Prison Ship (23 page)

Pattie slit his eyes. He grinned triumphantly. “The brightness made it hard to see what was in front of me. I tripped over somethin’ … burned off my own legs before I knew it.”

Steiner shook his head, fighting back his horror. “You crazy Irishman.”

“Don’t fret, Slugger,” Pattie said. “I’m happy to report we only lost two men. Digger … and me.”

Steiner turned to J.R. “Is he really that bad off?”

“His wounds are worse than I’ve ever seen. The left leg has been bleeding pretty bad.”

“How can that be? They both should have been instantly cauterized.”

“I’m sure they were, at first, but he kept fighting and opened the wound on the left leg.”

“Had to protect my men, I did,” Pattie announced to both of them. “Now I’m ready to meet Saint Peter.”

“No, not until I’m done with you,” Steiner replied.

“What do you want from me? My body is a wreck. Both my legs are gone.”

Steiner touched the third-degree burns on Pattie’s chest. “I’ve seen worse. Your body armor seems to have protected you from any serious damage.” He began peeling back the gauze bandages on the right stump, smelling the burnt flesh from the wound. “The laser seems to have cauterized this leg,” he said as optimistically as he could. Blood seeped though the bandages on the left leg. Steiner tested the tourniquet and found it loose. “Don’t you have anything tighter than this? We have to get this stopped.”

J.R. shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been trying to make do with what I have.”

“Slugger, don’t ya worry about me,” Pattie said, holding out his hand. Steiner took the Saint’s hand. The grip still felt strong, drawing him closer to the man’s soiled face. “For the last year, I’ve been stuck in a cell, waitin’ to die of boredom. You gave me a chance to get back into the fight one more time. I
want
to die this way.”

Steiner looked into his determined gaze. “Die a hero?”

“Exactly.”

“You lost your legs, that’s all. With a couple of prosthetics, you could fight another day.”

“Who are you kiddin’?” Pattie replied, his voice becoming passionate. “I’m a lousy convict. The military won’t pay a single cent to fix me up. Look at our ship, a Peacemaker, for God’s sake. That’s what we’re worth to them.”

“Nonsense. I’ll get them to fix you up, just like they did Tramer.”

“What? You want them to turn me into a godforsaken creature, like Maxie? You can’t be serious. There’s no way I’m doin’ that. Maxie would’ve chosen death before allowin’ someone to do that to him. Ask him. I’m sure he would tell you that.”

Steiner regretted mentioning Tramer. He glanced up at the weapons officer, who betrayed no emotion whatsoever. “Is that why you’re just giving up, like this?” he said to the Saint. “Too afraid of living?”

“I’m not afraid of anythin’. There’s just no point anymore.”

Steiner grabbed the beaded necklace around the Saint’s neck and unsnapped its clasp. “Then you won’t mind me taking this.”

Both the Saint’s arms came up to stop him. “How dare you, you godforsaken heathen!”

Steiner pulled the rosary away from him.

“Put that back on, you bastard!”

“We need a better tourniquet,” Steiner said, moving down to the left stump.

“You’re denying me my last rites!”

Steiner wrapped the beaded strand around the wound, pulling the two ends as tight as he could and twisting the beads together to hold it closed.

Pattie cried out in pain, stifling a curse.

“The
Stormquest
is on its way down here right now to carry you back to the
Marauder
,” Steiner explained as he removed the gauze from the stump. He fought against his own revulsion at the sight of the blackish wound, wet with blood. Opening a fresh package of gauze, J.R. wrapped the wound and taped it up.

“Bastard!” Pattie screamed at Steiner. “I’ll rip your cold heart from your chest and eat it.”

Steiner laughed in a mocking style, staying out of reach of Pattie’s arms. “Tough words from the same punching bag that I laid out in the ring ten years ago.”

“You cheated,” the Saint spat. “I should’ve won that match!”

“Cheated? You tried to sucker me with a quick left uppercut, so I responded with my right to your gut.”

“You denied me a rematch ’cause you know I would’ve buried ya!”

“I hereby accept your challenge, so I can lay you out again.”

Pattie spluttered with rage. Immediately, Steiner put his ear against the Saint’s chest. The breathing remained strong. Feeling for a pulse, he noticed it was a little weak. “He needs some blood. Prepare for a transfusion.” He looked up and saw J.R. and the six other convicts standing behind him, staring in utter shock. Behind them, the enemy’s wounded all looked on. “Would any of you volunteer to donate blood?”

All six convicts raised their hands without hesitation.

“J.R., test each of them for A-negative blood type.”

“Are you sure that’s Patrick’s correct blood type?”

“Absolutely. It’s not the first time he’s been badly wounded.”

The six men formed a line.

Steiner got out of way as the engineering assistant started testing. Looking down at his bloodstained hand, he found his fingers trembling. He took a deep, cleansing breath. There would be hell to pay once Pattie was back on his feet, if he ever could get on his feet again. The Saint was right. The military wouldn’t pay for prosthetics for a convict, but if he could convince them the Saint was a war hero, responsible for their victory, maybe there was a chance they would change their minds. Either way, he couldn’t simply let his old friend die there.

“Perhaps you should have honored his request,” Tramer said.

“I don’t leave anyone behind,” Steiner replied. “How many others were hurt?”

“Digger is dead. Stiles has a simple flesh wound. Sanchez has a minor scratch.”

Steiner knew that the death toll among the raiders would have been much greater if Pattie hadn’t used the laser cannon the way he had. The Saint had sacrificed his safety to turn a probable defeat into an overwhelming victory.

“The
Stormquest
should be here within a half hour,” Steiner said. “Have your men ready to go by then.”

Tramer nodded once.

Steiner looked back and saw J.R. hooking up a transfusion between Pattie and Warren.

Weapons fire shot in the air in the direction of the field. Steiner’s military instincts took over. He reached for his rifle.

“It is ours.” Tramer said, looking in that direction as well. “They are celebrating our victory.”

Steiner relaxed. “They deserve it.”

He walked over to the edge of the grassy area and found Rex, Bo, and Midas dancing around on the landing pad in the center, firing their rifles into the air in celebration. Rex howled, and the other dancers cheered.

On a small incline, near the canyon wall, he found Mason sitting alone against a palm tree, tossing pebbles into his overturned helmet, which lay in the grass several feet away.

“It’s not like you to be out here alone after such a victory,” Steiner said. “Is something bothering you?”

Mason tossed another small stone at the helmet’s mouth. It bounced off the rim and tumbled into the grass. “I think Gruesome has it out for me. I need to stay as far as I can from him. Did you see how he looked at me when I first came into the complex?”

Steiner sighed, thinking about Tramer. “I saw.”

“If I stayed there, he would have shot me next.”

“I wouldn’t have let him.”

“How can you say that? When that thing decides to kill someone, nothing can stop it. For some reason, it has determined I’m the one to die next.”

Steiner knew he had no choice left but to confront Mason with Tramer’s observations about his abilities and their source. Using as much tact as he could, he explained the whole exchange between him and the weapons officer before the mission began.

Mason slammed a pebble into the overturned helmet. “Did Gruesome ever consider that the Centri System might have their own military? That’s the only way we keep ourselves from being invaded by either the Separatists or the United Star Systems.”

“I knew there must have been another explanation. That’s why I insisted that you join us on this mission. I think you proved your loyalty to Tramer by now.”

“Just the same, I’m still going to keep my distance.”

The distant drone of a spacecraft’s engines echoed from above the canyon. Mason stood up. The three raiders stopped dancing. Rex pointed to the sky.

Steiner looked up, searching for any signs of the
Stormquest
. Stars showed through the gaps of the mist that draped the jungle surface. A black shape materialized from out of the clouds and descended toward the valley.

The other raiders began meandering out of the complex’s buildings, cheering and waving their hands.

“Palmer finally came down for us, I see,” Mason said. “Now we can get off this rock.”

The
Stormquest
’s landing gear tore through some palm branches on the ridge.

Steiner tensed at the sight.

“What’s the matter with that idiot?” Mason asked. “Even he can’t fly that badly.”

Rex, Bo, and Midas fled from the field as the vessel swayed uneasily toward the ground.

“No—it can’t be,” Mason muttered then ran out into the field.

The
Stormquest
touched down thirty feet from the concrete slab, its landing gear digging deep into the grassy soil. When the hatch opened, Sam staggered down the ramp.

Steiner smiled. He knew the boy could fly the vessel. That’s why he had called Phillip Daniels to the command center. He had entrusted the head engineer with the password to the landing bay, so that Sam could launch the
Stormquest
. It was the only way to get back aboard the
Marauder
without Palmer’s leaving the ship open and vulnerable to attack.

Mason ran up the ramp and bear-hugged Sam.

The same kinds of sentiments were expressed in the bar among the rest of the raiders after they had returned to the
Marauder
.

Steiner sat alone in the command center, watching the party on one of the security monitors. On the neighboring screen, Pattie lay on the bed in his cabin, sleeping, as J.R. watched over him. Someone shouted a toast to Tramer from another display as the weapons officer stood expressionless next to the bar counter while the raiders cheered his leadership. At first, Tramer had refused to attend, but Steiner convinced him that it would be uplifting to the men, especially since they would be losing Pattie.

Steiner felt relieved that their retreat from Separatist space went as smoothly as it had. Besides missing the convoy by forty-five minutes, they hadn’t encountered any other enemy ships during their race back across the border.

Once they were safe inside U.S.S. space, Steiner transmitted the stolen computer files to the flagship,
Magellan
. Commodore Cole congratulated him on his initiative and asked him to rendezvous with the
Magellan
the next day. After explaining Pattie’s great service in bringing down the base, Cole agreed to have him transferred to the
Magellan
, where the doctors could provide better care.

Steiner looked back at the monitors and saw Mason douse Sam with beer, then laugh. The boy retaliated by tossing a mugful into the pilot’s face. Steiner wished he could join in the festivities, but something gnawed at him—something he had to discover the truth about.

He accessed a nearby computer outlet. After a few moments, he found a visual record of Captain Joseph Barker’s body as it had been discovered on the ship before Steiner had become its captain. The picture confirmed his suspicions. The man’s chest had been blown out by energy bolts, just like the defenders on Hurot IV, just like the murdered crewman in the gunnery port.

He stared back at Tramer’s expressionless face on the monitor. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the cyborg turned against him, too.

STEINER sat alone in the seat of one of the TRAC vehicles in the landing bay, gathering his resolve for what needed to be done next. The drone of the
Marauder
’s engines vibrated through the hull and the TRAC’s frame like a relaxing massage. The loudest sound in the empty bay was his own heartbeat. It was ironic that this quiet arena would soon be the scene of a vicious confrontation, one that he might not survive.

He tensed when the door to the landing bay opened. Tramer stepped inside, then resealed the entrance.

Steiner climbed down from the seat and positioned himself behind one of the thick tires. No doubt, Tramer’s sensors had already pinpointed his location. Looking up, he could see the blue light from the sensor orb reflecting off the top of the armored vehicle.

“You wished to see me?” The weapons officer’s synthesized voice echoed within the empty landing bay.

“Come closer,” Steiner shouted from his hiding place.

The hum of the mechanical body grew nearer. “We are two hours away from our rendezvous with the
Magellan
. Do you have any further orders for me before we arrive?”

Steiner recalled the many hours he had labored over the decision of confronting the weapons officer there.

“Is something wrong?” Tramer’s voice sounded about thirty feet away.

Steiner closed his eyes for just a moment to calm himself. Visions of Barker being torn apart without mercy by the hidden assault guns behind Tramer’s breastplate tormented him.

Steiner grabbed a handheld missile launcher that he had hidden under the seat of the TRAC. He stepped out into the open and took aim at Tramer.

“Captain?” Tramer asked, stopping fifteen feet away, close enough for Steiner to see his reflection within the shiny breastplate.

Looking into the pale face, Steiner swore he could see bewilderment and concern—not anger. That would soon change.

His finger tensed on the trigger, ready to pull it back if he detected any movement around Tramer’s chest region. “Why did you kill Joseph Barker?” he asked, trying to sound calm.