Prison ship Chronos. Length: 1,200 meters. Special convict transport vessel. Nemesis Fleet's frontier patrol unit. Lower engine section. Solitary cell 221. Erik Valdel stared through iron bars. At the massive reactor beyond. The main reactor glowed pale blue. Beside it, the auxiliary reactor hummed low. Coolant flowed through pipes. Electromagnetic coils resonated. These tangled sounds had become his second language. Three years of them. Black short hair, unkempt. Half-moon stubble, dark and prominent. Deep brown eyes. Sharp. Calm. But they looked past these narrow walls. Far beyond. 170 centimeters tall. Three years of forced labor had carved him. Lean. Muscled. Sinewed. His gray prison coveralls were frayed at the cuffs. Machine oil stained them brown. Shoulder to waist. His left wrist bore a tattoo. Intricate mechanical patterns. Not the prison's mark. He'd carved it himself. Three years ago. Using iron shards from the cell wall. The meaning was simple. Obsession with freedom. Memory of what he'd lost. The wall was covered in lines. One per day. 1,095 lines in three years. But more than that. His eyes saw invisible markings. The complete structural blueprint of Chronos. Carved in his mind. Hierarchical layouts. Pipe routes. Power supply systems. Emergency escape routes. All perfectly assembled in his brain. Three years. Every single day. Forced labor. He'd observed everything. "Damn it." Erik whispered. He stood. Reached under the simple bed. Pulled something out. Components. Stolen over three years. Surveillance camera lenses. Power unit circuit boards. Discarded touchscreen fragments. He'd assembled them. Built a small wireless receiver. With his own hands. He switched it on. Weak power surged. Noise flowed. Static. Then encrypted transmissions emerged. His brain decoded instantly. Nemesis Fleet command frequency. The same pattern he'd intercepted three years ago. "—Grav Lattice Drive field deployment. Phase 3 complete. Installation on flagship Obsidian Throne confirmed. Full operation next month." His fist clenched. Nails bit flesh. Grav Lattice Drive. His invention. His life's work. The ultimate propulsion engine. Four times faster than phase jumping. Half the fuel consumption. A dream technology for those who crossed galaxies. Five years ago. Fourth planet's satellite. Procyon system. Valdel Lab. His research facility. His wife Sarah. His daughter Lina. They were there. Night raid. Nemesis Fleet thieves. They wanted the technology. Fire consumed the lab. They took everything. And— His breathing broke. Something pounded in his chest. He tried to suppress the memory. Useless. He still heard their screams. His invention had stolen his family. That invention now served Nemesis Fleet. A weapon of war. Rage. Deep. Black. Bottomless rage. But also— Erik breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Long. Slow. Emotions settled. Calm meant survival. Emotion here meant death. Rage was fire. He'd suppress it now. But later—he'd use it. As fuel. Transform it to destruction. He returned the device under the bed. Tomorrow's work section might yield new information. He lay on the simple bed. Stared at ceiling pipes. His eyes traced each line. Cooling systems. Power routes. Emergency shutoff valves. All perfectly three-dimensional in his mind. Escape plan. It had reached final stage. Sigurd. Small ship. Hidden in the lifeboat bay. Three years of secret modifications. Propulsion system recalibration. Phase jump device connection. Fuel line secured. Everything calculated. Duct routes. Ventilation and pipe ducts. 90 centimeters wide. 70 centimeters high. From mid-level surveillance to lower engine section. Then further down. Secret route to the bay. He'd memorized every joint spacing. Guard rotation patterns. Nine guards patrol the engine section. Exchange times fixed. Fifteen minutes of complete silence. His escape window. Everything fit in his head. But he knew. Impossible alone. The plan was perfect. But execution required— Then. Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Guard patrol? No. Different pattern. Wrong timing. Guards should be checking west pipes now. Yet—a figure moved through the east corridor. Erik's gray eyes sharpened. Unnatural footsteps. Careful. Hurried. Something was moving. Three years of silence. Breaking now. New wind blew through Chronos's engine section. What it brought, Erik didn't know yet. But the premonition was certain. The path to freedom was still distant. Still treacherous. But— He would never surrender. Tomorrow. The day after. He'd advance the plan. And someday—surely beyond those stars. Calling their names. His wife's. His daughter's.