Chapter 32

# Day 11 - 8:00

The command room was at maximum density, every body pressed in around the steel table, elbows practically overlapping, heat radiating in staccato bursts. The walls trembled with the low hum of the engines. The air reeked of iodine, coffee, and the chemical tang of panic sweat. Captain Verne surveyed her hand-picked team, jaw clenched so tight the scar on her cheek seemed to draw the skin into a fresh cut.

“Let’s get started,” she barked, voice bouncing hard off the glass and steel.

Kim, arms streaked with machine grease, went first. She didn’t bother to look at anyone, just pointed her chin at the deck. “We’re running at seventy-five percent on the main engines. That’s the good news. The bad: every hull patch I did last night was temp-only. If we hit weather, we start leaking again. Salvage from the Victoria gave us more hull material, but the welders need sleep or they’re going to fuse their own fingers together.”

“Manpower?” the Captain said, not missing a beat.

Kim grunted. "Need more. Not want, need. I'm running with two." She glanced at Zhao, whose bloodshot eyes were half-lidded, the gash across his forearm still crusted with yesterday's dried blood. His jumpsuit hung open at the collar where he'd been too exhausted to zip it properly. "Even with Victoria's help, there aren't enough functional hands. This one's dead on his feet after forty-eight hours of engine room and... other duties."

Maggie, looming at the door, arms folded, added, "Victoria is making a difference. She's strong and focused, and the crew doesn't hate her. Yet." She didn't mention how Zhao had fallen asleep standing up twice during the night shift, or the burn marks on his palms from where he'd grabbed a hot pipe without gloves.

Kim ticked off the next points, fast. “Haul included: four crates of engine parts, hull panels, some kitchen stuff, four new solar panels—still boxed, weirdly—a med-tech device I can’t identify, random electronics, half a locker of women’s clothing, two boxes of canned food, and a literal handful of small arms. Most ammo is gone. We found a couple handguns and one rifle, plus forty rounds.”

“Priority?” Captain Verne said.

“Keep the hull sealed. I need more hands to do it right,” Kim said, final.

Verne nodded, wrote something down. “Isabelle. Inventory?”

Isabelle Grant looked more tired than elegant for once; her hair was tied in a tight, practical knot, no hint of makeup. She kept her eyes on the tablet in front of her, scrolling with precise flicks.

Isabelle tapped her tablet with a manicured nail. "We lost three months' worth of dry stores to the storm. Rationing is already in effect—canned protein and processed grains only, one meal per person per day unless they're physically working." She paused, allowing herself the smallest smile. "The good news is the fresh water tanks are filling properly since Kim's patch, and the desalination equipment we salvaged from Victoria is already installed and running at capacity." Her expression darkened again. "But we lack cold-weather gear. If we turn north, it'll be an issue within a week." She gestured to the wall display, where a climate map pulsed. "Blue Oasis is provisioned for tropical and temperate, not Arctic."

“And the rest?” Verne prompted.

“Furniture is mostly trash, but can be repurposed for repairs if we set up a real workshop,” Isabelle said. “Biggest risk now is morale. No one slept last night, and the food drop is already making people edgy.”

Zhao couldn’t help himself. “Has anyone tried fishing?”

A snort from Kim, and a raised eyebrow from Maggie.

Isabelle blinked, surprised. “None of us are trained for it.”

“Owner had some gear,” Kim said. “Fancy reels and rods, all untouched.”

“I can fish,” Zhao said. “My grandfather taught me, before I could even swim.”

For the first time since the meeting began, a ripple went through the room—a quick, hungry curiosity.

Kim grinned, sharklike. “You’re promoted, Zhao. Tomorrow, you teach.”

Isabelle hid a smile. “Good. That’s one more protein source.”

The Captain gave a sharp nod, then moved down the list. "Hospitality?"

Elena straightened, dark circles visible beneath her eyes. "My team is stretched thin—cooking, cleaning, laundry, plus we've set up a repair station for torn clothing." She gestured toward Zhao's frayed jumpsuit. "We've reassigned three staff to medical to help with patient care. The sick need changing, bathing." She lowered her voice. "And someone to hold their hands when the fever spikes. Morale matters." The Captain nodded. "Medical?"

Iqbal was next, her hands folded tight around her own wrist, the nails bitten bloody. “We have sixteen cases of minor injury from the collision and six serious, including two possible fractures. Five are showing elevated dawn meter readings—mid-sixties, maybe higher by the end of day. The med team is running at half strength due to fatigue. The new med-tech device Kim mentioned looks like a next-gen dawn monitor, but I need time to calibrate it.”

Saanvi added, “We’re running out of sex drugs. Less than two dozen full doses left. Victoria’s ship was nearly dry, too. The only thing slowing the infection is… you.” She looked at Zhao, not unkindly. “And the new protocol.”

Zhao squirmed.

Aida, sitting with arms looped around her knees, looked up. “Mei-Lin’s milk is working, but not as well as we hoped. My own induction isn’t progressing. Without more immune men, we can’t cover everyone.” She smiled at Zhao, tired but real. “You’re going to be busy.”

Zhao felt every eye on him.

Iqbal continued, “Direct therapy is the only reliable method. We have three days before another wave of cases hits critical. We need another angle—maybe study Victoria’s resistance, see if we can replicate it.”

Captain Verne wrote rapidly, then looked at Maggie. “Security?”

Maggie, stone-faced, replied: “Victoria’s an asset, but her attitude is… unorthodox. She patrols in a bikini top. Makes friends with everyone. Spends more time talking than actually securing. I’d toss her if she wasn’t effective. She’s intimidating enough that most problems don’t escalate.”

There was a stifled laugh from Saanvi. Maggie ignored it.

“Security is barely holding. We need at least four more for shifts, or we risk losing control if anything else boards us. We can’t defend against a crawler breach and a mutiny at once.”

“Any signs of discipline issues?” Verne asked.

“Not yet, but people are scared. If food drops again, expect it.”

Verne: “You’ll get new recruits after we brief the passengers. Cross-train anyone who can hold a baton.”

Maggie: “I want them armed.”

Verne: “You’ll get nonlethal first.”

Linh was last, as always. She rolled her stylus between her fingers, eyes fixed to the wall map. “I have identified four possible salvage sites: a cruise liner drifting east, a cargo trawler with a damaged hull, and two small yachts pinged by drone. All are within one day’s range, but we can’t hit them all. Most are probably stripped already by other vectors or pirates.”

Zhao, suddenly alert: “Is it safe to try?”

Linh shrugged, efficient. “Nothing is safe. If we stay put, we die slow. If we go, we die fast. I’d pick the cruise liner. It’s big, and people avoid the big ones—too many unknowns.”

Kim shook her head. "The cruise liner's a risk. If it's gone hot, we don't have the speed to outrun whatever crawls off it. Blue Oasis is limping as it is."

Verne’s eyes narrowed. “Any sign of other vector ships?”

Linh flicked the stylus, bringing up a red line. “There’s chatter. Someone’s running a shadow on us, maybe two days behind. Could be a vector, could be a pirate ship. Too early to tell.”

Kim asked, “Can’t we just go somewhere they won’t follow?”

Zhao leaned forward, studying the climate display. "Linh, can you show the ocean current patterns?" When she obliged, he traced a finger along the blue flow lines. "And wind direction?" Another layer appeared. "Aura, where would wrecks and floating debris end up based on this?" The AI silently projected a scatter of glowing dots, spreading like pollen across the virtual sea. Zhao tapped three points where the dots clustered. "These choke points—notice anything?" Kim squinted. "There's nothing there." "Exactly," Zhao said. "No islands, no shipping lanes. We drift there, away from vectors and raiders, and just... wait. Let the ocean bring the salvage to us."

Kim folded her arms across her chest. "My team needs time to restore the engines and patch the hull properly. And everyone's still learning their stations—we're not ready for a direct confrontation with another vector ship. Not yet." Her calloused fingers drummed against her bicep. "Give us this breathing room, and we'll be combat-ready when it matters."

Linh liked that. “It’s doable. The main current will take us south. We’ll need to ration fuel, but the wind patterns help.”

Verne looked at everyone, one at a time. “Input?”

Kim: “Fix the hull, then drift.”

Isabelle: “Food is still our choke point, but if Zhao’s fishing works, we last longer.”

Kim tapped her tablet. "I've been collecting spare parts. Give me three days and I can convert the starboard sun deck into a hydroponic garden. Won't feed everyone, but it'll supplement whatever fish we catch."

Maggie: “Train and arm new security.”

Iqbal: “Get the med device working. Try everything.”

Zhao: “Let’s stay invisible.”

Vivienne, who’d said nothing all meeting, finally spoke: “You need to tell everyone the truth. No more lies about what we’re up against. If you do, people will follow you.”

Verne held her gaze a second longer than necessary, then nodded.

“Done,” she said. “Linh, prepare the general assembly for 20:00. All crew, all passengers.”

The Captain stood, then winced—just a flicker, but Zhao caught it. He watched her, worried, as the meeting broke up. Kim and Maggie left first, already bickering about tool kits and muscle. Isabelle followed, head bent over her spreadsheet. Saanvi and Iqbal murmured together about the new dawn meter. Aida lingered by the door, hand on Mei-Lin's shoulder. Vivienne slipped out after them, her tablet clutched to her chest.

Zhao waited until the room was nearly empty, then approached the Captain. "May I?" he asked.

Verne just looked at him, tired but steel. "Make it quick."

He hesitated, then: "About Sophie Laurent."

Behind him, the soft click of the door reopening. Vivienne stood frozen in the threshold, one hand still on the handle, her face suddenly drained of color at her mother's name.

Verne’s lips compressed. “Not now.”

“I—”

It happened in slow motion. The Captain went rigid, then sagged, both hands on the table. She was breathing fast, eyes dialed in to nothing.

“Captain?” Vivienne’s voice, suddenly afraid.

Zhao grabbed the nearest dawn meter. It lit up orange and then hard red—68% and climbing.

He dropped to his knees, already reciting the protocol in his head. He heard the others call for help, but he shut it out, focusing on the Captain’s face, the pulse at her throat, the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

He had minutes, maybe less, before the virus took her whole.

He placed the meter on her arm and cupped her cheek. “Stay with me,” he said