Biblia’s journal, recorded mentally until it can be transcribed when I'm not being held at swordpoint by illiterate thugs - Lamia orbit

There are six thousand, four hundred and eighty-four rivets securing my cell.

They put Lysimachos and Aeolus down on the moon's surface a few hours ago. They did not discuss the purpose of Lysimachos’ mission with me, but I can calculate their intent. Lamia - or more accurately, the fortress station above the moon - is of no real tactical value in their presumed goal of seizing Athens' planetside mineral wealth and the iron and tin deposits in the asteroid belt. It does correspond with their stated goal of rescuing the beleaguered Antipater, but there have been plentiful opportunities to extract him with a surgical strike prior to this. The only logical explanation is that the fleet leadership wishes for Antipater to remain where he is. As Athens would at this range only be lightly toasted by the energy required to terminate an archon of Antipater’s age, I conclude that Lysimachos has been sent to kill the diadoche of Arkadia and make him look like a casualty of the conflict.

Only one rivet in five is on-center.  The team that assembled this room consisted of one master and four apprentices.

I am seventy-eight percent certain that Lysimachos has never had to terminate a first-rank archon before, and while he is certainly academically familiar with the physics involved in doing so, he probably does not realize that there is no conceivable way he can survive the requisite blast. Merely blowing up the station will not suffice. Detonating the station’s power core within the moon’s atmosphere would have an eighty-eight point three percent chance of killing the diadoche, but automating a disaster of that scale would be difficult at best. Either way, all life on the Lamian surface would be eradicated by the event, and weather patterns on Athens and possibly the other inner worlds in this satrapy would be severely disrupted for years to come.

The faulty riveting has allowed a family of rats to take up residence in the walls.  One pops its head into the cell every thirteen minutes and forty seconds, remembers that I am here, and scurries away again.

I am not terribly concerned. Without strong persuasion Lysimachos could not be induced to carry out the assassination in any event, and without either myself or Hermetios to advise him, he is simply not clever enough to devise a reliable plan. It is possible that he considers the threat to me a sufficiently strong incentive - with Aeolus no doubt reinforcing that assumption - but as I imparted just before my solitary incarceration, this ship has a sixty-eight percent chance of falling victim to a flanking maneuver before the end of the battle. I expect Aeolus’ rash approach to a problem will get them captured either by the rebels or Antipater's home guard before they can infiltrate the station, raising this probability to a certainty. At this point, my concern becomes extracting myself and Cassandra from the ship - even if her talent is useless, she is still a second-rank archon and thus significantly more durable than most of our cadre. She’d make a useful shield if nothing else.

There are seven rats, judging by the echoes.

I know Lysimachos is worried about Hermetios and Solon. If I were able, I would counsel him not to be. I have been running through a dialing algorithm in my head since we entered the system, and a few minutes ago, I felt a trace of pressure inside my skull. My chance should come - I hate being this imprecise - any minute now.