Chapter 106

#Day 32 — 07:30

The morning light was pale, filtered through clouds that had gathered on the horizon overnight. The treatment suite was warm, the low table crowded with bowls of rice and plates of steamed vegetables, the teapot steaming between Aida and Mei-Lin.

They ate in comfortable silence, the way they always did now—the quiet of people who had learned to share space without filling it with words. Zhao passed the fish to Vivienne. Mei-Lin refilled Chen’s cup. Aida stared at her tablet, scrolling through the treatment schedule, her brow furrowed.

“Seven women,” she said. “Seven. That’s all.”

Mei-Lin touched her arm. “It’s more than yesterday.”

“It’s less than last week.” Aida set the tablet down. “The rest have gone to Alexis. They don’t need us anymore.”

Zhao watched her face. He had seen this before—the quiet despair of someone who had built her life around helping others, watching them choose someone else. “Mei-Lin is right,” he said. “More time for Chen. More time for us.”

Aida smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “I know. I just—I miss them. The women who used to come. The ones who trusted us.”

Vivienne said nothing. She was staring out the window, at the gray water, at the Mother Mercy moving alongside them, close enough to see the figures on its deck. Her chopsticks were still, her rice untouched.

Zhao followed her gaze. “Should we let them aboard? When it gets too cold? The fishermen, I mean. They don’t have winter clothes.”

Vivienne opened her mouth to answer.

“No.”

Chen’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. Everyone turned to her. Her blind eyes were fixed on nothing, her hands wrapped around her cup.

“Chen—” Vivienne started.

“They cannot come aboard.” Chen’s voice was flat, final. “It would jeopardize my plan.”

“What plan?” Vivienne’s voice was sharper now. “You never tell us anything. Cryptic words. Secrecy. Orders we follow without understanding. What plan, Chen?”

Chen was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was softer. “The Commission is watching. Not directly—they are patient. But they see patterns. If the Mother Mercy follows us into the cold, they will know we are not as fractured as we appear. They will send something worse than Carmona.”

Zhao felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Then what do we do?” Vivienne asked. “Leave them to freeze?”

“They must not follow us into the hunting grounds,” Chen said. “Their lives will be in danger if they do. But they cannot split off too early, or the Commission will suspect.”

Vivienne stared at her. “So we keep them close. And then—what? Send them away at the last moment? Hope they survive the cold on their own?”

“Yes.”

The word hung in the air. Zhao saw Vivienne’s hands tighten on the table, saw her jaw clench, saw the anger she was trying to contain.

“Carmona is coming,” he said. It was not a question.

Chen nodded. “Soon.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at the atrium,” Chen said. “The signs are there.”

Vivienne’s face went pale. Zhao remembered what she had told him last night—the women sprawled across the atrium, naked, drinking, coupling in the open. The booze from Stavros’s stash, the glazed eyes, the laughter that was not quite sane. He had not seen it himself, but he had heard the reports.

“You let this happen,” Vivienne said. Her voice was low, controlled. “All of it. The chaos. The women losing themselves. You saw it coming, and you let it happen.”

Chen did not deny it. “I saw an opportunity.”

“An opportunity.” Vivienne’s voice cracked. “My crew is tearing itself apart. Women are being hurt. And you saw an opportunity?”

“To save this ship. To save all of you.” Chen’s voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—regret, maybe, or exhaustion. “I cannot explain everything. Not yet. But the Commission must believe we are weak. They must send Carmona, not a warship. And when they do—we must be ready.”

Vivienne was silent for a long moment. Zhao watched her face, saw the war inside her—the anger, the fear, the trust she was trying to hold onto.

“I’ll coordinate with Emeka,” she said. “They’ll stay close. And when Carmona comes, they’ll run.”

Chen said nothing. Her face was calm, unreadable.

Vivienne turned back to her. “The women. The ones lost to Alexis. What do we do with them?”

“I have arranged something,” Chen said. “With Iqbal and Saanvi.”

Aida frowned. “The doctors? What do they have to do with—”

“You will see.”

Aida opened her mouth to argue, but Vivienne cut her off. “And the treatment team? What should we do?”

Chen turned her blind eyes toward Zhao, toward Aida, toward Mei-Lin. “Keep me alive,” she said. “That is all I ask.”

She rose from the table, moved toward the new door, and slipped through before anyone could speak.

The room was silent. Vivienne stared at the door, her hands still on the table, her breathing slow and controlled.

Then Chen’s head appeared again, just for a moment. She beckoned to Vivienne.

Vivienne rose, crossed to the door, and leaned in. Chen whispered something in her ear—too soft for the others to hear.

Zhao watched Vivienne’s face. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. She looked at Chen, and for a moment, she seemed afraid.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

Chen nodded. Then she was gone.

Aida reached for Vivienne’s arm. “What did she say?”

Vivienne did not answer immediately. She stood at the door, her hand on the frame, her face pale.

“She wants me to arrest Alexis,” she said finally. “When the time comes.”

Mei-Lin’s hand flew to her mouth. “That will cause a riot. There will be no going back.”

“Maybe that’s what she wants.” Vivienne’s voice was hollow.

Zhao rose, crossed to her, took her hand. “Are you going to do it?”

Vivienne looked at him. Then she looked past him, through the window, at the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. The storm was coming—not just the weather, but everything else. Carmona. The arrest. The chaos that would follow.

“Maybe,” she said.

She turned back to the window, and Zhao held her hand, and they watched the storm together.

#Day 32 — 09:45

Kim hobbled down the corridor, the crutch biting into her armpit, her leg throbbing with every step. The bullet was out—Iqbal had seen to that—but the wound was fresh, the stitches tight, and the painkillers were wearing off. She should have been in bed. She should have been resting.

But Note was in the workshop, and Chen had given orders, and Kim needed to know what they were building.

The workshop door was open. She leaned against the frame, catching her breath, and looked inside.

Note was hunched over a drone—not the small reconnaissance drones they used for fishing, but something larger. Much larger. Its frame was carbon fiber, its rotors the size of dinner plates, its body reinforced with strips of steel. A camera was mounted on the underside, its lens dark, and beneath the camera, strapped to the frame with metal brackets, was a rocket launcher.

Kim had seen the design before, in the old world, on news reports from battlefields she had only read about. FPV drones, modified to carry grenades or RPGs, flown into enemy positions. But those drones had been small, cheap, disposable. This was something else. This was built to last.

Maggie was beside Note, her hands black with grease, her face intent. She was wiring the firing mechanism, her fingers moving with the same precision she used on her rifles.

"You're putting an RPG on a drone," Kim said.

Note looked up. Her face was tired, but she smiled. "Chen's idea."

"That's insane."

"That's the plan."

Kim limped closer, her eyes moving from the drone to a large box in the corner of the workshop. It was made of hard styrofoam, the kind used for shipping sensitive equipment, but it had been modified—electronics embedded in the walls, a hatch that opened and closed on a hinge.

"What's the box for?" Kim asked. "Shipping the drone to a customer?"

Note laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It's a float. The drone stays inside until we're ready."

Kim stared at her. "You're going to float it to Carmona?"

"The box will drift," Maggie said. "Like debris. She won't look twice."

"And the drone—who controls it? The box will be out of range of any controller."

Note shrugged. "The box is connected to the ship's comms. Chen said AURA will handle it."

Kim felt a chill run down her spine. She thought of the server room, of the rows of blinking lights, of the cold hum of machinery that stored the knowledge of humanity. She did not know what Chen was building in there. No one did.

"That's genius," she said quietly. "The box floats. Carmona ignores it. And then—"

"And then we don't miss," Maggie said.

They finished the last of the wiring. Note sealed the drone inside the box, checked the hatch, and nodded to Maggie. Together, they carried it out of the workshop.

Kim followed, limping, her crutch tapping against the deck.

They reached the aft deck. The water was gray, the sky heavy, the wind cold. Maggie and Note heaved the box over the railing. It hit the water with a splash, bobbed once, and then began to drift.

"There goes our only RPG," Maggie said. "Better make it worth something."

Kim watched the box float away, its white surface already blending with the waves, already looking like nothing more than trash.

"Who controls it?" she asked again. "Really?"

Note looked at her. "Chen said AURA will handle it. I don't ask questions anymore."

Kim thought of the range, the signal, the chance that the box would drift too far, that the drone would never reach its target. But Chen would have calculated that. Chen always calculated.

Carmona was coming. Soon. Very soon.

The chill in Kim's spine did not go away.

She stood at the railing, watching the box disappear into the gray, and she waited.