Prison Ship

by Michael Bowers

  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.

  Steiner found himself in the shuttle depot once again, facing Mary before she boarded the shuttle. Her hand trailed away until t
heir fingertips lost contact. Desperately, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She struggled against his hold.

  Please, don’t go, he cried out.

  She ripped her arm free from his grasp and fled toward the shuttle.

  No, he screamed. I need you.

  Steiner jerked upright on his cot, gasping hard. Sweat covered him. He tried to calm himself but couldn’t seem to catch his breath. A horrifying realization came to him. Something was wrong with the air in the room.

  He moved from the bed to the oxygen indicator on the wall. It read dangerously low. An alarm should have gone off when it sank below tolerable levels. Why hadn’t it?

  He punched the keypad to open the cabin door. Nothing happened. He hit the mechanism again to no avail. His hand pried out the emergency hand crank. It wasn’t operational either.

  He searched wildly for some idea that might save him.

  His head began to spin. His muscles grew weary. He had to get air soon.

  In desperation, he tore the grating off of the air vent and peered inside the dark tunnel. Ten feet into it, an emergency seal closed off the shaft from the air generators.

  Someone was trying to suffocate him.

  Then he remembered the satchel of explosives under the cot. He dragged it out, dumping the contents onto the floor. Twelve grenades. How could he use them to escape? They could puncture either the cabin door or the seal in the air duct; however, he would surely be killed by the blast.

  Just as despair started to creep in, a solution occurred to him. The blast shield. He wrenched it out from under his cot. Its construction appeared tough enough to withstand intense heat.

  He put his plan into operation. After piling the grenades at the base of the cabin’s door, he picked up the blast shield, then searched around for some insulation. The sheet from the cot. He ripped it from the mattress and tied it to the handle of the shield.

  When he armed one of the grenades, a ten-second countdown was initiated.

  He scrambled into the air duct with the sheet in tow. He pulled the excess bedding into the narrow shaft until the shield covered the vent opening. Darkness shrouded him. He braced himself against the sides, keeping tension on the sheet.

  Then it happened.

  It was as if his head exploded. Brilliant light, deafening noise, smoke, pain, then blackness.

  He found himself riding a river of colors, trying to keep his face above the waves. Branches hung overhead just out of reach, as if they were taunting him. Something rubbed against his arm. He twisted around to see McKillip’s body floating next to him.

  No, Steiner screamed, almost going under. His legs fought desperately to keep him up.

  Then he saw a dark mound ahead, protruding out of the surface. A blanket of black material spread out from it. When he got closer, he recognized it as hair. His blood froze as the head turned to reveal—

  Mary.

  With a cry of terror, Steiner released himself to the powerful undercurrent. He was drawn deeper under the swirling tide. Pressure squeezed his lungs. The colors surrounding him began to fade into total darkness.

  Rest.

  Something like metallic claws clenched his arms. Abruptly, he was drawn upward.

  Distorted voices sounded from all around. Light filtered through his eyelids. Blurred images of people surrounded him. Something was placed over his nose. His lungs breathed in pure oxygen. His head throbbed with intense pain. When he tried to move his arm, he found it had no strength. It didn’t even feel as if it belonged to him.

  “Breathe deeply for a few moments,” a voice said. “Don’t try to move.”

  He turned toward the source of the sound. The hazy form of J.R., the assistant engineer, huddled over him.

  “I used to be a medic,” the man reassured him calmly. “You’ll be fine in a while.”

  Steiner’s senses began to sharpen. Distant voices become clearer. People were gathered all around him. His memory reemerged from the haze that had engulfed it. Someone had tried to trap him.

  He bolted upright, fighting the nausea the movement created. J.R. and Daniels stood next to him, extinguishers strapped to their backs. Tramer towered over him to the right. Steiner’s hand dropped to his holster to see if he still had his weapon. To his surprise, he found it there.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We all heard an explosion,” Daniels said. “Tramer arrived on the scene first. He dragged you out of the burning cabin.”

  Steiner met the cyborg’s lifeless gaze for just a split second before the machine wheeled about and thumped away.

  Why had it saved his life?

  The engineers helped Steiner to his feet. Smoke fogged the corridor, hiding his cabin from view. He stumbled closer, curious about the amount of destruction. The spectators, congregated around the site, backed away, giving him clear passage.

  The door that he had placed the grenades by lay in a twisted heap at the base of the entry, the corners broken off in the track. Steiner was amazed that he had survived a blast of that magnitude.

  All that was left of the room’s furnishings was ashes and ruins. The cot had been permanently embedded in the bulkhead. Its metal posts stuck out, jagged and bent into wicked shapes. The blackened blast shield lay atop a pile of rubble, its surface showing signs of melting in several spots. Somehow, he must have kept his grip on it after losing consciousness.

  Then his heart sank.

  When he rummaged through the warm ashes by his cot, he discovered Mary’s holocard. Cracks split its scarred surface. He tried activating it.

  Nothing happened.

  With a small cry of rage, he threw the worthless piece of metal against the charred bulkhead.

  In his mind, he could hear the sinister cadence of Jamison’s laughter.

  CHAPTER 10

  TYCUS, Steiner thought with apprehension as he led Mason toward the landing bay. He had asked the pilot to shuttle him down to the ground installation, where he was to have his meeting with Jamison. If Mary’s holocard hadn’t been destroyed, he could have used it for encouragement. He needed it badly.

  Steiner still didn’t know who had tried to suffocate him the previous night, but he had discovered how they had managed the attempt. The assassin had broken into the life-support control station through one of the ventilation shafts and sealed off the flow of air to his cabin. Steiner had Richards install a proximity alarm near the oxygen generator to prevent anyone from doing the same thing again.

  It was frightening to consider that the assassin was still at large on the ship. It began to erode Steiner’s optimism about his crew. He was determined not to let anyone get an advantage over him again, so he would plan his moves carefully, as if he were playing a chess game for his life.

  “Do you really think it’s wise to leave Sam here all alone?” Mason asked, breaking the silence as they walked. “What if the crew riots or something like that?”

  “When we first launched, weren’t you telling me he could take care of himself?” Steiner replied.

  “That was before the two attempts on your life. If he were coming with us, I’d feel more at ease.”

  “Trust me. He’s safer here on the Marauder.”

  Steiner understood why Mason worried about the teenager. Over the past two weeks, a kinship had grown between the two of them; it was as if they had become brothers.

  Daniels, J.R., and Spider waited by the sealed entry to the landing bay.

  “What are they doing here?” Mason whispered.

  “They’ll be manning the landing bay while I’m gone,” Steiner answered.

  “What makes you think they won’t try to kill you, too?”

  “If they were going to, they probably would have already succeeded by now.”

  After an exchange of greetings with the engineers, Steiner started to enter the password into the computer panel beside the door.

  “Ironhand,” Mason said, pointing down the corridor.

  A blue sensor orb shone from a darke
ned silhouette at the far end.

  Steiner expected Tramer to come forward, but it remained perfectly still.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Daniels said. “Tramer won’t harm us.”

  “You sound like you trust it,” Steiner replied.

  “More than most.”

  The reassurance didn’t comfort Steiner. Keeping one eye on the cyborg, Steiner returned to the task of opening the door. The thick barrier slid aside. Darkness veiled the interior. The musty odor of stagnant air crinkled Steiner’s nose. It was quite apparent that this was the first time the bay had ever been used.

  Daniels vanished into the blackness. Several seconds later, the overhead lights sprang to life, illuminating a vast chamber, which housed a small personnel shuttle and a giant armored transport carrier, a spacecraft capable of ferrying troops and making aerial attacks on ground installations. An assortment of wheeled vehicles called TRACs lined the right wall, armed with massive guns powerful enough to punch a hole through the outer hull.

  Daniels signaled his aides to begin their work. Spider ascended a ladder into a control booth while J.R. ran to the back of the line of vehicles. A moment later, the shuttle moved forward, suspended from a claw that moved along a track in the ceiling.

  A groan rose from Mason. “A scuttle bucket? I should have expected as much. After all, why would the military give us anything that was up-to-date?”

  “Hello.” Bricket’s voice sounded from the entry. “We’re here.”

  The bartender stood in the doorway with another man.

  “Bricket, I only planned for you to join us,” Steiner said.

  “My apologies, Captain,” the crippled man said, hobbling into the bay. “I thought I might need a sturdy back to help transport the shipment.”

  Steiner should have realized the bartender wouldn’t be able to do all the physical labor by himself. He eyed the assistant with suspicion. He couldn’t remember anything about the man except that he was one of the maintenance personnel. It was doubtful Bricket would have chosen an assassin to come. As long as Steiner was in command, the bar stayed open.