# Day 5 - 10:00
Aida stood in the corridor outside Nadia’s cabin, her knuckles hovering an inch from the thin composite door. The hall was lit by brittle white LEDs, but shadows pooled in the corners, and the only sound was the rumble of the main engines miles below. The ship was holding station—dead in the water, waiting for the next disaster.
She counted to ten. Then she knocked. Once, soft.
No answer.
She tried again, this time calling Nadia’s name. No answer, but the shudder behind the door got louder. Aida waited, ear tuned for the pattern of someone trying not to cry.
She entered without waiting for permission.
Inside: blackness, save for the weak red of the Dawn Meter on the nightstand. Nadia lay curled on her bunk, knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie zipped so high it almost covered her eyes. The light from the meter painted the curve of her cheek in radioactive crimson.
Aida didn’t turn on the light. She sat on the edge of the bed and let the silence pile up.
Minutes passed.
Then Nadia rolled over, face red and splotchy, tear tracks shining in the LED wash. "I can't do it," she said, her voice barely audible. Aida leaned closer as Nadia's fingers unconsciously traced the spot on her collarbone where Marcus had once laughed at her stiffness. "I can't face them after... after failing." Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, seeing not the cabin wall but the memory of her ex's disappointed face when she'd frozen during their anniversary night. "I can't even face myself," she whispered, the phantom echo of his words—"like making love to a calculator"—still burning three years later.
Aida kept her hands folded in her lap. “You don’t have to say anything. Not now.”
Nadia squeezed her eyes shut. “I tried so hard. I did all the protocols. And it still—” She trailed off, then laughed bitterly. “I’m not a woman. I’m just a circuit with skin on top.”
Aida slid a tissue from her sleeve and set it in Nadia’s hand. She said nothing.
“I’m not scared of dying,” Nadia whispered. “But I am scared of—” She looked at the meter, which now blinked an angry 66. “Of turning. Of hurting someone. They said I’d get a second chance, but it’s bullshit. I’m not going to make it.”
The silence stretched again. The Dawn Meter clicked up another notch, a metronome for doom.
Aida finally spoke. “You know what people never understand about porn?”
Nadia blinked, surprised by the non sequitur.
Aida smiled, gentle. “It’s not about the performance. It’s about the connection. Even if it’s fake, there’s a trick to making the other person believe it’s real. Most of the men I worked with—actors, pros—couldn’t manage that. But the ones who could? It worked every time. No pills, no prep. Just trust.”
Nadia stared at her, not comprehending.
“What if you didn’t have to do it alone?” Aida said. “What if I was there with you? Both of us, together. We could try it that way.”
Nadia’s eyes flicked to the meter, then back. “A three-person…?”
Aida nodded. “We can try. There’s nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”
Nadia looked away, but the tightness in her shoulders loosened. “He’ll hate it.”
Aida's lips curved into a knowing smile, the kind that came from years of reading men's desires before they knew them themselves. "Trust me," she said, her voice a velvet promise, "I'll make sure he enjoys every minute."
Nadia’s mouth twisted. “You’re not scared? You should be. I could go phase three any second.”
Aida squeezed her hand, careful not to flinch. “If you do, I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone. But you won’t.”
For a while they just breathed together, the tension ebbing and flowing like the ship’s own heartbeat.
When Aida finally stood, Nadia caught her by the wrist. “Thank you,” she said. “But if I turn—kill the power. Don’t let me near comms.”
Aida squeezed her hand in return. “We’ll keep you here, Nadia. I promise.”
The Dawn Meter beeped, insistent now. Nadia shut her eyes, nodded, and let the next wave of tears come. Aida waited out the storm, then padded out to the corridor, already planning the next steps.
This time, Nadia did not lock the door behind her.
# Day 5 - 15:00 Find the original chapter at g.com.
Aida's quarters welcomed them with lived-in warmth—silk throw draped across her reading chair, carved elephants lined on her bookshelf, jasmine scent hanging in the air. She'd cleared the low table, arranging cushions in a circle around it. The familiar clay teapot sat ready with three small cups, steam rising in delicate curls. Zhao couldn't help but notice how Aida moved between these familiar objects in her lightweight kimono—a modern take on the traditional Japanese garment that whispered against her skin as she walked. The silk was patterned with subtle blue waves, its neckline dipping just low enough to reveal the gentle curve where her collarbones met, suggesting nothing separated the silk from her skin. Nadia had been here before; Aida caught her eyes drifting to the corner where they'd once spent hours talking about home.
Zhao Xun perched on the edge of a cushion, fingers tapping nervously against his knee. Aida had dressed him in a loose linen shirt the color of sea glass that made his eyes look warmer, the sleeves rolled to expose forearms she'd insisted on moisturizing. His hair fell in the casual sweep she'd styled after finding an old photo of a K-drama actor in Nadia's browser history. He smelled faintly of sandalwood oil.
Aida circled the room, straightening the throw blankets, then perched beside him. “You okay?” she asked, her voice a sultry purr.
He shrugged. “I haven’t slept much. Or at all.”
She nodded, unjudging. “That’s fine. We’re not doing the old protocol anymore. Today is… an experiment.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But a good one.”
He tried to smile back, but his nerves were on edge. “If you say so.”
A chime sounded from the suite door. Nadia appeared, the oversized hoodie replaced by a soft blue cardigan that matched her eyes, underneath it a simple white top that hinted at curves without flaunting them. Her hair fell in loose waves, framing cheeks touched with the faintest blush—just enough to bring warmth to her complexion without looking painted. She hugged a notebook to her chest and hesitated in the doorway, eyes sharper than last night but still uncertain, until Aida beckoned her in with an approving nod.
“Shoes off,” Aida said, gesturing at the pile by the mat. Nadia complied. She curled onto a cushion opposite Zhao and tried not to look at him.
Aida pulled a low table between them, set down three glasses of water, and let the silence linger.
“Here’s the rule,” she said. “We don’t talk about the virus. We don’t talk about the numbers on the wall. If you have a feeling, you say it. If you don’t have a feeling, you ask a question.”
She turned to Nadia. “You’re the guest of honor. Start us off.”
Nadia blinked, startled. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say what you’re thinking about,” Aida said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Anything.”
Nadia hesitated. “I was thinking about the comms array. The nav uplink. Whether I can brute-force a satellite handshake with just the backup battery.”
Aida nodded. “Explain it to Zhao.”
Nadia turned, not meeting his eyes. “It’s just—if I can get a ping off the Athena Group, even for a second, I can back-calculate their position. It’s math. Just time-of-flight and phase shift.”
Zhao frowned. “You’re saying you can find them without the AI?”
Nadia’s hands animated, sketching lines in the air. “Not exactly. But I can prove they exist. That we’re not alone. I just need more time.”
As she spoke, her voice steadied. Her posture uncoiled, hands moving in sharp, sure gestures.
Aida leaned in, her tone playful. “Zhao, ask her a question about it.”
He did. “Why does it matter? If we’re stable, can’t we just hide out?”
Nadia met his gaze, blue eyes sparking in the soft light. “Because if someone else is immune, if there’s another cohort out there, we can compare notes. Find a workaround.”
The conversation built, layer by layer. Each answer from Nadia brought another question from Zhao. They started leaning in, hands gesturing, then pausing, then touching the edge of the table at the same time.
Aida watched, then reached out and touched Zhao's shoulder. "It's okay to relax," she said, noticing how his pupils dilated at her touch, how his breath caught when she leaned close enough for him to catch that same jasmine scent she'd worn yesterday during their preparation session. She moved his hand, gently, to rest on the table beside Nadia's, her voice dropping to that same husky register that had made him flush during their practice. "You're safe here."
Aida imagined a Dawn Meter in her mind—the way she'd been trained to gauge a client's comfort level back in her old profession. In her visualization, this room glowed danger-red, but as they talked, she watched that imaginary color soften. Red melting to hesitant orange, orange warming to a cautious yellow. The technique had never failed her; it was how she'd always known exactly when to touch, when to pull back, when to push forward.
Aida stepped back. She poured herself tea, sipped, and watched.
Nadia’s laugh was real this time. “You really want to know how I’d do it?” she said, and launched into a detailed description of comms architecture, eyes shining, voice steady. Zhao listened, nodding, asking follow-up questions, his own nervousness forgotten.
Aida drifted closer, sat beside Nadia, and let their knees touch. She placed her hand lightly on Nadia's back, thumb tracing small circles between her shoulder blades, then sliding down the ridge of her spine. When her fingers brushed a spot just above Nadia's waist, she felt a slight tremor beneath her touch—a quickening of breath, an almost imperceptible arch that only someone trained to read bodies would notice.
The conversation slowed, then stopped. Nadia reached for her tea, hand trembling just a bit.
Aida covered Nadia’s hand with her own. “You’re doing great,” she said, and Nadia looked up, a soft, grateful smile on her lips.
The meter now showed yellow, then green.
Aida squeezed Nadia's hand, then Zhao's, guiding their hands together. She leaned in, her breath warm on Nadia's ear. "Have you done this before?" she whispered, watching Nadia's pupils dilate. When Nadia hesitated, Aida's thumb traced circles on her wrist. "The night you told me about—with that postdoc from MIT—was that your only time?" Nadia's sharp intake of breath confirmed what Aida suspected. "And women?" Aida pressed gently. "You… watched me before. Did that excite you?" Nadia's slight nod and the flush creeping up her neck told Aida everything she needed to know. Find the original chapter at g.com.
She remained seated, reaching across with one hand to tug at her kimono's sleeve. The silk whispered as it slid down her arm, pooling at her elbow. With a subtle roll of her shoulder, she guided the fabric lower, revealing the perfect curve of her breast while the garment still draped across her body. Zhao's breath caught audibly. Nadia's eyes widened, her lips parting slightly, transfixed despite the blush spreading across her cheeks.
Aida took Nadia's right hand and placed it on Zhao's chest, then guided his left to Nadia's sternum. Finally, she drew their remaining hands to rest against her own heartbeat. "Feel that," she whispered, her voice low and intimate. "All three of us, in sync." Under their palms, three hearts raced with different rhythms, gradually finding a common cadence.
Aida leaned in, her lips brushing against Nadia’s ear. “You’re beautiful, Nadia. Zhao sees it too.” She turned to Zhao, her eyes locked on his. “Don’t you, Zhao?”
Zhao nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Yes, she is.”
Aida smiled, her hands tracing patterns on both of their backs. “Good. Now, Nadia, tell Zhao what you want him to do to you.”
Nadia hesitated, her cheeks flushing a deeper red. Aida’s hands moved lower, her touch igniting a fire within both of them. “It’s okay, Nadia. Say it.”
Nadia took a deep breath, her voice trembling. “I want him to kiss me.”
Aida nodded, her eyes never leaving Zhao. “You heard her, Zhao. Kiss her.”
Zhao leaned in, his lips meeting Nadia’s in a soft, tentative kiss. Aida watched, her own desire growing. She moved closer, her body pressing against theirs, her hands exploring every curve and contour.
“That’s it,” Aida murmured, her voice thick with desire. “Now, Zhao, tell Nadia what you want to do to her.”
Zhao’s eyes darkened, his voice steady. “I want to make her feel good. I want to touch her, to make her moan.”
Aida positioned herself behind Nadia, her chin resting on the smaller woman's shoulder. "Show her, Zhao," she whispered, guiding his hand to Nadia's face. His fingers traced her cheekbone with unexpected tenderness. Aida's nimble fingers worked at Nadia's cardigan buttons, then moved to the crisp white shirt beneath. The fabric parted like curtains, revealing the pale curve of Nadia's breast, its skin like alabaster in the cabin's low light, the delicate blue veins beneath just visible, the nipple a soft puffy and pink bud tightening in the sudden cool air. Nadia turned her face away, but her quickened breath betrayed her. Aida recognized the subtle arch of her back—permission given without words. She cupped Nadia's breast, thumb circling the nipple once, twice, watching Zhao's eyes darken, his lips part. That look—she'd seen it yesterday when she'd finally broken through his hesitation. Now it was happening again, that same surrender washing over his features, the moment when caution dissolved into need.
The room filled with the sounds of their passion—Nadia's soft gasps, Zhao's deeper groans, the rustle of silk against skin as Aida's kimono slipped further down. Aida's fingers worked methodically at Nadia's remaining clothes, each garment removed with deliberate slowness that made the scientist shiver. "You've been hiding this body behind that hoodie," Aida whispered, tracing the curve where Nadia's hip met her thigh. "Such a waste." The scent of clean skin mingled with something distinctly Nadia—like fresh rain on warm concrete. Aida guided Zhao's hand lower, over the constellation of freckles dotting Nadia's inner thighs, then gently parted her with two fingers. Nadia's flesh glistened pink and swollen beneath sparse copper curls, her entrance contracting visibly with each quickened breath. "Look how beautiful she is," Aida murmured as Nadia's hips lifted involuntarily. "So delicate, like everything about her." A droplet of clear arousal trickled down, catching the light. Nadia's glasses sat crooked on her flushed face, her bottom lip caught between her teeth—the same expression she wore when solving complex equations, now transformed into something primal.
Aida rose from her position, movements liquid and deliberate. She guided Nadia to stand with hands that knew precisely where to apply pressure—at the small of her back, then her elbow. With practiced grace, Aida lifted Nadia's right leg and draped it over Zhao's shoulder, opening her completely. The scent of Nadia's arousal—earthy and sweet like rain-soaked wildflowers—filled the air between them. Zhao's pupils dilated as he leaned forward, his tongue tracing a delicate path from her inner thigh to her center. Nadia gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he found her most sensitive spot. Aida's signature jasmine scent mingled with their natural scents, creating an intoxicating alchemy that made Zhao's head swim. "May I?" Aida whispered against Nadia's ear, her slender fingers hovering at the entrance to Nadia's body while Zhao's tongue circled and flicked. Nadia nodded, breathless, her consent barely audible but unmistakable. When she finally guided Zhao inside her, the sensation of fullness drew a sound from her throat that was half sob, half sigh.
The Dawn Meter pulsed emerald as Zhao's body tensed, his fingers digging into Nadia's hips. She arched beneath him, glasses askew, lab-steadied hands now trembling against his shoulders as he emptied himself inside her with a guttural moan. Beside them, Aida's body convulsed in sympathetic release, her thighs quivering, a flush spreading across her chest as she rode her own wave of pleasure, one hand tangled in Nadia's hair, the other gripping Zhao's forearm. Zhao watched them—Nadia trembling with wonder, Aida glowing with pride—and felt something crack open in his chest. He wasn't just fucking them. He was part of something. Part of them.
In the stillness after, Nadia lay wide-eyed, tears streaming silently down her temples into her disheveled hair. Her face transformed—the perpetual furrow between her brows smoothed away, lips parted in wonder rather than analysis. "I never knew," she whispered, voice cracking with revelation. The memories of that fumbling MIT postdoc, his dismissive laugh when she'd tensed up, the years of avoiding intimacy—all dissolved like salt in warm water. She reached for Aida's wrist, pulling her closer with newfound boldness. "Show me more," she breathed against Aida's neck, her tongue darting out to taste the salt-sweet skin there.Her fingers traced the delicate blue veins visible beneath Aida's alabaster skin, following them down to where the kimono gaped open. Nadia's touch grew bolder as she cupped the fullness beneath the silk, her thumb circling until Aida's breath quickened. The fabric parted further, revealing what her hands had already discovered. Nadia lowered her head, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as Aida's fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her. Her exploration continued downward, hesitating at the warmth she found there, before surrendering to curiosity and desire. One finger, then another,each movement drawing gasps and moans from Aida that made Nadia's own body respond in kind, until Aida arched beneath her, trembling violently, her thighs tensing as clear fluid suddenly gushed between them, soaking the sheets and spattering across Nadia's fingers and wrist.Aida's surprised smile turned knowing as Nadia straddled her, glasses still askew. Their bodies aligned perfectly—Nadia's swollen, glistening center pressed against Aida's own flushed pearl. Each deliberate rotation of Nadia's hips—clockwise, then counterclockwise—sent electric currents through them both as their most sensitive flesh kissed and slid against each other, slick with desire. Where they touched, a delicate web of moisture connected them, breaking and reforming with each precise movement, catching the light like dewdrops on a spider's silk.
Zhao watched, transfixed by the contrast of Nadia's freckled shoulders against Aida's porcelain skin, as Nadia arched backward, her auburn curls cascading down her spine, inviting him with splayed fingers and parted thighs that needed no scientific notation to interpret. The meter pulsed emerald again and again through the night, its glow painting their intertwined bodies in otherworldly light as Nadia's inhibitions fell away completely, her voice growing hoarse from demands and discoveries, her body learning the language it had been denied for so long—a vocabulary of pleasure written in gasps, moans, and the slick sounds of skin against skin.
# Day 5 - 10:41
Saanvi Rao steadied herself against the cabin doorframe, knuckles white, lungs burning from the effort of just standing. Her skin was slick with sweat; the world narrowed to a single bright thread as she inched into the corridor. Each footstep sent a needle of pain up her spine, but she couldn’t stop—she had to know if it worked.
Dr. Iqbal was there before she’d made it three steps, hair wild, lab coat askew, a Dawn Meter already primed. She pressed the sensor to Saanvi’s wrist, counted down from five, and waited. The meter pulsed. Numbers flickered, jumped, then dropped lower than the baseline from before the injection.
Saanvi felt her whole body unclench. “It’s working,” she rasped, voice rough. “The hormone surge. It’s—”
Iqbal caught her before she slumped. “You’re running a fever,” she snapped, steering Saanvi to a waiting chair. “Side effects?”
“Headache. Nausea. Sweating. Like a bad hangover. But—” Saanvi pointed at the meter, still holding steady in the blue. “The viral activity. It’s down.”
Iqbal’s expression flickered from panic to something like awe. “It’s not a cure. But you bought yourself a window. We can work with this.”
Saanvi wiped her face, fingers trembling. “If we cycle the dose, refine the delivery, we might extend the window. Pair it with Aida’s connection protocol, maybe double or triple the safe time.”
Iqbal nodded, already opening her tablet to start a new note. “We’ll need a second trial. Tighter monitoring, more controls. But if this holds—” She smiled, a rare, real smile that broke through all the fatigue. “We might make it.”
Saanvi managed a laugh, then winced as her ribs spasmed. “Don’t get sentimental yet. We have to run the numbers.”
Iqbal patted her shoulder, softer than her usual style. “You did good.”
Saanvi stared at the meter. “So did you.”
Saanvi's pupils dilated to black pools as the double-dose surged through her system. Her knuckles whitened against the chair's edge, veins bulging beneath sweat-slicked skin. The triumph of her theory confirmation evaporated as primal heat flooded her lower abdomen, obliterating rational thought. A guttural sound escaped her throat as she lunged forward, collapsing against the lab table. Between her thighs, slick arousal streamed down in rivulets, soaking through her lab pants. When Iqbal reached for her, Saanvi's head snapped up, her eyes feral. She seized Iqbal's wrist with crushing force, yanking her forward into a bruising kiss that tasted of chemicals and desperation. Iqbal's struggles only seemed to inflame her—Saanvi's grip impossibly strong, fingernails drawing blood as she pressed Iqbal against the wall. The alarm panel glowed red just inches from Iqbal's outstretched fingers. Her hand trembled, hovering, then withdrew. Through the haze of struggle and mounting arousal, a scientist's curiosity flickered. What if...? The thought fractured as Saanvi's teeth found her neck. ...one more variable...