“Not even close,” I say, moving beside him as the little ship turns toward the Thorn Shelf. “But we’ve got somewhere to start.”
CHAPTER 25
ROMA
Throgg’s ship makes obedience audible.
Every corridor carries the same low mechanical cadence, a disciplined vibration that moves through the soles of my boots and up into my knees as Reaper systems shift power between weapons, engines, and life support with ruthless efficiency. The lighting never brightens enough to be generous. It remains fixed in a cold amber wash that sharpens every edge and turns every armored figure into something carved from shadow and intent. By the time two guards escort me back to the engineering deck, I have counted six access panels with manual release seams, three blind angles in the observation lattice, and one maintenance conduit just wide enough for a human body willing to lose skin getting through it.
I keep my hands still at my sides.
The guards think restraint means compliance.
Throgg waits beside the central drive assembly with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the regulator housing I modified earlier as if it has personally disappointed him.
“The improvement degraded after thirty-seven minutes,” he says.
I look toward the diagnostic display. “It held for thirty-seven minutes longer than your original configuration.”
One of the Reaper engineers turns sharply.
Throgg lifts two fingers, and the engineer goes still.
“You were asked for correction,” Throgg says. “You provided postponement.”
“I provided stabilization within the access limits you gave me,” I reply. “If you want miracles, you should give prisoners better tools.”
His eyes settle on me, calm and depthless. “Failure carries consequences here.”
“I assumed.”
“You should do more than assume.”
At his gesture, a side display activates. The image resolves into my ship, docked against the Reaper vessel under external clamps. Damage scars run along her hull, and the airlock patch I made after the Zenos attack is warped from the boarding assault.
My throat tightens.
Throgg watches my face while the camera angle changes, zooming in on her exposed drive housing.
“A ship can be disassembled in stages,” he says. “One component at a time. One system after another. Its designer can watch and explain the value of each part before it is removed.”
I let my gaze move over the image with visible irritation rather than panic. “Threatening my ship is poor strategy.”
“Because it lacks value to you?”
“Because it has more value intact.”
I step closer to the display and point toward the external rings. “Those systems are integrated with my adaptive navigation model. Strip them, and you get expensive scrap. Preserve them, and you get the only architecture in this region that has successfully crossed corridors your vessel cannot survive.”
Throgg descends one step from the platform. “You would give me that architecture?”
“I would give you enough to stop wasting time damaging things you need.”
“Enough.”
“Yes.”
“You choose that word often.”
