Chapter 6 - The Thin Disguise

The silence pressed close, broken only by the faint hum of the ship’s life systems.

Akiko stood alone in the maintenance hub, skin prickling under her stolen uniform, every breath a gamble.

She adjusted her posture, squared her shoulders—

And froze.

The hatch hissed open behind her.

Akiko’s ears twitched, snapping flat. Her pulse surged.

No time.

She wrenched her illusion back into place, skin shifting, tail vanishing. Her breath caught as the magic latched on—thin, but holding.

The uniform was still tied at her waist. Her upper body bare save for a sleeveless underlayer.

Footsteps.

A man entered—tall, sharp-eyed. He paused as he saw her, surprise flickering across his face before smoothing into something unreadable.

Akiko didn’t flinch. She met his eyes, arms crossing casually over her chest.

He cleared his throat. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be assigned to this sector.”

His tone was neutral, but not relaxed. There was an edge there.

Akiko offered a slow smile. “Guess someone thought you could use the company.”

His brow ticked up. Then he snorted, once. “Right. First day?”

His gaze flicked to her half-on uniform. “Interesting outfit for a shift rotation.”

She shrugged. “Laundry’s slow.”

The silence stretched. His eyes stayed on her face too long.

“Funny,” he said. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

Her heart ticked faster. She kept her voice easy. “Big ship. Easy to miss people.”

His head tilted slightly. Not buying it. “Name?”

“Kim Tsukihara.”

He nodded. Slowly. “Mark Weston. Engineer.” He paused. “I usually have this section to myself.”

“Then I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Mark didn’t smile. He glanced at the console behind her, then back again—his gaze sharp. Assessing.

“Well.” He turned. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Akiko stepped aside, slow and steady. Her pulse still thundered in her ears.

As he moved to the console, she slipped toward the hatch. Quietly. Carefully.

Her thoughts spun. His posture had been too casual. His questions too pointed.

He’d remember her.

The hatch sealed behind her with a soft hiss.

Akiko let out a slow breath, leaning against the wall for a beat. Her heart still hadn’t settled. She untied the sleeves at her waist and pulled the uniform on properly, zipping it to the collar.

The fabric itched.

Not from texture—though it wasn’t pleasant—but from the tension humming beneath her skin. The illusion held, but just barely. A tight seam running through her whole body.

She adjusted the cuffs, brushing the ID badge clipped to her chest.

Kim Tsukihara.

Her lifeline. A lie wrapped in laminate.

Her tail throbbed beneath the illusion, coiled too tight for too long. She’d have to drop the mask soon or risk letting it slip on its own. But not yet.

She rolled her shoulders back, cracking the tension loose. Her eyes scanned the corridor ahead.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

No map. No assignment. No script.

Just instincts—and they’d kept her alive through worse.

Act like you belong.

She straightened, shoulders squared, chin lifted. Every step forward was deliberate, paced like she knew exactly where she was headed.

She didn’t.

“Figure it out as you go,” she muttered. It was less of a plan and more of a mantra.

Ahead, a small group of crew members moved in formation. Akiko matched their pace, falling a few paces behind—close enough to listen, far enough to be forgettable.

“…malfunctions are getting worse,” a woman was saying. Her voice edged with frustration. “Hot water cut off halfway through my shower this morning. Ice cold. Nearly screamed.”

The man beside her chuckled. “You think that’s bad? Cargo hold locked down on me yesterday. Life support glitched mid-check. Had to yank the manual release before I ran out of air.”

“Sounds like you pulled that from the worst-case training file,” she muttered.

“If I did, the ship’s following the script.”

Akiko kept her expression flat, eyes forward. But her ears—if visible—would’ve perked at the edges of their exchange.

These weren’t random complaints. They were anomalies.

Her thoughts drifted—back to the blinking panels, the breadcrumb paths, the way the ship had… responded to her. That same force might be tied to these malfunctions.

If she wasn’t the only one feeling it, this went deeper than she’d realized.

The group rounded a corner. Akiko eased her stride, letting the distance grow.

She didn’t want their attention. Not yet.

The voices faded behind the turn, leaving only the low thrum of the ship and the scratch of her thoughts.

Still no answers.

Only more patterns. More questions.

Akiko eyed the ladder leading out of the habitation ring.

The rungs were evenly spaced, sturdy beneath her grip. As she began to climb, she felt the weight peel away—step by step, her body grew lighter, less tethered. Gravity loosened its grip.

By the time she neared the top, her feet barely brushed the rungs. Her hands guided more than pulled.

She frowned. Not magic. But close. Another rule in a world that ran on something else.

“Strange ship, strange rules,” she muttered, pushing through the last few rungs.

The central hub opened around her, weightless and spare. Corridors branched off like spokes—each a road leading back to the ring.

Akiko twisted midair, scanning upward.

The ladder continued, stretching toward the ship’s spine, vanishing into dim metal and distance.

That was the real path. The one that didn’t loop.

“Nothing to learn going in circles.”

She pushed off and grabbed the next rung, ascending slowly. Her movement was careful, deliberate—less climbing, more floating with purpose.

Below, the habitation ring faded.

Down wasn’t the answer. She remembered the overheard conversations—too many eyes, too many questions.

Up was better.

The ladder curved through the spine of the ship, connecting decks like vertebrae. She climbed steadily, her breath even, her mind flicking through possibilities.

The next hatch opened to heat.

A soft, rising hum pulsed through the air as she pulled herself through.

The engineering deck spread out before her—massive, humming, alive. A fusion reactor glowed faintly in its chamber, surrounded by crew in motion. Voices overlapped in dense, technical rhythm.

Akiko drifted back. None of it made sense.

She caught fragments—terms she couldn’t decode, jargon stacked on jargon. It reminded her of Kaede on a lecture binge, but with fewer hand gestures and more sparks.

“Nope.”

She ducked back into the shaft.

Hands on the rungs. Pull, float, repeat.

“Too complicated. Not worth the risk.”

She kept moving. The silence between decks gave her too much time to think. Anna had been easy to follow—too easy. Engineering was the opposite.

There has to be a middle ground.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Something between chaos and chatter.”

She snorted softly, a breath of dry amusement.

Floating, trying to find footing—literal and otherwise.

At last, she reached the next hatch and pulled herself through.

The Operations Deck.

She hovered at the edge of the entryway, fingers braced on the frame. The room beyond was clean, utilitarian. No corners. No clutter.

No shadows.

Akiko’s gaze swept the space. Open sightlines. Smooth panels. A room designed to monitor, not to hide.

Still, her instincts kicked in.

She moved slowly, hugging the edges, gliding with careful control. Her presence narrowed to silence and shadow—just enough to avoid drawing eyes.

The space wasn’t made for sneaking.

But neither was she.

She made it work.

A cluster of voices pulled Akiko’s attention to the center of the deck.

Four figures stood around a tactical console, its surface aglow with faint blue light that danced across their faces. The conversation was quiet but sharp—measured like blades, not whispers.

She lingered near the edge of the room, close enough to listen.

The woman at the center radiated calm authority. Her tone didn’t ask for attention—it commanded it.

“Reports of malfunctions are coming in across the system,” she said.

Akiko didn’t recognize the woman, but her posture and voice left no doubt—this was the captain.

A second voice joined in—cool, clipped. Male. Disciplined to the core. “We’re not alone.”

“Confirmed,” the captain said. “Haven Command dispatched a response team to a supply depot near Stygia. The station went dark. The team vanished.”

Another voice cut in—lighter, amused. “Pirates? Or maybe the mining bots finally had enough and revolted.”

Akiko’s lips twitched.

The first officer didn’t share the sentiment. “Let’s hope it’s pirates. At least they follow a pattern.”

“Regardless,” the captain continued, unshaken, “we’ve been ordered to investigate. Cassandra—I need a readiness report. EVA and containment protocols as well.”

The fourth officer, a sharp-eyed woman with precision in every word, nodded. “Already in progress, Captain.”

Akiko’s pulse ticked up.

Malfunctions. Disappearances. A ghosted station.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

She stayed still, pressing deeper into the margins of the room as the officers dispersed. One of them—a woman, the one named Cassandra—glanced her way.

Akiko froze.

Cassandra’s eyes locked on her.

“Do you have somewhere to be, Ensign?”

Her voice cut clean as a blade.

Akiko’s heart leapt into her throat. She scrambled for an answer—too late.

Another figure drifted closer—relaxed, grinning. Ethan Raines, by his badge.

“Easy, Cassandra,” he said, warm and effortless. “Maybe she’s just getting her bearings. Ops can be disorienting.”

Cassandra didn’t budge. She pulled a datapad from her belt and flicked through the display with cold precision.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Ensign… Tsukihara,” she said slowly, tasting the name like it might burn her. “Not one I recognize.”

Akiko forced a smile. Polite. Harmless. Her face felt carved from glass.

“You’re listed in Operations,” Cassandra continued. “Which means you report to me. And I know my people.”

The pressure in the room shifted. Akiko felt it like weight on her chest. Her false name—so clever an hour ago—felt like paper in the rain.

Ethan raised a brow. “Come on, Cassandra. Transfers have been popping up nonstop. You really expect to memorize every new face instantly?”

Cassandra’s eyes stayed locked on Akiko.

“I don’t leave things to chance.”

Ethan chuckled. “Maybe you’re just tired. You have been snapping at people lately.”

Cassandra didn’t look away. “Unlike some people, I do my job thoroughly.” Her voice iced over. “I’ll be reviewing those files.”

Akiko’s smile tightened. “Of course, ma’am,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

They stared at each other—just for a moment.

Then Cassandra turned and launched herself toward the ladder, frustration trailing behind her like a wake.

Ethan lingered, grinning as Cassandra drifted away.

“You’re full of surprises, Ensign Tsukihara,” he said, voice light. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Akiko’s thoughts still buzzed from the near miss. She returned the smile—carefully measured. “I’ll try to keep things interesting, sir.”

“Oh, you’ve got that covered already.”

He studied her for a beat longer, head tilted. “Cassandra’s… intense. But she means well. Most of the time.”

Akiko gave a polite nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ethan’s grin widened. “You look like you could use a proper tour. The Sovereign’s a maze if you don’t know her. I could show you around—maybe point out where the good food’s hiding.”

Akiko hesitated. It was tempting. A tour meant access, information. But also risk. She studied his expression—easygoing, open. Not prying.

“A tour, huh?” she asked, voice dry. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Ethan said, pushing off the bulkhead to float closer. “Just doing my civic duty. Besides—better this than running into Cassandra again, right?”

That earned a genuine smile.

“All right,” she said. “Lead the way, Commander. But I’m holding you to that food bribe.”

He winked. “Deal. Just don’t tell Cassandra. She’d court-martial me for favoritism.”

Akiko smirked, launching after him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”