By my assessment, nobody is in immediate danger. Finian and Scarlett are doubtless uncomfortable, but no more than inconvenienced by their detention cell. Aurora is sedated and likely unaware of her situation. Kal and Tyler were both to be treated well, according to the Templar’s orders.
On this basis, I have decided to retrieve our gear before undertaking my squad’s rescue. I am more nimble by myself, and I have noticed that my squadmates often make conversation during tense moments, which I consider unhelpful.
It is easier alone.
· · · · ·
I was six.
We were living on a small survey ship called the Janeway, orbiting Gallanosa III. It was an inhospitable planet, but a prime mining candidate. The ship was not large—I could walk the length of it in approximately nine minutes and run it in three—but it was home to five research scientists, and me.
I was only six.
· · · · ·
I am in the Andarael’s life-support system, a twisting maze of vents that winds below her decks and between her levels. I am looking up through a grille at seven Syldrathi technicians, all attempting to hack into our uniglasses. Aurora Academy technology is top of the line, and I am confident their efforts will be fruitless for the next seventy to eighty minutes, depending on their level of competence.
That will be sufficient.
At present, it appears that two of the technicians are preparing to leave on break, so I settle into my vantage point and wait. Their departure will improve my odds.
Patience.
· · · · ·
Patience was required aboard the Janeway, and it did not come easily to me. We had a large digital library, a communal recreation area, an exercise rig, and a hydroponics unit. But truthfully, there was very little to do there. I was a boisterous child—I sprinted the length of the ship to burn off energy, I climbed the exercise rig in many ways it was not designed to support, and I cultivated flowers in my own tiny patch of the hydroponics bay.
My mother was the expedition leader, with a focus on scoping potential mining sites. My father was the corp’s token environmental officer, there to certify that nothing rare or unique would be endangered by mining operations. He had ample free time, given the nature of his job, so he handled my education as well. He had a knack for making my classes entertaining, and my intelligence meant my education was accelerated without any sense of pressure or overwork.
I was just wrapping up my high school equivalency the day the men came.
· · · · ·
The men above me are bent over a transparent silicon bench, conversing in soft Syldrathi. Alongside the uniglasses they are attempting to hack, I can see the passkeys to the Zero through the glass they lean upon.
Escape in our own ship would be the most convenient option, as we are familiar with its facilities, and they were designed to accommodate our needs. It may be possible for me to retrieve the passkeys via stealth, but I do not consider it possible to remove the uniglasses without drawing attention.
I turn my thoughts to other plans.
· · · · ·
My parents had explained to me that my plans were unrealistic—a six-year-old taking classes at college level would encounter many difficulties, no matter how advanced or socially adept. Even as a small child I preferred the sciences, so my mother and father took me with them to Gallanosa III, intending to begin my higher education when the time was right.
Although I understood at even that young age that my intelligence was unusual, they did not want me to feel isolated. They wanted me to be safe.
They failed on both counts.
· · · · ·
Both senior Syldrathi technicians depart, leaving me five to deal with. I crawl beneath them, along my vent toward the junction at the far end of the lab.
I have considered my options, running statistical analyses on each course of action as best I can with the information I have at hand.
First step: alarms.
· · · · ·
The alarms had been tripped seventy-three minutes earlier, which was not out of the ordinary in our isolated location. The incoming vessel’s failure to respond to hails was more concerning, but they may have been in communications difficulty. We weren’t a prime target—we had little of value. But our doubts were erased when they force-docked with the Janeway and blasted our airlocks.