For the next several days, Kaelen endured the endless chatterbox of his new companion.
The man, who insisted on being called SC a self-deprecating acronym for "Second character" in what he called "our little drama" and there was a relentless stream of observation, analysis, and probing questions.
'Tsk, Crazy'
He dissected the guards' patrol schedules, critiqued the ship's structural integrity, and offered unsolicited advice on how Kaelen could improve his "defensive posture of silent brooding."
Kaelen's response was a wall of granite.
He refused to engage, offering only monosyllabic grunts or, more often, complete silence. Yet, he found himself listening.
SC's insights were sharp and accurate.
He pointed out a subtle shift in the guards' routine, a sign of an impending shakedown, an hour before it happened.
He correctly identified which prisoners were Imperial informants by their body language. He was a master observer, and despite his annoyance, Kaelen's tactical mind couldn't help but respect the skill.
The event that shattered their strange, one sided dynamic came without warning. A violent shudder rocked the transport, throwing prisoners against their chains.
Red alert klaxons blared, casting the hold in a hellish, pulsing crimson light. The ship's automated voice, tinny and calm, announced,
"Warning: Hull breach detected. Pirate vessel engaged."
Chaos erupted. The prisoners, a mix of terror and manic excitement, began screaming, shouting, and rattling their chains.
The guards, caught off guard, barked orders, their professional demeanor cracking under the pressure.
Explosions echoed from deep within the ship, and the artificial gravity flickered, sending a wave of nausea through the hold.
"Pirates? In this sector?" SC muttered, his voice laced with skepticism. "The Imperial patrol routes are too dense. The response time would be minutes. This doesn't make sense." He looked around, his eyes narrowed not in fear, but in intense calculation.
A section of the hold's outer wall suddenly blew inward in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. A boarding party swarmed in, clad in mismatched, scavenged armor and brandishing crude but effective weaponry.
They were pirates, but they moved with a strange, almost military precision. They laid down suppressing fire, forcing the guards back, while one of them began planting a device on the prisoner control console.
In the midst of the firefight and screaming, SC turned to Kaelen, a strange, almost predatory grin on his face. "Time to go, General."
Before Kaelen could react, SC twisted his body in a way that seemed to defy anatomy. There was a soft click, and his left hand, the one shackled to Kaelen, was free. He hadn't dislocated his thumb; he had used a hidden lockpick, a sliver of metal Kaelen had never even seen, to open the high security manacle in seconds.
The device on the console beeped, and with a loud clank, every shackle in the hold sprang open. The prisoners, suddenly free, surged forward, a wave of bodies crashing against the beleaguered guards. The pirates, their job done, began to retreat back through the hull breach.
SC grabbed Kaelen's arm. "This way Now!"
Kaelen hesitated. This was too clean, too perfect. The "pirate attack" was a flawlessly executed operation. The pirates weren't here to loot or take hostages; they were here to create a diversion and free the prisoners.
This was no random attack.
It Was Staged.
Orchestrated.
His eyes locked on SC. "This was you."
SC's grin widened. "I have resourceful friends. Now, are you coming, or do you want to wait for the Imperial reinforcements to 'rescue' you and explain how you got out of your chains?" He gestured towards the chaos. "Your only other option is to be trampled to death by this mob. Your choice."
He was right. Kaelen's mind, the cold, logical fortress, processed the variables in a nanosecond.
Staying meant certain recapture and likely execution for attempting to escape. Joining the mob was suicide. The only viable path, the only chance of survival and getting the answers he craved, was with this enigmatic man.
The decision was made. The apathy he had cultivated for weeks shattered, replaced by the sharp, cold focus of a soldier in combat. He gave a curt nod. "Lead the way."
SC moved with a fluid, practiced grace, weaving through the brawling prisoners and blaster fire.
Kaelen followed, his larger frame a battering ram, clearing a path. They moved not like escaped convicts, but like a trained military unit.
SC's planning was evident at every turn. He led them down a maintenance corridor he seemed to know intimately, bypassing the main routes where guards would be converging
"The pirates are a distraction," SC explained as they ran, his voice calm despite the alarms and explosions. "They'll lead the Imperial response on a wild goose chase towards the outer hull. Our exit is an emergency escape pod on the lower deck. It should be overlooked in the confusion."
His knowledge of the ship's layout was perfect. His timing was impeccable. This confirmed Kaelen's suspicion: SC was no ordinary inmate.
The intellect, the resources, the meticulous planning and this was the work of a high level intelligence operative, or something more.
They reached the escape pod bay. As the SC had predicted, it was deserted. He hot wired the launch controls with practiced ease while Kaelen stood guard.
"Get in," SC ordered, as the pod door hissed open.
Kaelen climbed inside the cramped pod, SC sliding in behind him and sealing the
door. "Why me?" Kaelen demanded, his voice low and intense as SC initiated the launch sequence. "Why go to all this trouble to free me?"
SC looked at him, his curious smile gone, replaced by a look of cold, pragmatic assessment. The pod lurched as it was ejected from the dying transport.
"Because, General," SC said, his voice devoid of its earlier levity, "your trial made you the most famous, most wronged man in the galaxy.
But more importantly, your file says you are the greatest tactical mind the Empire has produced in a century. I have a mission to complete on Tartarus, a mission that requires a particular set of skills. Skills you have in abundance."
He leaned back, the lights of the chaotic space battle playing across his face. "You're not my partner, Kaelen. You're my ticket out of here. You're my key. You're my weapon."
Kaelen stared at the man, the unwilling alliance forged in fire and deception.
He was a pawn again, just in a different game. But this time, he was a pawn who was off the board, and for the first time since his fall, he had a chance to move.