Chapter 98 — The Ship That Never Looks Back

Bridge

The new small office was set up in the transfer area between the Root Floor and the Dome Floor, a space that was previously just an empty maintenance hallway, now bearing a simple sign reading "Inter-Floor Office," where Khe Lam stood rearranging the first stacks of files on his first official day at his new location.

This role, established by the new Council just three months after a special Orientation Ceremony, does not carry a powerful title — Khe Lam and Bach Van will not sit in high-level policy-decision sessions. Instead, they are tasked with acting as a direct conduit, receiving complaints, questions and suggestions from residents of all three floors, ensuring that voices that previously would never reach the Council's ears now have a real avenue to be heard.

"How does it feel, first day?" Bach Van asked, entering the office with two cups of hot tea, placing one in front of her.

"Scarier than I thought." Khe Lam confessed, a nervous smile on her face. "I'm used to keeping secrets. I'm not used to people coming to me to talk about their problems publicly."

"You'll get used to it." Bach Van said, sitting down at the table opposite her, the second table in this small office. "You've spent the past year learning how to listen to the things others don't dare say. This is just a more public version of the same skill."

The first person to enter the office that morning was a young woman from the Seasons Floor, nervously presenting about a dispute regarding the allocation of production quotas among the greenhouses, a seemingly trivial issue that had caused weeks of tension between the work teams that no one in the old system had ever bothered to fully resolve.

Khe Lam listened carefully, took note of every detail, then promised to forward the matter to the correct specialized committee in the new Council, and personally contacted the Mua Floor representative, Chiem Bach Thuc, to ensure it was not forgotten in the pile of administrative work.

"This is the first time anyone has actually listened to me about this." The woman said, a visible relief on her face as she left the office. "Before, I didn't even know who to complain to."

Over the following weeks, the stream of people coming to that small office grew — not just complaints, but also suggestions, questions about the new Charter, Roots residents curious to better understand their new representation, young Dome practitioners wanting to learn about volunteer work they could participate in to help bridge the gap between classes.

Trinh Yen My also stopped by often, not as a complainer, but as a visiting friend, bringing news from the Tuan Re Group, small stories about daily life that gradually returned to the familiar rhythm despite bringing with it a new openness. She has officially been nominated as Vu Khac Dang's future successor as team leader, a recognition of the ability and dedication she has shown over the years, now no longer limited by the lack of the right relationships as was previously an implicit barrier in the old system.

"I never thought I would be here today." Yen My said, during a visit to the office, her voice was still a bit surprised at the rapid change in her life. "Thank you, Khe Lam, for trusting me enough to finally tell me the truth, even if only partially, even if it's late."

"You always deserved to know." Khe Lam replied, holding his friend's hand tightly. "I just wish I had the courage to say it sooner, instead of leaving you worrying in the dark all those months."

Uong Khac Tram, now a graduate and officially a navigator, visited the office one afternoon, bringing with him a proposal of his own.

"I want to organize an exchange program." She said, sitting down opposite Bach Van, her old classmate who had accompanied her through the most difficult years. "Navigator trainees spend a month working directly with the Tuan Re Group or the Floor Mua agricultural teams, to truly understand the work of the people they will serve when they become official navigators. I think, if I had had that opportunity earlier, I would have understood Bach Van, and you, Khe Lam, much faster."

"That's a great idea." Khe Lam said, taking notes immediately. "I will propose it to Ung Bao Trung this week."

Lam Vinh Chi, now gradually settling into his new role as an unofficial technical advisor to La Dieu Ninh's Supervisory Committee, also began to find a normal rhythm of life after nineteen years in hiding. She often stops by the Lien Floor office at the end of the day, bringing a simple dinner for all three of them to eat before returning to the apartment she shares with Doan Bich Thu.

"I'm still not used to not having to look over my shoulder every time I step out." She confessed to Khe Lam one such afternoon, a self-deprecating smile flashing across her face. "Nineteen years is a hard habit to break, girl."

"Mom, you have time." Khe Lam replied, gently squeezing her mother's shoulder. "No one expected Mom to immediately forget what she went through."

Grandmother Doan Bich Thu also gradually rediscovered the joy in daily life, now regularly cooking larger meals, inviting Vu Khac Dang, Trinh Yen My, or anyone in Khe Lam's close group of friends to come over, as if she was trying to make up for the years of loneliness and isolation that their small family had to endure because of the burden of unshared secrets.

One evening, after the office had closed, Khe Lam and Bach Van sat alone, tired but satisfied after a long day of work. He took her hand, a gesture that had become familiar over the months, but this time with a new seriousness.

"I've been thinking about this for a while." He said, his voice shaking slightly. "After everything we've been through together — from our first secret meetings, to our escape from the Founding Archives, to finding your mother, to the ceremony that changed this ship — I can't imagine the rest of my life without you by my side."

Khe Lam looked at him, her heart beat fast, feeling something big was coming.

"I know we come from two different worlds that were once considered incompatible." Bach Van continued. "But I think that's what makes what we build together more meaningful. Khe Lam, will you marry me?"

She hugged him, tears of joy streaming down her face, the answer didn't need to be spoken before she whispered it in his ear. "Yes. Of course I do."

News of their upcoming wedding, one of the first marriages to openly cross class lines since the special Destination Ceremony, spread quickly throughout the ship, being received not as a scandal as it might have been seen before, but as a living symbol of what the ship Origin was trying to become — a community where the lines between classes were no longer impassable walls, but just differences in work, not in the value of every human being.

When they broke the news to the two families, on the same evening in Doan Bich Thu's small apartment, the first reaction was a brief moment of silence before the whole room exploded in joy. Doan Bich Thu hugged them both, tears of joy rolling down her wrinkled face. Lam Vinh Chi stood silently for a moment, then walked over and placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders.

"Your father would be very proud." She spoke softly, mentioning Do Viet Khiem with a new gentleness that had replaced the sharp pain of the first weeks after they found each other again. "He always hopes that you will find someone who is truly worthy of you, not because of status or background, but because of who they really are."

Kieu Trong Nghiem, when she heard the news from her son the next day, couldn't hide her joy, although she was still a little confused by the speed of things. "Dad will need time to prepare a speech worthy of this great day." He said, a rare but genuine smile on his face. "But I can't think of better news to receive this year."