I tried to mentally place where this cell would be in the ship. I couldn’t hear or feel the engines, so we had to be toward the front. The fact that this cell was nicer than most meant it was designed to hold high-value hostages and political prisoners.
My mental map was fuzzy, but I thought I was on the second deck in the front quarter of the ship. If House Rockhurst would do us all the favor of using the same ship designs for hundreds or thousands of years like House Yamado, it would be much easier to memorize their ship layouts.
The crew quarters would be on decks two through four in the front quarter of the ship, while the two battalions of shock troopers and their air support personnel would be quartered on the same decks in the rear half. All of the common areas—galley, mess hall, medbay—would be on the bottom midship decks to better serve both crew and troops. The middle midship decks would house the hangars and landing bays.
The landing bays were precisely where I needed to be, if I could just get out of this damned cell.
Richard had not been obviously armed when he visited. He didn’t carry a blaster or knife I could steal and use against him. And in a straight battle of strength, he would trounce me, even with surprise on my side. The soldier who brought my food was similarly unarmed. I suppose they weren’t risking me taking a hostage. It was smart—and annoying.
I turned escape possibilities over and over until the door clicked. A half a beat later, it slid open to reveal a new soldier carrying a food tray. The door closed silently behind him, giving me no chance for escape. And not only was each soldier unarmed, but they were sending a different person every time, so I wouldn’t be able to build a rapport with any of them.
He set the tray on the table and turned to leave. The door clicked again then slid open. It stayed open for three seconds, then closed behind him. I caught a glimpse of at least one other person in the hall and he or she was armed.
So I had half a second’s worth of notice in order to rush the door, push out the soldier who was either entering or leaving, disarm the other soldier, and disappear into the maintenance tunnels. It was technically possible. It just wasn’t very probable.
But if that remained my only option in a few days, I’d likely be crazy enough to try it.
Lunch consisted of a roast beef sandwich, a steaming cup of French onion soup, and a glass of iced tea. All of the dishes and the tray itself were made out of either flimsy plastech or sturdy paper. I would not be turning any of it into a shiv.
I pushed the tray away but stayed seated at the table. I wanted to see if the soldier would return while I remained within reach. I sat statue-still while I waited. It was a skill my deportment tutor had despaired of me ever learning, but eventually I’d fallen in line. And I had to agree, it was a useful skill—it never failed to unnerve the other people in the room.
It was also the perfect way to disguise plotting. Or thinking.
My mind drifted to Loch. I missed him. He and Rhys were hopefully already negotiating with Father. I might never see him again. My heart twisted and realization struck—I cared for him, but I had let fear rule me.
The admission hurt because it revealed flaws I preferred not to think about. My first relationship had scarred me deeply, but I was no longer the girl I had been. While I still wanted love and affection, I was experienced enough to spot manipulation; I just had to trust in myself.
And everything in me said Loch hadn’t been interested because of my name.
If I escaped, when I escaped, I would find him. We might not work out, but it wasn’t going to be because I was a coward.
The door clicked then slid open, interrupting my thoughts. I kept my expression serene as the guard in the hall stepped into the doorway, a blaster held loosely at her side. The other guard retrieved the tray then backed out of the room. I raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t move.
So they would retrieve the tray with me close, but only with backup. Armed backup. There might be a way to turn it into an advantage if I looked hard enough.
I glanced around my cell. The worst part of being a political prisoner was the crashing boredom. It was part of the process, of course. Because when Richard finally offered me entertainment, I would be grateful. A few more tiny interactions along those lines and I would think that perhaps he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. The pull was so strong that even awareness, training, and vigilance weren’t always enough to overcome it.
But being a political prisoner still beat the hell out of being in the general cells. I wouldn’t be eating waffles and iced tea down there. I’d be lucky to be eating at all.
I sighed internally, careful to keep my outward appearance calm. They would be waiting for signs of weakness. They would have to keep waiting.
With nothing better to do, I lay down on the cot. I wasn’t sleepy, but it was more comfortable than the honeycomb chairs. It was also easier to feign sleep while continuing to think.
Richard did not return for the rest of the day. I told time based on the meals they brought but I had no way to know if the timing was correct. They could be bringing me food every two hours for all I knew.
I slept surprisingly well. The cot wasn’t the most comfortable bed I’d ever had, but it was far from the worst. Overall, I was bored and frustrated by my lack of a solid escape plan, but well-rested and healthy.
I was sitting at the table when Richard arrived with breakfast.
“Good morning, Ada,” he said, “I trust you are well this morning.” He set the tray with two plates of food on the table. He also had a tablet tucked under his arm. He slid it under the tray.
“Good morning, Richard,” I said. I summoned a smile. “I am well, thank you for asking. Yourself?”
“I am quite well,” he said. “I decided to dine with you this morning. I hope you do not mind.”
“It is your ship,” I said drily.
His grin was sly. He had something up his sleeve. But all he said was, “So it is. Let’s eat.”
The breakfast soufflé was excellent. He had either a high-end food synthesizer or a fabulous personal chef. The fruit salad was equally delicious. My life might be misery if I married him, but at least the food would be good.
When we were finished, he waved a hand and the door opened. Yet another new soldier removed our dishes. With a complement of close to a thousand—not including the three-thousand-strong fighting force—he could send in a new person every meal for almost a year.
“I’ve brought your proof of life,” he said. “Consider it an early wedding present.” He picked up the tablet and tapped on it. He turned it around so I could see the screen, but pulled back when I reached for it. “As much as I’d like to be bashed in the head with this, I think I’ll hold on to it instead, if you don’t mind,” he said with a glimmer of humor.
I grinned at him, my first true expression since I’d been captured. “If you insist,” I said. I focused on the screen. Sure enough, Polaris sat in the landing bay. The cargo ramp opened. Rhys and Veronica were marched out at gunpoint by a squad of soldiers, cuffed and hobbled.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
I waited, but no one else appeared out of the ship. The video jumped location and Rhys and Veronica were shown moving around in separate cells. I kept my expression perfectly flat, even as hope warred with rage. There was no sign of Loch, Imma, or Lin. If I had to guess, I’d guess this was a screwed-up rescue attempt, never mind the fact that I had very specifically asked Rhys to deliver Polaris to Father.
As soon as I was out of this cell, I would find Rhys and Veronica and wring their necks.
“Where did you catch them?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
“We found them waiting at the gate,” Richard said. “We caught them before they got a jump endpoint.”