The Stowaway Part III

In the dim light below deck, Lawrence settles onto his makeshift bed. His hand slides into his pocket, touching something small and hard. The familiar shape steadies his nerves as his other hand continues its restless tapping.

Lawrence counts the soft creaks of footsteps overhead. The rhythm changes - heel-toe, heel-toe - until it fades completely. His fingers tap against his leg as he counts to three hundred, making sure the silence holds.

The blankets rustle as he rises, careful to distribute his weight evenly across the metal floor.

A faint mechanical hum draws him deeper into the ship's belly. Lawrence traces his fingers along the wall, following pipes that snake through the corridors.

His hand brushes against something different - a metal grate set into the wall. Lawrence runs his fingers along the edges, finding the catch that holds it in place. The hinges protest softly as he eases it open.

A maintenance chute stretches diagonally downward, just wide enough for a person. At the bottom, a faint red glow seeps up - the engine room's emergency lights.

Lawrence glances over his shoulder. The corridor remains empty, the only sound the distant thrum of machinery. He grabs the chute's edge and pulls himself inside.

The descent is tight, forcing him to inch forward on his stomach. Each movement echoes in the confined space, despite his attempts at silence.

Lawrence’s boots scraped against metal as he slides into the engine room. Dust motes danced in the red emergency lights, illuminating a labyrinth of pipes, wires, and hulking machinery. He runs his fingers along a junction box, tracing connections and following power lines.

His hand pauses over a critical coupling - the kind that, if loosened just right, could cause a cascade of failures through the system.

"Looking for something specific?"

Lawrence's heart slams against his ribs. He spins around to find Shiro standing in the shadows, her hair taking on a blood-red tint in the emergency lighting.

"Captain." He forces his voice steady. "I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd take a look at your engines. Professional curiosity, you understand. Spent years working with similar systems."

"Through maintenance shafts in the middle of the night?"

"Force of habit." Lawrence's fingers resume their nervous tapping against his leg. "Back at Sailfish, night shifts were the only time we could do proper inspections. Less interference from management."

"And what does your professional curiosity tell you about my engines?"

"The coupling here." Lawrence gestures to the joint he'd been examining. "Pressure's a bit high. Could cause problems down the line if we don't fix it."

Shiro takes a step closer. "Interesting observation from someone who's only been here five minutes."

"Like I said, years of experience. You develop an eye for these things."

"And that eye just happened to lead you here. Now."

"Just trying to be helpful. No harm in that, right?"

"I tried to give you a chance. Friend seemed to trust you."

"Look, I get it. You're protective of your ship." Lawrence's fingers tap faster against his leg. "But this is just a misunderstanding."

"Like the Dead Zone? That convenient patch of weather that no other captain has heard of?"

"I told you-"

"You told me what you thought I needed to hear."

"That's not-"

Shiro's gaze drops to his tapping fingers. "How long since your last dose? The shakes usually start around day three."

Lawrence's hand jerks away from his leg. "Stay back."

"That's why you can breathe out here. The nanobots in the Bile. They're fighting off the toxins in your lungs, keeping you alive, but they're also tearing you apart from the inside."

Lawrence's hand moves to his chest, an unconscious gesture. The familiar burn in his lungs takes on a new meaning.

"Most people need RespirX or masks to survive these waters." Shiro takes another step forward. "But you've been breathing just fine since you came on my ship."

"You don't understand-"

"Sailfish found a cheaper alternative to bionic lungs. Why spend money on RespirX when you can hook your workers on Bile instead? The nanobots filter the air, keep them functional. But only for a while."

"You think I don't know that?" Lawrence's voice cracks. "You think I wanted this? It was supposed to be temporary. Just enough to keep up with quotas. To prove I could handle the job."

"I can help you," Shiro says, her voice softening. "There are places that treat Bile addiction."

"You think I need help? I'm not some junkie who lost control."

"Then why sabotage your own ship?"

"I told you what happened. The storm-"

"There was no storm. Just like there were no lifeboats. No brave captain going down with his ship."

Lawrence's hand slides into his pocket. "You weren't there."

"But I've seen what Bile does. How it twists everything until the lies feel more real than the truth."

"Shut up." Lawrence pulls out a small pill filled with luminescent liquid. "You don't know anything about me."

"Put it down. Last chance."

"Last chance?" Lawrence laughs, the sound brittle. "I'm done with chances."

Lawrence tilts his head back and downs the Bile in one desperate gulp. His pupils dilate, dark centers swallowing his irises whole.

A pocket knife appears in his hand, blade catching red emergency lights. He lunges at Shiro, slashing in wild arcs, but she flows around his attack.

Shiro then steps inside his guard, eyes fixed on the blade. Dried blood coats the handle, dark stains worked into the grip.

"The dried blood. How many, Lawrence?"

"They were stealing from me!" His next attack goes wide, uncontrolled. "I caught him red-handed. Martinez. He was going through my locker. The others..." His hands shake harder. "They were going to report me. I heard them whispering. Plotting."

"So you killed them too."

"Had to. Had to make it look like an accident. Had to sink the ship. Had to..." Lawrence slashes again, but the movement lacks conviction.

"And now you have to reach a Sailfish depot before withdrawal sets in."

"My ship went down with my entire supply." His voice takes on a desperate edge. "If I don't get more soon..."

"So you planned to disable my engines. Force us to stop at a port with Sailfish connections."

"Just a small delay. That's all I needed."

Shiro's hand snaps out, catching Lawrence's wrist in an iron grip. She forces his arm up, sleeve sliding down to reveal a network of blackened veins spreading like ink stains beneath his skin.

"Look at what it's done to you. Your body's rotting from the inside."

"Let go!" Lawrence tries to wrench free, but his strength fails against her hold. "This isn't my fault. Sailfish did this. They pushed Bile on us, said we needed it to keep up with the automated ships."

"They offered. You chose to take it."

"Easy for you to say." Lawrence's eyes fix on the darkened paths under his skin. "The nanobots… They change you. Rewire your brain until the drug feels more real than food or water. I tried staying away. I tried so hard dammit!"

The words hit harder than Shiro expects. Her grip loosens for just a fraction, but it's enough. Lawrence throws his weight forward, shoulder ramming into her sternum. They crash against a bank of pipes, steam hissing from loosened joints.

The leather-bound book tumbles from Shiro's shirt, pages fluttering as it hits the grating. A pressed flower peeks out between the sheets, its dried red petals catching the emergency lights.

Lawrence freezes mid-strike, his knife hanging in the air. The red spider lily lies exposed between the book's pages, its dried petals stark against yellowed paper.

"That flower..." His drops his knife to his side. The blade clatters against metal grating as he crawls toward the fallen book.

Shiro tenses, ready to strike, but Lawrence pays her no attention. He picks up the book with shaking hands, cradling it like something precious. "Where did you get this?"

"Sios gave it to me." Shiro's stance relaxes slightly. "Before he died."

"You knew him?" Lawrence's eyes snap up. "When? How?"

"He was a passenger. Asked me to show this to his son if I ever found him."

Lawrence's trembling fingers flip through the pages, his eyes scanning the cramped handwriting that fills every margin. Sketches and notes crowd the paper - locations, rumors, supposed sightings of the Prophet.

"Of course." Lawrence's laugh comes out harsh and broken. The book slips from his grasp, hitting the metal grating with a hollow thud. "Even at the end, it was all about the Prophet."

He staggers to his feet, kicking the fallen book. "What did he tell you about me?"

"That he was searching for you. That you left because of his obsession with finding the Prophet."

A bitter laugh escapes Lawrence's throat. "Left him? That's what he said?" His fingers curl into fists. "He abandoned me when I was five! Took every credit we had and disappeared chasing rumors of the Prophet."

Lawrence kicks the fallen book again, sending pages fluttering. "My mother worked three jobs trying to keep us alive after he left. She died two years later from breathing the toxic air because we couldn't afford masks. Everything he told you was probably a lie. The caring father searching for his lost son? He never cared. Never looked back. Just took our money and ran."

The red emergency lights cast harsh shadows across Lawrence's face as he turns to Shiro. "Did he tell you he was dying?"

"Yes." Shiro keeps her voice level, watching Lawrence's movements. "His lungs were failing."

"Good. Should have happened sooner."

"The Bile's killing you. You're not thinking straight."

"I'm thinking clearer than ever!" Lawrence grabs a wrench from a nearby toolbox and swings it at her head. The metal tool clangs against a pressure valve, sending more steam into the cramped space.

The wrench catches a main pressure valve, shearing it clean off. A jet of scalding steam erupts between them. Lawrence charges straight through.

Shiro ducks under the attack, feeling the air displacement as the wrench passes inches from her head. She spots an opening as Lawrence's momentum carries him forward.

Her hand shoots out, catching his wrist. In one fluid motion, she twists, using his own momentum to slam him face-first into a bank of pipes. The wrench clatters from his grip.

Before he can recover, Shiro's fingers lock around his throat. She drives him back against the pipes, lifting until his feet barely scrape the grating. Steam swirls around them as Lawrence claws at her hands, but her grip only tightens.

Lawrence's face twists into a pained smile as Shiro's grip tightens on his throat. "We're not... so different," he gasps. "Both... monsters. Made by others."

"The difference is I never chose this. You did."

Lawrence's hands fall limp, his struggles fading. "I didn't... want this," he whispers, his manic glare softening. "Just wanted... to prove myself. To be... better."