Chapter 17 — The Ship That Never Looks Back

Maintenance Window

"Three empty canvases." Khe Lam repeated, looking at the sketch Bach Van hastily drawn on a piece of paper in classroom number seven, describing the position and shape of the three empty spaces on the wall displaying Council portraits. "It's as if people intentionally deleted them, but didn't have the courage — or the authority — to remove the frame as well."

"I think so, too." Bach Van replied, sitting across from her, his voice still filled with confusion from the discovery the previous day. "Maybe removing the frame requires a different approval than just removing the photo and name tag — a half-hearted form of erasure, enough so that the public no longer remembers their face, but not enough to completely erase all traces."

Khe Lam lightly tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. "We need to see the content of file 041-H with our own eyes, not just speculate through indirect traces like this. Your official request has been suspended, and Mr. Hien cannot help further. Is there any other way?"

"I have an idea, but the risk is not small." Bach Van said, lowering his voice even though there were only two people in the room. "Every month, the central storage system of the Founding Archives has a periodic maintenance window, synchronizing data with the Memory of Origin. During that time, several additional layers of authentication are temporarily disabled to avoid data conflicts when synchronizing — I read this in the technical documentation of the training course, it's not a secret, it's just that few people pay attention to it."

"How long is that window?" Khe Lam asked, professional curiosity aroused.

"About forty-five minutes, always at night, when system traffic is lowest to minimize disruption." He replied. "Next time will be four days from now."

Khe Lam frowned, calculating in his head according to the instinct of an engineer accustomed to working with maintenance schedules. "If the additional layer of authentication is disabled, does that mean your basic access — navigator — might be enough to open records that would normally require higher-level permissions?"

"That's my hope." Bach Van nodded. "But we need to be at the right data station near where the original physical records are stored, because I suspect that the digital copy has been much more processed than the paper original — it's possible that the digital copy has been partially edited or erased, while the paper copy, if it exists, will be more difficult to silently tamper with."

"Which means we need to get inside the physical storage area, not just remote access." Khe Lam said, and she felt a familiar tension rising in her chest—a feeling she had had before entering the Primordial Core, before opening the locked data file for the first time.

"That's right. And I need a good reason for you to be there with me at that hour, a reason that won't make anyone suspicious if discovered." Bach Van said.

They discussed for nearly another hour, considering every detail. Finally, Khe Lam proposed an option: she would sign up for an after-hours electronics maintenance shift at the transfer area near the Founding Archives — a real, regularly scheduled mission to check the air conditioning and power supply systems for the sensitive storage area, usually handled by properly certified Root Layer engineers. If she could get that exact shift on the same night the maintenance window opened, she would have a good reason to be near the physical storage area without further explanation.

"Is that difficult to ask for?" Bach Van asked.

"Not really. Overtime shifts in sensitive areas always lack registration because the bonus is not attractive enough compared to the risk of working alone at night." Khe Lam replied, giving a dry smile. "This time the risk really made sense to me."

The three days of waiting passed more slowly than Khe Lam thought. She still had to complete her daily chores at To Tuan Re as if nothing had happened, still had to laugh and joke with Phung Bao Nhan, still had to listen to Ha Dinh Khiem's stories, still have to avoid Trinh Yen My's more and more frequent probing eyes — all while her mind constantly rehearsed the plan, looking for loopholes that could cause everything to fall apart.

Applying for a shift turned out to be easier than she feared. Vu Khac Dang only briefly asked why she wanted to take on more overtime shifts, and when she replied that she needed more Gas Coupons to exchange for some repair items for her grandmother, he nodded immediately, without any doubt — a lie that made Khe Lam feel more guilty than anything else in the whole plan, because it took advantage of the sincere trust he had always had for her over the past eight years.

Four days later, Khe Lam showed up at the transit area as planned, maintenance toolbox on his shoulder, level two certification card neatly worn on his chest. Late at night, the hallway leading to the Founding Archives was much more deserted than during the day, with only the energy-saving lights shining dimly on the cold metal floor.

She found the power station near the entrance to the physical storage area, opened the control panel, and began the actual inspection — because even though her main purpose was to be here, she still had to complete her official duties so as not to leave any doubts in her work records. While working, she glanced at the hallway, waiting for the pre-arranged signal from Bach Van.

He appeared on time, not wearing a student jacket but wearing a simple dark shirt, walking quickly but not in a hurry, trying to maintain the appearance of someone who had a legitimate reason to be here at this hour. He gave her a small nod as he passed, continuing toward the door to the physical storage area — an antique wooden door, different from the other solid metal doors on the ship, a deliberate reminder of an older era.

Khe Lam counted down in her head, watching the clock on her dashboard — the maintenance window had begun three minutes ago. She pretended to continue her work, but her ears were still straining to listen for any unusual sounds in the quiet hallway.

Ten minutes passed slowly. She was just about to breathe a sigh of relief that everything seemed to be going well when a steady sound of footsteps rang out from the end of the hallway—not the hasty footsteps of a random passerby, but a disciplined, determined pace, the kind of footsteps she had learned to recognize during the Targeting Ceremony, when she saw the Council Guards escorting the Elders out of the great hall.

Her heart was pounding. She couldn't alert Bach Van without attracting attention — any sound louder than necessary in this quiet hallway could backfire. She could only stand there, continuing to tighten a screw that had been tightened a long time ago, trying to keep her breathing steady, when the figure of a person wearing a dark gray uniform with a metal badge on his shoulder appeared at the beginning of the hallway, the small flashlight in his hand scanned the area before stopping, right in the direction of the antique wooden door where Bach Van had just entered less than a minute ago.

The Guard approached, and Khe Lam realized it was not the broad-shouldered captain she had seen during the ceremony, just a younger member, perhaps on a routine night patrol around sensitive areas of the ship. He glanced at Khe Lam, the flashlight scanned the name tag and certification card on her chest.

"Overtime maintenance check?" He asked, his voice usual, not particularly suspicious.

"Yes, the electrical system for the storage area, on a monthly schedule." Khe Lam replied, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible, even though her hand was still tightening the screw with more force than necessary, her knuckles were a bit white.

The Guard nodded, seemingly accepting the answer, but instead of continuing to pass, he stood for a few more seconds, his eyes glancing toward the antique wooden door. "Doors to physical storage areas should not be open at this time, unless there is an approved work schedule."

Khe Lam felt her whole body freeze, trying to quickly think of a reasonable answer. "I don't know if anyone is in there, my duties are limited to this outside electrical area. Maybe the door just doesn't close tightly, the automatic latch system sometimes loosens at night when the temperature drops."

It was a tenuous explanation, based on her actual knowledge of how materials expand and contract with temperature, but plausible enough not to be immediately dismissed. The Guard looked at her for a second, then walked closer to the door and pushed it gently to check.

The door didn't budge — Bach Van, even though she was working nervously inside, was still alert enough to latch the door after entering, a small detail they had discussed carefully during the planning session but Khe Lam still couldn't be sure until this moment. The Guard tried pushing again, confirmed the door was locked, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.

"Okay, it's probably just a false alarm from the sensor." He said, turning off the flashlight. "You work carefully, this area should not have anyone loitering unnecessarily at night."

"Yes, I understand." Khe Lam replied, keeping his voice calm even though his heart was still beating like a drum.

The Guard continued his patrol, his decisive steps gradually disappearing into the darkness at the end of the hallway. Khe Lam stood still for nearly another minute, waiting until he was completely sure he could no longer hear any footsteps, then dared to let out a long breath, his whole body trembling from the rush of adrenaline that had just surged and then suddenly receded. She looked down at her hands, still clutching the wrench even though the screw had long since tightened, and realized she had just come the closest to being discovered since she had begun this investigation—far closer than anything she had ever been mentally prepared to face.