Chapter 67

#Day 18 - 6:21

Aida woke to the smell of antiseptic and the weight of a hand in hers.

For a moment, she didn't know where she was. The ceiling was wrong—too low, too white, covered in acoustic tiles instead of the warm wood of the treatment suite. Then the memories returned: the medical bay, the long night, Chen's trembling hand.

She turned her head. Chen was awake, her blind eyes open, her scarred face turned toward the ceiling. But her hand was still in Aida's. Had been all night.

"You smell different," Chen said quietly.

Aida blinked. "What?"

"In the morning. Your shampoo and soap have mixed with your body. It's good." A pause. "But there's something else. Something milky. Are they serving me milk for breakfast? I don't smell any food nearby."

Aida looked down at herself. Her breast was wet—milk had leaked through her clothes during the night. She smiled, small and tired.

"Do you want some?" she asked. "Milk for breakfast?"

Chen's brow furrowed. She was quiet for a moment, processing. Then: "There's a catch."

There. That curiosity again.

Aida shifted on the cot, ignoring the ache in her back. "What makes you think there's a catch?"

Chen's lips pressed together. "I would be sipping milk by now if there wasn't."

Aida almost laughed. The girl's mind was extraordinary—always calculating, always probing. She'd been tortured, blinded, broken, and still her first instinct was to understand.

"The milk is coming from me," Aida said. "From my breast."

Chen's expression flickered. "Did you recently give birth?"

The question hit Aida like a physical blow.

Nineteen. She would have been nineteen. If I'd kept it, if I'd chosen differently, the child would be almost her age.

The memory rose unbidden: a clinic in Tokyo, cold lights, sterile smells, the weight of a decision she'd never let herself examine. She'd been so young. So scared. So certain she couldn't be a mother.

Now here she was, holding the hand of an eighteen-year-old girl who needed her.

Maternal instinct. Regret. Self-pity. Longing. All of it tangled together, pressing against the wall she'd built so carefully.

"I never had a child," Aida said. Her voice was steady, even if everything else wasn't. "The lactation was induced. For treatment."

Chen nodded slowly. "For the treatment," she repeated. Her blind eyes turned toward Aida, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to ask more. But she held back.

Saanvi appeared at the bedside, tablet in hand, her face professionally neutral despite the early hour. She checked Chen's vitals, scanned the Dawn Meter, and turned to Aida.

"Fifty-seven percent. Up five points overnight." She paused. "That's not ideal, but it's better than we feared. Her rate of increase has slowed significantly."

Aida exhaled. Five points. In a normal patient, that would be failure. In Chen—weak, fragile, unselected Chen—it was a victory. She had time. A little more time.

Saanvi touched Chen's shoulder gently. "Your bunk across the hall is ready. We're moving you there with Nadia. It's quieter, more private."

Chen said nothing, but her hand tightened on Aida's.

Aida squeezed back. "I need to shower and change. But I'll visit you soon. I promise."

She waited for a response. After a long moment, Chen nodded.

Day 18 - 6:40

The treatment suite felt like another world. Warm light, soft fabrics, the smell of tea and Mei-Lin's baking. Zhao was still asleep, sprawled across the bed, one arm flung over his face. Mei-Lin had just finished her shower and was setting out breakfast—rice, pickled vegetables, the last of the eggs from the hydroponics. Water droplets still clung to her shoulders, tracing slow paths down the curve of her spine as she leaned over the table, her skin flushed pink from the heat.

Vivienne stood by the door, already dressed, her tablet in hand. Ready for the bridge. Ready to be captain.

Aida's knees buckled as she passed them on her way to the shower, her exhaustion finally catching up with her body.

Vivienne caught her. Steady hands on her shoulders, holding her upright.

"Aida." Concern, sharp and immediate. "You're exhausted. When did you last sleep?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." Aida tried to pull away, but Vivienne didn't let go.

"You're not fine. Sit down. Eat something. Rest."

Aida opened her mouth to argue, but her eyes caught the breakfast tray. Without thinking, she picked it up and pressed it into Vivienne's hands.

"Don't forget to eat. You'll need it."

Vivienne stared at the tray, then at Aida. Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe, or wonder. Aida was about to collapse, and her first thought was still to feed someone else.

"Thank you," Vivienne said quietly.

She lingered for a moment, as if memorizing the scene. Then she slipped out, the door closing softly behind her.

Aida made it to the shower. The water was hot, almost scalding, and she stood under it until her muscles stopped trembling. When she emerged, wrapped in a robe, Mei-Lin was waiting with a cup of tea.

"Sit," Mei-Lin said. Gentle, but firm.

Aida sat, the cushion yielding beneath her weight. Mei-Lin moved behind her, fingers finding the rigid cords along her trapezius, thumbs pressing into the tense valleys between her shoulder blades. She worked methodically downward, tracing the knobby path of Aida's spine, unraveling tension Aida hadn't realized she carried.

Then, as always, Mei-Lin's fingers found the knot of Aida's robe, loosening it with a practiced motion. The fabric parted, sliding from her shoulders to pool at her waist. Cool air kissed her skin before Mei-Lin's hands shifted forward, cupping her swollen breasts with familiar gentleness.Her fingertips traced circles from the outer curve inward, the skin taut and veined with blue, heavy with their strange, vital gift that might save them all.

"You're doing so much," Mei-Lin whispered, her lips close to Aida's ear. "You're carrying so much. But you're not alone."

Aida leaned back into Mei-Lin's warmth. Soft skin, steady heartbeat, arms that held her without demand. She closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

When she woke, the light had changed.

She was still leaning against Mei-Lin, still naked, still wrapped in her warmth. Mei-Lin was awake, watching her with a small, tender smile.

"How long?" Aida's voice was rough.

"Three hours."

Three hours. Aida sat up so fast her head spun. "I have to—Chen—"

"She's fine. Vivienne checked in. Nadia's with her." Mei-Lin's hands steadied her again. "You needed the sleep. Chen needed you to be strong enough to help her."

Aida looked around. Zhao's side of the bed was empty.

"Zhao?"

Mei-Lin tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "He's on the bridge with Vivienne. Something about a potential salvage ship they spotted on radar." Though her voice remained steady, her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her robe, betraying the tension they all lived with now.

She dressed quickly. Kissed Mei-Lin—brief, grateful, a promise to return. Then she was out the door, down the corridor, to the cabin across from medical.

#Day 18 - 10:05

Nadia opened the door, her eyes bright with something that looked like excitement.

Inside, the room looked like a hacker's nest. A folding desk had been bolted under the porthole. On it, an old gaming laptop blinked in six shades of blue, its screen split into code windows. Next to the The faint hum of the drives filled the air with the suggestion of insects, always just at the edge of hearing.

"Aida! Good timing. We just finished a major breakthrough." She gestured at the desk—laptop, four hard drives—three smaller ones, one as big as a book—sat stacked like pancakes, cables running from each into a tangle of adapters. "Chen's been walking me through some code. Game-changing stuff. I'm about to install it in the comms relay network."

Nadia sat at the desk, eyes flicking between code and a notebook, pausing only to listen to a wordless instruction from Chen. The two worked in tight sequence—Chen dictating, Nadia typing, code spilling onto the screen like a river in flood.

Aida stood quietly, unwilling to break the current.

The code scrolled, stopped. Nadia blinked, then muttered, "That's... that's a game changer." She copied the last dozen lines to a thumb drive, then ejected it with a practiced flick. She looked at Chen. "I'll install it to the relay now, like you said?"

Chen gave a slow nod. "Use the offline clone first. If it passes the handshake, go live."

Nadia nodded, pocketed the drive, and left, never glancing at Aida.

The room was quieter now, the only noise the soft spin of the drives and the faint shush of air through the vent.

Chen lay propped against pillows, her breakfast tray untouched beside her. Her blind eyes turned toward the door as Aida entered.

"You were gone longer than expected."

"I fell asleep." Aida sat on the edge of the bed. "You haven't eaten."

"I couldn't instruct Nadia and eat at the same time."

Aida looked at the tray, then at Chen's scarred, serious face. Efficiency. Focus. The mind overriding the body. She'd seen it before—in herself, in the industry, in the way women learned to survive.

She picked up the tray. Scooped a spoonful of rice and held it to Chen's lips.

Chen hesitated. Then opened her mouth.

They ate in silence, one spoonful at a time. Aida feeding, Chen accepting. It was intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex—a different kind of giving, a different kind of trust.

When the bowl was empty, Chen spoke.

"How does it feel?"

Aida set the tray aside. "How does what feel?"

"Lactating." Chen's head tilted. "I'll probably never experience it. My body is... not built for that. I want to understand."

That curiosity again. Persistent. Relentless. A siege ram against the wall.

Aida took a breath. "Physically, it's a fullness. A pressure. When the milk lets down, there's a tingling, sometimes an ache. When someone feeds—" She paused. "When someone feeds, there's relief. And something else. Connection."

Chen absorbed this. Chewed on it the way she'd chewed on the rice.

"What does it taste like?"

Aida felt the wall shudder. Not from force—from genuine, open interest. Chen wasn't probing for weakness. She just wanted to know.

"Would you like to try?"

Chen went still. The silence stretched. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

Aida glanced at the Dawn Meter. 61%. Still too high. Still dangerous. But not climbing.

She set the tray on the nightstand. With careful movements, she unbuttoned her blouse and exposed her left breast to the cool cabin air. Her fingers worked in small circles, coaxing forth a pearl of milk that gathered at the nipple. Catching the droplet on her fingertip, she reached forward and traced it across Chen's waiting lips.

Chen's tongue emerged. Tasted. Processed.

Silence.

"How is it?" Aida asked.

"More watery than I expected." Chen's voice was thoughtful, analytical. "But sweet. Surprising." She paused. "Does every woman's milk taste the same?"

"No. It depends on diet, on the body. Each is unique."

Chen absorbed this. Then, haltingly: "Can I... touch it?"

Aida took Chen's hesitant fingers and drew them forward until they met the warm curve of her flesh.

Chen traced the unfamiliar landscape—fingertips mapping the fullness, testing its weight against her palm. Her other hand drifted to her own chest, where it found only angles and flatness beneath her shirt.

"It's so different," she murmured. "So soft. I could only dream of having a body like this."

The wall cracked.

Aida felt it—a fissure, a leak. Memories flooding through: the unwanted attention, the predators, the years of cursing her own body even as it earned her living. Sometimes she'd wished for a body that wouldn't attract those eyes, those hands, those demands.

Words failed her. Chen's attentive silence spoke volumes.

"It's okay," Aida whispered. Chen's exploring fingertips circled the nipple, discovering its texture, the beading moisture. Aida covered Chen's hand with her own, applied gentle pressure. Milk sprayed unexpectedly—a thin white arc that spattered across Chen's cheek, throat, collarbone.

Chen jerked backward. Then her lips parted in genuine delight, the first unguarded expression Aida had ever seen on her face.

"That went far," she said, and licked the milk from her lips. "I can taste it more now. There's tea in it. The jasmine from this morning."

Aida shifted on the bed, leaning forward until her breast hung just before Chen's face. A breath of space remained between Chen's parted lips and the milk-beaded nipple—an invitation without insistence.

Chen went still as stone. Heat radiated against her face, the scent of milk mingling with something deeper, more primal. Her mouth opened slightly, hovering at the threshold of decision.

The scientist in her surrendered to the explorer.

Chen bridged the final distance. Her mouth met Aida's skin with the delicacy of a first-time explorer—testing, sensing, learning through contact what her eyes couldn't see. The warmth radiated against her lips as she traced the contours with careful precision.

Her first taste was cautious—a scientist gathering data. Her lips formed a seal, applied gentle suction, and suddenly sweetness flooded her tongue.

She pulled back momentarily, processing this new information—this liquid unlike anything in her experience. Then curiosity overcame surprise. She returned, drawing more deeply now, her analytical mind surrendering to something more primal, more instinctive than calculation.

A tremor passed through Aida's body. She cupped the back of Chen's head with her palm, drawing her closer. Chen responded by encircling Aida's waist, anchoring herself.

The milk flowed until there was nothing left. Chen broke away, her breath coming in shallow bursts.

Something had shifted in her countenance. Those sightless eyes, typically motionless, now seemed animated by an unspoken yearning—a hunger beyond words.

Without hesitation, Aida unfastened the remaining pearl buttons of her silk blouse, the fabric falling open to reveal the heavy fullness of her other breast, its nipple already darkened and taut with anticipation, a single pearlescent drop forming at its tip like morning dew.

Chen located it instinctively through scent. This time her lips sealed around the nipple with greater urgency, more insistence. Her fingers kneaded, coaxing the flow, desperate for more. Aida caught her lower lip between her teeth, suppressing the sounds rising in her throat.

As the final drops disappeared, Chen lingered, her tongue tracing patterns against sensitive skin. When she finally withdrew, her features contorted with vulnerability.

"Was that... too much?" The question barely audible.

Aida gathered her close, nestling Chen's head against her chest. Chen's embrace tightened, and Aida felt the warm wetness of silent tears against her skin.

The Dawn Meter glowed. 61%. Holding steady.

Not victory. But progress.

They stayed like that for a long time. Two women, holding each other. Feeling each other. Healing each other.