It was just past midday when the knock came, three firm raps against the outer hatch, followed by a familiar voice filtered through the static-blurred comm panel.
"Mirena! Are you alive in there?"
Mirena smiled before she could help it. She rose from her stool, tucking a cloth into her belt as she crossed the main room. Kael sat on a folded blanket nearby, one small hand curled around a stripped copper bolt. He didn't flinch at the knock. Didn't startle. He just looked up at the door.
Like he already knew who it was.
The hatch unsealed with a hiss. A gust of warm, dust-heavy air swept in, along with the figure of a woman wrapped in a red-patched travel coat and wide mining goggles perched on her forehead.
"Still breathing," Mirena said, ushering her in. "For now."
"Better than most," said the woman, shaking her coat off with a practiced twist. "Place smells like home, burnt synth oil, and coffee. And maybe a touch of antiseptic."
"Your fault on that last one."
Vessa Norn, the settlement's field mechanic and one of Mirena's oldest friends, dropped into the nearest chair with a groan. Her long braid was laced with dust, and her fingers were smudged with machine grease.
"Ran a sweep of the east corridor's drone bay. A bunch of sensor arrays are down again. You wouldn't believe the nesting I pulled out of one of the power ports. Something warm-blooded and deeply pissed."
"Probably still smarter than the foreman," Mirena said dryly, heading toward the makeshift kitchen unit. "Tea?"
"If it's hot and doesn't kill me, I'll drink it."
Kael, now about eight months old, turned his head slowly toward the stranger. He said nothing, didn't gurgle or squirm. Just watched.
Vessa caught his gaze mid-sip and paused.
"Is that…?"
Mirena returned with the mugs, setting one down. "That's Kael. And yes, he's mine."
"I thought you couldn't…"
"I couldn't. He's adopted."
Vessa stared at the boy. "He's… looking at me."
"Yes."
"No, I mean he's looking."
"I know."
Kael sat upright with unusual balance for a child his age. His eyes, silver-flecked and sharp, were locked on Vessa, measuring her the way someone older might scan a data feed for threat patterns.
Vessa tilted her head. "He's always this quiet?"
"Always."
"Creepy."
Mirena chuckled under her breath. "He's just observant."
"Observant is when a kid stares at light fixtures. He's tracking my posture and hand movement."
Mirena didn't answer right away.
*******
Moments from Kael's First Year
At three months, Kael had rolled over on his own, no rocking, no flailing. Just one smooth movement like he had solved a mechanical equation in his head.
At five months, he began standing with support, and by six, he could walk across the room in stiff, precise steps. Arik said he looked like a machine learning to walk.
At seven months, he started mimicking sounds but not baby babble. It was the beeping of door locks. The clicks of diagnostic tools. The quiet hum of atmospheric filters.
By eight months, he could point to specific objects when named. When Mirena showed him a picture pad, he could distinguish shapes, colors, and even match basic mechanical diagrams.
He never cried when he was hungry. Instead, he pointed to the nutrient canister or pulled at the valve on his water pack. Never loud. Always exact.
******
Back in the room, Vessa leaned in, eyes narrowed slightly. "He's too aware."
Mirena lowered her mug. "He's just... advanced."
"You're a medic. You know that's not how babies work."
Mirena's jaw tightened. "He's not a threat."
"I didn't say he was." Vessa's voice softened. "But if someone else notices someone with less heart than me, what then?"
Mirena looked at Kael. He was now crawling toward a loose data pad, dragging himself across the floor with precise little movements. He stopped when he reached it and began tapping at the screen slowly, deliberately.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I won't let anyone take him."
Vessa sipped from her cup, her eyes never leaving the boy. "Then we'll need to keep him quiet. Teach him to pretend. Make him seem… normal."
"He doesn't know how to be anything else."
Vessa sighed. "Then let's hope no one important ever visits Grey Hollow."
Mirena didn't answer right away. Her gaze had drifted back to Kael, who was still hunched over the old datapad. His tiny index finger tapped slowly across the screen, not aimlessly, but with a kind of rhythm. The screen wasn't even powered. The battery was dead. Still, Kael watched it intently, head tilted, as if imagining what should be there.
Vessa followed Mirena's line of sight.
"You know," she muttered, "when my nephew hit eight months, he could barely sit up without toppling over. This one's got posture like a sentry drone."
Mirena sighed and knelt beside Kael. He looked up at her, curious. She smiled gently and brushed the hair from his forehead.
"Kael," she said softly, "say hello to Aunt Vessa."
The boy blinked once, then turned his eyes back toward Vessa and raised a hand, not a wave, not random, but a small, deliberate gesture. He held it there, steady, palm flat and fingers spread apart.
"Stars," Vessa whispered. "Did he just salute me?"
Mirena's smile faded slightly.
Kael lowered his hand and turned back to the data pad, placing it flat on the ground and tapping a sequence across the lifeless screen: top right, center, lower left. Then he paused. Waited.
When nothing happened, he tilted his head, confused.
Vessa stood and crossed the room slowly. "You didn't program that?"
"No."
"That's a nav-code gesture. Used in old mining drones to reset orientation alignment."
Mirena blinked. "How would he know that?"
"He wouldn't." Vessa squatted next to the child and studied his face. "He shouldn't."
Kael didn't respond. He merely looked up at her again, calm, curious, still.
"I don't like this," Vessa said softly. "Not because he's dangerous, but because he's... vulnerable. Someone sees what I'm seeing, and they'll start asking questions. UG questions."
"I told you," Mirena said, rising to her feet. "He's mine. I don't care where he came from or who buried him out in that sand. He's staying here."
"I know. But staying hidden… that's not the same as staying safe."
Vessa stood. Her tone wasn't confrontational; it was worrying. Protective, even.
"I'll keep your secret," she said. "But if he starts doing more like that…" She glanced back at the data pad. "You're going to have to decide. Because word gets around, even out here."
Mirena nodded silently.
Outside, the wind picked up again, brushing coarse sand against the dome's outer shell with a sound like scraping bones.
Kael, unaware of the tension in the room, reached for the data pad again. But this time, instead of tapping, he turned it over, removed the battery panel, and stared quietly at the exposed circuitry.
Vessa saw it too and murmured under her breath, "Stars help us."