Chapter 57 — The Ship That Never Looks Back

The Early Years

The next morning, as the artificial lights of Ham Lang gradually brightened according to the simulated daytime cycle that the community had established for themselves, Pham Ngoc Suong went to where Khe Lam was sitting, carrying two cups of thin porridge cooked from recycled ingredients, a simple breakfast but prepared with obvious thoughtfulness.

"You asked me yesterday where your mother is now." She said, sitting down opposite Khe Lam, continuing the conversation interrupted by the commotion of the crowd. "I owe you a more complete answer than I could give you right then and there."

Khe Lam put down the bowl of porridge, all her attention focused on the old woman's next words.

"She's no longer here, and she's no longer in the original area where I first met her." Pham Ngoc Suong said, her voice cautious. "About twelve years ago, there was a major movement, when the then Council began a structural sweep in the area near the Engine Hall, forcing many of us to scatter to safer areas, farther away, to avoid detection. Your mother was among those taken deeper, towards the old compartments near the ship's bow, an area I had never been to personally, only heard about it from those who still kept in touch."

Khe Lam felt a heavy disappointment overshadowing the hope that had just been rekindled, but she tried to suppress it, focusing on listening to every detail. "Twelve years ago." She repeated, doing a quick calculation in her head. "I was eight years old then. Was that the year of your last application renewal, year two hundred thirty-five?"

"It's possible." Pham Ngoc Suong said, nodding slowly. "I don't know the details of the official file extensions you mentioned, but the timing matches what I remember. Perhaps that structural review was also related to her file being reviewed one last time before she disappeared from our range of contact."

"Since then, no one has heard anything about her?" Khe Lam asked, her voice shaking.

"Not completely silent." Pham Ngoc Suong replied, a small ray of hope in her voice. "There are rumors, fragmentary, passing through many layers of intermediaries the way communities like ours do communicate with each other — not directly, not quickly, but still present. About three years ago, a messenger from another group mentioned a woman named Chi, working in a small engineering group near the bow area, who was described as a brilliant engineer who helped that group fix a serious failure in their air circulation system."

Khe Lam's heart pounded. "Three years ago. So that means she's still alive, at least up to that point."

"I can't confirm for sure it's your mother." Pham Ngoc Suong said, cautiously as always when she spoke on this topic. "Chi is not a rare name. But I admit, when I heard that rumor, I immediately thought of Lam Vinh Chi, because her skills and description eerily matched what I remembered about her."

Bui Dac Sinh, sitting nearby listening to the entire conversation, spoke up for the first time that morning. "Mrs. Suong, may I ask, how long has your community existed? I'm curious about this entire history, not just about Lam Vinh Chi."

Pham Ngoc Suong turned to him, a new appreciation in her eyes at the deeper question than expected. "Much longer than most people can imagine." She replied. "I heard, from people long gone, that the first groups formed nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, not long after this ship changed course for the first time—perhaps the same people who knew the truth about Lam Chu from the beginning, those who refused to accept the silence imposed on them."

"One hundred and fifty years." Khe Lam whispered, stunned by the scale of that time. “So that means the purge of those who knew the truth happened many times, not just once during the Night of the Broken Roots.”

"That's right, baby." Pham Ngoc Suong said, her voice was heavy. "Every generation, it seems, a certain group of people gets closer to the truth, and each time, the reaction of those in power is terrifyingly the same — no public killing, just quietly erasing them from view, letting the vague fear itself serve as a deterrent more effectively than any public punishment could. Over the generations, those erased people, and their descendants, gradually form networks of communities like the Silent Tunnel, scattered trash all over the forgotten areas of this ship."

Bui Dac Sinh sat silently for a long moment, his aged face wearing a complicated expression that Khe Lam had never seen on him before — not exactly shock, but a belated confirmation of the suspicions he had carried with him for decades.

"I always wonder." He said, his voice hoarse. "The Night of the Broken Root, when I was a young man watching everything that happened, I always had the feeling that it wasn't the first time something like this had happened on this ship. The way the Guards reacted, so fast, so organized, as if they had a procedure in place, not a spontaneous reaction to a new situation. Now I understand why. They've done this before, many times, enough to make it a familiar procedure."

"You never told me that feeling." Khe Lam said, looking at him with new understanding.

"Because it's just a feeling, little girl, not proof." Bui Dac Sinh replied. "And I've learned, over many years of living on the edge of this system, that voicing feelings without evidence often only confuses the listener, without helping the quest for the real truth."

Khe Lam sat quietly, fully feeling the weight of a parallel history spanning two hundred years, hidden just below the surface of the official story that every citizen of Khoi Nguyen was still taught to believe absolutely. She thought of Zhang Keding, of his statement that he had "witnessed at least three times" someone reach the same truth—she understood now that number was probably much more modest than had actually happened throughout the ship's history.

"So how can I find the area near the bow of the ship you mentioned?" Khe Lam asked, returning to her own most pressing question.

Pham Ngoc Suong pondered for a long time before answering. "It will be a much longer, more dangerous journey than the one you just made here. The area near the bow of the ship is beyond our regular communications network, and I don't have a detailed map to give you. But I can give you the name of the messenger who brought that story here, if you can find a way to contact him safely."

"I will find a way." Khe Lam said, new determination rising in her voice, even though she knew the road ahead was longer and more uncertain than anything she had ever faced.

"Before you rush to plan a new journey." Pham Ngoc Suong said, a tired but warm smile flashed across her face. "Let me show you something first. Maybe it will help you feel closer to your mother, even if she's not here."

She stood up and motioned for Khe Lam to follow, leading her toward the technical area of Ham Lang, where the community's main water filtration and air circulation system operated, a small maze of pipes and regulators patched together from countless different sources over the years.

"Many things here were built, or repaired, by your mother herself during her first years with us." Pham Ngoc Suong said, pointing along a main water pipeline running through the center of the technical area. "I think you, as an engineer like her, will probably notice many things that my naked eye cannot see."

Khe Lam stepped closer, the flashlight in her hand shone along the metal shell of the pipe, her eyes scanned every weld, every patch, rereading its repair history like reading a diary written in the workers' own language. She immediately recognized the style of a meticulous, systematic hand, not unlike the way she herself worked every day in the Root Floor maintenance workshop—a coincidence that made her heart ache, as if she were touching a part of her mother through the work they shared, nearly twenty years and hundreds of meters of ship structure apart.

"You can see how she works, just through these welds." She said, her voice soft with emotion. "Neat, don't waste materials, always leave a little margin in case you need to repair it later. That's exactly how you've been taught to do things, even though you never knew who you were inheriting it from."