Prison Ship

by Michael Bowers

  “I can go alone if you wish,” Bricket said.

  “No. Just inform me next time.”

  At a signal from the bartender, the other man carried two gravity trucks into the room.

  “What’s your name, crewman?” Steiner asked.

  “Frank Pearce, sir.”

  A loud clang echoed as the shuttle halted directly above the massive sealed doors of the air lock under the floor. A fuel vehicle, driven by J.R., backed up to the rear of the craft.

  “A scuttle bucket,” Mason grumbled as he made his way over to it.

  Because everyone had arrived, Steiner turned toward the control panel to close up the bay. He twitched involuntarily when he saw Tramer directly outside the doorway, its sensor orb glaring at him.

  “Can I help you with anything?” Steiner asked, a little angry at being startled.

  “Am I to be transferred off here?” Its icy words echoed through the empty corridor.

  “I’ve decided to keep you on board for a while.”

  Motors whined as it saluted.

  Steiner punched the landing bay’s password into the control panel. The thick pressure door closed, cutting off the resounding thuds of the cyborg’s feet as it marched away.

  Steiner wished he knew what Tramer’s programmed motives were. Why did it always shadow him? Why did it protect him when it had brutally murdered before?

  Casting the thoughts from his mind, Steiner moved toward the shuttle’s hatch. The vessel’s external lighting flared to life, casting colorful glows into the shadows.

  When he stepped inside the passenger compartment, he heard Daniels and Mason arguing in the cockpit.

  “It doesn’t matter how many improvements you made, this is still a piece of junk,” Mason said.

  “We did the best we could with what we had,” Daniels replied. “Did you expect all the components to be brand-new?”

  “No, but I thought they’d at least be in operating condition.” The pilot pointed to the rear of the craft. “That energy coil back there belongs in a museum.”

  “All of the ships in the bay, including this one, were tested three months ago when we were refitting this Peacemaker for use. They all worked fine then.”

  “Three months ago,” Mason exclaimed. “A lot of good that will do us now.”

  Daniels shrugged at Steiner as he exited the cockpit. The head engineer couldn’t be blamed for what the military provided him.

  Steiner strapped himself into the copilot’s seat. “Ironhand, if that coil sends an intermittent flow to the engines, it’ll be our death sentence,” Mason said.

  “Just do the best you can,” Steiner replied.

  A low-pressure hiss announced that Daniels had sealed the hatch to the shuttle. Steiner glanced back to make sure Bricket and Pearce were fastened into their chairs.

  Mason huffed. “The prison system gave us faulty equipment just so it would kill us. Fewer convicts to worry about.”

  The floor parted, exposing a chasm beneath the suspended spacecraft. With a jarring motion, they descended into the pit below. The enormous air lock, which was capable of releasing the armored transport carrier, dwarfed their tiny shuttle. The doors above joined back together, immersing them in pitch blackness.

  “We’re depressurizing now.” Daniels’s voice sounded from the communication panel.

  “Oh, joy,” Mason muttered. “Now we get to test our hull’s integrity. What’s that?” Mockingly, he put his hand to his ear. “Is that air I hear escaping?”

  “Don’t joke about things like that,” Bricket shouted from the back. “These miniature buckets give me the creeps.”

  It took nearly ten minutes for depressurization. The length of time irritated Steiner. The Valiantused to process its shuttles within a minute and a half.

  When the hatch below finally opened, the glow of the planet shone up into the chamber. The shuttle crawled downward again through the Marauder’s bulkhead, stopping at the bottom of the docking assembly.

  “You’re cleared to start the engines,” Daniels’s voice announced.

  “If they still work,” Mason muttered. The hull shuddered from ignition, then mellowed into a massaging vibration. “Well, what do you know. Release the claw.”

  Metal ground together overhead. Steiner’s stomach lurched as the craft tumbled away from the Marauder. He had forgotten that these old ships lacked automatic stabilization. His discomfort didn’t last long. The shuttle shot forward, pressing his body into the cushioning of his seat. The belly of the Marauder , dotted with its wartlike gunnery ports, raced away, replaced by a vast field of stars. The planet rose into view through the transparent dome that curved around the cockpit, its reflected glow brightening the small cabin. Mason guided them into the upper atmosphere with barely any jolts or jars. He whistled a tune while a fiery glow enveloped the shuttle.

  When they reached the calm of the stratosphere, the drone of the engines cut out. Steiner’s stomach heaved as the ship plummeted toward the planet.

  “That coil did exactly as I said it would,” Mason shouted, working furiously with his controls. The engines sputtered a few times in response but refused to ignite. He slammed his fists against the console. “Restart, you junk heap.”

  The shuttle began to roll. Steiner wondered if Mary had experienced this kind of terror during the last few seconds of her life. Maybe the wait to be reunited with her was over.

  Cursing to himself, Mason pointed the nose of the falling craft toward the planet. When they punctured the clouds that patched the noonday sky, the distant ground became visible, rushing up at them.

  “Ironhand, flood the engine chamber with fuel,” Mason demanded.

  Steiner looked sharply at him. “Why—?”

  “Just do it!”

  Steiner opened the intake valve to the chamber. Since the engines weren’t active, the ship would be leaving behind a trail of fuel. If it ignited, the resulting explosion would surely destroy the shuttle.

  Mason waited a couple seconds, watching the spill in a rear monitor. “When I tell you to, shut the valve.”

  Steiner had no idea what the pilot was up to, but anything was worth a try at that moment. He placed a finger above the keypad.

  Mason tried restarting the engines once more. The trail of fuel exploded in a brilliant flash of light. “Now,” he screamed as he accelerated the ship to full speed. Steiner sealed the valve. The shuttle barreled downward, away from the long dark cloud in their wake.

  Steiner realized that the explosion had ignited the engines while the extra speed had kept the trailing inferno from engulfing them.

  Mason struggled to regain control over the shuttle as it dashed toward the planet.

  Steiner gripped the armrests of his seat, unable to breathe. A forest raced toward them. The trees became more detailed by the second. Just then, the nose of the craft began to rise.

  “Com’on, baby,” Mason shouted.

  Steiner could make out individual leaves on the approaching oaks. Clear them, he screamed inside his mind.

  The craft leveled out, digging into the top of the foliage. Branches scraped wildly against the hull. A second later, they broke free, skimming across the roof of the forest.

  Mason let out a triumphant cry.

  Steiner leaned back and closed his eyes. He had never seen a maneuver of that type. It was innovative, even ingenious. He found he had a new sense of respect for the pilot. This would definitely be another adventure Mason could brag about.

  They arrived at the U.S.S. military installation with no further trouble. Mason set the shuttle down in a grassy field designated for visiting ships.

  After a moment to catch their breath, Bricket and Pearce departed to get the liquor shipment. Mason, whose ego was still soaring, agreed to watch the shuttle. Still feeling a bit light-headed, Steiner started toward the headquarters located at the center of the base.

  His upcoming meeting with Jamison haunted his thoughts. In a few minutes, he would be face-to-face wit
h the man he hated with a passion. A soft breeze cooled the sweat on his forehead. He tried to think about something else—anything that would get his mind off Jamison.

  The military headquarters loomed ahead of him, nearly thirty stories high. He entered one of the four short wings extending from each side, passing through a security checkpoint, where his AT-7 had to be turned in. As he maneuvered through the shuffling personnel toward the center of the building, his hand toyed with the empty holster. He felt vulnerable without his pistol. It had become a part of him during the last two weeks.

  The corridor widened into a mammoth lobby that he remembered well from his years aboard the Valiant. The tiled floor depicted a giant emblem of the United Star Systems. Portraits of all the famous admirals lined the walls—including one of Ralph Jamison.

  As Steiner approached the elevators, he got a good look at the painted face of his nemesis, the long, narrow cheekbones, the balding head, the beady eyes. It repulsed him to see it hanging up with all the other admirals—leaders who were honest and true.

  After he stepped into an open lift, he jabbed the keypad that would send him to the top floor. During the ascent, the soft instrumental music playing inside the car raked his already tensed nerves. It was as if it were mocking his struggle to remain calm.

  When the elevator opened, he found himself in a luxurious waiting room, distinguished by plush, elegant furniture. A holographic flower garden covered one of the walls.

  It wasn’t fair. McKillip had spent his whole career on a cold metallic ship in space. He died following the orders of a murderer who lived like royalty.

  Steiner rubbed his clammy palms on his pants. His throat constricted into a tight knot. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with this. The memories of his last visit flashed through his mind. He wished he had killed Jamison back then. Justice would have been served.

  Straightening himself into a dignified posture, he started down the hallway leading to his enemy’s lair. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he stopped in front of the secretary’s desk at the doorway to Jamison’s office. The woman seated there was the same lady who had been there six months ago. Her hands trembled. Obviously, she remembered his last visit.

  “Please tell Jamison that Captain Steiner is here to receive his Orders disk,” Steiner managed to say calmly, but wasn’t sure how.

  “He’s been expecting you. Go right in.” The secretary pressed a keypad that opened the office door.

  Steiner hesitated, feeling apprehension about entering the room. What if Jamison tried to murder him? He was unarmed. Within his mind, he reran Suzanne’s reasoning. This was a public place. Surely, Jamison would wait until he was millions of light-years away before the fatal blow came. Somehow, Steiner wasn’t convinced. His feet refused to move.

  “He’s waiting for you,” the woman repeated.

  I’ll bet, Steiner thought.

  Ralph Jamison strode through the doorway, a devilish grin imprinted on his face. “Captain Steiner, welcome to Tycus. Did you have a safe voyage?”

  Steiner’s pulse quickened until he could hear the blood coursing through his head. His lungs ached with the memory of near suffocation. He wanted so much to end the admiral’s existence that his hands began to rise involuntarily. He looked into his enemy’s grinning face. Steiner froze suddenly.

  Grinning? Why would Jamison be grinning? Surely, he remembered what had happened during Steiner’s last visit. Wouldn’t he be the slightest bit fearful of being assaulted again or killed? Unless he wanted to be attacked.

  Steiner returned his hands to his sides.

  Jamison held out a palm-sized silver disk. “These are the P.A.V.’s orders for the next six months. Many of the missions are very dangerous. I hope you have the full support of your crew.”

  Jamison is trying to provoke me, Steiner thought. Why?

  What if someone was hiding nearby to shoot him down if he did assault the man? Then Jamison could claim his murder was in self-defense. It was the perfect assassination plot.

  Steiner reached out cautiously and accepted the disk.

  “Good health to you, Captain,” Jamison hissed softly.

  Another try at initiating a response.

  Steiner refused to give one. He spun around, hastened back to the lobby, and escaped into the elevator. Once it had begun its descent, he leaned back against the side of the lift, emotionally exhausted, his body drenched in sweat. If he had assaulted Jamison, he was sure he would be dead.

  RALPH Jamison paced about his office, disappointed that Jacob Steiner hadn’t fallen for his ruse. He had hoped it would all end right then. Each day Steiner lived brought Jamison closer to losing his dream of bringing freedom to the galaxy. Had Steiner died, there would have been less for Jamison to have to worry about.

  “Considering his apparent power over his crew, perhaps I should have gunned him down anyway, and be done with the matter,” Travis Quinn said from the shadows.

  “It would have created suspicion about me. We must have patience. Captain Steiner won’t survive the next six months. I’ve seen what has been assigned to him. If his crew doesn’t kill him, the missions will.”

  Quinn stepped out of the corner, his icy gaze riveted to Jamison. “The thousand credits that you offered must have produced unworthy applicants.”

  “It’ll continue to persuade others.” Jamison stepped over to the window, overlooking the eastern section of the base.

  “What if he’s stronger than you think?” Quinn asked. “What if he survives the missions ahead?”

  “All the better for us.”

  AT the security checkpoint on the way out, the guards handed back his gun. Steiner caressed the handle of his AT-7. The feeling of vulnerability had faded with the return of the weapon. Before he left the building, he asked if anything had been left for him from Director Suzanne Riggs. The guard checked his records and nodded. “There is a person, who will be transferring aboard your ship.”

  Steiner rolled his eyes. That was the surprise Suzanne was excited about. Another convict to worry about. “Where is he?”

  “Please follow me, sir.” The guard led him back to a security cell.

  Inside sat a familiar man, one he couldn’t believe he was actually seeing.

  “Pattie?” he barely managed the name.

  “It’s about time, ‘Slugger.’ Get me outta this hole. I’m ready to do some fightin’.”

  Steiner couldn’t help but smile. It was the blessed Saint, himself. Patrick Braun.

  Ten years ago, Pattie had been the sergeant in charge of the U.S.S. Ground Forces stationed aboard the Valiant. The short, heavyset man inside the cell had to be over fifty years of age. His once-bulging, muscular arms had softened a bit into flab, causing the Celtic cross tattoos etched on each arm to sag. His hair’s buzz cut gave no indication of graying, but his eyebrows betrayed him slightly as white hairs accented the red. His gaze still looked as fierce as Steiner remembered it. The “Saint,” as his men had called him, had once challenged Steiner to a boxing match aboard the Valiant, which the whole crew turned out for. Steiner won by a knockout. It had been his first date with Mary. Since that day, Pattie had always called him “Slugger.”

  “How did Suzanne find you?” Steiner asked, still not able to believe his eyes. “I haven’t heard anything about you since your discharge. I even thought you might be dead.”

  “Dead? That’ll be the day. I’ve been holed up here. Suzie-Q found me about a month ago, wanted me to join her little crew of convicts—I nearly laughed myself silly. ‘The ship’ll never make it outta the space docks,’ I told her. But she didn’t tell me that you were the captain.”

  “I wasn’t. The first captain didn’t make it out of the space docks.”

  “See, I knew it would fail. But, ‘Suzie-Q’ found you—a natural-born fighter—and that changed everything. Now, git me the hell outta here. I wanna bash some Separatist heads!”

  As soon as Steiner signed the required line of the tra
nsfer orders on the computer pad, the guards lowered the energy field in front of the cell, and the Saint shouted gleefully, causing them to draw their weapons. He burst forward and gave Steiner a bear hug. Steiner laughed for the first time since becoming captain of the P.A.V. Suzanne was right. He loved this surprise. Maybe the prison ship could work after all.

  When the guards returned the possessions he’d had on him at the time of his arrest, Pattie took only the rosary and tossed everything else in a trash can. “My good-luck charm. I’d never go to war without it.” He draped the beaded necklace over his head.

  “How else could we call you the ‘Saint’ if you didn’t have it?”

  “Well, now, I’m not sure I want to be called that anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “You see, there’s too many bloody heathens in prison. I’ll drink with ’em, I’ll fight with ’em, but I don’t want to start hearing their bloody confessions.” He burst into boisterous laughter as if it was the funniest joke he had ever heard.

  Steiner smiled politely.

  The guards required Pattie’s hands to be shackled until he got aboard the prison ship, but Steiner unlocked them right after they left the building. As they walked through the streets of Tycus, Pattie told Steiner how he came to be in prison.

  “You see, right after they drummed me out of the military ’cause I wouldn’t kiss the butt of my new scumbag colonel, I went to relax with a drink in the Lion’s Den, a pub right down the street a few blocks, just mindin’ my own business. Some prissy boy, fresh from college, comes up to the bar and starts getting smart with me, talking trash about servicemen, so I tell him to shut his mouth. He shoves me. I shove him, harder. He pulls a knife—and no one pulls a knife on a Stripes, so I knocked it out of his hand and belted him like he deserved. Two of his thugs came at me, so I gave them all a beatin’. Then they pin the whole thing on me. I was just mindin’ my own business.”

  Steiner listened to his story for the sake of his friend, but he vaguely remembered McKillip telling him about the incident a year ago. Pattie had been drinking heavily after his discharge from the U.S.S. Ground Forces. The prissy boy happened to be the son of the governor of Tycus, and the two “thugs” were his bodyguards. All three were hospitalized for weeks after the incident.