Chapter 79

#Day 22 - 9:30 Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean South West of Africa

The medical bay smelled of antiseptic and something else—something sweet and cloying that Aida recognized immediately. She'd spent enough years around altered states to know the scent of synthetic arousal when she smelled it.

Iqbal was helping Saanvi into a chair by the examination table, one hand steady on her shoulder, the other guiding her arm. Saanvi's movements were loose, uncoordinated, her head lolling slightly as she tried to focus on something across the room.

Her pupils were blown wide—black pools swallowing the brown of her irises.

Aida's stomach tightened. She knew that look. She'd seen it on co-stars who'd taken one too many "energy supplements," on newcomers who didn't know how to say no, on herself once, years ago, before she learned better.

"Saanvi." Aida crossed the room quickly, her voice sharper than intended. "What did you do?"

Saanvi blinked up at her, a slow, dreamy smile spreading across her face. "Aida! Hi. I'm... I'm doing science."

Iqbal's jaw tightened. "She volunteered for testing. With Alexis."

Of course she did. Saanvi always volunteered. Whenever there was fire, whenever someone needed to jump first, Saanvi's hand was up before anyone else could think. Maybe it was courage. Maybe it was recklessness. Maybe—Aida glanced at Iqbal, at the way her hand never quite left Saanvi's shoulder—maybe it was love.

They were a couple now. Aida had noticed it weeks ago, the way they moved around each other, the unspoken communications, the way Iqbal's clinical detachment softened just slightly when Saanvi was in the room. But here, in the medical bay, with the two other nurses bustling around, they kept it professional. Hidden.

Aida understood hiding. She'd done it for decades.

"How are you feeling?" Aida asked, crouching beside the chair.

Saanvi's brow furrowed. She opened her mouth, closed it, tried again. "It's... warm. Everywhere. Like my skin is... singing?" She laughed, a loose, unguarded sound. "That doesn't make sense."

Iqbal answered for her. "She took a direct sample. Alexis ejaculated into her mouth." The words were clinical, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the chair. "There's no way to measure dosage with that method. Saanvi just... opened her mouth and let it happen."

Aida stared at her. Semen. Not milk. Alexis's other fluid. "You have no idea how much she took."

"None." Iqbal's voice was tight. "Could be two milliliters. Could be ten. We're flying blind."

"But her Dawn Meter," Aida said.

"Plunged. Not as good as Zhao's treatment, but better than all the sex drugs combined." Iqbal pulled up her tablet, showing the readings. "Look. Forty-eight hours ago she was at 52%. Now she's at 41%. And holding."

Aida studied the numbers, her mind already racing through implications. "Can we preserve it? Store it for later?"

"No." Iqbal's voice was flat. "Like Zhao's suppressant, it degrades almost instantly outside the body. Direct intake or application is required. The good news is that it lingers in the system for several days—same as Zhao's."

"The bad news?"

Iqbal glanced at Saanvi, who was now humming softly to herself, eyes half-closed. "The high lingers too. She'll be like this for at least two days. Maybe three. Daily work performance would be... compromised."

Aida understood. "Alexis can't handle mass treatment."

"Correct. Emergency targeted treatment only. Patients who can afford to rest for a few days afterward." Iqbal paused. "If we use her at all."

If we use her at all.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Alexis was sitting in her cell right now, producing enough suppressant to save lives. And they were keeping her locked up because... why? Because she was dangerous? Because they didn't trust her? Because the thought of letting her loose among the crew made something deep and primal recoil?

Aida agreed with Iqbal's assessment. She knew it was the right call. But she couldn't shake the discomfort coiling in her chest.

There's nothing to stop others from seeing her if they want to. Does she need to live as a prisoner, controlled for the substances her body produces?

That was wrong. Morally wrong. Aida knew it with the same certainty she knew her own name.

But beneath that moral discomfort, something else stirred. Something uglier.

Will she replace me?

The thought was there before she could stop it, sliding into her mind like smoke under a door. Alexis could do what Aida did—produce suppressant, treat patients, save lives. And she was younger. Her body was engineered for this, designed from the ground up to be perfect. Aida couldn't produce suppressant on her own; she needed Zhao to recharge her, needed the family to sustain her. Alexis was self-sufficient. A machine built for this purpose.

Aida remembered the end of her career. The phone calls that stopped coming. The agents who stopped returning messages. The roles that got younger and younger until suddenly there were no roles at all. The heartbreak of watching something you built, something you were, crumble away because the world decided you were no longer needed.

She'd survived that once. She didn't know if she could survive it again.

But this is different, she told herself firmly. This is survival. What does it matter if a better person takes over, if it means everyone lives?

The thought was rational. Logical. It didn't touch the fear.

She had a few days to figure this out. To talk to the family, to work through it before the situation became critical. Chen would need a solution before then, but Chen was stable for now. There was time.

The comms blared, shattering her thoughts.

"All council members to the bridge. ASAP."

Aida and Iqbal exchanged a glance, then moved.

#Day 22 - 9:58

The bridge was already crowded when they arrived. Vivienne stood at the center, Verne's pin catching the light on her blouse. Sophie was at her usual position, arms folded, face unreadable. Maggie and Victoria flanked the door, both alert. Linh hunched over her console, fingers flying across the controls. Kim leaned against the nav station, grease still smeared across her cheek.

Aida found Zhao immediately. He was standing near the forward windows, watching the ocean, but he turned when she entered and their eyes met. She crossed to him, and his hand found hers automatically, fingers interlacing. A moment later, she caught Vivienne's eye across the room, and something passed between them—recognition, solidarity, family.

"Report," Vivienne said.

Linh didn't look up. "Distress signal. Unknown boat, about ten kilometers east. Male voice, requesting help." She tapped her console. "Drone's already en route. Feed coming up now."

The main screen flickered, then resolved into grainy footage. A small fishing boat, maybe twenty meters long, rode low in the water. Its paint was faded, its hull scarred by years of hard use. Nets hung from the stern, tangled and useless. On the deck, figures moved slowly—too slowly, like people running on fumes.

"Can you get audio?" Vivienne asked.

Linh tapped again. Static crackled, then a voice emerged—deep, accented, desperate.

"...any vessel, this is Captain Emeka of the Mother Mercy. We need help. Our people are sick. Please, if anyone can hear us..."

Vivienne glanced at Sophie. Sophie shook her head slightly—not one of ours.

"Captain Emeka," Vivienne said, her voice steady. "This is Captain Vivienne Laurent of the vessel Blue Oasis. We hear you. What is your situation?"

A pause. Then the voice returned, relief evident even through the crackle. "Captain Laurent. Thank God. Thank God. My people—they're dying. We had food, fish from the deep, and it kept the sickness away. But the fish stopped coming four days ago. Now people are..." His voice cracked. "We've already lost three. I don't know how much time the others have."

Aida felt Zhao's hand tighten on hers. Fish from the deep. Food that fought the sickness. These people had found something—some natural suppressant—without any knowledge of vectors or protocols.

"Captain Emeka," Vivienne said carefully, "do you have a vector on board? Someone whose... bodily fluids help fight the virus?"

Another pause, longer this time. Muffled voices in the background—discussion, confusion.

"Vector?" Emeka's voice was uncertain. "I'm sorry, Captain, I don't know what that means. I'm just a fisherman. I own this boat. These are my people. We don't know anything about... about any of this. We just want to live."

The council exchanged glances. No vector. No knowledge of the Dawn Protocol. These people had survived nearly a month through sheer luck and deep-sea fish.

"Captain Emeka," Vivienne said, "how many people do you have?"

"Thirty now. Started with six, just my crew. Then we found refugees near the coast, people in the water. We pulled them in. Twenty-one men, nine women. Some have already..." He trailed off. "Please. We have nothing to trade but our labor, our knowledge of the waters. If you have medicine, anything that might help..."

Aida's mind was already working. These people didn't know what they had. They didn't know about vectors or suppressants or any of it. They'd just found fish that made them feel better, and now the fish were gone.

She saw Vivienne's hesitation—the captain's mind racing, trying to figure out how to explain the inexplicable. How do you tell a desperate fisherman that the only thing that will save his people is sex with strangers?

Aida stepped forward.

"Captain Emeka," she said, pitching her voice to carry. "My name is Aida. I'm the treatment coordinator on this vessel. I'm going to explain something to you, and I need you to listen carefully."

She told him. Simply, directly, without euphemism. She explained the virus, the suppressant, the need for intimate contact. She explained Zhao, the treatments, the way they'd kept everyone alive. She explained it like she was explaining weather patterns or fishing techniques—just facts, nothing to be ashamed of.

When she finished, silence stretched across the connection. Muffled voices in the background, whispered, urgent. Then Emeka's voice returned, heavier now.

"I see." A long pause. "There were ships like you. Big, beautiful ships. They passed us by. Wouldn't answer our calls. We thought... we thought they didn't care." Another pause. "Now I understand why they couldn't answer."

Aida felt the weight of those words. They weren't part of this. They weren't invited. Just like Chen said—the Commission had chosen who would survive, and it wasn't fishermen from Nigeria.

"Captain Emeka," Aida said softly, "how many of your people knew about the fish? The ones that fought the sickness?"

"All of us," he said. "It's how we survived. My father taught me, and his father taught him. The deep waters off the coast, the fish that run there—we've always known. But now..." His voice broke. "Now the fish are gone, and we're dying. And if we die... who will remember? Who will teach the children who will never be born?"

The question hung in the air, and Aida felt it like a physical blow. These weren't just thirty people. They were carriers of knowledge—generations of fishing wisdom, cultural memory, language, song, story. All of it, about to sink beneath the waves.

She glanced at Zhao. His face was pale, his jaw tight. He understood. He'd felt this same terror when Chen spoke of Chinese erasure. The fear that your people, your culture, everything you were, could simply... stop.

"Captain Emeka," Vivienne said gently, "we need time to discuss. We'll contact you within the hour."

"Please hurry," he said. "I don't know how much time we have."

The connection cut.

The command room was thick with tension. Vivienne stood at the head of the table, Sophie at her right, the rest scattered around. Aida stayed close to Zhao, their hands still intertwined.

"Medical supplies," Vivienne said. "What can we spare?"

Iqbal shook her head. "Not enough. A few boxes of sex drugs, maybe. But for thirty people? With no Dawn Meter readings, no idea of their viral loads?" She glanced at Maggie. "We saw what happened with the refugee boat. I don't want a repeat."

Maggie's jaw tightened. "We don't have the ammo for another containment operation. Not if we want to keep anything for Carmona."

"Then we can't bring them aboard," Sophie said flatly. "It's that simple. We don't risk this ship for strangers with nothing to trade."

Zhao spoke up. "They have fishing knowledge. Specialized gear. They survived a month on fish that fight the virus—fish we don't know how to catch."

Sophie's lips curled. "A knowledge that didn't save them. They're dying anyway."

"But adding another survival option doesn't hurt," Zhao countered. "It only increases our chances. If we learn what they know, maybe we don't run out of food next time. Maybe we catch those fish ourselves."

Sophie pressed her lips together but didn't argue.

Zhao continued, his voice quieter now. "There's something else. Chen told us the Commission chose who would survive. They didn't choose these people. They weren't invited." He looked around the room. "How many fishermen knew about those fish? How many generations of knowledge are on that boat? If they die, that knowledge dies with them."

Vivienne's gaze moved to Aida. "Treatment options. What are we working with?"

Aida felt the weight of the question. "Breast milk is the safest. Oral or rectal application, no intercourse required. Mei-Lin and I could produce enough to treat some of them. But that would mean pulling us off our regular schedule—and more importantly, it would mean less milk for Chen."

The room went still.

"Chen needs daily feeding," Aida continued. "Her viral load stabilizes because of us. If we redirect our milk to the fishermen, even for a few days, Chen's readings will climb. She could destabilize."

Vivienne's jaw tightened. "Chen is not an option. She's too important—to the ship, to the future. We cannot risk her."

"Then the pressure is on Zhao."

All eyes turned to him. He stood very still, his hand still wrapped around Aida's. She felt the slight tremor in his fingers, quickly suppressed.

"I understand," he said quietly.

Aida squeezed his hand. She could feel what he wasn't saying—the exhaustion, the weight of another demand on a body that had already given so much. The submarine. The mass treatment. The constant, unending need.

He would do it. He always did. But the cost was mounting.

Iqbal cleared her throat. "There is another option." She glanced at Aida, then back at Vivienne. "Alexis."

The name landed like a stone in still water.

Vivienne's eyes flicked to Aida—a quick, searching glance. Why didn't you tell me?

Aida met her gaze steadily. She would explain later. For now, there were bigger concerns.

"Alexis is... complicated," Aida said carefully. "Her suppressant is potent—stronger than any sex drug we've tried. But it comes with side effects. Anyone she treats will be essentially incapacitated for days. High, unable to function. And we barely understand her biology. Using her for mass treatment could have unforeseen consequences."

Vivienne absorbed this. "But for targeted treatment? Emergency cases?"

"Possible. If we're careful. If the patient can afford to be out of commission."

The room fell silent. Thirty people out there, dying. Carrying knowledge that might never be recovered. A solution on board that could save some of them. But at what cost?

Vivienne made the call.

"We ask Alexis. If she's willing, we offer Emeka a choice. We can't save all thirty, but we can save some. He chooses who. We provide the treatment, they rest, we share knowledge, and they go on their way." She looked around the table. "It's not perfect. But it's better than letting them all die."

No one argued.

As the council dispersed, Aida felt Zhao's hand squeeze hers. She looked up at him—his steady eyes, his quiet strength. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

But she felt it. The weight settling on his shoulders. Another burden. Another demand. And behind it, the unspoken truth: Chen was depending on him. If Alexis took over treating the fishermen, Zhao would need to focus on Chen. His body, his stamina, his willingness to keep giving—all of it would be tested again.

He'll do it, Aida thought. He always does. But for how long?

The unease coiled in her chest. Alexis was about to be unleashed. The fishermen might be saved. Chen might stabilize. And Zhao would carry the weight of it all, as he always did.

One monster released, she thought. One family stretched thinner. One man asked to give more.

Let's hope we can control what comes next.