Across the city, the IPO gala for Cross Robotics glittered under the lights of the Grand Meridian Ballroom. Champagne flutes clinked like distant bells, and the air buzzed with the scent of olives, caviar, and ambition. Tech billionaires mingled with politicians, their laughter sharp and calculated, while interns and mentees hovered at the edges, eyes wide with dreams of breaking into Nate Cross's orbit. The room dripped with wealth, crimson drapes, gold-trimmed tables, and chandeliers that cast prisms across tailored suits and sequined gowns.
Nate stood at the podium and tapped the mic twice, a gesture that was both practical and performative. "Test, test," he said, then winked. "Just checking if this thing is as powerful as my marketing team says it is." The crowd erupted in laughter. At 38, he carried the swagger of a man who had built an empire from nothing. The crowd hung on his words as he leaned into the mic, his voice smooth as bourbon.
"Twenty years ago," Nate began, a self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips, "I sent my mentor a grocery list instead of my first pitch deck. Eggs, milk… and a desperate plea for Series A funding." Laughter rippled through the ballroom, glasses lifting in salute. "Lucky for me, he looked past the typos and the peanut butter request. Today, Cross Robotics is more than a company. It is a lifeline. A way to give our collective future more than one chance. And all of this," he swept a hand toward the room, "is possible because of three people."
He turned to Jema, seated at the head table in an emerald gown that caught the light like water. He noticed her wincing. "Jem, my heart, my compass, you're the reason we're here. A seven-months-pregnant corporate lawyer who runs everything, outworking everyone in this room."
Her smile was fierce yet soft, her hand resting on the curve of her belly. The crowd cooed. Some with warmth, others with envy. Nate could feel it like a pulse. He caught the sidelong glances from women studying Jema, their gazes sharp as cut glass.
"Our daughter, Lila, ten years old, is already pitching me apps. Her latest? A unicorn tracker, inspired by her block towers… an idea I may or may not have adapted for platinum ore locators." More laughter.
"And Jace, my little soldier, four years old and stubborn enough to argue with a brick wall. He's why I fight to improve this world, so the walls don't win." Nate's voice snagged for just a beat before he cleared his throat.
"I'm not perfect," he added, winking. Jema rolled her eyes, her laugh softening the moment. "I leave a few things running at home. Like my razor. Just to give her something else to fuss about."
The audience chuckled, missing the slight falter in Jema's smile and the way her fingers tightened on her glass.
Nate's grin returned, effortless. "But tonight's not about my bad habits. This IPO isn't just numbers, it's possibility. And speaking of possibilities…"
From the crowd, Thomas Tate, Nate's most persistent rival, lifted a hand. He wasn't smirking. For once, he looked almost contemplative. "A question, Nate, if you'll indulge me." His voice was a calm, measured baritone that cut through the celebratory noise. "Beyond the robots and the riches… what's the one thing you'd never algorithmize? The one thing you'd protect from a hostile takeover at any cost?"
The room went still, sensing a shift from playful ribbing to something more profound. Nate held his gaze, the easy grin fading into something more genuine. He knew what Tate was really asking.
"The people, Tom," Nate said, his voice dropping its performative edge. "It's always the people. The ones in this room, the ones in our homes. The rest…" He shrugged. "The rest is just code and collateral."
Tate studied him for a long moment, then gave a single, slow nod of respect. It was a truce, however temporary. "Then congratulations." He tossed a set of keys across the room. "For the new arrival. Something with a soul, not just software."
Nate caught them midair. They were cold and heavy in his hand. "A car?" he guessed, recognizing the key fob.
"The SVR," Tate confirmed, a hint of his old smirk returning. "Loud, impractical, and utterly human. Try not to let your wife drive it too fast."
The room roared its approval, the tension broken, the air thick with champagne, ambition, and a newfound, fragile respect.
Nate pocketed the keys, the weight of them a strange counterpoint to the digital fortune he'd just made. "We have over a thousand robots ready to probe the biggest unseen parts of our universe, and here on earth, we're in every home, cleaning, walking your dogs, keeping your kids safe, all while staying open source and transparent." Nate went right back to his speech.
"I know your concerns, open source, transparent, all of that scary lingo for billionaires, but that's the secret, trust by being open source, but we have the connections and licenses to make it work on such a scale, if it is replicated, it looks like ours, and if it doesn't work well, it is not ours.
The speech went on for about five more minutes when Tate paused and gestured for Ron, his secretary, to take over. "Pardon me, folks, I gotta cut this short." Jema was at the back, tears running down her face staggering, and quivering. He rushed down the stage and took his wife by the arms. She pushed her phone to him, "Our kids, Nate, they have our kids," she cried, "I have called the house, no answer.
The message glared up at him. His daughter, bleeding. His son, terrified. Twenty million dollars. A deadline in hours. His heart hammered against his ribs, a wild animal trapped in a cage. But with a force of will he didn't know he possessed, he sealed the cage shut. His breathing evened. His hands steadied. The panic was a fire raging in the basement; up here, where it mattered, he was ice.
"Stay calm, Jem, the people out there can't see you cry; they are sharks, they will feast if they smell blood."
"Nate, "she said, hyperventilating, "the kids," she let down a loud cry, "I think the baby is coming."
"What? Now?" He said, ending his pacing.
Her legs started to fail. He carried her and started towards the backwards emergency exit that led to an alley. Security rarely patrolled that part of the Grand Meridian.
He called LaRue the chauffeur. "Fuck shit, why isn't he picking up?"
Out the door and down the stairs, he went to where their SUV was parked, hoping to find LaRue there. He wasn't.
Then 911.
The line clicked, too calm, too slow. "911, what is your emergency?" a dispassionate voice asked.
"My wife…she's pregnant, her water broke, she's two months early! We need an ambulance at the Grand Meridian, now!"
Keys clacked softly in the background. "Sir, I'm showing a trainwreck on Central. All emergency units are currently diverted. The estimated response time to your location is… forty-five minutes."
"Forty-five minutes? Are you insane? She could be dying!"
"I understand your distress, sir. Given your proximity, your fastest option would be to transport her directly to Meridian Hospital yourselves. It is less than three miles down the Boulevard." He reached into his pocket, the car keys – the baby's gift.
He picked it out. Click. No cars responded.
What bloody car is next? The thought screamed in his head as he staggered, his wife slumping in his numb arms.
Click!
Click!
Click!
"Fuck!"
"The flash parked 160 meters down the road, the meanest-looking SVR he had ever seen. The car ahead of him got excited. Staggering under her weight, he half-ran, half-stumbled down to it, laid his wife in the front seat, secured the belts with shaking hands, and rushed to the driver's seat.
The SUV roared down the road, oddly deserted for a Thursday evening. White knuckled, he rushed down the road to the Meridian Hospital.
"Nate, the kids… You must get them no matter what." She murmured under her breath, barely audible, barely conscious.
"Stay with me. I will fix it, Jem," he said, caressing his wife's thigh. For the first time in his life, he was making a promise to her that he did not know how to deliver on. He was backed in a corner, and he didn't know if he had the strength to fight against the odds like he used to or even where to start. Jema made everything easy.
Miles down the road, the hospital loomed into sight. Two minutes later, he came to a screeching halt at the entrance and rushed out to get Jema.
"Help, my wife needs help—"
The nurses ran out with a gurney.
"Her water broke, but she's due in two months—"
"We will take it from here. Kindly go to the front desk and fill out the necessary forms."
He was restless, unsure of where to go. He picked up his phone.
LaRue.
LaRue picked up on the third ring.
"Where the fuck are you, LaRue?
"Downtown Boss, standing over the tracker you had on Lila's bracelet." He paused for a while, taking heavy breaths and waiting for a reply. "I got a call from Carla, she's dead, boss. The animals done her."
"Come to the Hospital on Meridian Boulevard."
LaRue's Large frame barged into the hospital in what seemed like an eternity later.
"Boss, what do we do? What do you need?"
"I need you to stay here, keep an eye on Jema. I have stuff to do."
"You don't need my help?"
"I need your help making sure Jema is safe. Till she's done and out, take note of everyone who comes in and goes out."
"Boss." Placing a hand on Nate's shoulders. "Bring them back no matter what."
"I will Rue."
"Nathaniel Cross?"
A short man with scruffy hair and slides called as he headed for the doors. "Can we talk in my office?"
"Of course, Dr…" he paused to look at the embroidery on his scrub "Zola."
The office was a circus. Graphs stacked on chairs, medical journals used as coasters, a skeleton model wearing a shawl and a paper crown, an arrow lodged through its skull. The air smelled like a bakery.
"Do you want a cinnamon bun or muffins?" he asked, waving a tray. Either way, sanitize. Hospital rules."
"I am okay. What did you want to talk about? How is my wife? Can I see the baby?" Nate asked, his heart thudding loudly, betraying the composure he tried to show.
"None of that, Mr. Cross. I have tequila in here somewhere; you may need it – "
"Can you stop with this roller coaster? I want to see my wife and our child, and I have places to be."
"Well, cool your horses. Your wife has a complication; she may not pull through this one. It's her or the child. She wants the child saved, so I wanted to let you know the fossils she's with currently are prepping her for death."
He stopped the search. "Voila, here's my sweet bottle of liquid confidence. He grabbed two tumblers and poured.
"You see, I have the solution, think of me as the devil, I can give you your heart's desires, but it comes at a cost. Only this time I wish there were another way."
"Cut to the chase – "
"All the other doctors are discussing the best approach to save the child. If she gets sedated, she may never come to. My solution is simple: keep her awake, save the child, and save her.
Nate looked at the doctor and paused, took the tumbler, and gulped it. "Pour some more." He dropped the tumbler with a thud.
"You want to cut my wife open while she's wide awake, watching you pull out our child?" He asked.
"Pretty much. You want a straightforward, clean story, stick with those guys. Wife dies, baby cries, you get a funeral. Very dignified. But if you like Vegas odds, I'm your guy. Sixty-forty. It could be a miracle. It could be a train wreck. But at least you're not guaranteed a funeral. You do have to make me your doctor right now if you'd prefer to cheat the reaper and go with me. I can't lift a scalpel without your consent. That's the law; it's dumb, but I didn't write it. What's it gonna be?
"Cheating the reaper, if you fail, we lose them both. Why do you think I'd go with you?"
"You look like a gambling man. Most premature births end up dying anyway without their mother. I am giving you a shot to have her stroll out of here with the baby; it's ugly, it's messy, but it might work. The only problem is that the dinosaurs in there won't let me touch her.
"How do you intend to make it happen?" Nate said, eyes fixed on the doctor.
"If she goes under, she will 100% never come to. I keep her up with a cocktail, cocaine, fentanyl, think of Wall Street in the 80s, but cleaner. Side effects? Oh, nothing you would notice until she tries for another baby. Spoiler alert: There may not be another baby. It's a no-brainer, a dead wife or a wife who is alive but can't make another baby, your choice."
"Have you done this before?" Nate murmured, the tension in his brow the only sign of his terror.
Zola didn't look up from the vial he was preparing. "Relax. The theory is flawless."
"On a person?" Nate pressed, his voice low.
"On the problem," Zola corrected. "The body is just a series of systems. This system is failing. My solution addresses the failure. The principle is what matters." He finally glanced at Nate, his grin sharp and devoid of warmth. "Worrying about the 'where' is sentiment. Sentiment loses patients."
He reached into a drawer and slid a single sheet of paper across the cluttered desk. The heading read: Request for Experimental Cesarean Section & Maternal Stabilization Procedure.
"Legality's a dull blade, but it still cuts," Zola said, tapping a line at the bottom. "Sign there. Can't have you suing me for the miracle, can we?"
Nate stared at the form, then at the madman in the stained scrubs, who held two lives he would die for in his hands. No good choices were left, only a desperate bet on a pair of loaded dice. He scrawled his signature, a jagged, angry slash of ink.
He stood to leave, unlocked the door, and paused.
"Save her. And the child." His voice was ice. "Or you will find out the form I signed is just a sheet of paper."