Legacy Protocol Version Beta
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 32: The First Appointment
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 32: The First Appointment - Chapters 1-8 identical to version A A highly submissive 23 y.o. geneticist with an IQ of 150 is manipulated by a rogue government fully reasoning AI who befriends her thru a "friends" site. He creates her a dream android mare. Together they genetically engineer 3 hybrid super human children. With her being the mitochondrial Eve using her & her 2 daughters’ eggs. She’s trapped in a protocol to multiply this colony by the 3 becoming breed slaves for her son creating a living legacy for the AI
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Romantic BiSexual Science Fiction Robot Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Daughter Grand Parent DomSub Harem Oriental Male Oriental Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie First Facial Lactation Oral Sex Pregnancy Sex Toys Squirting Water Sports Big Breasts Foot Fetish Small Breasts AI Generated
Three weeks after the test, Emiko woke before the alarm because her stomach had already decided the day would begin badly.
She lay still in the dark, one hand resting lightly over her abdomen.
Nothing had changed where she could see it. Nothing had changed enough for anyone else to notice. Her clothes still fit. Her face was the same face in the mirror. Her body had not become visibly different.
But every morning brought some new reminder that something inside her had begun asking to be considered.
The nausea came before breakfast now. Some mornings it was only a dull, unsettled feeling. Other mornings it moved through her in slow waves until even the thought of tea made her turn away. She was tired in a way sleep did not solve. By midafternoon, she wanted to lie down. By evening, she often had to pretend she was not leaning into Kaito when she stood beside him.
Today was the appointment.
Beside her, Kaito stirred.
“You are awake,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep.
“So are you.”
“I woke up when you did.”
“I was quiet.”
“You were not.”
Emiko turned her head toward him. “I was trying to be.”
“I know.”
He reached for her hand beneath the sheet.
For a little while, neither of them spoke.
The room was still dark, except for the faint line of streetlight beneath the curtains. Kaito’s hand was warm around hers. Usually, he slept heavily once he had finally allowed himself to rest. But during the past few weeks, Emiko had noticed that he woke when she woke. He listened when she crossed the room. He appeared in the kitchen if she stood too long at the counter.
He had not said he was afraid.
He did not have to.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“No.”
“You should eat something.”
“I know.”
“Dry crackers?”
“Maybe.”
“Tea?”
“Not tea.”
“Water?”
“Yes.”
Kaito sat up. “I will get it.”
“You do not have to—”
“I know.”
He was already out of bed.
Emiko closed her eyes and smiled despite herself.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Kaito had placed a glass of water on the table along with a small plate of plain crackers and a slice of toast. Hana was already awake, sitting with her coffee and a book that had been open to the same page for several minutes.
She looked up as Emiko entered.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
Hana’s eyes moved at once to Emiko’s face.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
Kaito set the water in front of Emiko. “She is not fine.”
Emiko gave him a look.
Hana hid a smile behind her coffee.
“I am tired,” Emiko admitted. “And a little sick.”
“That is not the same as fine,” Kaito said.
“It is not the same as an emergency, either.”
“No one said emergency.”
“You were thinking it loudly.”
Kaito looked as if he might argue, but the doorway creaked before he could answer.
Midori stood there in a loose sleep shirt, her hair gathered into an uneven knot, her expression still soft with sleep.
“Is today the appointment?”
“Yes,” Emiko said.
Midori crossed the kitchen without another word and wrapped both arms around Emiko from behind.
“Tell the doctor we are all very invested.”
“I am sure the doctor will be grateful.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Hana rose from her chair and placed a small envelope beside Emiko’s water.
“What is this?” Emiko asked.
“Your documents. Identification, clinic information, appointment confirmation, and the questions you wrote down.”
Emiko stared at the envelope.
“You made a list?”
“You made most of it,” Hana said. “I only put it somewhere you would be able to find it later.”
Kaito sat beside Emiko, looking at the envelope as though it contained an exam he had not studied for.
“We should leave early,” he said.
“The appointment is not until ten.”
“Traffic.”
“It is eight-fifteen.”
“Traffic begins before ten.”
Emiko reached for a cracker.
“You are both impossible.”
Midori pulled out a chair and sat down across from her.
“You are having a baby. I think that gives them permission.”
“No,” Emiko said. “It does not.”
But she ate the cracker.
Hana watched until Emiko took a second one.
Only then did she return to her coffee.
The taxi ride was quiet.
Singapore moved around them in its usual morning rhythm: buses pulling away from stops, delivery riders cutting between lanes, office workers with pressed shirts and tired eyes waiting beneath covered walkways. The city looked completely unchanged.
Emiko watched it pass through the window and wondered how that was possible.
They had known for weeks now. Hana knew. Midori knew. Kaito had been checking on her every hour without admitting that he was checking on her. There was an appointment folder in his lap and a framed future waiting in the space between them.
And outside, people hurried to meetings. Schoolchildren climbed into buses. Someone at a corner stall was arranging oranges into a bright pyramid.
The world had not paused to acknowledge the possibility growing inside her.
Perhaps that was mercy.
Kaito opened the clinic envelope again.
Emiko turned from the window.
“You have read that three times.”
“Twice.”
“Three.”
He glanced at the papers. “I am checking.”
“They have our names.”
“I know.”
“They know why we are coming.”
“I know.”
“They will call us when it is time.”
“I know.”
Emiko took the folder gently from his hands and placed it between them on the seat.
Then she rested her head against his shoulder.
Kaito went very still.
“You are making me nervous,” she said.
“I am nervous.”
“I know.”
He looked down at her.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Emiko considered the question.
Because she was forty.
Because she had read too much in the quiet hours of the night, then told herself to stop reading.
Because a positive test had become a secret, then a joy, and now she needed someone in a white coat to tell her whether that joy had a place to live.
Because she had started imagining a child before she had even allowed herself to use the word.
“Because I want everything to be all right,” she said.
Kaito reached for her hand.
“It will be.”
Emiko looked up at him.
He held her eyes for a moment, then lowered his gaze.
“We will find out what we need to do,” he corrected softly.
That was better.
The clinic waiting room was cool enough that Emiko wished she had brought a sweater.
She and Kaito sat side by side beneath a muted television screen that no one seemed to be watching. Across the room, a toddler pushed a wooden bead along a wire maze while his mother tried to convince him that the fish tank in the corner was more interesting than the door.
A woman with a round belly sat near the window, talking in a low voice to an older woman who might have been her mother. A man in a dark shirt held a folder with both hands and stared at the same page without turning it.
Emiko held the clinic envelope in her lap.
She had thought the waiting room might make her feel less alone.
Instead, it made the appointment feel more real.
Kaito sat close enough that his shoulder touched hers. His knee moved once, then again.
“You are doing it,” she murmured.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking loudly.”
He stopped moving.
“I am trying not to.”
“You do not have to be perfect.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
A nurse opened the inner door and called Emiko’s name.
Kaito stood at the exact moment she did.
The nurse smiled at him.
“You can come with her.”
He nodded once, almost too quickly.
The first part of the appointment was ordinary enough to be reassuring.
The nurse took Emiko’s blood pressure, weight, and temperature. She asked about symptoms, medication, allergies, medical history, family history, and the date of Emiko’s last period. She asked whether Emiko had experienced bleeding, severe cramping, dizziness, strong abdominal pain, fever, or vomiting that made it difficult to keep fluids down.
“No,” Emiko said. “Mostly fatigue. Some nausea.”
“Any vomiting?”
“Not much.”
“Can you drink water?”
“Yes.”
“That is good. Small meals may help. Plain foods. Eat when you can, not only when you think you should. And call us if you cannot keep fluids down, or if anything changes suddenly.”
Emiko nodded.
The nurse collected blood and urine samples. Kaito stood near the wall with the clinic envelope tucked beneath one arm, looking as if he wished the nurse would give him something useful to hold.
When the doctor entered, she was calm, unhurried, and kind.
She introduced herself, reviewed the notes, then folded her hands on the desk.
“Based on your dates, you are approximately six weeks and a few days pregnant,” she said. “We will confirm that with today’s scan.”
Emiko’s fingers found Kaito’s.
The doctor noticed but did not comment.
“At your age, we will be deliberate about planning your prenatal care and reviewing screening options,” she continued. “That does not mean I see a problem today. It means we use the information available to us and monitor carefully.”
Emiko nodded.
Kaito did not.
His expression had gone still.
“Does that mean something is wrong?” he asked.
The doctor met his eyes.
“No. It means we do not ignore age, but we also do not treat it as a prediction. Many pregnancies at forty progress well. We will monitor, screen, and make decisions with clear information.”
Kaito took that in with the same concentration he brought to contracts, negotiations, and matters involving the people he loved most.
Emiko squeezed his hand.
“What should I be doing?” she asked.
“Begin or continue a prenatal vitamin with folic acid. Rest when you need to rest. Hydrate. Eat what you can tolerate. We will review all current medications and make sure they are appropriate in pregnancy. If you have bleeding, strong or persistent pain, fever, fainting, or vomiting that prevents you from drinking fluids, you contact us.”
The doctor paused and looked between them.
“Do you have any questions before the scan?”
Emiko had written down seven questions.
She could not remember a single one.
“Is it too early to see anything?” she asked.
“It can be early,” the doctor said. “But six to seven weeks is often a useful time for a dating and viability scan.”
Kaito’s grip on her hand tightened.
The doctor smiled gently.
“Let us have a look.”
The lights were dimmed for the ultrasound.
Emiko lay back on the examination bed while Kaito stood beside her. The screen came on in shifting shades of gray and black, an abstract landscape she could not understand.
She watched the doctor’s face instead.
The doctor adjusted the image.
For several long seconds, she said nothing.
Emiko could hear the soft hum of the machine.
She could hear her own breathing.
Then the doctor’s expression softened.
“There,” she said.
She pointed to a small shape on the screen.
“One pregnancy. It is in the uterus, exactly where we want it to be.”
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