Chapter 31 — The Ship That Never Looks Back

Can't Wait Anymore

A notification appeared on Khe Lam's personal device as soon as she entered the changing room after her shift: "Request to adjust Gas Voucher — your file is under routine review, this week's rations will be processed later than usual, expected to be completed in forty-eight hours." There was no other concrete explanation, just a cold administrative note that was enough to make her stomach turn.

She knew clearly that this was not a random technical problem. The Gas Slip is the most sophisticated control tool on this ship, more sophisticated than any prison or shackle — no need to detain anyone, just a slow ration of water, a ration of gas, enough to remind a human that their existence always depends on the goodwill of a system watching their every step.

She stood silently in front of the device screen for a long moment, then turned it off, deciding not to let fear hold her back any longer. The previous day's examination, Than Bao Nghiem's questions about her father, now the deliberate delay in survival rations — all lined up in a straight line, pointing in a single direction: she didn't have as much time left as she had thought.

She sent a message to Bach Van, telling her about the delay in Quyeu Khi. He responded almost immediately: "I will ask if there is any way to intervene, although I am not sure I have enough authority in this matter." She replied, firmly: "Don't interfere. If you interfere, you will leave a trace of our connection in the Council's administrative records, more dangerous than losing a week of rations for me." He didn't respond further, but she knew he would listen, even though he wasn't willing to watch her suffer alone.

She arrived at Day Deck that night, not waiting for the usual scheduled visit, her steps were more hurried than before. Bui Dac Sinh was sitting in front of the workshop, as if he had anticipated her coming, a pot of freshly brewed tea was placed on the old wooden table.

"I'm here early." He said, without sounding surprised.

"I can't wait any longer, sir." Khe Lam said, sitting down opposite him, her voice more determined than before. "Today the Guard captain asked me about my father, about where he worked, about my shift the night we were discovered. And my Air Ticket was just put under review without any explanation. They're closing in on me, sir, and I can't keep waiting without knowing where I stand in this story."

Bui Dac Sinh put down his cup of tea, his face pensive under the weak yellow light of the workshop. He looked at her for a long time, his eyes scanning her face as if searching for something - perhaps a trace, a familiar feature from another face he once knew, nineteen years ago.

"You resemble your mother in your eyes." He spoke suddenly, his voice hoarse. "I never told you this, because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to hold back and say everything right from the first day you were a little girl, wandering here to hide from the eyes of adults. But that's right, the same eyes, the same way of looking intently at something as if trying to take it apart to understand the root."

Khe Lam held his breath, not daring to move, afraid that just one strong breath would be enough to make him stop.

"He made a promise to me, and he kept his promise." Bui Dac Sinh spoke, his voice now carrying a new determination, as if he had just crossed a certain threshold in his own heart. "But before I tell you, I need you to promise me something."

"I promise, sir." She replied immediately, without thinking.

"No matter how much what I'm about to tell you hurts you, no matter how much it makes you reconsider everything you once believed about your family, you must not let it turn into blind hatred." He said, his eyes were more serious than Khe Lam had ever seen him. "He has seen what hatred does to people, both on the part of those in power and on the part of those who are downtrodden. It does not bring justice. It only brings more nights like the Night of the Broken Roots."

"I promise." She repeated, her voice trembling slightly but firmly.

Bui Dac Sinh nodded, then stood up, went into the workshop, searched in an old drawer locked with a small mechanical lock that Khe Lam had never seen him open before in the eight years of knowing him. He took out a small tin box, covered with dust, brought it out and placed it on the table between the two of them.

"Before I tell you in words, I want you to see this first." He said, his hands shaking slightly as he opened the lid of the box. "He kept it for nineteen years, not daring to throw it away, nor daring to bring it to light, just waiting for someone worthy to reclaim it one day."

Inside the box is an old business card, the photo on the card is faded but the shape of a young woman is still recognizable, her face is serious, her sharp eyes look straight into the lens. The text below, although faded, was still clearly read: "Lam Vinh Chi — Second Class Engineer, Technical Core Maintenance Team."

Khe Lam held the card in her hand, her fingers trembled so much that she almost dropped it to the ground. For the first time in her life, she saw her mother's face, not through a vague account, not through a name written in handwriting in an old file, but as a real, vivid image, a real person who once existed, once breathed, and worked in the very hallways she still walked through every day.

"She's beautiful." She whispered, tears flowing uncontrollably.

"She's better than beautiful." Bui Dac Sinh said, his voice was also choked. "She was the best engineer our ancestors ever knew, meticulous to the point of obsession, never accepting a mismatch without finding the ultimate reason. It was she, not Dinh Khac Bat, who first discovered the deviation in the Protoplasmic Core, nineteen years ago — the path you walk today, little girl, is the path your mother walked before you, step by step, the same observation, the same perseverance that refused to give up before a child. absurd number."

Khe Lam hugged the card tightly to her chest, feeling like she was embracing a part of herself that she never knew was missing, until this moment when it was suddenly returned.

"Tell me more, sir." She said, her voice both shaky and urgent. "I need to know everything, even if I have to cry all night."

Bui Dac Sinh looked at her, then looked out into the dark space outside the workshop, where the hum of the old ventilation system still rang out as regularly as the heartbeat of the ship itself. "Okay." he said. "But tonight I can only tell a part, little girl. For the rest, I need more time to mentally prepare, and you also need time to accept each part, as I told you from the beginning. I won't hide anything from you anymore, I promise. But let it come out at the right pace, not faster, so that you have enough strength to stand firm after each hearing."

She nodded, even though in her heart, a part of her wanted him to tell immediately, without waiting another second. But she looked into his old eyes that were filled with tears, and she understood that he was also having to face his own pain, little by little, after nineteen years of burying it so deeply that it had almost become an inseparable part of him.

"The part I can tell tonight," he continued, his voice somewhat calmer, "is this: your mother did not act alone, nor did she act impulsively. She silently collected evidence for nearly a year before deciding to speak up, collating each layer of old data in the Primordial Core, carefully recording it in a separate notebook that she always carries with her. Dinh Khac Bat is the one with the voice, the one who dares to stand in front of the crowd and shout, but it is your mother who is the one who speaks. The person who best understands the true meaning of the numbers they hold in their hands, perhaps Dinh Khac Bat would only stop at a vague suspicion, never having enough evidence to dare to speak out in the middle of the ship."

Khe Lam listened, engraving every word in her heart, feeling like she was gradually rebuilding the form of a person who for the past twenty years only existed in her mind as an empty space in the shape of a name.

"I will wait, sir." She said, putting her mother's business card inside her shirt, close to her chest, next to where she once hid the chip storing Lam Chu coordinates data. Those two small things, one the evidence of a ship-level secret, the other the evidence of a family secret, now lay side by side, beating with her heartbeat, as if they had always belonged to the same story, just waiting to be merged into one.