Chapter 122

#Day 38 — 09:30

The gym was at the far end of D-Deck, past the old library and the empty cabins that no one had claimed. Zhao walked slowly, his footsteps echoing on the metal floor, his mind turning over the same thoughts again and again.

Carmona.

He had only seen her once—on the command room monitor, during Verne's first encounter with the Red Solstice. She had scoffed at him, made fun of him for not looking like the vector the Commission had designed. Her face had been sharp, cruel, amused.

Why should he save her?

The answer was simple. If he didn't, Aida would. And he would not let Aida anywhere near that thing.

He had rehearsed the treatment in his mind. Enter from behind—less room for shenanigans. Short. Quick. If his cock wouldn't work, he would ask Victoria for help. Shameful, maybe, especially in front of Carmona. But he didn't care. It was a job. It needed to be done, whatever the cost.

Chen had decided to keep Carmona alive. He trusted Chen. He would do his part.

He reached the gym door and pushed it open.

The smell hit him first—sweat, yes, but something else. Musky. Earthy. The smell of women in heat.

Victoria was braced against an exercise machine, her hands gripping the handles, her body arched. Behind her, a woman he didn't recognize knelt on the floor, her face buried between Victoria's thighs. Her hips moved in a rhythm, as if someone had entered her from behind—but there was no one there.

Victoria saw him. Her eyes met his, and she winked.

Zhao turned to leave.

"Stay."

Victoria's voice was breathless, but firm. He stopped.

She shuddered, her body convulsing, and a stream of liquid squirted onto the woman's face. The woman drank it—all of it—her throat working, her eyes closed. Then she pulled back, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood.

They kissed—brief, casual, practiced. Then the woman turned to gather her belongings.

She was naked, unashamed. Her body was fit—lean muscle, small breasts, a narrow waist. Her face was beautiful, her dark hair pulled back in a messy knot. She smiled at Zhao—inviting, curious—and walked past him. Her scent lingered in the air as she disappeared into the corridor.

Zhao looked at Victoria. "New girlfriend?"

Victoria laughed, pulling on her shorts. "Fitness partner. With benefits."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Georgia. Italian. We rescued her from Stavros's ship." Victoria zipped her jacket, ran a hand through her hair. "She's got a very long tongue. Like, long. She can use it for intercourse—about the length of an average cock, but with way more dexterity. And her appetite for sex is extraordinary." She shrugged. "Now I know why Stavros was trading her as a sex slave. Hospitality didn't know what to do with her. She's been doing laundry, folding shirts. Wasted talent."

Zhao filed the information away. Another woman with genetic anomalies. Another survivor of the Commission's games.

He changed the subject. "I need a favor."

Victoria's expression shifted. "What kind?"

"I'm treating Carmona today. I need you to guard me."

She froze. Stared at him.

Then she laughed. "You've got some balls there, Zhao. You're gonna fuck that monster? In front of me?"

She shook her head, still grinning.

"Let's go."

She pulled on her boots, laced them quickly, and stood. "I figured you'd have to treat her eventually. Wouldn't want anyone getting sucked by Carmona. She might bite."

Zhao nodded. "I wouldn't let anyone close to her."

Victoria's grin softened into something else—pride, maybe. She put her arm around his shoulders, pulled him close like a brother in arms.

"Good man."

They walked out together.

#Day 38 — 10:43

The lower deck smelled of salt and rust and something else—antiseptic, maybe, or the faint chemical tang of the cleaning solutions the guards used between shifts. The holding cells were at the far end, past the storage lockers and the decontamination chamber.

Zhao smelled the gas masks before he saw them.

Iqbal stood at the porthole, a mask strapped to her face, her medical kit open on the floor beside her. Two security guards flanked the door, their own masks in place, their weapons slung.

Victoria grabbed a mask from the wall, fitted it over her face.

Zhao stepped to the porthole and looked inside.

His breath caught.

Alexis was naked, her body pressed against Carmona's back, her hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She was entering Carmona from behind—anal, from the angle—her strange organ slick and glistening. Carmona's eyes were glassy, unfocused, her mouth open, her breathing shallow.

The telltale sign of Alexis's potent aphrodisiac.

But that wasn't what shocked him.

Carmona's breasts were large. Engorged. Dripping with milk.

Victoria pushed in beside him, looked through the glass. "Well," she said, her voice flat. "That's one way to keep her mouth shut. Who would have thought Alexis would treat Carmona first?"

Zhao turned to Iqbal. "How is she lactating already? It usually takes at least a week—"

Iqbal shook her head. "I don't know. I didn't know until today. I came to take a blood sample and found her like this." She gestured at the porthole. "Her genes were selected for superior nursing. That may be a factor. Or it could be Alexis's aphrodisiac—the hormonal surge might accelerate the process. I won't know until I run tests."

Victoria reached for the door handle.

Iqbal caught her arm. "Wait. The aphrodisiac levels in that room are very high. Alexis has been there for hours. Multiple ejaculations. She's been trying to get Carmona's Dawn Meter down to safe levels."

Zhao looked through the glass again. "Is it just anal? Or—"

"Both," Iqbal said. "She tried everything."

Victoria squirmed beside him. "Carmona's going to hate that. She does not want her ass penetrated."

Zhao looked at her. "How do you know?"

"I did my homework." Victoria winked. "Part of my professional work. You learn a lot about a person when you're trying to find their weak spots."

"Torture," Zhao said flatly.

"Interrogation." Her grin was sharp. "There's a difference."

Inside the cell, Alexis picked up her pace. Her face was expressionless—clinical, focused. Nothing like the seductress Zhao had seen at the height of her influence. He wondered if she knew who Carmona was. If she remembered.

Alexis's body tensed. She climaxed, her hips pressing deep, and Carmona squirmed beneath her, a cry escaping her throat—not pain, not pleasure, something in between. Lost.

Alexis pulled back. She cleaned herself methodically—wipes from a dispenser on the floor, careful, efficient—and pulled on her robe. She tied the belt, smoothed her hair, and walked toward the door.

At the porthole, she saw Zhao.

Their eyes met. Her expression softened—just a fraction, just for a moment. Then she made a small gesture with her hand, telling him to move back.

He stepped away from the door.

Victoria moved with him, her hand on her sidearm.

The door opened. Alexis stepped out, and Iqbal slipped past her into the cell, medical kit in hand, already reaching for swabs and vials.

Alexis looked at Victoria. Her nod was cold, polite—the bare minimum of civility. Then she turned to Zhao.

"Don't overthink it," she said. "I just missed sex. And I figured this was the best solution for both Carmona and myself."

She walked past him, her robe brushing his arm.

Zhao watched her go. She was lying, he thought. Or at least, not telling the whole truth.

But he didn't call her on it. Not yet.

Victoria leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. "Well. That was unexpected."

They waited.

Iqbal emerged ten minutes later, her mask off, her face flushed. Her eyes were bright—excited, even.

"Carmona's Dawn Meter is at twenty-one percent. Safe." She paused. "But there's something else. Something unexpected."

Zhao waited.

"Her milk. It holds Alexis's aphrodisiac. Normally, the compounds degrade immediately after leaving the body—they can't be absorbed by anyone else. But Carmona's milk preserves them." Iqbal's voice quickened. "This means there's a chance it could also hold your suppressant. For longer. In storage."

Zhao stared at her. "You're saying we could freeze it? Save it for emergencies?"

"I need to run tests. But yes—that's the implication." Iqbal was already walking toward the stairs, her mind racing ahead. "I'll need a week. Maybe two. I'll brief you and Aida as soon as I have results."

She disappeared up the stairs, her footsteps fading.

Victoria pushed off from the wall. "Well. That's something."

Zhao nodded. But his mind was elsewhere.

He needed to find Alexis.

#Day 38 — 11:15

Her cabin was empty.

Zhao knocked, waited, knocked again. No answer. The door was unlocked—he pushed it open, looked inside. The bed was made, the small desk neat, the gas mask still hanging on its hook. But no Alexis.

He turned and walked toward the old library.

The door was heavy, dark wood. He pushed it open.

The fire was lit—synthetic flames flickering in the hearth, casting warm light across the carpet. The books on the shelves were shadows in the dim glow. And Alexis sat on the sofa, her robe still on, her bare feet tucked beneath her, staring into the fire.

She looked up when he entered. Her expression was softer than he had ever seen it—not the seductress, not the cold creature from the holding cell. Just a woman, tired and thoughtful.

Zhao crossed to her. In his hands, two cans of beer—cold, from the galley.

"Can I join you?"

She nodded.

He sat on the other end of the sofa, close enough to talk, far enough to give her space. He handed her a can. She took it, popped the tab, and drank.

"Thank you," she said.

He waited.

She stared at the fire for a long moment. Then: "I didn't know you were going to treat Carmona today. I just knew it had to be done."

Zhao said nothing.

"Yesterday, after you left—I thought about my future. All night." She turned the beer can in her hands. "Your companionship—simple as it was—let me see things differently. At first, I was angry. You stopped me from jumping. I wanted to die on my own terms, and you took that from me."

She paused.

"But after I thought about it—really thought about it—I was glad. I don't want to die alone, Zhao. And knowing that someone can interact with me like a normal person—" Her voice cracked. "It gave me hope. I wanted to see what that would bring. It's new territory for me. I want to know it badly."

She looked at him. "Are you patient enough to help me through it?"

He nodded. "This is the least I can do. For you. For the ship."

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Yesterday, I thought about what I could do. For the ship, I mean. I can't interact with the crew—not really. Not without losing them. So any normal job is out. But treatment—" She shrugged. "I can do treatment. Emergency cases. Bad apples." She gestured toward the door, toward the holding cells below. "Carmona was the obvious choice."

Zhao asked the question that had been on his mind. "Did you know her? Before?"

Alexis's face hardened. "I knew her."

She drank again, longer this time.

"She hated me. At parties, before the pandemic, she would shame me in front of everyone. Treat me rough. She thought it was funny." Alexis's voice was flat, but her hands were shaking. "I saw her kill children. Torture them. For entertainment. She spared me because I was valuable property—protected by my owner."

Zhao felt something cold settle in his chest.

"I wanted to say so many things to her," Alexis continued. "I wanted to kill her for what she did to those children. But when I saw her in that cell—chained, naked—something changed." She laughed, a hollow sound. "I realized I had the privilege of torturing her. Of putting misery on her. But I didn't."

She looked at the fire.

"Before I could even ask a question, before I could lay a hand on her in anger—she was already under the influence. My body won't even let me inflict pain on my enemy." She laughed again, and this time there was pain in it. "Any pain I give her, when she's like that, just registers as pleasure."

Zhao absorbed this. "Your aphrodisiac is a hallucinogen."

She nodded. "It can turn pain to pleasure. Sadness to happiness. That's why it's so addictive." She set down her beer. "I want to talk to Aida. About being part of the treatment team."

Zhao shook his head. "You're not an asset. You're a person. Like everyone else."

She paused. Then, slowly, she corrected herself. "Be part of the treatment team."

"That's better."

"But I'll only treat emergency cases. And dangerous patients." Her voice was steady now. "My aphrodisiac will render them harmless. Turn them into addicts." She looked at him. "I'm no longer a plaything. I'm a weapon of last resort for the Blue Oasis."

She reflected on her own words.

"I can accept that. For now."

Zhao felt something shift in him. Aida was right. Alexis was not a monster. She was a damaged soul, looking for a path forward. And he was now more compelled to help her—not because she was a last-resort treatment weapon, but as a person needing help. The help that perhaps only he could offer. No one else on the ship could sit with her like this, could talk to her without losing themselves.

He would carry that burden. He would choose to.

They talked for the rest of the morning.

Alexis told him about the parties on the Blue Oasis before the pandemic—the obscene wealth, the casual cruelty, the way the owner had treated the guests like furniture. She told him about the bid that Blanc had lost, the one that had led to Aida getting her position on the ship. She told him about the boy she had met once, on another yacht—a boy with a weak heart who couldn't afford to be aroused, who had sat with her on the bow and watched the stars and never touched her.

"His name was Julian," she said. "I don't know what happened to him."

Zhao listened. He didn't interrupt. He didn't offer advice. He just sat with her, in front of the fire, and let her talk.

When the morning had turned to afternoon, he checked his tablet. He had engineering work to do—tanks to finish, preparations for the hunt.

He stood. "I have to go."

Alexis nodded. She didn't ask him to stay.

At the door, he looked back.

She had risen from the sofa and was standing in front of the bookshelves, her fingers trailing across the spines. She pulled a volume from the shelf—an old novel, its spine cracked—and opened it. Her eyes moved across the page, and for a moment, she looked almost peaceful.

Zhao stepped into the corridor.

The door closed behind him.

He walked toward the aft deck, toward the work that waited, toward the family that would be waiting tonight. His mind was full—of Carmona, of Alexis, of the milk that might save them, of the hunt that was coming.

But beneath it all, one thought settled into place.

She's going to be okay.

Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday.

He held onto that and kept walking.