"On my command, adjust the main engines five degrees to port."
After narrowly avoiding what had almost been three consecutive accidents, Solomon finally dragged the Spear of Destiny back onto a proper course once again.
At the moment, they were heading toward the system's Mandeville Point, preparing to enter the Warp there and translate toward their next destination.
After using the augurs several times to confirm that the route ahead was free of drifting debris, he gave the order for low-speed glide, then left the bridge with his tired body dragging behind him.
This time, however, he did not head for his captain's quarters on the upper deck.
Instead, he bypassed the senior ratings and took a cargo lift down to the lower decks.
The moment the lift gates opened, a sharp stench made of sweat and waste hit him in the face.
Solomon, for his part, was long used to it.
This was a place whose environment rivaled the Underhive. Even though he had deliberately improved conditions on the lower decks a little, that did not change the fact that this place was still a stagnant pool.
He pressed down the brim of his hat and blended in with the cargo workers. His old patchwork coat helped him disappear among them perfectly.
No one realized that the owner of the ship was moving through the crowd beside them. After all, they were all too busy scraping together a day's ration to spare much energy wondering who the person next to them might be.
Solomon breathed in the murky, foul air here, listened to the crude curses echoing around his ears, silently endured the shoving of those around him, and wandered with the countless numb souls of this vast metal tomb.
He looked coldly at the pitiful wretches collapsing by the roadside from exhaustion and getting trampled like mud.
He watched without expression as swaggering deckhands barked and shoved exhausted workers into hauling brutal loads with rough words and rougher hands.
He had not come here on some undercover inspection, hoping to improve conditions.
Because he knew very well that these lower-deck workers would not feel gratitude for any improvement he made. They would only start demanding more the moment they realized their待遇 could be raised, and that would eventually turn into a disastrous rebellion.
The fact that he made sure they had food to eat, that the oxygen supply did not suddenly cut out, and that not too many of them died in meaningless accidents already made him better than ninety-nine percent of captains.
He came here from time to time for one reason only.
To remind himself that he came from this place.
And because of that, he understood better than anyone else that this place could not be changed...
Boom!
Suddenly, a loud crash rang out not far away, drawing the attention of many people, including Solomon.
"H... help..."
Along with the faint cry for help, a worker could be seen trapped beneath a giant pipeline that had snapped and collapsed due to long neglect.
Solomon watched him in silence. He did not step forward to help, nor did he shout for assistance.
If the man belonged to one of the larger worker clans, then someone would naturally come to help him.
If not, if he lacked a family name among the lower decks that carried real weight, then no matter how loudly he cried, these onlookers would only treat him as entertainment.
Second by second, time passed. The trapped man's cries grew weaker, but even though a large crowd had gathered to watch, not a single one of them was willing to help.
Solomon could see the cold amusement in their eyes.
For them, this was a rare bit of amusement in the sunless misery of lower-deck life.
At that, Solomon could only sigh inwardly.
Just as he was about to step forward, hoping that if he took the lead maybe a few others would lend a hand and save the poor bastard, low murmurs of surprise rose from a nearby cluster of people.
Following their gaze, Solomon looked over in confusion and saw a tall, well-built figure emerging as the crowd parted, her handsome, sharp-featured face making her identity obvious at once.
...
Ever since coming aboard the Spear of Destiny, Gaia had discovered that she was a peasant who could not stomach luxury. She simply could not get used to the warm, comfortable environment of the upper decks.
Compared to the soft, quiet rooms with proper beds, the filthy metal floor of the lower decks, noisy and reeking of rot and machine oil, let her sleep far more soundly.
But here, she felt the same suffocating oppression as in the Underhive.
Relations between people had deteriorated under the hardship of survival, and the most basic moral bottom line had steadily decayed under the pressure of a life with no guarantees.
There were no gangs here, but the clans bound together by blood ties did much the same things gangs did.
In truth, she could have ignored these people completely. Her powerfully built body spoke for itself. No fool was going to provoke someone who looked like she could twist a man's skull open with her bare hands.
But when sin and numbness laid themselves bare before her, her upbringing and her emotions made it impossible for her to pretend she had not seen them.
And so, just like now, she drove away the gawking spectators and walked alone to the trapped worker.
Under the stunned eyes of the crowd, she lifted the massive pipeline by herself with ease.
The trapped man immediately scrambled out from underneath it on hands and knees.
After getting to his feet, he started to walk away, but after taking a step, he hesitated, turned back, and said in a low voice to Gaia, who had just lowered the pipe,
"...Thanks."
"Don't thank me with words."
Gaia stood up, brushed the dust from her hands, and looked directly at the man, whose eyes held not even the faintest spark of life.
"If you want money, you've got the wrong person. I don't have half a coin on me."
A trace of wariness appeared on his face. He took a cautious step back, then pulled out his empty pockets to prove the point.
"Put your pockets away. Thank me with your actions. If you really are even a little grateful that I saved your life, then try helping someone else in the future."
After throwing out that line, Gaia turned and walked away, leaving the worker standing there in a daze.
He thought carefully about the words that strange big woman had said to him, but said nothing.
Still, in eyes that had once been as dull as river stones, there now flickered the faintest trace of light.
Solomon watched all of this in silence.
He memorized the worker's face.
He was curious whether Gaia's naive yet proud little sermon could actually change that man.
Or, more importantly, whether it could change this place even a little.
...
In the Navigator Sanctum, Mitchell, now fully rested, opened his Warp-eye from the guide's throne and began looking ahead to see what awaited the Spear of Destiny on its coming voyage.
Then he immediately spat out a mouthful of blood.
If a normal ship's navigation image was like a branching road, something a Navigator had to carefully judge to find the correct way through,
then the Spear of Destiny's navigation image was like playing minesweeper.
The version with a thousand custom mines.
Amid a stream of machine-gun-fast curses, one blurred sentence slipped out among them:
"By the Throne, why is this damn ship so hard to navigate?!"
(End of Chapter)
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