Chapter 123

#Day 39 — 08:30

The Willow was warm, the way it always was when the family gathered. The low table was crowded with bowls and plates—porridge steaming in a clay pot, spicy pickled seaweed glistening with sesame oil, salted eggs cut into wedges, salted fish crisp and golden. Mei-Lin's new herbal tea steamed in the ceramic cups, its scent earthy and sharp.

Iqbal sat at the edge of the circle, her bowl in her hands, her expression caught somewhere between politeness and bewilderment. She had eaten the porridge. She had tried the seaweed. She had even taken a bite of the salted fish, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.

But she had not gone back for seconds.

"It's... different," she said, setting down her chopsticks.

Mei-Lin smiled. "Different good? Or different strange?"

Iqbal hesitated. "Different." She reached for her tea, took a sip, and her eyes widened slightly. "The tea is good. Herbal. What's in it?"

"Ginger, goji berries, and a few things I'm still experimenting with." Mei-Lin refilled her own cup. "It's supposed to boost energy. Help with fatigue."

Iqbal nodded, took another sip. "I usually eat at the galley. Canned sweet beans. Fresh azu ike, when the fishing boats come in." She glanced at Zhao. "With you in the family, you don't even need the ike. The... regular treatment keeps their Dawn Meters low."

There was something in her voice—not quite envy, not quite longing. Just acknowledgment.

Vivienne set down her cup. "We're glad to have you here, Iqbal. You're always welcome."

Iqbal nodded, but her eyes lingered on the salted fish for a moment before she looked away.

When the bowls were empty and the tea had been poured a second time, Vivienne cleared her throat.

"The milk. Carmona's milk. What did you find?"

Iqbal straightened, her professional mask sliding into place.

"Chen's intel was correct. Carmona has a genuine advantage in nursing. Her mammary glands produce more milk than average—significantly more. And the milk itself is highly nutritious. Nutrients transfer more effectively and degrade more slowly than in normal human milk."

She pulled out her tablet, scrolling through data.

"I tested the milk with Alexis's aphrodisiac. Normally, the compounds degrade within minutes outside the body. But in Carmona's milk—" She looked up. "It lasted a full day. Refrigerated, there was minimal degradation after twenty-four hours. I estimate frozen storage could preserve the aphrodisiac for three to four weeks."

Aida leaned forward. "That's... significant."

"We could build a storage bank. Cycle it every two weeks to keep it fresh. Emergency use only—when someone's meter spikes and we can't treat them immediately." Iqbal's voice quickened. "And there's more. The same preservation effect may work with Zhao's suppressant. I can't confirm how long yet—I need more samples, more tests—but the mechanism appears similar."

The room was quiet.

Vivienne's hands were wrapped around her cup, her knuckles white. "You're saying we could store his suppressant. In her milk."

"Yes."

"Keep her as—" Vivienne stopped. "As dairy cattle."

Iqbal said nothing.

Aida spoke carefully. "Even if the science works, there's the question of the crew. Knowing the milk comes from Carmona—" She shook her head. "How many would drink it? Even in an emergency? Seeing a psychopathic murderer is hard enough. Consuming her milk..."

Her eyes drifted to Chen.

Chen sat at the end of the table, her blind eyes fixed on nothing, her hands wrapped around her cup. She had been silent all morning, sipping her tea, listening. The scars on her face were pale in the morning light, the brand on her hip hidden beneath her robe.

Everyone knew what Carmona had done to her.

Chen set down her cup.

"I would drink it."

The words landed like stones in still water.

Vivienne stared at her. "Chen—"

"It would reduce the workload for Aida, Zhao, and Mei-Lin." Chen's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "I am already consuming milk daily. If Carmona's milk is nutritious and carries suppressant, it is a logical replacement."

She turned her blind eyes toward Vivienne.

"In the old world, I would never have touched human milk. I would never have had the chance. But this is not the old world. We must use every available resource to survive. To defeat the Commission."

Vivienne's jaw tightened. "Do you see her as a resource, Chen? A thing to be used?"

Chen's voice was quiet. "Do you see her as a human being, Vivienne? After what she did to me? After what she did to Verne? After what she tried to do to all of you?"

Vivienne opened her mouth. Closed it.

The silence stretched.

Aida reached across the table, touched Chen's hand. She had heard something in Chen's voice—a slight crack, barely there, quickly suppressed. Chen did not pull away, but she did not look up.

Mei-Lin shifted closer to Vivienne, her hand on the captain's arm.

Zhao watched them both, his stomach tight. Not about Carmona. About the family. About the crack that was forming between two women he loved.

He looked at Vivienne. "What do you propose? To solve the problem?"

She was silent.

"You don't have an answer." It wasn't an accusation. Just a fact.

He set down his cup.

"Yesterday, I was going to treat her. I hated every part of it. I wanted her to pay for what she did to Chen, to Verne, to all of us. I was fighting against every part of my mind, forcing myself to walk to that cell."

He paused.

"But Alexis took my place. And maybe it was even harder for her. Her aphrodisiac isn't as potent as my suppressant. She had to treat Carmona for hours to get the meter down. Hours." He looked at Vivienne. "Alexis hated Carmona. She knew her before the pandemic. She saw what Carmona did to children. And she still did it."

He leaned forward.

"If this ship has sacrificed so much to keep Carmona alive— Alexis, all of us—then why is it wrong for her to give something back?"

Vivienne's voice was tight. "Because it's not her will. We're harvesting her milk without consent."

Zhao held her gaze. "A prisoner doesn't consent to imprisonment. How much consent should we give Carmona? After what she did?"

He ticked off points on his fingers.

"She killed Verne. She tried to exterminate every life on this vessel. She tortured Chen for months." He spread his hands. "Isn't it time we took something from her?"

Vivienne shook her head. "That doesn't mean we become her. We can't become the Commission just to punish Carmona. There has to be a more humane way."

Her voice rose.

"Prisoners are imprisoned against their will, yes. But that doesn't mean they become slaves. That doesn't mean we harvest their bodies for resources." She pressed her hand to her chest. "I don't want to survive this pandemic just to build an uncivilized society. What would be the point? We might as well have joined the Commission."

Chen stood.

Her chair scraped against the floor. She walked toward her room, her steps sure at first, then faltering. Her hand reached out, found the doorframe, and she stumbled—just a little, just for a moment—before catching herself.

The door closed behind her.

Zhao started to rise. Aida caught his arm, shook her head once. She stood, smoothed her robe, and followed Chen through the door.

Vivienne stared after them. Her hands were shaking. She started to stand, thought better of it, sank back onto the cushion. Mei-Lin's hand was still on her arm, warm and steady.

Iqbal looked at the closed door, then at Vivienne. Her fingers tapped against her tablet, calculating. "Perhaps there's a compromise. We could limit collection to just fifty milliliters daily—enough for emergency stabilization of one or two crew members, nothing more. Not farming her, just... insurance."

Zhao took Vivienne's hand. He pulled out his tablet, opened the data from Aida’s weekly report, and held it in front of her.

"In a week, sixty people will be at mid-fifties on their Dawn Meters. They aren't booking treatment. They've gotten used to last-minute solutions."

He scrolled.

"Do you think Alexis can save us again? I talked to her yesterday. She's not the same woman who came aboard. She's not the sex monster we thought we rescued. I doubt she could do what she did to the fishermen again. Definitely not for sixty people."

He set the tablet down.

"Chen is still taking most of our resources. Until you lactate—until you can share the load—we're stretched thin. What realistic options do we have?"

He let the question hang.

"Do we force everyone on the ship to be treated? Run the Blue Oasis like a military vessel? Is that the society we're building?"

Vivienne said nothing.

"For the sake of morale, for the sake of family unity, let Carmona pay her sin. We don't want to build a world without morals. But we need to survive first. Chen was right about that. We need every resource we can get to fight the Commission."

He squeezed her hand.

"Fighting the Commission is going to take more than the Blue Oasis. We'll need allies. Fleets of ships willing to fight together. If we can't solve our own treatment problems, how will we rally anyone else?"

Vivienne looked at him. Her eyes were wet, but she wasn't crying.

"Keep the ship's morale high," Zhao said. "Keep the family united. Show everyone we're still together. We'll figure out a better solution for Carmona later. Just letting her rot in a cell isn't a solution either. She needs to earn her survival. Like everyone else on this ship."

Vivienne was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded. Slowly.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to. Zhao could see it in her face—the resignation, the compromise, the knowledge that she had no choice but to go along, even though it made her uncomfortable.

She wanted to build an ideal new world. She couldn't. Not yet. Not like this.

There is no absolute right or wrong, Zhao thought. Just endless grey in between.

He looked at the window. The sky was grey today—not stormy, not clear, just grey. Like the space between what Vivienne wanted and what the ship needed.

Vivienne stood. The others rose with her. Iqbal gathered her tablet, nodded to the family, and left. Aida emerged from Chen's room, her face unreadable. Mei-Lin caught Vivienne's hand before she could turn away. "When I first lactated," she said quietly, "the pressure was unbearable. I would have begged anyone to relieve it." Her eyes held Vivienne's. Mei-Lin's fingers gently squeezed Vivienne's hand. "Carmona is already producing milk. Pumping her would be a mercy, not a torture. We keep whatever comes out—nothing more, nothing less." Zhao nodded firmly, and Iqbal tapped her tablet in agreement, already calculating collection protocols. Vivienne's shoulders dropped slightly as she exhaled. "Fine. Iqbal, prepare the equipment as Mei-Lin described. Collect whatever is needed to relieve her daily, no more." Her voice was quiet but final.

The final preparations for the hunt would begin in an hour.

Zhao watched Vivienne walk toward the door, her back straight, her shoulders set. She was still the captain. She would do what needed to be done.

But he knew, with a certainty that sat heavy in his chest, that the real challenge ahead was not the hunt. It was keeping his family together.

#Day 39 — 14:30

The door to Chen's room was closed, but not locked. Vivienne stood outside it for a long moment, her hand raised, not quite knocking. She could hear nothing from inside—no voices, no typing, no music.

She knocked.

No answer.

She pushed the door open.

The room smelled of milk and electronics—the warm, sweet scent of Aida's feedings layered over the cool hum of servers and screens. NUWA's logo glowed on the wall display, the woman with the snake's body calm and patient.

Chen's room was sparse. A bed. A desk. A small closet. The walls were bare except for the screens. But the bed—

The bed was covered in plush toys.

Small ones, large ones, animals Vivienne didn't recognize. A rabbit with long ears. A bear with a missing eye. A cat with a crooked smile. They were arranged around Chen's pillow, propped against the headboard, tucked into the blanket.

Vivienne stared at them. She had never seen plush toys on the Blue Oasis. Where had they come from? Aida, probably. Or Mei-Lin. They would have thought of it. They would have known that a girl who had been tortured for years might need something soft to hold.

Chen sat on the edge of the bed, her legs folded, her hands in her lap. Her blind eyes were turned toward the door, toward the sound of Vivienne's breathing.

She did not speak.

Vivienne crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Close enough to touch, far enough to give her space.

"I'm sorry," Vivienne said. "For being confrontational this morning. For hurting your feelings."

Chen said nothing.

"I'm not apologizing for my ideals. I still believe what I said." Vivienne's voice was quiet. "But I didn't need to say it like that. And I didn't need to make you feel like I don't care about what you've been through."

Chen's hands moved in her lap, fingers pressing together.

Vivienne's hand unconsciously rose to her breast, which felt heavier against her palm than it had just days ago. "I've been working hard to lactate," she continued, wincing slightly as her fingers brushed against her swollen nipple through the fabric. "Not just because you need milk. Because I want to help. I want to feed you, to free up Aida and Mei-Lin for others. I want to be part of this family—really be part of it."

She reached out, took Chen's hand.

Chen did not pull away.

"I never had a real family," Vivienne said. "My mother was always absent. My father—the man I thought was my father—wasn't. He never acted like one. I grew up alone, even when I was surrounded by people."

Her voice cracked.

"Now I have something. Zhao. Aida. Mei-Lin. You. I treasure it. I'm terrified of losing it. That's why I fight so hard. That's why I can't just—" She stopped. "I can't just let us become like the Commission. Even if it means Carmona gets more than she deserves."

Chen was still silent. But her hand had turned in Vivienne's, fingers wrapping around hers.

"I'll find a better solution," Vivienne said. "I don't know what it is yet. But I'll find it. And I hope—" She swallowed. "I hope you can accept it. Even if it's not perfect."

She squeezed Chen's hand.

"I love you. You're family. That doesn't change just because we disagree."

Chen's face softened. Just a fraction. Just enough.

Vivienne waited.

When Chen finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

"I forgive you."

She turned her face toward Vivienne.

"I should have done better. To empathize. I saw the numbers. I saw the logic. I didn't see—" She stopped. "I didn't see how hard this is for you. For all of you. I'm sorry."

Vivienne shook her head. "You don't need to apologize."

"I do." Chen's hand tightened on hers. "I will do better. Next time."

They sat in silence for a long moment. The screens hummed. The ship rolled gently beneath them.

Vivienne leaned forward and kissed Chen's forehead.

Chen closed her eyes.

When Vivienne stood to leave, Chen did not try to stop her. But she did not let go of her hand until the last moment.

Vivienne walked to the door, paused, and looked back.

Chen was sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap, her face turned toward the window where the grey sky pressed against the glass. One of the plush toys—a small rabbit with long ears—had fallen onto the pillow beside her. She reached out, found it, and pulled it into her arms.

Vivienne stepped into the corridor.

The door closed behind her.

The animosity was still there—the difference between the idealistic captain and the strategic genius would not disappear overnight. But they had apologized. They had forgiven. They would try again.

It was enough. For now.

#Day 39 — 16:08

Zhao found Mei-Lin in the Willow.

She was standing by the low table, her back to him, her arms stretched out as she examined a heavy coat. The winter clothing Elena had made was not pretty—thick fabric stitched in uneven layers, the seams reinforced with what looked like fishing line. It hung past her hips, the sleeves too long, the collar too high.

She turned when she heard him. The coat bunched around her shoulders, making her look smaller than she was.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Zhao crossed to her, touched the fabric. It was stiff, layered, the padding thick enough to stop wind but not much else. "Heavy."

"Cumbersome," she agreed. "But it will keep me warm. If the weather cooperates."

He looked at the table behind her. Her pack was already open—containers of dried herbs, a roll of gloves, two collapsible hiking sticks, a spare pair of boots. She had labeled everything in her careful handwriting.

"You're ready."

She nodded. "Tomorrow, or the day after. Depending on the weather."

Zhao reached into his jacket and pulled out the armor.

It was light—composite fiber, molded to fit her arms and legs. Knee pads, elbow pads, a helmet that would protect her skull without weighing her down. And the armguard—titanium, thin enough to be comfortable, strong enough to turn aside a bite or a claw.

Mei-Lin stared at it.

"I made it for you," he said. "For the foraging. In case you fall. In case something attacks."

She touched the armguard, ran her fingers over its smooth surface. Then she looked at him, and her eyes were wet.

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

She kissed him—soft, warm, a thank you that didn't need words. When she pulled back, she was smiling.

"Are you done with your preparations?"

"The holding tanks are finished. But I still need to finish the boat modifications with Kim."

She touched his face. "I'll make you dinner. For tonight."

He covered her hand with his own. "I'll need to recharge you tonight. Just in case."

Her smile widened. She looked forward to his return—he could see it in her eyes, in the way her body relaxed against his.

"Go," she said. "Finish your work. I'll have everything ready."

He kissed her forehead, turned, and walked toward the door.

Behind him, he heard her humming—a soft, wordless melody—as she returned to her packing.

The Willow was warm. The family was holding together.

One more day. Then the hunt.