their own words for both items, but using the closest translation makes more sense than introducing a neologism for the mundane, then providing a cumbersome explanation in an appendix later.

NINTH: There is a glossary in the back of the book. If you come across a word you cannot understand from context or would like a better definition of than what is provided within the text, please refer to it. But do so only while reading or after having read the story. It makes for dry material as a stand-alone text.

If you keep those few points in mind, your understanding of the text will be greatly enhanced. Thank you.

-John Levenick

PRELUDE

It started small.

Inside the orbital citadel of the Antarian High Council, deep within the plush bowels of offices and chambers, a lone man sat in a waiting room on a bench of leather and n'apen wood. In his hands was a sub-notebook field panel, and he gazed at the dark screen, ashen-faced and apprehensive.

He was here to meet with three members of the High Council: Lord Kaltivorn, Minister of Void Defense Policy; Lady Ceynyah Paltinoth, of the Planetary Defense Body; and King Allverrez, Highlord of the Council.

Within the crystalline memory of the pad he held was a proposal to them. He dreaded this meeting and the inevitable consequences. It would change the Antarian Sphere forever—defensively, socially, and ethically—and it would happen in a heartbeat.

He set the pad down on the coffee table in front of him and picked up the glass containing a stiff shot of arrelkane. He took a large gulp to strengthen his nerve and it shot down his throat like fire. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then opened them again to take in his surroundings.

Black metal paneling cased in dark wood moldings, gray super plush carpeting, and bright quartz lights shining from recesses in the ceiling. The wall across from him was a built-in bookshelf containing volumes of history and law. On one of the other walls hung an original Chiehall oil painting from the Third Empire. The room would have been comfortable if it wasn't so cold.

The door he was seated next to was opened by a slender mechanical hand, and it creaked open on ancient platinum alloy hinges.

The android that entered was a female construct, slender and elegant. The body was proportioned like a normal anthropoid, but its spidery construction was still skeletal and slightly unnerving. Its eyes were cameras set in an angular face of chromed plastic, the mouth a fixed smirk of pleasantness. It moved with lifelike fluidity, silent and purposeful.

Mister Kirstiviov? The voice was a melodious overlay of the tones of three people.

Dr. Kirstiviov, he corrected nervously.

The robot motioned with a three-fingered claw. Highlord Allverrez will see you now.

Kirstiviov stood, picking up the pad, and walked past the android. He heard the door close behind him. At the end of a short hall was a well-furnished office, the smell of old wood and electronics mixing with exotic incense and paper.

King Allverrez was seated behind the carved stone desk, with Lord Kaltivorn standing near an ostentatious aquarium. Lady Paltinoth was seated in one of the chairs facing the desk.

The king gestured to the other chair before him. Sit down, Kirstiviov. His tone was strong and authoritative, but friendly. Kirstiviov did as the Highlord commanded. What news, then?

As it was improper to approach the Highlord unless directed to do so, Kirstiviov handed the computer to Lady Paltinoth.

She took the pad from him, typed in her password, and inserted a data crystal in the drive for verification.

It’s here as you requested, sire, Kirstiviov began, clearing his throat. The extension of the accepted proposal.

Good, King Allverrez said. How soon till your people can begin?

Within the month, sire. We project about a twenty percent rejection rate, a fairly low amount.

The Highlord nodded. And when will they be finished?

Difficult to say, milord. We expect to begin training them at six years. Possibly sooner with exceptional examples.

Paltinoth's head snapped up from the pad's view screen. This list of donors, as you put it, are the target families?

Yes, Kirstiviov answered, fidgeting under her stare. We extracted these names from two sources; both genotype compatibility, which was found to be types seven, twenty, and forty-six according to the genome project results, and houses which have histories of producing both leaders and fighters. He paused, thoughtful, considering his phrasing. We have screened the data seven times, each with slightly different parameters. These are the safest, and best, conclusions.

Paltinoth's eyes were cold, her tone sharp, as she asked, You are certain? She looked back to the Highlord. Sire, your house name is on this list. As are the houses of Varien, Kyrrelate, and—

Mine, I suppose, Kaltivorn interrupted. Ceynyah, we have to look at this objectively. Think of the goal we must achieve. Now, you know the reputations of these houses and clans. Many of them have served in our past wars with the Leatchers and the Landorians, as well as against the Predators. They are the candidates best suited to the template we have laid out.

Predators. The word sent a collective shiver through the room. If their species had another name, no other race knew it. They were called Predators simply for the fact that’s what they were to every race who’d had the severe misfortune to encounter them. They consumed and destroyed anything in their path. They were insect-like, highly evolved, and highly intelligent killing machines. A universal macro-virus in chitinous armor. They had six legs, four arms, and a prehensile tail with a deadly stinger. The pincers of their mandible could sever an arm in one bite, and they stood twice as tall as the average Antarian male. If that wasn’t bad enough, they used both kinetic-projectile and energy weapons.

Paltinoth nodded. Yes, I know. I am the one who brought the problem to the Council in the first place. I even compiled the military data for analysis. But I never expected to use an existing genome, much less our own species.

You would rather re-engineer the Predator hunters? Kirstiviov countered. The Preadates were a mistake to begin with. They ended up being almost as much of a danger to us as the Predators themselves. We have developmental geneticists who are still working with type models to make them more...controllable. 

And we are still where we were in understanding them fifty years ago: nowhere, Lord Kaltivorn added, nodding in agreement.   

So we don't use the same gene stock. We start from scratch and—

And what? King Allverrez growled. Become like the Landorians? One genetic nightmare creation after another? Abduct specimens from other worlds for testing and hybrids?

She shook her head. No, sire, I propose we stop at five genomes. If we haven't gotten it by then, we’ll re-eval and restart the project. That's nothing like the Landrozi.

It's how they started their legacy of genetic manipulation. Besides, if our data is correct, we haven’t the time. Ceynyah, you know that. The Highlord turned to face Kirstiviov. How many are in the initial test group?

Twenty, sire.

Paltinoth crossed her arms, interjecting, I still question whether this is the best course to plot.

King Allverrez softened his tone, replying, "Ceynyah, to be honest, I am not too happy with the idea either. But let me ask you this: How many years would it take to fully research a new genome? Twenty? Fifty? More? We were lucky last time. You know it. I know it. We all know it.

While the Preadates managed to rout the Predators, look at the results: a world entirely unable to sustain life, billions dead, the voidfleet decimated, and the Preadate fleet as good as lost to us. We’ve been rebuilding for twenty years, and we will continue to do so for many more.

She sourly pursed her lips as the Highlord continued. We don't know if either of them will return to this area of space, or if the Preadates would still be friendly to us if they did. We cannot be unprepared if either faction returns. He paused dramatically, taking a breath. Now, let me ask you this: Can another option be ready in less than ten to fifteen years?

Lady Paltinoth lowered her eyes. No. No, it can't. But still, the social ramifications... They frighten me. The Predator hunters were so far removed from us that no one questioned their rights or purpose. But this? She shook her head. If the media picks up this scent, they'll run it down and have the project terminated.

Lord Kaltivorn was examining his manicure with practiced indifference. His tone was almost apathetic when he spoke. "Then we'll terminate it. Publicly. Existing specimens will grow to adulthood and form a military strike group. Nice, clean, and quiet."

With all due respect, my lords, we can't stop this program, Kirstiviov said. Not without terminating existing products.

Unacceptable, King Allverrez said flatly. We would release word that the project was halted and move these people out of public sight.

Sire, in all consideration, is that possible? Paltinoth asked. After all, at least three of these subjects come from royal houses. Can we even keep it quiet after one year? Her expression was one of skepticism. This smells like a fresh kill, and the media are downwind of the blood trail.

King Allverrez touched his fingertips together, pursing his lips. You would be surprised at what can be hidden from the public eye, Lady Paltinoth. His tone was quiet, thoughtful. I highly doubt they will even pursue the rumors, as the story of a follow-up to the Predator hunters has been declared untrue and discredited many times over.

Our position on this matter is quite secure at this point, Kaltivorn said. "And we have considered all options. Let me paint a scenario for you:

The Predators return to the Antarian Sphere, or even the territory of another race. One pod's worth, at first, makes planetfall. By the end of the day, an outlying area is infected. Four days and they are dug in and taking control of a world. We might catch wind of it in the first two days. Elite lancers are sent in, as the regular military has proved mildly effective against them at best. Casualties are twenty to one. That’s five of our ships and twenty of our men for every one they lose.

Paltinoth scoffed, looking away as she crossed her arms.

Kaltivorn continued. Or they decide to jump back into our space with a small armada. Because the Preadate fleet has left our space, pursuing their quarry through the void, our ships at their current strength would be hopelessly outclassed. And if the Preadates pursued the Predators back here, do you think they wouldn't nuke an infestation from orbit? Or worse?

There was a moment's silence before Paltinoth looked back at him, sighing heavily. She knew what he was implying.

Syphos, she muttered. Finally, she nodded. I do understand; you don't have to be so critical of my judgement. I know the consequences—I compiled the data for planetside infestation and removal, so don’t patronize me. It's the morality of this that gets me.

King Allverrez sat back, a cynical smirk gracing his features. Put it away, Ceynyah. This is a minor sacrifice that must be made. I don't like it any more than you, and I have a personal stake in this.

Your wife, she said quietly.

"Yes. My child may very well be one of these...beings. It is not an easy decision to make. But if we don't..."

There may be no future generations to protect, she concluded, finishing his thought with weary resignation. Paltinoth regarded the pad she held for a long moment, then pressed her finger to the pad's screen.

Authorize.

She handed the pad to Lord Kaltivorn, who repeated her action, then he in turn passed it to King Allverrez, who did likewise.

Sire, Kirstiviov started as he took the pad back, how likely is a Predator re-incursion?

It was Lady Paltinoth who answered. Based on our data, very likely. There may even be some Predators still in hibernation, or suspended somewhere out in the void, or below the surface of Androsia. They managed to land a few troops there, as you recall.

I see. We will start the serum and genome research within the week.

Kirstiviov stood, bowed to the council members, and left. History had been written.

Darkness Stirring

ONE

Labor

––––––––

It was a long drive home. Lord Kylen Varien and his wife, Lady Anna Pfhell Clohoridyen-Varien, were both tired and a bit frustrated. They were driving back from a meeting of the Council of Lords, which this quarter had been held in the city of Serravv, over four hundred kays from their home.

Since Anna hated to fly, they had driven. Anna rested one hand on her belly, feeling the stirring of their second child in her womb, due any day now. Kylen reached over and smoothed some of her blonde-red hair from her face.

I'm scared, Kyle. Her voice was soft, calm. She felt her womb contract and shifted in her seat.

It's all right, my little Elf. We'll be home by one.

The headlights cut a brilliant swath over the dark black surface of the deserted road. It had once been a main highway during the age of the Third Empire, but when more people moved into the mega-metropolises that had grown from the main cities of the planet, smaller cities and towns were left completely abandoned. Lines of transit between the huge cities became heavily traversed, and older rural highways fell deeper and deeper into disuse. Eventually, a spider web of abandoned roadways connected long dead ghost towns in outlying areas of the planet.

It was too costly to tear out these roads, so off-ramps from the superhighways were simply removed, and in the early Fourth Empire, they were declared speed free. There were still ways onto these roads, through the lesser-used highways and small cities, and if one knew them well enough, one could make good time through the wild plains.

The trend reversed slightly in the later Fourth Empire, as orbital strikes from space-faring enemies made such concentrated population centers a liability. The small towns that had survived were once again prospering, so that now, in the Sixth Empire, the population was much more evenly distributed.  

Kylen's hand brushed the crest of Anna’s ear; she looked over and smiled. We'll have a bath, then cuddle up under the warm covers, he said. And we won't get up until noon.

Sounds lovely, she said, looking out at the winding road. But our son won't wait that long.

He glanced over at her again. When did your contractions start?

Just after we arrived. I didn't think that it was labor at first. Then I thought we would make it back to Vennidorr before I went into full labor. She paused, feeling a stronger contraction. But we'd best look for a place to stop.

He nodded, slowing the vehicle enough to safely take his eyes off the road. His gaze shifted down to the screen mounted in the center of the console, near the floor. His finger touched the dot representing their vehicle on the map function, and zoomed in. His eyes traced along their current route.

The closest town is, he hesitated, and his voice took on a concerned tone, Dallen. He looked up at her and she nodded, tight-lipped.

Seven years previous, Dallen had been the site of a brutal massacre. The countryside around the small farming community had become home to an increasing number of Starchild immigrants, and racial tensions were high. The people of the planet Kammilonn were hardly xenophobic. Daily interactions with at least seven of the other races that populated distant systems was a fact of life, and not all those races were anthropomorphic. Many members of those races had settled here as citizens, although in relatively small numbers globally. The Starchildren, or Elves, however, were rapidly making up a large percentage.

But that wasn't the issue. No one seemed to know exactly where the Elves were coming from. Apparently, their world had been made uninhabitable through some kind of cataclysmic disaster. They didn't arrive in spaceships, either. Not in their own, and not ferried hither by some other race. In fact, no Elf seemed to even know where their world was. They simply appeared, and not just on Kammilonn; they also arrived on the planets of Androsia, Andrellis, and Yearay, though not in as many numbers.

At first, they arrived a few at a time. Then a slow drizzle. Then a steady trickle. Now, fifty years on since the first Starchild set foot on Kammilonn, they made up about thirty-two percent of the population. They asked for no favors. They contributed to society, worked hard, paid taxes, and learned local customs. But they were strange, in uneasy ways.

They spoke several Antarian dialects without ever having learnt them. The force of magic was strong in them. They lived exceedingly long lives, even by the Antarian standard. Though most shunned the use of technology, they were not unfamiliar with it nor unadaptable to it. They were skilled in many crafts and produced goods of great refinement. It was almost as if legend had come to life.

This made many citizens and organizations of Kammilonn nervous. After all, they could be a hostile race, such as the Leatchers, disguising themselves as Elves. There were several conspiracy theories about them, but the one about them being Leatchers was the most popular. Leatchers were known to disguise themselves by using mental projections and physical illusions.

It did not start out that the Elves were distrusted, though; first they were a curiosity, something rare and wonderful. But as more Starchildren arrived, something nebulous changed in the public opinion of them. The longer they were on the Antarian worlds and the more they worked to be accepted, the more distrust of them spread.

It was ironic, really, because it was not an Antarian who worked the hardest to fan the fires and spread the seeds of unrest. It was an Elf named Ralath Taragoth. A dark-haired, pale-skinned, smooth-tongued Starchild, who hinted and suggested that his people were not what they seemed. He headquartered himself in Dallen, the place of highest Elven settlement, and began to weave a dark spell over the populace. At the time, Kylen Varien had been administrator of the Eight Parsec for just over a year, having assumed his father's place after his death. He had come to Dallen himself to try to get a handle on the situation and thought he had straightened it out. It had been his first real diplomatic test as parsec administrator. On his way out of town, he had come across a small mob that was threatening to turn into a riot. Confronted with how quickly chaos could form, his first test of his diplomatic abilities metamorphosed into a trial by fire.

A group of farmers and businessmen were coming down the street, chanting slogans and yelling. They had begun throwing rocks and bottles at a young Elven woman who was trying to take shelter in a doorway.

Cornered, trapped, she raised an arm to shield against the thrown objects. The thin line of police was pushed aside by the mob as though dust before a broom.

Kylen pulled his car between her and the advancing mob, driving right up onto the curb. He jumped out, grabbed her, hauled her to her feet, and threw her into his car. Then he peeled out, radioing for a riot intervention team from Vennidorr as local forces were overwhelmed.

That was how he met Anna.

The riot team arrived less than twenty minutes later, and the riot was quelled swiftly, though not soon enough. The mob had beaten and killed any Elf they had encountered.

After it was over, fifty were dead and a hundred and fifty were wounded or maimed, including bystanders, police, and protestors. Anna's parents were among the bodies.

Since then, most of the Elven population that had lived in or near Dallen had moved elsewhere. And now, Kylen and Anna would have to go back to that place of hellish memories, a place of death and betrayal, and hope that the specters of past deeds had fled. Anna needed medical assistance and it was the only place they could go.

Anna was just going into hard contractions as they pulled into the hospital's emergency parking. An orderly and a nurse hurried out, asking questions and helping Anna onto a gurney. When he saw her ears, the nurse stopped. We can't admit her.

You will, Kylen countered.

The nurse shook his head. We aren't equipped for Elves anymore. You have to go somewhere else.

Kylen lost his patience. You listen to me, you son-of-a-drunken-skank. This is the Lady Anna Varien; I am her husband! If you don't admit her, I'll have the license of every professional in the building irreversibly revoked!

Kylen didn’t usually throw his authority around; he held himself above such tactics. He was beholden to King Rillkazz to govern the Eighth Parsec under royal egis. Fully half of the king’s sector, one parsec, was his family’s responsibility to govern, maintain, and nurture. It was his job to make sure that law was maintained, royal decree was followed, the economy stayed stable, and life ran smoothly. It was an honor and duty his family had never taken lightly or abused. Few government families could make that claim.

But his wife was in labor, and his temper was thin. They had just endured a lengthy legislature session and more than one heated argument over proposed new laws. And now, a self-important nurse was denying Anna the right to a physician. He found himself balling his fists in anger.

One of the emergency room trauma specialists, a Nemstien medic by the look of his skin, stepped forward to see what the commotion was about.

This man claims he's the administrator and wants us to admit an Elf he claims is his wife. The nurse crossed his arms, smug in his bigotry.

You don't watch the news much, do you? the medic asked sarcastically. He pushed the nurse aside, took the gurney, and wheeled it inside. I'm sorry, my lord, he apologized to Kylen. We'll take care of her straightaway.

***

The emergency ward was far from state-of-the-art, but it was more than adequate. Anna shook as they wheeled her into the minor surgery room. It's alright, my lady, the medic reassured her as Kylen hurried behind them. You won't make it to maternity as far as you've progressed.

A female Nemstien burst through the doors on the opposite side of the room. Vitals? she asked hurriedly.

Green.

Dilation?

UC. Just got her in.

She nodded. Okay. Lie still, hon, just a few checks and we'll help you through.

Anna nodded, looking fearfully at the strangeness of these Nemstien medics. Kylen had told her about them before, but she’d never seen one. Beyond regular trauma specialists, doctors, or medical professionals, and augmented with advanced biotechnology, they actually became their work. She stared at the jet-black, rubbery skin of the female, crisscrossed with lines of blue, yellow, and red.

In a few seconds, the Nemstien would connect to Anna and be directly hooked to her body. As the male helped Anna out of her dress and into a squatting position, she had an urge to jump off the table and run but fought it. These people were here to help, not hurt.

The female zipped her finger over a red line on her own skin, tracing from her shoulder to the center of her chest. The skin peeled back, revealing the musculature of the pectoral region beneath. The group separations were cleanly defined, yet no blood flowed from the exposed tissues.

Anna’s stomach turned as she looked at the pinkish tissues, seeing the dark maroon and blue vessels pulse in time with the heart, the subtle flexing of the muscles, the rise and fall of the ribs deep beneath with each breath. The sternum was by far the worst part, to Anna's eyes at least. It was a hunk of blue-black metal, with a copperish coil set in the center where it disappeared under the skin again. A barely visible green phosphorescent glow toward the edges marked it as a sterile field generator.

She closed her eyes and swallowed her stomach as it tried to crawl up and out her throat. Another contraction hit, and this time she winced.

It's alright, Lady Varien, the male medic reassured her. Try to relax. Just lean back into me. Selkreah is going to attach some monitors to you, so don't be scared. No one will hurt you.

Kyle? she called out, trying to hide the panic in her voice. 

I'm here, Kylen replied, taking her hand.

The female medic attached a red lead to Anna's