Life aboard the Asteria had always been governed by rhythm:
rotations, drills, the endless cycle of reports.
But for Anthony and Thalia, the rhythms of the ship now ran around the quieter, unpredictable pulse of a tiny new life.
Aelira.
The baby had changed everything. Even on a ship used to oddities, she had quickly become the center of a strange gravity — one that pulled people in, curious but cautious, aware that this child was not quite like anyone else.
---
Anthony discovered that diapers, bottle prep, and midnight rocking were never covered in Coalition officer training.
"She's doing this on purpose," he grumbled softly as he walked the nursery's narrow length, one arm cradling the infant against his chest.
Thalia, seated on the couch, gave him a quiet laugh. The soft teal of her filaments shimmered in the low light. "She likes the sound of your heartbeat. It settles her."
"She's yanking my beard," he said dryly.
"That, too," Thalia admitted, a flicker of pale blue running up her filaments — the Narian equivalent of hiding a smile. "She finds it fascinating. Different textures."
Anthony stopped, staring down at the small fingers tangled in his beard. "You're enjoying this," he accused.
"I'm observing," she corrected.
"Uh-huh."
---
When they ventured out of their quarters, the attention was quieter but unmistakable. Crew members nodded, smiled. Some paused mid-task just to glimpse the child swaddled against her mother or father.
There was no hostility in the glances — but there was caution, a silent acknowledgment that everyone knew this was more than just another officer's family.
Most of the time, nothing happened. Aelira slept, or blinked curiously, or curled her tiny filaments close.
But sometimes…
---
It was during a communal meal that the whispers began again.
Anthony carried Aelira strapped to his chest while Thalia handled the tray, both finding a seat in the corner. For a time, it was perfectly ordinary.
Until Aelira stirred.
Her small neural filaments — still soft, translucent, and only just learning to move — lifted like curious tendrils. A faint glow spread along them, not bright, just enough to cast a halo of soft white-blue light across her head.
The mess hall fell silent.
No one moved. Conversations froze mid-sentence.
Anthony glanced up, spoon halfway to his mouth.
Thalia felt the attention hit them like a wave. Her filaments flushed a clear pale blue — embarrassment rising but carefully contained.
Aelira yawned. The glow faded.
And the mess hall remembered how to breathe.
By the time they left, the whispers were already spreading.
---
The whispers followed them long after they left the mess hall.
By the next rotation, the ship's private message threads were full of speculation:
> "Did you see it? Like a starlamp… but alive."
"I swear I felt something when she looked at me. Like being weighed. But not bad."
"Could that have been a side effect of the bonding?"
The words traveled fast, but the tone was never hostile. Most crewmates spoke with a kind of awe, as if they were afraid to talk too loudly about what they'd witnessed.
---
Diplomatic requests began arriving almost immediately after.
Captain Renara handled every single one, and she made sure none of them made it through to Anthony or Thalia.
Some were carefully worded:
> "The Coalition Council would like to schedule a low-impact observation session at your earliest convenience…"
Others were blunt, written in the clipped language of military scientists:
> "We require readings from both parents and the infant. Full resonance profile. Access to the child's neural signature is requested."
Renara denied all of them.
"My responsibility," she told Anthony and Thalia when they eventually asked about the sudden increase in traffic. "Not yours. My deck, my decision."
Her four eyes blinked in sequence, firm. "Let the universe want something from you. That doesn't mean it gets it."
---
Life settled into something resembling routine.
Anthony juggled duty rotations and sleepless nights. Thalia balanced scientific logs, the baby, and the delicate task of appearing calm while Aelira's very existence was drawing the attention of worlds.
The nursery became their favorite refuge.
"You notice she does that when the ship hits warp harmonics?" Anthony asked one evening.
Aelira's tiny filaments had fanned outward, waving gently to the rhythm of the engines.
"She likes it," Thalia said softly, teal filaments calm, leaning back on the couch. "It feels familiar to her. Safe."
"Feels familiar to me, too," he said. "But I don't glow when the engines kick in."
Thalia's filaments rippled blue again — an involuntary flash of amusement mixed with embarrassment. "You glow in other ways."
Anthony grinned. "Smooth."
---
It happened again two days later.
This time, it wasn't in the quiet of the mess hall. It was on one of the wide observation decks, where a cluster of crew had gathered to watch a nearby binary star swing into conjunction.
Anthony had Aelira cradled in his arms, both he and Thalia standing back from the crowd, content to watch from the shadows.
When the stars locked into that moment of perfect alignment, light filled the viewing glass, spilling across the deck in a wash of silver and red.
And in that light, Aelira stirred.
Her tiny filaments lifted and stretched outward — not random, but patterned. For a few seconds, they pulsed in perfect harmony with the binary rhythm, each pulse mirrored by the soft glow on her skin.
The hum in the deck shifted.
Conversations fell away.
For a few breaths, no one saw the stars. All eyes were on the child.
Then the alignment passed. The glow faded, leaving only a small, drowsy infant against her father's chest.
Anthony looked down at her, exhaled, and glanced toward Thalia. Her filaments had gone pale blue again, but there was a quiet strength in her posture.
"Let them talk," she whispered.
---
By the end of the week, there were two stories running side by side through the ship:
The official story:
A cross-species bond evolving, extending naturally to their child. Something wondrous, but explainable.
The story everyone really told one another:
That the child had lit up like a living star.
That for a moment, everyone had felt something vast looking back through her.
And that those two moments — in the mess hall, and on the observation deck — were only the beginning.
---
In their quarters, the nursery lights dimmed and quiet, Anthony sat in the rocking chair with Aelira nestled against his chest. Thalia sat on the floor beside him, leaning against his leg, one hand resting lightly on their daughter's back.
"She's going to grow up under a lens," Anthony said quietly.
"She'll grow up knowing we stand between her and the lens," Thalia replied. Her filaments glowed calm, steady teal.
Anthony's hand brushed over her shoulder. "I like that plan."
The baby stirred, curling her filaments against him, and the quiet returned.
Outside, the rumors carried on.
Inside, the three of them simply breathed.