Let's give it a shot, then. Apologies for the hijack.

--

Ugh. These food-waste recyclers always got so FILTHY. Alice-8126421 scrubbed at a particularly hard stain with her cloth, frowning. Of course, it would be EASIER if they gave her anything other than a simple cloth for the task. Or any cleaning products. Or even protective clothing.

The last part was what made cleaning duties REALLY gross. But that's what she got for accidentally tripping into an officer. A week of cleaning detail.
The reason for the lack of equipment and chemicals whirred away beneath her; the grinder that shredded everything that went into the hopper, so it could be fed back into the replicator system easily. She'd even had to remove the rings from her pussy lips for this, in case it fouled the machine, as well as the uniform she'd been given when she'd joined the ship. And so, she scrubbed and wiped, wedging herself against handholds built into the side of the hopper for that exact purpose. The stain shifted, slowly, and she smiled with satisfaction before turning to the next one; a particularly stubborn red smear she'd noticed had been there a while. As she applied her cloth to it, she heard footsteps above her.

The company, not only so cheap as to not turn off the grinder, had also not bothered to mark it as out of use. A face appeared over the lip; the chef for this section. Their eyes met, and the chef grinned, lifting a bucket and tipping it over her. Alice squealed, trying to cover her face with her free hand as the water and vegetable peelings washed over her, some sticking, but the rest flowing straight off her and down into the ever-hungry grinder.

Alice was, of course, not her real name. She was just given the name along with the uniform when she signed up, as per company policy; she'd signed away everything for the chance to get offworld, even the clothes on her back, her name, and her identity. The uniforms, she was told, dated back to the days when an enlisted crew were skilled and valued, back before automation and a glut of labour combined with union actions. Now, anyone valuable was an officer with an actual name and identity, and anyone not an officer was, by definition, valueless and possessed of nothing but their body. That, at least, was hers to customise. She smiled once the rain of vegetable peelings stopped, looking down at herself, and at the small tattoo on her hip. She'd heard of cats, and decided they sounded cute, and got a tattoo with her first paycheck.

She was jerked out of her reverie by a shock; her foot had slipped on the suddenly-wet foothold, leaving her with only two points of contact. She squealed, reaching for a handhold with her free hand, breathing a sigh of relief as she took hold of it, relaxing slightly.
Slightly too much, her foot grazed the mouth of the grinder with a crunching noise, and she gasped, snatching it away. She whimpered as she examined it, now free of toes and bleeding from the wound. With a sigh, she turned back to her task; she wasn't permitted medical attention until an official break, after all...

"Oh, you'll live." The medic said dismissively, taping the dressing onto Alice's foot to hold the syn-skin in place. "Wear that overnight. You can buy an implant come payday. Now go get a mop; you've been bleeding everywhere, and that's going to cause an accident!"
Alice nodded, giving a sigh; life sucked here, but it was better than her old life of tending cloned livestock all day, dodging hooves and wading through ankle-deep slurry.

Okay, maybe it WASN'T better, she mused, as yet another bucket of kitchen waste was dumped onto her. But at least it had prospects of, y'know, actually going somewhere once she finished the trip and got ashore with her accumulated savings! Something clonked in the bucket, and she looked up, only to be hit in the face by a large lump of bone, stunning her briefly and knocking her off-balance. She swayed back, reaching out with her foot to find a foothold. Too late, she remembered the accident yesterday, and her foot missed the foothold She pivoted around the intact foot, smacking her head on the side of the hopper and stunning herself again.

This time, she wasn't so quick on the uptake. Bones ground, blood splattered, and she screamed as her legs fell into the grinder up to the knees. She dangled from her hands, shoulders protesting as she panted. This... This was going to be a problem. She tried to lift herself up, only to slide back down and lose another couple of inches as her shoulders ached and popped.

---

Should she escape, and come to terms with life without legs?
Should she fall in and feed the crew?
I'm not sure yet.