Chapter 31

Kat and Vlad spent a lot of time together, since he was the head of her 'security team'. She was amused by the euphemism, knowing that they were her jailers and sure that most of them would much rather just shove her out an airlock and be done with it.

She was not confined to her cell, exactly, but she was not free to roam either. She could take meals in the common mess if she wanted, but doing to was a hassle to everyone involved. Her guards would clear an area of the mess, ejecting everyone at surrounding tables rather than chance Kat speaking to one of the crew or, possibly, passing a message.

She was allowed to access the gym and use the equipment there, but with the same restrictions. Doing so would surely alienate the crew even further, and she was sure that it was all part of the plan to isolate her and to make sure that the crew did not connect with her in any way. Her presence was a nuisance and, if she insisted on being out of her cell, a constant irritant to those members of the crew being forcibly removed from her environment.

Try as she might, she couldn't think of a way to turn that to her advantage. If she could spend time with the crew, she could commiserate and try to turn that annoyance and anger back on the Bishop, but being unable to even talk to anyone, it appeared more like she was getting special privileges and was too haughty to even acknowledge those she was displacing.

Rather than feed the flames of resentment, she spent most of her time in her room, only venturing out when the claustrophobia became unbearable. That course of action was not without its drawbacks, as she had to have her meals delivered and whoever was assigned to do so was rousted by her jailers as a matter of course. Still, one upset person was better than upsetting twenty when she ate in the mess.

What bothered Kat as much as anything else was the complete lack of news and information. She was not allowed access to any outside sources, not even the generic Galactic News Agency fluff that was what passed for journalism these days. The Union could have fallen or ETs could have invaded and she would not have known.

Vlad became her lifeline to the world at large, though not by choice. Kat was all too aware how easy it would be to become attached to the one person who would speak to her, who would spend time with her. He was a personable man, affable and apt to smile. It made him easy to like and all the more dangerous because of that. He was still the enemy.

It was a maddening and frustrating time for Kat. She felt so isolated and so infernally bored. She missed Pan and didn't even know if he was aware that she was still alive. She hated the thought of him mourning her, and the thought that grief would drive him back into his self-imposed isolation again. She spent hours upon hours planning and scheming, fantasizing about possible escape routes, only to discard each plan as unworkable.

She began to spend so much time in her own head, that when the opportunity actually came, she almost missed it entirely. She had been practicing Path forms against an imaginary opponent in her cell, the limited space forcing her to devise variations of the standard moves and strikes. She had been practicing regularly and had even concocted a couple of new moves that she though the Chief would be interested in seeing when, if, she ever got back to the Citadel.

The door to the cabin opened without the customary knock and noise flooded in. One of her guards was peering into the room, apparently distracted by the sight of her, in her undergarments, whirling around the room. When she came to a halt, the guard realized that he had been staring and withdrew, the room door closing behind him.

In those seconds, Kat had seen half a dozen pressure-suited men run past, headed down the corridor. The cabin was mostly soundproof so when the door opened and the sound of alarms and commands flooded in, it took Kat a minute to sort through the cacophony and make sense of what she had seen and heard.

"Battle Stations, Battle Stations, All Hands Man Your Battle Stations. Damage Control Parties Muster At Your..." the booming announcement cut off when the door closed, but it was evident that the ship she was on was heading into some sort of conflict. Whether it was with another unarmed passenger liner or with a Union military ship, it could only be to her advantage if she could find a way to help the other side.

Her thoughts felt jumbled and disjointed. She needed information, she needed to know what was happening so she would know if it were possible to do something, anything. Her moment of indecision was interrupted by the door opening again, and Vlad entering the cabin, dressed in a pressure suit and carrying a second, smaller suit in his hand.

A detached corner of her mind noticed that Vlad didn't even look twice at the way she was dressed and she supposed that it made sense. He had seen her naked, abused, tortured and raped. Undergarments were not going to faze him at this point.

Vlad laid the second pressure suit on the bed and ordered Kat to get dressed. "You must wear the suit. If there is breach, you will be vulnerable and my orders are to see you come to no harm."

Kat folder her arms and stared at Vlad, her head cocked slightly to one side. "And what is happening that I might be more 'vulnerable' than I am already. I am a prisoner aboard an enemy vessel, confined and standing here in my underwear. How much more vulnerable can I get?"

Vlad's face darkened, his brows hunched together and he looked as if he was going to read her the riot act, and then he paused, took a deep breath and visibly reined in his temper.

"Please, Ms. Themis. You are smart girl. You heard Battle Stations announcements, yes? I cannot tell you more about that, but you know that things can go wrong in combat. If you are not in the suit and there is an accident, or if the hull is breached, you will die. Is not a good way to die, vacuum."

Kat waited for a couple of heartbeats, staring at Vlad, before moving over to the pressure suit on the bed. She examined it closely before opening the front seals. It appeared to be a more robust version of the ones she had seen on passenger liners. The material was a thick, metallic faced cloth with a dense, rubbery backing. The seals consisted of sliding seal, much like a zipper but with no teeth, and a magnetic flap.

There was a clear plastic bubble type arrangement hanging down the back of the suit that flipped up over the shoulders and provided the wearer with a helmet, of sorts. It would not provide any real protection against impacts, but it did allow a wide field of view for the wearer. Internal pressure, once the suit was sealed and the helmet in place, would inflate the bubble and make the wearer look like something out of an ancient science fiction movie.