Chapter 12 - Bottom of the Barrel

Akiko stepped into the medical bay, her pace brisk and controlled.

The usual ambient hum filled the space—monitors beeping, soft voices murmuring between the rows of stations—but she cut straight through it, eyes locked on the central console.

Dr. Calloway looked up from a display. Her focused expression shifted to concern in an instant.

“Akiko,” she said, straightening. “What’s wrong?”

Akiko didn’t slow. “We’ve got a problem.”

Calloway blinked. “What kind of—?”

“Did you talk to the captain?” Akiko cut in. “Or someone at the Academy?”

The doctor stiffened. “Yes. I… I did. Why?”

Akiko folded her arms tightly, voice low. “Because she just told me that one of your contacts vouched for me as a medical student.”

Calloway’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

Akiko leaned in. “I’m supposed to be in operations, Calloway.”

Calloway ran a hand through her hair, looking away. “I thought it might help. Your file was so thin. The captain was already suspicious. I reached out to someone I trusted—someone who wouldn’t look too closely.”

Akiko’s tone sharpened. “And now the captain is wondering why my story doesn’t line up. She’s asking for names. Digging into transitions between departments. I barely held the lie together.”

“I didn’t think she’d check that far,” Calloway said quietly. “Not if someone confirmed you were real.”

“She’s relentless,” Akiko snapped, then forced herself to breathe. “This didn’t smooth anything over. It made it worse.”

Calloway’s voice softened. “I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you.”

Akiko let out a slow breath, the edge dulling to weariness. “I know. And I’m grateful. I just… I don’t have a fallback if this unravels.”

Calloway looked genuinely pained. “I can keep vouching for you, but that only buys time. Once Ward starts checking directly with instructors...”

Akiko leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The stress coiled beneath her skin, tension building with nowhere to go.

This is spiraling.

“I’ll figure something out,” she said finally.

Calloway offered a small, apologetic smile. “If there’s anything else I can do…”

“I know.”

Akiko turned, her thoughts already racing ahead.

There’s always a way out. Even if she didn’t see it yet.

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Back on the operations deck, she moved with calm precision. Her face was a mask.

Cassandra’s glare hit her like a wave of heat—but Akiko didn’t flinch. She brushed past with all the indifference she could summon, her focus already locked on the terminal.

The screen flickered to life.

New assignments. Familiar routines.

Nothing too complicated. But her concentration frayed under the weight of what came next.

The captain’s digging too deep. One more crack in the story, and it would all come down.

Akiko’s fingers hovered over the keys.

She glanced around. No one seemed to be watching—but that didn’t mean she wasn’t being noticed.

Lowering her voice, she whispered, “I don’t know if you can hear me… or understand me. But I need help. The captain’s onto me, and I need a way to deflect her suspicions.”

Silence.

Her heart sank.

This is ridiculous, she thought. Talking to a ghost in a terminal.

Then the screen flickered.

Her task queue vanished, replaced by a glowing schematic of the Sovereign. A single section pulsed in soft light: Engineering. Hovering above it was a small winking emoji.

Akiko frowned.

“Engineering?” she murmured. “What am I supposed to find there?”

No response.

The map remained fixed, silent and unmoving.

Not an answer, exactly. But not nothing either.

She stole a glance toward Cassandra. The woman hadn’t moved—but her eyes were still sharp, still watching.

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Akiko suppressed a groan.

Great. She probably thinks I’m slacking off now, too.

She logged out of her terminal and stood, keeping her pace casual. Just a routine walk. Just another junior crew member on break.

Her heart ticked faster with every step.

As she left the operations deck, she rehearsed a dozen excuses—half-lies she could deploy if questioned. None of them good, but better than freezing.

The spire descent was longer than she remembered. Every voice in the corridor sounded too loud. Every glance felt too sharp.

Calm down, she told herself. It’s just a walk.

But by the time she stepped onto the engineering deck, her nerves were raw.

The space thrummed with activity—voices overlapping, systems humming, machinery breathing in mechanical rhythm.

Akiko’s eyes swept the room.

Then she saw him.

An engineer, bent over a console, muttering to himself as his fingers danced across the interface.

The emoji from her terminal flashed in her mind.

Him?

She hesitated.

Then moved toward him.

Deliberate. Controlled. Like she belonged.

She stopped just short and cleared her throat.

The man turned.

Recognition flickered in his eyes.

“You,” he said, brow lifting. “From the maintenance hub. Didn’t expect to see you down here.”

His gaze flicked over her uniform.

“Operations, right?”

Akiko nodded, offering a polite smile. “Ensign Tsukihara. Kim, if it’s easier.”

“Mark Weston,” he replied, a small grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Engineer.”

She kept the smile in place. “I’m trying to get a better handle on the ship’s systems,” she said. “Thought it might help with my work.”

Vague. Noncommittal. Plausible.

Mark studied her. His eyes didn’t lose their edge, but his posture eased.

Before he could respond, his console beeped.

He turned, scanning something on the screen. Akiko couldn’t see the contents, but something shifted in his stance—subtle, but clear.

More focused. More alert.

He looked back at her. His expression unreadable. His voice—softer.

“If you’re looking to learn,” he said, “you came to the right place.”

He gestured toward a quieter corner of the deck.

“Let’s talk.”

Akiko blinked.

“…Sure,” she said, cautious.

She followed.

The hum of machinery faded slightly as they stepped away from the main cluster of consoles. Out of earshot. Out of sight.

Her thoughts raced.

He knows something.

She didn’t like how her skin prickled.

Mark leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The hum of engineering filled the space around them—steady, rhythmic, almost soothing.

“Look, Kim,” he said, voice pitched low, “I don’t know who sent you my way, but you don’t have to play coy. I get it.”

Akiko frowned. “Get what?”

Something in her chest tightened. She hated the way her footing suddenly felt uncertain, like she’d stepped onto a bridge made of paper.

Mark tilted his head slightly. His expression was unreadable, but there was no malice in it.

“Covers get messy. If you’re in over your head, it happens to the best of us. You’re not alone.”

The breath caught in her throat.

He thinks I’m undercover.

She opened her mouth to correct him—but stopped. There was no threat in his voice. No accusation. Just… recognition. Sympathy.

And if he thinks we’re on the same side, maybe that’s worth something.

She forced a cautious smile. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Mark didn’t press. “You don’t have to spell it out. You know the risks of being found out as well as I do.”

Akiko hesitated, then asked, “What do you mean?”

He snorted. “You really don’t know much about Stygia, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Prison colony,” he said. “Most of the laborers down there? Inmates. Or ‘inmates.’ Doesn’t take much to get sent to the mines. A stolen ration. An unpaid debt. Once you’re there, you don’t leave.”

Akiko’s breath hitched.

“No one gets out?” she asked. “Ever?”

“Not unless they ship your corpse back,” Mark said bitterly. “But the worst part? Some of them never committed a crime. Whole families born down there. Kids who never saw the sky. They’re prisoners from the moment they’re born.”

Akiko felt it settle in her gut—cold and heavy.

“They’re born there? How is that even allowed?”

Mark let out a sharp laugh. “Allowed? Haven doesn’t care. As long as the ore keeps coming, no one asks questions. Parents die in the tunnels, kids pick up the tools. It never ends.”

She stared at him, stunned. “That’s… monstrous.”

He shrugged, but the motion was tight. “That’s Stygia. And it’s not just them. There are colonies barely scraping by, but Stygia’s the bottom of the barrel. It’s what happens when the system forgets you exist—and likes it that way.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw.

“Thanks,” Akiko said at last, voice quiet. “For telling me.”

“Most people don’t want to hear it,” he muttered. “And the ones who do… they think it’s too big to fix.”

She hesitated. “And the other thing—with the captain. If you have any advice…”

Mark gave her a faint smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something. Just keep your head down.”

Akiko nodded, a little of the tension easing. “Thanks, Mark.”

“Good luck, Kim,” Mark said, voice soft but knowing as he pushed off the wall.

She walked out of engineering with slower steps than usual. The corridors felt colder, brighter, more artificial than before. The ship’s hum no longer comforted her—it pressed against her chest, a reminder of just how far she’d fallen into this world.

By the time she reached the ladder to the habitation ring, her limbs felt heavier. She climbed slowly, the shift from microgravity barely registering.

The corridor outside her bunk was empty.

Thank the stars, she thought. She couldn’t deal with Anna’s energy right now.

She slipped inside and sat on the edge of the mattress, her shoulders sagging.

Her mind kept circling the image: children in the dark, digging with hands blistered from birth. No spells to save them. No guild to fight back. Just systems. Machines. Orders.

She thought of Kaede—how furious her sister would’ve been. How fast she’d have moved. Planning, rallying, fighting.

Valric and Brom would’ve followed her.

And Akiko?

She would’ve cracked a joke. Lightened the mood. Pretended she wasn’t afraid.

That was her role. It always had been.

But here?

There was no dragon to slay. No lock to pick. No spell to shatter the system.

Just weight.

She let herself fall back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling of her bunk. The metal felt colder than usual.

Her eyes drifted closed. But her thoughts didn’t.

Stygia.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to see it.

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Akiko groaned as Anna’s voice pierced the relative peace of the crew quarters.

“Kim! Are you awake? You better be, because I am not letting you sleep through breakfast again!”

The voice was muffled through the curtain, but the energy behind it left no doubt—resistance was futile.

Akiko squeezed her eyes shut.

Just five more minutes...

But her ears twitched against the walls of the bunk, brushing the metal softly.

Damn it.

With a resigned sigh, she forced her human guise into place—ears vanishing, tail reined in. She yawned, voice still thick with sleep.

“Just a second,” she muttered.

She sat up, rubbing at her eyes—and realized, belatedly, that she wasn’t dressed. A quick shuffle into her uniform later, she cracked the curtain open.

Anna stood waiting, practically bouncing on her heels, blue eyes wide with mischief.

“Finally! I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away,” she teased.

Akiko raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a slow, tired smile. “Good morning to you too, Anna. What’s got you so wound up?”

Anna leaned in, stage-whisper conspiratorial. “Oh, don’t ‘good morning’ me. You vanished yesterday. So—what happened with Ethan?”

Akiko blinked, caught flat-footed. “Ethan?”

“Yes, Ethan!” Anna squealed, hands clapping together. “You know, tall, charming, probably has his own theme music? You didn’t think I’d let you off the hook, did you?”

A laugh slipped out before Akiko could stop it. Anna’s enthusiasm was impossible to fight.

It didn’t erase the weight from the night before—but it helped her carry it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, chin resting lazily on her hand.

Anna gasped. “Oh, come on! You two had dinner, right? Don’t pretend nothing happened.”

Akiko smirked. “You’ve got a vivid imagination.”

“Kim,” Anna said seriously—though her eyes still sparkled. “I’ve been on this ship long enough to smell drama from two decks away. And I’m not leaving until I get the full story.”

Akiko rolled her eyes. “Fine. After breakfast. Let me get dressed and we’ll go.”

Anna beamed. “Deal. But I’m holding you to it.”

She spun and vanished down the corridor, already halfway to the mess hall before Akiko stood from the bunk.

Akiko lingered a moment longer, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Maybe this world isn’t all shadows, she thought, fingers brushing her uniform's hem. Not with people like her around.

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The mess hall buzzed with morning activity—muffled conversations, clinking trays, the sharp hiss of dispensers at work. Akiko trailed after Anna, who vibrated with excitement like a kettle just about to whistle.

Akiko’s stomach growled faintly. She hadn’t eaten much the day before. A quiet reminder that even under constant stress, her body still demanded its share.

They joined the queue, trays in hand.

Anna leaned in immediately. “Okay. Spill.”

Akiko smirked. “You’re relentless.”

“Obviously,” Anna said brightly. “Now tell me.”

Akiko gave her a sketch of the night before—broad strokes, soft edges. Nothing too intimate, just enough to satisfy.

Anna’s eyes widened. “Wait. You spent the night in his quarters?”

Akiko winced. “Keep your voice down.”

Anna lowered her volume—but not her enthusiasm. “So that’s where you were! No wonder Cassandra’s been on the warpath.”

Akiko groaned softly, rubbing her temples. “Cassandra’s always on the warpath.”

“Yeah, but this was different. She was fuming yesterday. I swear, if looks could kill, you’d have been spaced.”

Akiko gave her a sidelong look. “Great. Another reason for her to hate me.”

Anna shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, at least you’ve got Ethan on your side now. That’s gotta count for something.”

Akiko didn’t answer. She watched the line creep forward, her expression unreadable.

She wasn’t sure what “being on her side” meant here—not yet. Not in a place like this.

“Let’s just eat,” she said as they reached the dispensers. “I’ve got a long day ahead of me.”