Chapter 83

Day 22 - 17:41

Zhao felt it again. The same weight he'd felt in the submarine, when dozens of lives hung in the balance and his body was the only thing standing between them and death.

But this time was different.

He had a family now. People who needed him to survive. People who would grieve if he broke himself again. People who were, even now, depending on him to be there tomorrow.

The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like chains.

His family is preventing him from moving forward and saving them.

He hated the feeling. Hated himself for even thinking it.

If I move now, if I try to help, Chen's treatment gets delayed. Maybe permanently. And Chen is the only reason Carmona hasn't attacked. She saw what Chen did to Stavros. She's waiting, watching, afraid.

In a way, the fishermen were only alive right now because Chen existed.

Does he need to risk that for these strangers?

It didn't seem fair. Choosing between the people who depended on him and the people who were dying in front of him.

And his body—his body hadn't recovered. Another mass treatment event could break him permanently. The submarine had pushed him to the edge. What would the next one do?

He thought he had proven himself. That he was in control.

But he wasn't. He never had been.

His body belongs to his family. To the others on this ship.

He looked at Vivienne. She was struggling too, her face pale, her eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding before them. Guilt and duty warring behind her gaze.

He looked at Emeka. The man was moving among his people, checking on the treated, talking to the untreated, gauging their opinions. He was seeking consensus, just like Verne used to. Just like Vivienne did now.

The small fishing boat has been operating the same way we have.

The realization hit Zhao like a wave. These weren't just strangers. They were the same. People trying to survive, trying to lead, trying to keep their families together.

The urge to save them grew stronger.

He didn't understand their language. Couldn't follow the rapid-fire exchanges between Emeka and his people. But he watched their faces, their gestures, their postures. He watched as the second batch, the ones who had seen what happened to the first, began to split.

Some stepped forward. Others stepped back.

Zhao understood without words. Some would accept Alexis's treatment. Some would not.

He looked at their Dawn Meters—glancing at the wrists of those who'd been examined. High fifties. They had two, maybe three days before they crossed into critical.

He couldn't help the ones who chose Alexis. But the others...

He moved toward Emeka.

"Emeka." His voice was quiet, urgent. "Are there women among your people who have recently had a child? Who might still be lactating?"

Emeka frowned, processing the question. Then his eyes widened slightly.

"Yes." He turned, scanning the crowd. "There is a couple. They lost their child—recently. The mother..." He trailed off, understanding dawning. "She might still be producing milk."

A lactating person. Their ship is becoming more like the Blue Oasis with every passing moment.

But then the difference hit him.

They haven't built the sex treatment culture we have. In the old world, this would be taboo. Fetish. Shame.

And they were a couple who had just lost a child. Would the husband allow his wife to use her body to save others? Would she want to? Could they even imagine it, in their grief?

Zhao hesitated. He felt sick for even suggesting it. For putting this choice in front of people who had already lost everything.

But if it meant saving lives—at least ten of them, maybe more—it was their decision to make. Not his.

He told Emeka. Quietly, carefully, explaining the potential solution. The milk contained suppressant properties, especially if the mother had been treated by a vector in the past. It wouldn't replace Zhao entirely—nothing could—but it would reduce the burden on him significantly. It was a better solution than Alexis, with fewer side effects and more control. The women could be stabilized, the men could be sustained, and Zhao could focus his limited strength on the most critical cases.

Emeka listened. His face was unreadable.

When Zhao finished, Emeka nodded slowly. "I will ask them."

Zhao looked at Vivienne. She met his eyes, then immediately turned to find Iqbal, gesturing her over.

The couple came moments later, led by Emeka. The wife was young, maybe mid-twenties, her face still carrying the hollow look of recent loss. The husband was older, thirties perhaps, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder even as he took in the scene around them with wary eyes.

Emeka spoke to them in their language. Zhao watched the wife's face crumble. She broke down, tears streaming, hands covering her mouth. The husband's jaw tightened. His arm pulled her closer. He shook his head—once, sharp, final.

Anger flashed in his eyes. Helplessness. Grief. He looked at Emeka, demanding an answer, demanding something.

Zhao felt the weight of it. These people had lost their child. And now he was asking them to give more.

Vivienne stepped forward.

"I understand." Her voice was soft, steady. "I understand how difficult this is. The Blue Oasis has faced choices like this too. Choices that would have been unthinkable in the old world."

She looked at the wife directly.

"But the old world is gone. If we want to survive, we have to change. We have to learn to need each other's bodies in new ways."

She paused, letting Emeka translate.

"Perhaps it would be easier to start with the women. Let her feed the other women first. Eight women, plus her husband—that would give them time. More time to decide. More time to heal."

She leaned forward slightly.

"Think of it as saving her husband. Saving her child's legacy. Keeping something of them alive."

The wife's tears slowed. She looked at her husband.

Zhao glanced at the fish lying on the deck, the one Emeka had caught earlier.

"The fish," he said quietly. "Eating it might increase the potency of the milk. Make it work better."

Iqbal nodded. "I can't confirm without testing, but it's highly likely. The aphrodisiac properties could enhance the suppressant effect. I'll run tests tomorrow."

The husband's expression shifted. The anger was still there, but something else was breaking through—uncertainty, maybe. Desperation.

Where is Aida? Zhao thought. She would know what to say. She would know how to ease this.

As if summoned, a voice spoke beside him.

"I will be with her."

Aida stepped forward, moving past Zhao to stand before the wife. She took the woman's hand gently, holding it in both of hers.

"I am also lactating. I perform treatments on the Blue Oasis every day. I will guide her. I will be with her every step."

She glanced at the husband.

"He is welcome to watch. To join, if it would help. Whatever makes this easier for both of you."

Emeka translated. The wife's eyes moved to Aida's face, searching. Whatever she found there seemed to steady her. She nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.

The husband's arm loosened, just slightly.

Zhao watched Aida and felt something he'd never quite named before. Her voice—there was something about it. Something that made people feel safe. Made them trust. Made them believe.

Maybe this is why he always liked hearing her voice. Even back then, when she was just a voice in his earbuds.

Iqbal moved immediately, gesturing toward her makeshift station. "Come. We'll start the tests now. Blood work, hormone levels, viral load. We'll know more tomorrow."

The couple followed her, the wife still holding Aida's hand.

Emeka stood beside Zhao and Vivienne, watching them go. After a long moment, he shook his head—not in dissatisfaction, but in something like wonder.

"That man," he said quietly, "is my brother."

Zhao felt the words like a physical blow.

"The woman is his wife. They lost their child two weeks ago. I watched them bury the body at sea." Emeka's voice was rough. "And now you have given them a way to survive. A way to keep something of their child alive."

He looked at Zhao, at Vivienne, at the ship around them.

"I would never have thought of this. Never. In my old life, in my old world, this would have been..." He trailed off, searching for words. "Impossible to imagine. Wrong, even."

He shook his head again.

"Is this what it takes now? To survive this virus?"

Vivienne was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke.

"One step at a time, Emeka. One step towards tomorrow."

Emeka looked at her. Then he nodded slowly.

They stood together, watching as Iqbal drew blood from the wife's arm, as Aida stayed close, as the husband stood guard, his face a mixture of grief and hope and fear.

The second batch was still split—some waiting for Alexis, some refusing. The first batch was being loaded onto the lifeboat, their bodies still strange, their eyes still wild, their Dawn Meters glowing safe and low.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the deck in shades of gold and orange.

Zhao didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Didn't know if the wife's milk would work. Didn't know if the husband would ever look at her the same way again. Didn't know if any of them would survive the weeks ahead.

But for now, they were alive. All of them.

And that was something.