Naomi never asked if Valerie had given it willingly or not. She wasn’t sure which answer she would have preferred.

The autodoc had scanned her, pinned her in place, and Hart oversaw the program that performed the surgery. With the embedded AI and steady machinery, it was lower risk than Hart doing it herself. Naomi found it oddly comforting that her mother’s programming would help save her life. She was cut open like a plum to free the stone, then sealed back up. As soon as it was possible to move her, Naomi was shifted to the antiseptic table next to the autodoc, so the glass chamber could function as a neonatal intensive care unit.

Naomi suspected there were complications—a few horrible moments where those around her wondered if she or the babe would make it through.

There had been fractures of pain, of beeps, low, urgent voices muffled by the glass of the autodoc. Strange snippets of jagged visions, overlaid with memories of the miscarriage. At one point, she thought Valerie had come through, to grip her hand tight like she had in the hospital room, but she’d looked down at her palm to find it empty.

Naomi remembered blinking up at the ceiling of the med bay as she came to, one of the little cleaning robots skittering across the white to suck up any errant dust. It moved like a spider, and Naomi watched it make its methodical way towards the vent in the corner.

Her gaze travelled downwards and snagged on the autodoc. The glass was fogged slightly; the autodoc’s temperature had been raised to make sure the baby within didn’t get hypothermia. Naomi could just make out a little wrapped bundle in the centre, impossibly tiny, and a blur of a pink face among the white. She let herself cry for the first time in she didn’t know how long. She’d often pressed tears down, unwilling to show weakness. For a time, she’d wondered if she’d forgotten how.

The sounds of her subdued sniffles brought Hart to Naomi’s side.

“Hey there,” Hart said, softly.

“Is she all right?” Naomi croaked.

“She’s very premature. Weighs in at just over two and a half pounds. So far her vitals are as good as can be expected.” She listed the details dispassionately. “She needs help breathing, and we’re feeding her intravenously with dextrose and general nutrition, though we’ll start transitioning her to milk feeds over the next few days. Her blood pressure isn’t too low. No signs of infection. No indication of any brain damage. So far, so good.”

Naomi’s eyes grew wetter, weaving tracks down her temples.

“This is where we dubiously have to thank Valerie, because she made sure the autodoc was programmed to be compatible with babies, knowing that we might be growing newborns once we landed.”

Naomi released her breath in a sigh.