Prison Ship (11 page)

The bald man stood alone in the center of the room, panting in apparent terror.

His knees aching, Steiner walked along the smoldering ruins that used to be the counter. The fire continued to burn behind it, lighting the surroundings in flashes of red and orange. The stench of death hung in the air. Smoke trailed from the jumbled ruins of seared furniture, filling the ceiling with a ghostly haze. The crowd outside the entrance froze to complete stillness.

When Steiner neared the unarmed gunner, he holstered his AT-7. If his prisoner went to the brig peacefully, there would be no more need of further violence.

The bald man’s eyes darted wildly from his dead comrades to Steiner. He dashed his glass mug against a tabletop, leaving sharp jagged edges on its rim. With a loud scream, he burst forward.

With a reflexive draw of his pistol, Steiner severed the gunner’s arm from his torso with a single blast. The man cried out, stumbled to the right, and fell headlong into a smoldering pile of furniture.

When Steiner got closer, he saw a charred piece of wood protruding from the gunner’s back.

The test had ended. Steiner had survived without losing any respect. He closed his eyes, listening to the whispers of astonishment from the spectators, intermingled with the quiet crackling of the fire.

A shudder ran through the floor, followed by another, then a mechanical hum. Steiner spun around in place, aiming his AT-7 at Tramer, who had stepped through the people gathered at the entrance. The cyborg halted a few feet away. Steiner’s finger tensed on the trigger.

The mechanical man remained motionless.

A long heartbeat passed.

The cyborg’s black lips parted. From out of the mechanical device on its neck came what sounded like, “Behind you.”

Steiner hesitated, wondering if he had heard correctly. Was it trying to trick him?

Within the reflection of the fire dancing on its breastplate, a dark shape moved.

Steiner ducked, barely missing two energy blasts rending the air where he had been standing. He twisted his body about, his pistol muzzle searching for the source.

Grant had pulled himself onto the bar counter. One bloodied arm held a smoking gun. Before the man could ignite another bolt, Steiner shot him. The headless corpse slid off the structure, leaving a red smear across the polished wooden surface.

Steiner looked back at the cyborg, which hadn’t moved from its original position. Two black, charred marks discolored its shiny breastplate where Grant’s energy bolts had struck it. Servos whined as the cyborg’s right arm rose slowly to its head to give a salute.

Steiner blinked. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

With a whirl of mechanical components, Tramer turned around and marched out of the room. The crowd at the door parted instantly to allow it through.

For a few seconds, Steiner remained still, trying to recover from his utter shock.

Bricket rose from his shelter behind the undamaged section of the counter. He hobbled toward the blaze a few meters away, whimpering something about how much it would cost to replace his collection of bottles.

Sheathing his AT-7, Steiner slid over the counter. He took one of the remaining bottles from what was left of the shelves.

“I had always wondered how people could get drunk from low-alcoholic drinks,” he said, removing its cap.

He took a deep drink. It was the real thing—strong liquor.

Bricket choked up a sob. “What do I do about my bar?”

“Rebuild,” Steiner replied, handing the bottle to the bartender. “I’m sure you have plenty of that low-alcohol stuff to sell.”

The bartender frowned.

Swimming in a newfound feeling of pride from his success, Steiner hopped back across the structure and headed toward the exit. He planned on finishing his nap once he reached his cabin. As he walked through the crowd at the entrance, they stared at him in awe—even Eddie the Giant. Steiner had proved himself master of the ship. For the moment, at least.

As long as Jamison’s bounty existed, he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone tried to kill him again.

WHISTLES and hurrahs erupted from the spectators, standing against the walls.

Steiner stroked his two-week-old beard, gratified by how well the crew seemed to be responding to his new game, bruiseball.

A new round began as one team gave the opening toss to the other. Snatching the yellow-painted helmet from the air, Eddie the Giant charged down the center of the cleared-out cafeteria. Since none of his opponents could slow him down, one of them jumped under his feet, causing him to topple down on everyone around him. Body armor protected all the players from injuries.

Steiner had created the game to give the convicts combat training for the raids ahead. They loved it, not just playing but watching, too, as evidenced by the cheering of the spectators.

A week ago, he had never expected to stand among a group of convicts like this, without fearing for his life. Much had changed since the pivotal battle he had fought against the four assassins in the bar. Mason, who was in the command center at the time of the attack, had watched the entire ordeal through the security monitors and had told the tale countless times to anyone who would listen. Whispers of the legendary “Ironhand” had circulated throughout the ship. Crewmen had begun acting respectfully to Steiner and strove to please him. Potential had begun surfacing among the crew. The missions ahead didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

A howl broke out as another bruiseball player, nicknamed Rex, dove on top of Eddie, ripped the game prop away, and raced in the opposite direction. He tossed it back and forth with one of his teammates, Bo, then faked out the goal’s protector and slammed it through the posts.

Teamwork like that had made them the best bruiseball players on board. They would be valued raiders in the missions to come.

Rex and Bo did a victory dance.

Cheers rose from the crowd, along with a couple of cat-calls. Richards stood ready with his stun gun just in case a disturbance broke out.

Steiner caught a glimpse of the overhead camera panning across the room, reminding him of Tramer’s unseen presence. The cyborg hadn’t said a word to him since the battle in the bar. He still didn’t know why it had saved his life. Its breastplate bore no trace of the energy-bolt scorch marks it had received, but had been cleaned and buffed back to its previous shine, which indicated the metallic body was impervious to small-arms fire. That was cause for worry. How could he stand against it if it opposed him?

When Steiner shifted his gaze, he saw Bricket maneuvering his bulky form through the spectators, heading straight for him.

Not again,
Steiner thought.

“We arrive at the Tycus base tomorrow,” the bartender said, setting up his next question. “Have you reconsidered my proposition?”

“I’ve told you before that I’m not interested in any percentage of your profits. I’ll let you repair the bar—but that’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

“Okay, I’ll accept your decision.” Bricket’s tongue ran along his lips. “I’m impressed with how much you’ve accomplished with the crew since you came on board. When we left Earth, I never expected you to last the first week, but you did. I never expected all these convicts to act like soldiers, yet they are. However, they are becoming more unhappy.”

“Are they now?” Steiner asked, realizing where this was leading.

“They don’t want the fake liquor. Fights are breaking out more and more each day as everyone gets drier and drier.”

Steiner had noticed increasing mood swings in some of the men but couldn’t relent. “I need them sober for the raids,” he said.

“Consider this. How much better would they perform for the chance to have a drink once in a while?”

Steiner tugged at his beard as he considered the argument. Their addiction might be an irresistible incentive, and the bartender’s lust for money might make him right for policing the distribution. “All right—under one condition,” he answered, noticing Bricket’s face lighting up. “We store it next to the main port-side air lock, where I can jettison it if I see one drunken man.”

The bartender’s smile faded. After a hard swallow, he stared at the floor for a moment. “Deal,” he spat, then hobbled away. Steiner knew the man’s profits wouldn’t be as high as before, but at least it would be better than what he was currently making.

After the bruiseball game had concluded, and the spectators had left, Steiner, Richards, and Eddie took the suits back to the armory. When Steiner started to enter the code to open the storage chamber, he noticed Tramer standing at the far end of the corridor. Steiner covered the keypads as he finished the sequence. When the barrier slid aside, the two security men dumped the suits into the interior. Once Steiner had resealed the door, he looked back down the passageway. Tramer was gone.

What was it up to?

An electronic beep stole his thoughts away. He unhitched the comlink from his belt and depressed the speaking pad. “Steiner here.”

“A message for you is coming in from Earth,” Simmons’s voice announced.

“Who’s the sender?”

“Director Riggs.”

Steiner’s heart skipped. “I’m on my way,” he replied, sprinting toward the command center. Excitement swelled within him. He hadn’t spoken to Suzanne since the launch two weeks ago, and there was so much to tell her.

When he arrived, he found Tramer once again watching the ship’s monitors. The cyborg didn’t even bother acknowledging his presence.

Steiner descended the stairwell into his conference room and locked the door behind him. After he sat behind the desk, he activated his wall monitor. The screen depicted the logo of the United Star Systems. Beneath that, it read: SECURED MESSAGE FROM DIRECTOR RIGGS.

After he entered a code into the keyboard, Suzanne appeared in front of him, looking the same as he remembered her. He expected her to be joyous about his success so far, but she seemed disturbed about something.

“Hello, Jake,” she said. “How do you like being captain of the P.A.V.?”

“I’ve named my ship the
Marauder
. The title P.A.V. only reminds the men that they are prisoners. I need them to think like warriors.”

“You sound much more optimistic than the last time we spoke. How’s the crew?”

“If Jamison doesn’t try anything else, I might be able to mold them into a fighting force.”

Suzanne flinched at the mention of the admiral’s name. “What has he done?”

“The technician that he sent came to inform the convicts that there was a price on my head.”

“Has any of the crew tried to hurt you?”

“Four of them, armed with guns.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry. I wish the security had been tighter. Where are the men who attacked you now?”

“Dead. I probably would be, too, if it hadn’t been for Tramer.”

Her face brightened. “He helped you?”

“Yes, but I don’t understand why.”

“Do you still want him transferred off?”

“No, even though I am uncomfortable around whatever he is, or whatever he has become, I don’t think I can do this without Tramer. With this bounty on my life, I won’t be able to train the crew on real weapons. Tramer is the only other one who can do that.”

“Believe me, Jake. You’ve made the right decision.”

“Was that the only reason you called?”

“Not exactly.” She sighed, her previous sullen mood returning. “I have some good news and bad news. The bad news is that the admiral that you were supposed to report to on Tycus has taken ill. You are to report to his replacement for your Orders disk.”

Steiner didn’t think that was bad, one admiral was no different from another—except …

“It’s Ralph Jamison,” she said.

The name bored into Steiner like a thorn. “I can’t trust any orders coming from him, not after what he did to McKillip,” he shouted. “I refuse to report to him.”

“Calm down. Jamison only has the task of giving it to you—nothing else. The disk was imprinted months ago, before you were assigned to the P.A.V.” Suzanne paused. “Just watch yourself when you’re in his office. Don’t give him another reason to throw you in prison. I won’t be able to get you out next time.”

Steiner opened his clenched fists and found them drenched with sweat. “What’s to keep him from killing me himself when I go into his office?”

“He’s an admiral. His office is in a public place. If you were killed there, it would put a lot of suspicion on him. I’m sure he’d rather have you millions of light-years away when someone tries to assassinate you.”

Steiner considered her reasoning logical. Jamison wouldn’t want to draw suspicion. After all, the admiral wanted Steiner dead to stop the threat of the tribunal.

“It will be difficult facing him again after what happened,” he said.

“Just behave yourself, get the disk, then get out. It’s that simple.”

Steiner doubted it would be that easy.

“Now for the good news,” Suzanne said with a little smile. “As you leave the building, check in with the guards at the front desk. I left you a surprise you’re going to love. Trust me on this.”

Steiner sighed. He was a little tired of her surprises.

After wishing him luck, Suzanne ended the transmission.

With the conversation still heavy on his mind, Steiner retired to his quarters, lay back on his cot, and took Mary’s holocard from the table. When he activated it, her face materialized above the flat side of the wafer. Her flowing dark hair, her emerald eyes, her private smile—everything about her was frozen for all time within the tiny mechanism. Whenever he felt discouraged, just seeing her again lifted his spirits. His wedding band felt cold against his fingers, so he cupped his other hand over it to warm it.

He closed his eyes, imagining Mary with him, touching him, holding him, kissing him. Soon his conscious thoughts slipped away, giving life to his dreams. He found himself standing in Jamison’s office, living out his assault on the admiral again. His murderous fury returned in full force. His fingers tightened around Jamison’s throat as the rush of footsteps from the MPs grew louder behind him. He needed just a few more seconds to finish off his enemy. When strong grips began to pry him away, the vision changed abruptly.