Steiner bolted from his cot, almost falling down from a head rush. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” he bellowed as he strapped on his gun belt.
“I have been signaling you since the ship first appeared. Only now have you answered.”
The mysterious noises in Steiner’s dream must have been the message alarm. It was his own fault for not responding to it earlier. “I’m on my way,” he said, softening his tone.
He splashed water on his face, jarring his senses back to life, and sprinted from his cabin. As he ran down the corridors, dodging crew members, he scolded himself for dropping his guard again. Twice now, his mistakes had weakened his image.
When he bounded up the steps to the command center, his heart stopped at the sight of the cyborg standing at the top. His hatred of it paled in comparison to the threat of attack. He raced past it without a second thought.
A small gunship closed distance in the front viewport, all weapons trained on them.
The navigator, Simmons, sat at the communication console, begging the other vessel’s commander to wait. He backed away from the mouthpiece to allow Steiner to speak into it.
“This is Captain Jacob Steiner. Hold your fire.”
“Transmit the appropriate password,” came the response.
“I was asleep. Stand down.”
“You have twenty seconds left to comply.” The channel went dead.
Idiots, Steiner shouted silently. Even though he and his crew were prisoners, they deserved to be treated with the same respect due other U.S.S. personnel.
He slid into his command chair to access the shielded keyboard. His fingers hesitated above the pads. A wave of panic swept through him when he realized that he had forgotten to bring Suzanne’s computer pad. In his hurry, he had left it next to his bed.
He searched frantically though his memory. What was the password? It started with “PAV.” What were the numbers that followed? It had been a simple series with several repeating digits. If there weren’t any urgency, he would probably be able to remember.
“Captain,” Tramer said emotionlessly. “They have been waiting too long already.”
Steiner glanced up at the cyborg. Its words hinted urgency, but its face showed none. Even in a crisis, this thing still didn’t show a trace of emotion. No fear. Nothing.
The gunship made a wide loop as if it were about to make an attack run. Would it actually fire on one of their own?
“Captain, transmit the password,” Simmons cried out.
“They’re going to destroy us.”
The password. Didn’t it start with a seven? Two nines were in it too. What was the last pair of repeating numbers? One, two, three—three. That was it. He typed into the keyboard, “PAV:73993.”
The gunship broke off from its charge at the last second and sailed over them. It sped off into the distance.
Simmons gave a heavy sigh of relief.
Julio Sanchez glared back at Steiner from the helm. “Any orders, sir?” he asked in a low tone that seemed to hint at contempt.
“Continue on previous heading,” Steiner replied firmly.
After a brief hesitation, Sanchez phased the ship into starspeed.
Steiner’s insides felt like they were dropping into his knees as the star field faded away. He stayed in the command center for a moment to allow the sensation to pass. Shame burned within. Whatever fear the convicts had of him had probably been destroyed.
Steiner stood up as proudly as he could and departed. Tramer’s sensor orb followed him out.
CHAPTER 8
“THE odds are favoring me today,” Mason said as he laid his cards on the table. He had a full house.
With a growl, Bricket threw his cards down, revealing only a pair of sevens. “Not again. You must be the luckiest pirate around.”
Standing inside the entrance of the bar, Steiner watched them from a distance, rubbing his chin, letting his new beard growth prickle against his palm.
Eddie leaned against the doorframe, keeping out any passing crew member who didn’t qualify to enter the establishment.
Steiner smiled at him, but the man just ignored him. He returned his attention to the poker players across the room.
Nearly a week had passed since the launch, and no one had attempted to harm him yet. Since Joseph Barker never made it out of the space dock before being killed, Steiner had expected someone to have come at him already. What were they waiting for? The impending danger had begun to sprout up like weeds of paranoia within the gardens of his mind, beginning to undermine his rationality. He couldn’t fight the feeling that something was building on the horizon, preparing to explode soon.
The air in the bar was clear of smoke and only slightly stank of stale liquor. Quiet rumbles of voices flowed from three small groups of convicts, sitting in the far corners. While Bricket gambled with Mason, the bartender’s assistant stood behind the counter, polishing the collection of stylish bottles lining the shelves against the rear wall.
Steiner took a couple steps closer to the poker players, then hesitated, unsure whether he should bother them.
Loneliness had driven him here to find Mason. He knew the pilot played poker with the bartender daily during his off-duty hours. Besides Sam, Mason was the only person on this ship he could trust.
Mason brushed his slick black hair out of his face and looked up at Steiner. A devious grin curled his lips. “Hey, Ironhand, would you care to play with us? I could use the extra money.”
Steiner was thankful to hear someone address him. “Chess is the only game I’m interested in.”
Mason grimaced. “Too much thinking for my taste.” His feet shoved out a chair across from him. “At least join us for a moment.”
It was the invitation Steiner had been waiting for. He threaded his way through the vacant tables dotted with abandoned beer mugs. The sticky floor sucked at his boots as if screeching out to all the listening ears that he was lowering his defenses for a moment. Nevertheless, he continued forward.
He sat on the edge of the offered seat and tried to open the conversation casually. “It’s become much more civilized in here than before.”
“That policy of yours cleaned it up, along with half my profits,” Bricket grumbled.
Not a good start, Steiner scolded himself.
Mason relieved the tension with a snicker. “Earlier today, a couple of guys tried to sneak past that mountain guarding the entrance.” He pointed at Eddie, posted inside the doorway. “I doubt they’ll ever try again.” He broke into laughter. “They got tossed out like rag dolls.”
A shout tore through the subdued noises in the bar, jarring Steiner’s defenses to life. His fingers instantly found the grip of his AT-7 and he wheeled around in his chair. On the far side of the room, a convict shoved Simmons away from his table, cursed at him, and told him he’d kill him if he ever bothered him again. Simmons left the room while a couple of other men barked insults at him.
“Calm down, Ironhand,” Mason said reassuringly. “It’s just the navigator getting what he deserves.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The backstabber gossips about everyone.”
The man at the other table started quieting down. Steiner’s hand eased away from his weapon.
“I’m betting you’ll survive longer than he will,” Mason said. He cast a sideways glance at Bricket.
The bartender shifted uncomfortably, lit up a cigar, and eyed Steiner. “Rick told me how you evaded death in prison. Takes audacity to stand up against those kinds of odds and win. I admire that.”
“Rick could always spin a good yarn.” Steiner held his breath against the pungent fumes the bartender puffed out.
Mason picked up his perspiring glass of orange liquid, took a sip, and hummed pleasantly. “Bricket, why don’t you make one of these for the captain?”
A drink? The mere thought of the bitter-tasting liquor repulsed Steiner. “No, thank you.”
“Believe me, Ironhand, you’l
l love this drink,” Mason said. “It’s better than the one that guy with the braided ponytail served up.”
“Ponytail,” Steiner breathed the word before he realized it. Mason must be trying to get rid of the bartender for some important reason. “Maybe a cool drink would be soothing.”
“Com’on, Bricket,” Mason coaxed. “Make him one.”
The scarred face tightened. “My assistant can make it.”
“He can’t make it like you. Believe me, I’ve tasted them.”
Bricket shot a hard glare at the pilot and mouthed a few silent words.
Mason smiled, lifting his glass. “Give the captain what he wants, a nice cool drink just like this.”
The bartender pursed his lips.
Mason gathered a handful of poker chips from his winnings. “I’ll give you some of your losses.”
With a groan, Bricket grabbed his cane. He jabbed it into the floor, lifted his body from his chair, and limped toward the counter, a trail of smoke following in his wake.
Cards sputtered as Mason shuffled the deck until the bartender was out of earshot.
“Sam dug around and found out the reason the mysterious technician came on board the morning of the launch,” Mason whispered. His mouth spread into a toothy grin. “He came to tell everyone that a price has been put on your head—a highone.”
Steiner groaned. The news didn’t surprise him. Since no bomb had been discovered on the ship, the only other reason Jamison would send a man on board was to offer a reward for his assassination. What really grated on him was how much Mason was enjoying telling him such disturbing news.
“Wait, you haven’t heard the best part yet,” Mason said, barely suppressing another snicker. “Nobody’s cashed in because they’re afraid of you. He told them you were a coward—an easy kill. But no one believed it because you proved him wrong by the way you threw Rathen off the ship the night before the launch.”
Steiner let the information soak in for a few seconds.
“Don’t you get it?” Mason seemed to be irritated that he didn’t find it as funny. “You saved your own life.”
“Only temporarily. They still might try to cash in on Jamison’s offer later.”
Mason shuffled the cards again. “Well … maybe. Just keep that gun of yours handy at all times.”
I always do, Steiner thought, as his hand instinctively went down to handle of the weapon.
His thoughts turned to Sam. Five days ago, when he sent the boy out on his mission, he never expected any results. “How is my amigo doing?” he asked.
“Fine,” Mason replied. “He’s been bugging me to teach him how to fly, so I’ve been training him on the flight simulators. He’s probably in there now. When he learns to fly this old Peacemaker, you can get rid of one of those two other hoppers. I don’t trust either of them.”
Steiner didn’t like Sanchez and Palmer either. They knew their skills were needed, so they didn’t bother to conceal their resentment toward him for throwing their friend Rathen off the ship.
He changed the subject by pointing to the pile of chips in front of the pilot. “You seem to be lucky today.”
“Bricket is loaded with money,” Mason said as he whisked five cards to Steiner. “I can’t believe someone can be so rich and still be stuck in prison.” He indicated that Steiner should look at the hand he had been dealt.
“Rick, I don’t have the time or energy to play this game with you.”
“Go ahead. Take a look.”
Steiner curled the glossy cards back with his fingers and found a royal flush staring up at him.
Mason’s grin broadened. “Sweet, isn’t it?”
Bricket hobbled toward the table with a second glass of orange liquid.
Disapproving of the pilot’s greed, Steiner slid the cards, facedown, back to him. He hated it that Mason was cheating but wasn’t about to give him away. He couldn’t afford to lose his support.
A foaming mug thudded down onto the table. “I hope you like it,” Bricket said as he dropped his body back into his seat.
Steiner smiled, sipping the drink in gratitude. It was the best one he had tasted so far, but the bitter taste still dominated it.
“How about those chips you promised,” Bricket demanded of his opponent.
Mason passed over a generous pile. “I’ll win them back with no trouble.”
“We’ll see about that. Deal.”
“My pleasure.” The pilot smirked as he dealt the cards.
Steiner finished the drink while watching Bricket lose another hand. Just before taking his last swallow, Steiner noticed a slight variation in color between his drink and Mason’s. A terrifying realization swept through him. What if it had been poisoned? Fighting back the desire to panic, he swished the remainder of the liquid around in the bottom of the mug, searching for an oily film. It looked clean. He breathed deeply with relief.
The drink must have been mixed a little differently. How could he have been so careless—especially after learning of a bounty on his life? He promised himself never to accept another drink from anyone. It had been harmless this time, but maybe not the next.
Later, as he continued with his inspection of the ship, the bounty shadowed his thoughts. He wondered why Jamison would even bother offering one since the previous captain had been killed before leaving space dock. If the convicts had taken out one leader already, surely they wouldn’t need an added incentive to remove another.
When Steiner entered the engine room’s control cubicle, he found only one attendant standing watch at the consoles. Everyone else was missing. That was strange, considering he had always seen the engine room staff servicing at least one of the components at any time during the day.
Suspicion kicked in.
After the attendant greeted him, Steiner pretended to depart, then hid in the shadows.
Daniels and his staff were very close. Individual men might have been dissuaded by what Steiner did to the technician, but maybe not a combined group. Perhaps, together they were planning something against him. After all, that was how mafia families operated.
Adrenaline pumped madly through his body as he waited. When the attendant used the washroom, Steiner sneaked into the reactor chamber. Four giant cylindrical devices stretched a hundred meters to the far end. He started down one of the aisles between two of the powerful machines, creeping low as if behind enemy lines. The steady drone of the engines masked his footsteps.
Somewhere in that massive room, the engineers were plotting something, but where?
The air temperature increased the farther Steiner moved into the interior. Under his jacket, a droplet of sweat traced the contour of his spine all way to his waist.
About halfway to the other side, voices from somewhere ahead froze him. He flattened himself against the side of one of the reactors as two men casually walked across a gap, deeper in the interior.
If he followed them, they might lead him to where the other engineers were holed up. He ran lightly to the end of the aisle.
The voices argued about the right way to clean out waste materials from storage units.
When Steiner peeked around the corner, he found no sign of the two men even though he could still hear them, echoing from deep inside something.
Then he saw it. A ladder disappeared into a tunnel in the bulkhead above.
Inching up to the base of the ladder, he risked a look up into the shaft. A distant light shone from a hatch opening on the far side. The voices of many people conversing floated down from it. All of Daniels’s staff must be up there. The two men climbed up into the room and closed the hatch, immersing the tube in total darkness.
The new silence amplified the gentle roar of the engines until the noise seemed almost deafening.
Steiner considered his options. He could call Richards, the head of security, and his men down here to break up the gathering. No, that would only weaken his tarnished image even further—especially if his suspicions were proven to be wrong. His
only choice was to raid the assembly himself.
He took off his jacket, inviting the air to cool his damp skin and shirt. He tucked the leather garment between two nearby components, out of view of any engineers who might pass by while he was up there.
He climbed up the ladder, rung by rung. To the left, the massive chamber swelled as he rose above the apex of the four cylindrical reactors that stretched all the way to the opposite side. Steam rose in spurts from the coolant vents, the vapors diffusing the lights in eerie glows. Far in the distance, he could see the attendant at the control cubicle.
The vastness of the scene made Steiner feel small and ineffective for the task ahead. He would have to face down all the engineers at once, including their leader, an accomplished assassin. Then it occurred to him. What if they had planted some hidden defense by which to alert them of an intruder’s presence? What if they already knew he was coming? What if they were luring him into a trap?
Steiner stopped his ascent a few feet under the maw of the black tunnel into which the ladder led. Maybe I should go back now.
Just as he was about to lower himself, he realized that he couldn’t retreat either. It would be a sign of his weakness, an act of cowardice, which would eventually lead to his death anyway. He had to go on.
He closed his eyes, focused his thoughts on Mary, imagining her beckoning him to join her in eternal bliss. If this was his time to die, he would embrace it.
He continued climbing the ladder, the darkness of the tunnel swallowing him up. He slowed, occasionally reaching blindly for the hatch. His labored breathing resounded off the narrow walls of the passageway, accented by his boots making contact with each rung. The darkness pressed in about him, crushing his resolve. His knees quivered. The formless demons in his mind played in the blackness surrounding him.
After a few minutes, he felt a handle above him. He leaned back against the sides of the tube, resting himself, gathering his nerves. His hand unsheathed his AT-7 from its holster. The utmost speed would be required. He had to open the hatch and have his gun trained on them before they could react.
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