View source for 2022-10-09: An Honored Guest is Just a Prisoner

{{Cutscene
|cast=Mineva Lao Zabi
|location=Irish-class ''Gwennangorn''
|summary=[[Lilith Aiden]] orders Mineva transferred off of the Gwennangorn. The captive princess, a 'guest' aboard the ship, sees it for what it is: Trouble.
}}
{{PhaseAndTurn
|phase=1
|turn=2
}}
It's been a day since Mineva was confined to her quarters. Her guard has refused to explain, and her demands to speak to the captain have fallen on deaf ears. 

She may have been a "guest" until now, but she's also a prisoner. An ''important'' prisoner. So, it's easy enough to guess at what comes next... they're going to transfer her. Whatever pull Captain Aiden had been using to keep her on board must not be enough after the loss of Torrington, which means Mineva's luck has nearly run out. From a Federation prison, she'll be nothing more than a bargaining chip, at best, to bring the Sleeves to the negotiating table. It might be possible to get the ear of the Prime Minister this way.

But that's a slim chance, and none of that matters if they decide to execute her instead. It's a natural conclusion to come to. Losing their Princess could well break the Sleeves' spirits. They'd risk making her a martyr instead, but it's sure to be a tempting gamble.

And she can't take that risk. She has too much to live for.

A proper prison would also make escape near-impossible, compared to her current situation. For most of her time aboard the Gwennangorn, she's had relative freedom to move about the ship. 

And she's spent that time planning. 
----


Mineva floats above her bed, eyes on the clock.

The minute ticks over. Five minutes to shift change. Time to move. 

She lifts up her mattress, where she's hidden a stolen uniform. Not quite her size, but close... and low-rank enough that she won't draw immediate attention. She changes quickly, stowing her clothes in a makeshift go-bag. And she waits. Her mind reaches out, listening for the guard outside. She slings the bag over one shoulder and watches the clock.

One minute. 

He starts to move, right on schedule. Third shift always leaves early and passes fourth, just around the corner... it's a small window. Ten, fifteen seconds. But there are no eyes on her. No ears. She slips out into the hallway and rides the rail aft, glancing behind her to see the third-shift guard disappearing around the corner. When his replacement comes, all he sees is the back of a redheaded private. Nothing suspicious.

The rail ends. She grabs the next, her grip leaving her knuckles white. The way to the hangar's burned into her memory. All she has to do is blend in. Look like she belongs. The docking announcement nearly startles her out of her skin... but it's right on time. She won't have to hide.

She only allows herself to calm down once she's in a normal suit, visor darkened. Nobody will suspect her now. She falls in with the cargo crew, following them out the airlock in a petite MS, carrying a load. She doesn't know of what.

The bubble-headed machine drifts behind the others, and she prays that nobody notices her fumbling with the controls. The little swarm of worker MSes sets down their loads, and they all return...

All but one. A single Torohachi sits empty in the unloading zone, its occupant nowhere to be found.

By the time the Gwennangorn sounds the escape alarm, she's riding the cargo elevator down to freedom.