Prison Ship (39 page)

Rifle blasts echoed from the rear of the ship, getting closer and louder.

Armed with his pistol, tracker, and laser cutter, Steiner knocked one of the ceiling panels aside. He lifted himself into the tight crawl space above, then replaced the panel. Lying perfectly still, he listened to loud taunts growing in volume.

When he twisted his body to a more comfortable position, the sole grenade attached to his belt dug into his side, reminding him of its purpose. If all else failed, he would use it to commit suicide and take as many mutineers as possible with him.

His thoughts then turned to Mary. In his mind’s eye, he could still see her, feel her, and even smell her perfume.

“YOU won’t be able to hide from us in there, Captain,” Rex shouted into the pitch-black entrance to the crew quarters section. “We’ll be able to see you.”

He and Bo activated the scopes in their helmets and raced down a center aisle of the darkened battlefield, their weapons blazing.

Julio watched with contempt. That kind of cockiness would get both of them killed.

“If we are to succeed, we must be careful not to throw away our advantage,” he told the six other raiders. “Fan out in pairs through the other corridors. Use your digital enhancers and targeting computers. Check inside each open cabin. Report immediately if you find anything suspicious.”

“Will we have to share the reward?” Dante asked.

Julio sneered. “Let’s worry about that later.”

Peter and Fritz went down a far right passageway, while Glenn and Dicer disappeared to the left. Midas elected to remain behind in case the captain tried to backtrack. Julio signaled the remaining single raider, Dante, to follow him down another aisle.

The scopes bathed the interiors of the bedchambers in multicolored hues that brought out every detail. There were cots and bags of belongings, but no captain.

When Dante disappeared into one of the cabins for a few minutes, Julio decided to investigate. He found the man pulling a decorative dagger out of one of the bundles. Disgusted, Julio grabbed the knife away and glared at him until the thief went back to his patrol.

When Julio laid the blade down, the glistening jewels from its handle beckoned to him, so he slipped it inside his suit.

STEINER’S legs had cramped up, yet he stayed motionless. The tracker’s screen indicated that two mutineers were closing on his position, searching inside each cabin along the way.

Anxiety built within him as each second passed. His blood pumped faster and faster until his head throbbed from the pressure. He swallowed but couldn’t wet his throat.

When footsteps sounded near him, he raised the ceiling plate a half an inch, then froze when he heard faint whispers exchanged below. His lungs ached for air, but he feared to fill them. The voices went still.

Holding his breath, Steiner snuck the plate back just enough to provide room for his arm to reach through. Noiselessly, he pulled the laser cutter out from under his belt and held it ready. With his other hand, he drew his gun.

An armor-clad figure moved under the slit, then paused to look down the corridor. Steiner had to act fast—if the raider happened to glance up, all would be lost.

With the cutter’s blade enabled, he reached down and sliced through the helmet’s power cable. It went dead, blinding its wearer.

Immediately, Steiner exploded some bolts from his pistol into the floor near the man’s feet. The startled raider thrashed about, discharging his rifle. A section of the crawl space two feet away from Steiner erupted into fiery debris. A guttural cry sounded. Someone dropped to the floor.

“Fritz?” the mutineer asked. “Where are you?”

No answer.

Steiner thrust the panel aside. He jumped down on top of the man, jerked his head back, and slit his throat. Blood spilled down the front of the convulsing body.

The other raider, Fritz, lay several feet away, punctured with two smoking holes.

When Steiner pried the assault rifle away from his victim, he heard someone approaching from the far end of the corridor. He flung himself backward a millisecond before the air was rent apart by fiery beams.

His back impacted squarely against the floor inside a doorway. The assault gun flew from his grip into the interior of the chamber.

Curses echoed from outside in the hall, followed by approaching footfalls.

Steiner scrambled after his weapon, snatched it up, and rushed back to the entrance. He lanced out energy blasts at the advancing raider. Two beams ate away at the man’s armor before he took cover inside a cabin twenty feet away.

Steiner knew it wouldn’t be long before the other mutineers joined in on the attack.

He stepped into the corridor, rapid-firing at the raider, then sprinted in the opposite direction, toward another cabin thirty feet away. Just before he reached it, bolts tore into the doorframe, blocking his way. He dove beneath the searing streaks and rolled through to safety.

A cry of rage from the mutineer testified to the success of his tactic.

Steiner scooped up the single grenade that he had earlier planted on top of a cot, activated it, then stuffed it under the mattress, where a pile of them lay. In nine seconds, they would all ignite.

With his rifle in hand, he squeezed into the open air vent. He pulled the sheet lining the inside of the tunnel until the blast shield it was tied to covered the entry. Darkness shrouded everything except the distant light shining from the life-support station. Steiner crawled toward his escape.

Weapon blasts erupted inside the room behind him. The raider must be shooting blindly, searching for a target.

Then everything went silent.

Teeth clenched, Steiner scrabbled forward in a maddened frenzy, his limbs banging against the walls of the tight passageway. He had lost count of the seconds left on the grenades.

Three feet separated him from his sanctuary, when he heard the blast shield being moved aside.

“Gotcha.” A voice echoed into the tunnel.

No,
Steiner screamed silently with one final lunge.

Light flooded the shaft, accompanied by a deafening noise. He dropped to the floor of the life-support station as a geyser of fire and debris shot out from the vent like a cannon.

After a few seconds, it died out, leaving the chamber in a smoky haze. Thankfully, the air generator continued its steady drone even though it had been dented in several places.

Among the flaming debris littering the floor, a smoldering helmet rocked back and forth.

JULIO Sanchez reached the source of the explosion, with Dante right on his heels. Glenn and Dicer had already arrived at the site and were staring down at the bodies of Peter and Fritz, lying in pools of blood. Inside the blazing cabin, the torso of another armor-clad figure lay burning in a corner.

“The fools should’ve called for backup, like I instructed them,” Julio growled. “A reward is useless if you’re dead.”

“The captain must have been better armed than we thought,” Dante replied.

Rex and Bo showed up at the site, scowls distorting their faces.

“Who nailed the captain?” Rex asked.

“Nobody, but Midas, Peter, and Fritz are dead,” Julio replied.

The two raiders cheered and disappeared back into the darkness.

“Greedy fools,” Julio shouted after them. He turned back to the four others. “Are the rest of you willing to work together to capture the captain? We could split the reward four ways. Is it a deal?”

Julio held his hand out in pledge. Glenn and Dicer grasped it, but Dante shook his head and raced off.

“It’s the three of us then,” Julio proclaimed.

“What’s your plan?” Glenn asked him.

“First, let’s get the lights back on.”

SEATED at the remains of Tramer’s damaged security station, Mason pressed keypads until a fiery doorway appeared on one of the monitors that Bricket had repaired upon entering the command center.

On the other side of the room, Bricket knelt by the communication console, opening its maintenance panel.

“I found the explosion we heard,” Mason announced. “I don’t see any mutineers celebrating, so I’m certain Ironhand is still alive.” He switched through several other scenes, but the light level was too low to allow the cameras to register any images.

A sharp clatter made Mason flinch. Turning around, he saw that the bartender had thrown the inner communication assembly to the ground.

“Can you repair it?” Mason asked.

“Not a chance,” Bricket shouted in obvious frustration. “Simmons did a fine job of wrecking the unit. I might be able to send out a short-range transmission with what’s left, but it wouldn’t do us any good way out here.”

A muffled response came from the command chair.

Picking up his cane, the bartender whacked Simmons’s legs. The captive let out a sharp cry. “That made me feel a little better,” Bricket said. He lifted himself and hobbled over to the security station.

A barely visible shadow caught Mason’s eye on one of the screens.

“Who was that?” Bricket asked.

“I couldn’t tell. It’s too dark.” Mason let out a sigh. “I wish I knew what was happening down there.”

“If you like, we can talk about something else to pass the time.”

“Like what?”

“Well, which government would you like to see win the war?”

“I don’t care.”

Bricket chuckled. “You wouldn’t have come on board if that were true.”

“It beat rotting away in prison.”

“No, I don’t believe that either. I’d wager that you want the Separatists to lose the war to get back at your father.”

Mason hated it when the bartender was right, so he refused to respond.

“You’re too easy to read,” Bricket said with a slight smirk.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Mason shouted.

“Why not?”

“If these are my last minutes of life, I don’t want to waste them talking about him.”

“What about your mother? Did you hate her, too?”

Mason fought to keep himself from propelling both fists into the bartender’s face.

“No, you loved her deeply,” Bricket said. “He did something to her, didn’t he?”

Mason turned away, hiding the tears forming in his eyes. “Did he beat her?” Bricket asked.

Mason fought hard to keep his thoughts from sinking a mire of bitter memories, forgotten tragedies, forsaken loved ones. “Worse.”

“It will make you feel better if you get it off your chest.”

“It won’t change anything. It’s best if I don’t dwell on it.”

“If you try to suppress your emotions, they’ll build up inside you until they explode. Confront them now.”

Mason wanted to shout a curse at the bartender for torturing him like this but couldn’t. He could hear the sincerity in the man’s voice.

“My father was promoted to a U.S.S. admiral when I was sixteen. A year later, Christophe Staece convinced him and two other admirals to join his New Order Empire.”

Bricket reached into his pocket and extracted his partially used cigar. His eyes never left Mason as he stuck one end into his bearded mouth and lit the other. “What happened to make it go sour?”

The smoke from the bartender’s cigar curled and twisted a random course toward the ceiling. Mason could see images from his past dancing within it. His mother’s desperate pleas sounded from somewhere far off in time.

“My mother didn’t agree with the choice but remained silent. After the U.S.S. succeeded in fending off the first invasion, my father bombarded the planet Macrales. My mother stopped being silent.”

Bricket groaned. “That caused problems for your father in the emperor’s eyes.”

His mother’s distant screams echoed in Mason’s head. “My father’s enemies demanded that he be dismissed from his post for having a conspirator as a wife.”

“What did your father do about it?”

“In order to save his career, he released a statement denying all knowledge of his wife’s treason, and to prove his loyalty to the emperor, he took the necessary actions against her.”

Bricket’s face paled. “He didn’t …”

Mason bowed his head to hide the tears that refused to be held back. “I still remember the day they came for her. My brother, Randy, and I watched as four uniformed thugs dragged her out, while she pleaded to my father to help her. He wouldn’t even look at her but held both Randy and me so we couldn’t chase after her. He whispered lies about her to comfort us. She was executed that night.”

“How old was Randy at that time?”

“Not old enough. He was fifteen, six years younger than I was.”

Bricket plucked the cigar from his mouth. “He believed the lies, didn’t he?”

Mason sighed and nodded.

“Randy wanted the love of his father so much he deceived himself,” Bricket said. “Poor kid.”

“When I heard the Centri System needed good pilots, I tried to take him with me.” Mason heaved for breath. “He tried to turn me in to our father.” The anguish threatened to consume Mason. His pride, the trait that had caused him to survive for so long without family, prevented him from succumbing. “My father stole everything dear to me. I would jump at the chance to hurt him in return.”

“Good,” Bricket said. “Until now, I wasn’t sure where your loyalties lay.”

Mason stared at him. “What?”

“During our confrontation with the enemy battlecruiser, you gave me their password to save your own life. I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t turn on me if you were given the chance to return to your homeland.”

The answer left Mason dumbfounded. He had never thought of it from that perspective before. After all, he was the son of a New Order admiral. Could Bricket have trusted him to fight against his own people?

“Look,” Bricket said. “The lights came back on in the crew quarters, which means someone must be in the computer room.”

With the press of a couple of keypads from Mason, three body-armored men appeared on a monitor, standing over the main terminal.

“Julio Sanchez,” Mason said. “I had a feeling that idiot would eventually mutiny.”

“The person on the far left is Dicer,” Bricket replied. “I’ve played several hands of poker with him. Who is the other guy?”