The hatch opened with a gentle hiss.
Akiko blinked.
Green.
Rows of vibrant plants stretched out in front of her—leafy stalks glistening under soft, artificial light. The air shifted immediately, thick with humidity and the earthy scent of living things.
It was… unexpected.
She hovered in the doorway, one hand on the hatch frame. After the sterile corridors and dead-silent metal of the rest of the ship, this space felt almost surreal. Alive. Calming, even.
For half a second, she allowed herself to breathe.
And then she saw her.
Near the middle row, a woman in a sharp uniform stood bent over a cluster of leaves, scanning something with a handheld tool. At the sound of the hatch, she straightened and turned—brown hair in soft waves, a smudge of dirt on one cheek, eyes bright and blue.
“Oh, hey!” the woman called, smiling warmly. “Perfect timing. I could use a second set of hands—these nutrient levels are being stubborn.”
Akiko froze.
No cover. No shadows. No time to vanish.
Her stomach flipped. Great.
She forced a step forward, then another, slipping through the hatch with what she hoped was casual confidence.
“Uh, sure,” she said. Her voice came out a little too high. “Happy to help.”
The woman didn’t seem to notice. She nodded toward a counter nearby, where a set of slim tools were laid out in a neat row.
“I’ve already scanned most of this section, but I think we might’ve had a pressure shift during the burn,” she said, turning back to the plants. “The hydroponics system always acts up when the ship changes acceleration profiles. First thing to go fussy every time.”
Akiko nodded as if that made sense. She coasted toward the counter, catching herself with a hand against the edge to stop her drift.
She eyed the tools, pretending she knew what they were for. They looked vaguely surgical.
Her gaze flicked to the plants. Tubes ran from the base of each row, pulsing faintly with colored fluid. Thin glowing panels lined the walls between rows, monitoring... something.
“Yeah,” she said vaguely, picking up a tool and turning it over in her hand. “Temperamental systems. Classic.”
The woman chuckled. “You said it. I swear, this ship’s more stubborn than I am.”
Akiko gave her a crooked smile, forcing her nerves down beneath the surface. “Sounds like a real handful.”
“I’m Anna,” the woman said, extending a hand. “Anna Davenroth. You must be new—I haven’t seen you around before.”
Akiko hesitated for only a second before grasping her hand in a firm shake.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just got reassigned. Name’s Aki—”
She bit it off mid-word.
“Kim. Kim Tsukihara.”
Anna tilted her head, clearly filing the name away. Her smile remained bright, but less practiced now—more genuine.
“Well, welcome aboard, Kim. I’m still new myself. They dropped me into maintenance rotations a few weeks ago, so I’m getting used to the place too.”
Akiko exhaled slowly, the tightness in her chest easing just a fraction.
Not suspicious. Good.
Her eyes flicked back to the plants. “So… nutrient levels?”
Anna nodded and picked up one of the tools. “Yeah, you just scan the stem here. If it’s low, you adjust flow with this tab.” She demonstrated, her hands quick but precise. “Simple enough, but if we don’t catch a miscalibration early…”
“No food,” Akiko said, nodding. “And no food…”
Anna grinned. “No crew. Exactly.”
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She turned back to the plants, scanning another stalk.
Akiko stared at the screen on the tool in her hand, which was flashing symbols she didn’t recognize.
Still. She could mimic the gestures. Copy the rhythm. Smile on cue.
Her mind raced behind the calm exterior.
Okay, you can do this. Smile. Nod. Don’t screw it up.
She scanned the nearest plant.
It beeped.
She smiled back.
As they worked side by side, Akiko quickly learned one thing about Anna Davenroth—
She never stopped talking.
But it wasn’t the grating kind of chatter.
Anna’s voice was warm and expressive, words tumbling out in an effortless stream of anecdotes, technical trivia, and half-laughed stories. For Akiko—who was doing her best to stay invisible—it was perfect.
“…and that’s when Chief Kessler comes storming into the hydro bay, covered in grease head to toe,” Anna said, adjusting a nutrient line with a flick of her wrist. “You’d think he’d be furious, but no—he’s laughing about how he got the fusion stabilizer back online with a crowbar and a prayer.”
Akiko nodded along, eyes fixed on the plant in front of her. She mimicked Anna’s earlier demonstration, scanning the stalk and making minor adjustments with the tool in hand. She had no idea what half of these readouts meant, but she could pretend.
“Sounds like a real character,” she offered, keeping her voice low.
From time to time, crew members drifted past the hatch, moving with the practiced ease of people used to zero-g. Their uniforms were sharp, movements brisk. Akiko kept her head down every time—just another tech working hydroponics.
None of them stopped.
None gave her a second glance.
“Yeah, he’s great,” Anna went on, tapping something on her scanner. “Kind of gruff, but he knows this ship better than anyone. Watching him in engineering is wild—like he’s part of the Sovereign’s nervous system.”
The name landed like a quiet spark in Akiko’s mind.
The Sovereign.
She filed it away.
“So, uh…” she ventured, keeping her tone light, “this ship’s huge. What’s it actually for?”
Anna gave a soft laugh and pushed off toward the next row of plants.
“Oh, man. Big doesn’t cover it. The Sovereign’s one of the TSDF’s multi-role flagships. Combat, logistics, exploration—you name it, it does it. They rolled these out when the outer colonies started acting up. It’s like... a toolbox they can throw at any problem.”
“Outer colonies?” Akiko echoed, feigning mild curiosity.
“Yeah, the fringe colonies—out past the belt. Haven and Ashara are always playing whack-a-mole with the locals. Politics, territory disputes—same song, new verse. But you probably got all that in the onboarding brief, right?”
“Of course.” Akiko smiled thinly. “Just figured I’d hear it from someone who actually lives it.”
Anna grinned. “Smart. The briefing docs are written by someone who’s never left atmosphere. Most of the crew’s just trying to survive the weirdness.”
Akiko nodded slowly, tucking names and terms away.
Haven. Ashara. TSDF.
Everything Anna said built a map—one Akiko didn’t yet understand, but needed to.
“Anyway,” Anna went on, scanning another cluster of leafy greens, “if you’re new to the Sovereign, you’ll want to get used to the rotation. High-g burns. Zero-g drift. Gravity doing whatever it feels like. And don’t even get me started on the food rations.”
Akiko smirked faintly. “That bad?”
“Oh, it’s a delight. Vacuum-packed lentil stew with personality disorder.”
The two of them shared a brief chuckle.
Akiko kept working—hands steady, eyes flicking up every few seconds as crew passed through. Nobody looked twice. Nobody slowed down.
Anna’s constant stream of conversation acted like a social shield. Her presence made it seem perfectly normal for Akiko to be here.
It was the best camouflage she could’ve hoped for.
So long as Anna kept talking…
Akiko didn’t have to explain a thing.
As the minutes passed, Akiko felt her nerves begin to settle.
No alarms. No guards bursting through the hatch.
Just plants. Lights. The quiet hum of airflow.
For now, she was safe.
And she intended to keep it that way.
Anna drifted back from the hydroponic rows with a satisfied grin. She caught a handhold mid-float and tugged herself into place, tucking her tools into the pouch at her hip.
“Well, that’s that,” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Another high-stakes, pulse-pounding crisis averted. Hydroponics maintenance—it’s not for the faint of heart.”
Akiko chuckled politely, still cautious with every movement. The weightless environment was starting to make some sense, but her body hadn’t caught up to her instincts yet.
Anna turned toward the hatch, her tone light.
“So, Kim—how about we grab some food before the next shift? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Akiko hesitated.
Food meant people.
People meant questions.
Questions meant risk.
But it was also an opportunity—to observe, to learn. Maybe to blend in a little better.
She gave Anna an easy grin, masking the sudden spike of anxiety.
“Sure,” she said. “Lead the way.”
Anna pushed off the wall with practiced ease. “Just don’t get your hopes up. No one’s winning culinary awards in this place. But after zero-g? Even flavorless paste starts tasting like home.”
As if on cue, a low hum began to resonate through the bay—so faint it was almost imagined.
Anna tilted her head, smiling. “Ah. There’s the ring spin-up.”
Akiko’s ears—still hidden by her illusion—twitched at the sound.
“Ring spin-up?”
“Habitation ring,” Anna said, pulling herself through the hatch and gesturing for Akiko to follow. “They spin it down during high-g burns, but we’re in drift now, so gravity’s coming back online. Makes walking a whole lot easier.”
Akiko followed her into the corridor. The hum grew stronger. At first, it was just a suggestion—a faint pressure in her chest, a slowing of her drift. Then, gradually, her feet found the floor.
Weight returned.
It felt like stepping back into a body she’d half-forgotten.
Anna touched down with practiced grace. She brushed herself off casually, like gravity returning was nothing more than a weather change.
Akiko landed with less finesse, stumbling into the wall as her boots hit metal.
“You get used to it,” Anna said, glancing back with a grin. “First time?”
“Something like that,” Akiko replied, keeping her tone light.
They walked in silence for a while, the corridor curving gently with the ring. The hum of machinery pulsed through the walls, steady and constant. The rhythm of this place. A song Akiko didn’t know the words to.
She kept her gaze forward, alert for anything that felt out of place—even though she was the thing most out of place.
Eventually, the corridor widened. Bright lights spilled from a nearby doorway, and Anna led her through it without pause.
The mess hall.
Akiko slowed at the threshold.
Her eyes scanned the room—rows of bolted-down tables, crew members scattered across them in small clusters, quietly chatting or eating. The scent was industrial and metallic, with a faint undercurrent of something savory-but-faintly-processed.
At first glance, it looked like a tavern stripped of warmth.
No wood, no laughter, no flickering hearth.
Utilitarian, she thought, wrinkling her nose.
No charm. Definitely no ale.
Anna gestured to the serving line near the far wall. “Grab a tray, pick your poison. It’s edible. Usually.”
Akiko nodded, but her attention had already drifted—drawn toward a massive display panel along the far bulkhead.
It was a live feed.
A camera, sweeping slowly across the exterior of the ship.
She stopped walking.
The Sovereign filled the screen.
A labyrinth of shining metal and blinking lights, its surface bristled with strange protrusions—weaponry? Sensors? The slow-turning habitation ring gleamed like a crown. The rest stretched on into darkness.
It was a city.
A fortress.
A floating monument to ambition.
Akiko’s breath caught.
She pressed a hand to the strap of her pack, grounding herself.
What kind of world makes something like this?
What kind of magic—or madness—could build a creature of metal so vast, so impossibly alive?
She swallowed hard, throat tight.
Behind her, Anna’s voice cut through the silence.
“Kim?”
Akiko turned sharply.
Anna stood by the serving line, tray already in hand.
“You coming?”
“Yeah,” Akiko said quickly.
She forced a smile and crossed the mess hall, every step echoing with questions she didn’t have the language to ask.
The Sovereign wasn’t just a ship.
It was a reminder.
Of how far she’d come.
And how far from home she really was.