Legacy Protocol Version Beta
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 42B: Lines of Authority
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 42B: Lines of Authority - 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
The girls’ birthdays had passed.
Hana was eighteen.
Midori was fifteen.
Kaito had been sixteen for four months, and for those same four months he had been the legal head of the family.
No announcement had been needed inside the house. No ceremony. No lengthy explanation that turned a family truth into something cold and official.
The people who mattered already understood.
If a decision had to be made, Kaito made it.
If a problem appeared, he saw it.
If the family needed protecting, he handled it.
That was simply how things were now.
The temporary estate office occupied the front room of an old farmhouse near the eastern edge of the property. It had once belonged to someone who had kept a small orchard, a few horses, and a weathered red barn that had long since leaned itself into ruin. The family had kept the farmhouse standing for the duration of construction, though little of its original character remained inside.
A wide conference table filled most of the room.
Rolled plans stood in a rack near the stone fireplace. A wall screen displayed satellite images, boundary surveys, topographic maps, and the latest revision of the Phase One construction plan. Folding chairs lined the walls. A kettle warmed quietly on a portable burner in the adjoining kitchen.
Outside, the land waited beneath a clear afternoon sky.
Survey flags crossed the fields in thin, deliberate lines.
Orange stakes marked the future main approach road. White paint showed where the service road would branch west toward the garage complex, barns, laboratory, and equipment yard. Blue flags dotted the far rise where the helipad would eventually sit.
Nothing had been built yet.
There were no gates.
No wrought-iron fence.
No long drive leading to a family residence.
No research building with secure access and quiet halls.
No barns, paddocks, tractors, ATVs, greenhouses, fuel tanks, garages, or work lights burning beyond the trees.
There was only open ground and the first shape of intention.
Emiko sat at one end of the conference table, a cup of tea cooling beside her. Six and a half months pregnant, she had stopped pretending that standing through every meeting proved anything. Her body had changed its rules, and she had learned—slowly—to respect them.
She still worked.
She still read every report.
She still noticed when an architect used a vague phrase, when a contractor rounded a number too neatly, or when someone proposed something that looked attractive on paper but would fail in bad weather.
But she was no longer the person everyone turned toward first.
That place belonged to Kaito now.
He stood near the center of the table, studying the site plan with the quiet concentration that made adults twice his age hesitate before trying to dismiss him. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms. A pencil rested between his fingers. He had already made notes in the margins of the preliminary construction schedule.
Hana stood near the wall screen with a tablet in hand, reading the laboratory drawings.
Midori had claimed the chair nearest the windows. She had her sketchbook open beside the official plans, adding small, precise marks of her own.
The architect cleared his throat.
“The Phase One perimeter begins here,” he said, enlarging the northern and eastern property lines. “The visible frontage will have wrought-iron fencing with a landscaped buffer. The less visible boundaries will use reinforced security fencing behind the tree line. The main entrance will be set back from the road, allowing vehicles to clear the county lane before reaching the gate.”
“Two gates,” Kaito said.
The architect looked at him.
“Yes. The front gate, and a—”
“Two vehicle gates,” Kaito said. “The front entrance is for family, invited guests, and expected visitors. The west gate is for service vehicles, contractors, feed deliveries, equipment, fuel, waste removal, and laboratory shipments.”
The architect nodded.
“The west gate is included.”
“Show the route.”
The civil engineer changed the display.
A narrow service road appeared behind the proposed residence. It led toward a cluster of rectangular structures: garages, workshop, tractor storage, barn, lab, and utility yard.
Kaito studied it for a moment.
“Make it a loop.”
The civil engineer glanced at the architect.
“There is a turnaround near the fuel compound.”
“I do not want a turnaround,” Kaito said. “I want a loop. A fuel truck should not have to reverse near the equipment yard. A horse trailer should not have to reverse near a barn. If there is an emergency, every vehicle needs another way out.”
The engineer leaned closer to the display.
“It will require additional grading.”
“It will require additional grading,” Kaito agreed. “Do it.”
The engineer made a note.
“Add a locked emergency gate on the southern boundary,” Kaito continued. “It will remain closed except for fire, medical response, evacuation, or a blocked main route.”
The architect looked toward Emiko.
It was not disrespectful. It was habit.
Emiko saw the question in his face.
She took a quiet sip of tea.
“Kaito has given you the instruction,” she said. “Please include it.”
The architect nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hana looked up from the lab drawings.
“The maintenance complex is too close to the residence.”
The architect changed screens.
“The garages?”
“The family garage can remain close,” Hana said. “The maintenance shop cannot. Tractors, engines, welding equipment, diesel storage, tool bays, repair work, trailers, and deliveries should not be beside the house.”
Midori lifted her pencil.
“And not between the house and the paddocks.”
The architect looked toward her.
“It is not directly between—”
“It is close enough,” Midori said. “If the main barn is there, horses and trailers will be moving through that space all day. It will become noisy, crowded, and dangerous.”
The civil engineer studied the traffic lines.
“She is correct,” he said. “The barn road and the service-yard road overlap near the proposed maintenance building.”
Kaito pointed to a different section of the plan.
“Move the workshop and tractor sheds farther west. Keep the family garage close to the residence. Place the maintenance complex where heavy vehicles can reach it from the service gate without entering the family drive.”
The architect nodded.
“Understood.”
“The ATVs?” Midori asked.
“Equipment yard,” Kaito said. “Covered bays. Lockable. Near the workshop, but with a separate path toward the trails and paddocks.”
Midori looked satisfied.
“What about the horses?” she asked.
The barn plan appeared on the wall screen.
The main barn was large but not ostentatious: stable aisle, tack room, feed room, wash stall, grooming bays, laundry, office, veterinary work area, hay storage, bedding storage, and a separate isolation stall. Beyond it lay divided paddocks, a riding ring, turnout fields, and a marked trail through the southern woods.
Midori came around the table.
“The manure area is wrong.”
The architect blinked.
“It is behind the barn.”
“It is uphill from the south paddock,” she said. “When it rains, runoff will move toward the turnout gate.”
The engineer checked the contour map.
After a moment, he nodded.
“She is right.”
Midori’s expression did not change.
“I know.”
Hana smiled faintly and returned to her tablet.
Kaito looked at the drainage lines.
“Move the manure-management area south and west. Give the equipment yard direct access to it, but keep it away from the water source and the lower turnout fields.”
“Done,” the engineer said, already writing.
Midori pointed farther down the plan.
“I want a greenhouse here.”
The architect turned toward the blank southern garden area.
“A greenhouse?”
“A real greenhouse,” Midori said. “Not something ornamental beside the house.”
“What will it be used for?” the architect asked.
Midori looked mildly offended.
“Growing things.”
Hana laughed under her breath.
“Food,” Midori continued. “Plants for research. Plants that need controlled light and water. Medicinal plants. Trees before they go outside. Anything the lab needs that does not belong in a lab.”
Kaito considered the position.
“Put it between the gardens and the lab, but outside the lab security boundary,” he said. “Separate water and power. Space for storage, work benches, climate control, and a service path.”
Midori’s eyes brightened.
“Yes.”
Emiko watched them.
Hana saw systems.
Midori saw living things.
Kaito saw how all of it fit together—the traffic, security, supplies, emergencies, people, animals, machinery, and land.
There had been a time when every decision would have come to Emiko first.
She would have studied the plans late into the night after everyone else had gone to bed. She would have compared costs, worried over drainage, called lawyers, phoned contractors, checked the barn siting, considered security, read the lab specifications, and risen the next morning with another list of tasks already waiting.
She could still do it.
That was not the point.
The decisions no longer came to Emiko first.
They came to Kaito, as they should.
The architect brought up the laboratory plan.
“The research building will sit east of the service road. It has a professional entrance on the north side, staff access from the interior drive, receiving and storage to the west, mechanical support behind the building, and secure access between the public offices and laboratory areas.”
“Separate the visitors entirely from receiving,” Hana said.
“They already have separate entrances.”
“Separate routes,” she corrected. “Visitors should not share a drive with lab deliveries. And deliveries should not need to pass staff parking or the family grounds.”
Kaito looked at the road plan.
“Add a secured lane from the west gate directly to the receiving dock. It should bypass the residence, the staff parking, and the main entrance.”
The architect made the adjustment.
“And emergency access?” Hana asked.
“Here,” the engineer said, indicating a route toward the main road.
“No,” Kaito said.
The room paused.
“That route crosses the main family drive.”
“It is the shortest route,” the engineer said.
“It becomes blocked if there is an accident at the front gate,” Kaito replied. “Give the laboratory its own emergency exit to the south gate.”
The engineer looked at the plan again.
Then he nodded.
“Yes. That is better.”
“The utility plant?” Kaito asked.
“Behind the lab. Backup generators, battery storage, water treatment, communications equipment, and electrical switchgear.”
“Separate firewater storage,” Kaito said.
The engineer hesitated.
“There is a reservoir planned near the residence.”
“Separate,” Kaito repeated. “The lab, barn, fuel compound, and house cannot depend on one water reserve.”
The engineer wrote it down.
“And the fuel tanks?” the architect asked.
“Underground,” Kaito said. “Gasoline, diesel, and mogas. Secure compound. Monitored. Service-road access only. Keep it well away from the residence, barn, and helipad.”
“The helipad is proposed on the western rise,” the architect said.
Midori looked at the map and shook her head.
“Too close to the horses.”
“It is a considerable distance from the barn,” the architect said.
“Not far enough,” she replied.
Kaito studied the surrounding terrain.
“Move it farther west. Keep its approach clear of the house, barn, trees, and service road. No routine flight path over the paddocks.”
“That will mean additional clearing.”
“Then clear it,” Kaito said.
The contractor, who had been silent through most of the discussion, tapped the revised service-road line with his pen.
“If we move the loop west, relocate the workshop, alter the lab’s emergency lane, and shift the helipad, we will add three days to initial grading. Possibly four.”
Kaito looked at the plan.
“Will it prevent us from beginning the perimeter fence?”
“No.”
“Will it delay the foundation work for the residence?”
“No. Not if we begin with the north rise.”
“Then begin there,” Kaito said. “Fence and gate first. Residence foundation second. Service road and utilities in parallel. Barn grading after the west route is finalized. The laboratory waits until Hana approves the internal plan.”
Hana looked up.
“You are giving me that?”
“I am not giving you anything,” Kaito said. “It is your work.”
The contractor looked automatically toward Emiko.
She sat quietly at the end of the table, one hand against the soft curve of her belly.
For a brief moment, the old reflex showed on his face. The instinct to seek her answer. To wait for her confirmation. To ask whether the sixteen-year-old at the table truly had the authority he was using.
Emiko met his eyes.
“You heard Kaito,” she said.
The contractor straightened.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then he turned back to Kaito.
“I will have the revised drawings and cost schedule ready by Friday.”
“Thursday,” Kaito said.
The contractor blinked.
“Thursday?”
“I want Friday to review them before the weekend.”
“Yes, sir.”
The words settled into the room without ceremony.
No one reacted.
No one needed to.
The architect began listing the revised items. The engineer coordinated with the survey team. Hana returned to the laboratory plan, already marking changes around storage, access, and work flow. Midori drew a rectangle in the garden area and wrote greenhouse across it in firm block letters.
Kaito stood at the center of it all, listening, deciding, moving each matter forward.
Emiko watched him and felt something inside her loosen.
Not because she had become less capable.
Not because she had surrendered anything important.
But because she no longer had to be the person who carried every answer before anyone else could breathe.
The baby shifted beneath her hand.
She looked down, smiling despite herself.
Midori noticed.
“Did it kick?”
“Yes.”
“Hard?”
“Not hard.”
“Can I feel?”
Emiko held out her hand.
Midori came around the table at once and placed her palm carefully against Emiko’s abdomen. Hana joined them a moment later, quieter but no less interested. They waited.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the baby moved again.
Midori’s face changed.
“Oh.”
Hana rested her hand lightly beside hers.
Kaito remained standing across the table.
Emiko looked at him.
He had the revised site plan in front of him, one hand resting near the line that would become the main residence. His expression had softened as he watched his sisters gathered around her.
He was the head of the family now.
He would make the decisions.
He would see what needed seeing.
He would protect what needed protecting.
But he was also still her son.
That would never need a document.
“Kaito,” Emiko said.
He looked up.
“The front entrance.”
“Yes?”
“Make sure it is beautiful.”
For the first time that afternoon, he smiled.
“I will.”
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