Izette had decided to accept the offer to work for Lactation Station and was on her way to check in. She was still getting over the death of her infant, her swollen, lactating breasts a constant reminder of her loss. While she drove, her mind once again dwelt on that fateful day just two and a half weeks ago when a storm had flattened their home.

Izette had gone to the city to do some shopping when the storm hit. Her husband Chal had stayed home, taking care of their newborn daughter Zorbalia.

Izette had been safe in one of the city shelters, built especially for the devastating storms that often came out of nowhere and hit unexpectedly. After it dissipated, she had quickly gone home in their aircar and found their house flattened. Much of the debris and their personal belongings had been blown all over the place, the rest of it a pile of dirt, stones, bricks, and wood.

For hours, she had clawed through the rubble, and then, with the help of neighbors, she had finally found her family. Her husband’s body covered the baby, but the little one had not survived. His effort to try and protect the little one had been for naught, the weight of his body suffocating her.

Izette could hardly remember any details of the first week after it happened. She’d clutched her baby, trying to force her nipple into the little closed lips to give her life-giving milk, but it was useless. Finally, the women of the village managed to take the baby from her and then buried her infant and her husband.

It was hard for her to accept that her family was gone, that her beautiful little girl would no longer suckle at her breasts, but she continued to express her milk. The village doctor had tried to persuade her to drink an elixir to dry up her milk, but she had rejected it. Finally, the doctor had sent her to a doctor in the city. At his constant urging, she’d gone, knowing ahead of time she would refuse any medication to dry up her milk.

She had not worked the last few months, and Chal’s wages were meager, so they hadn’t been rich, their scant bank account nearly depleted. They had even talked of selling their vehicle, but it was Chal’s means of getting to and from work. During the final months of her pregnancy, Chal’s single income had barely allowed them to keep their heads above water.

When she didn’t have enough credits to pay the city doctor, he had told her about Lactation Station, where she could sell any surplus milk she had, and said she could pay him later.

Izette had never heard of such a thing. But she became interested when he told her she could earn a lot of gold by keeping her milk going. Now, with Chal gone and no job yet, her only other option was to sell her aircar, but then she’d have no transportation except for her horse that had survived the storm.

Her milk was all she had left of little Zorbalia. She was determined to keep it flowing and would treasure it for as long as she could. But if it could help her get out of her financial difficulties and possibly build a new home, she was willing to give Lactation Station a try and had made the appointment. At least it would do some good because it would help women who were unable to provide nourishment for their babies.

She parked her aircar in front of the clinic, not knowing what else to call it. Calling it a station made it sound like a space station, bus, or train station, but it was a very modern building, all sparkling white with many tall windows. A row of glass doors gave her entrance to a fancy lobby.

She approached the reception desk. “Izette Zupoga to see Doctor Krapago.”

“Ah, yes. Please take a seat. The doctor will see you shortly,” the receptionist said.

Izette sat upright on the edge of one of the comfortable white chairs, feeling somewhat anxious. Her breasts were aching, very full, and rather uncomfortable. When she had made the appointment, they told her to make sure her breasts were full. If she didn’t express them soon, they would start leaking.

While she waited, several women entered the lobby carrying an infant. How would it feel to have another baby nursing at her breasts? They would probably be different babies all the time, but it didn’t matter. She could close her eyes and pretend they were Zorbalia.

“Ms. Zupoga, the doctor will see you now,” the receptionist announced.

Izette followed her into a large office. Like the rest of the building, it was all white, even the desk. Behind it sat the doctor. He was an older man with long tied-back white hair and very green eyes, almost as green as her own.

He stared at her before he finally spoke. “Take off your shirt, please.”

Feeling uncomfortable, Izette took off her shirt.

“And your breast binding.”

She took off the strap that bound her breasts and sat half-naked under his scrutiny.

He stood and approached her. “Very nice. How long ago did you give birth?”

“Just a bit over three weeks ago. My baby died.” Her eyes filled with tears when she uttered the words.

“I’m very sorry. But now you wish to donate your milk?”

“Yes. I would like to keep my milk going for a while.”

Izette felt mortified when he palpitated her breasts, causing the milk to begin flowing, spilling on her skirt. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, then took some kind of instrument from his pocket and inspected each nipple.