Prison Ship

by Michael Bowers

  “What about Tramer’s cabin?”

  “Totally empty. I don’t think it has ever been used.” Steiner was tempted to demand another search, but it would probably turn out to be useless as well. “Keep an eye out for it,” he told the chief, then signed off.

  Somehow, Steiner knew Tramer was responsible. Because the cyborg monitored the security cameras constantly, if it hadn’t fired the weapon, it was sure to know who had. Steiner rubbed his eyes, wearily. All he had to do was remain patient until the next day, when they reached Baiten II, a remote planet used by the U.S.S. to train troops. Once there, Tramer would leave for three weeks of battle exercises with the crew on the surface. He couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

  Pattie’s stomach grumbled. “Archimedes already assigned me a cabin and a shift, so I’m gonna see what the grub is like—maybe it’s as old as the ship.” Pattie laughed again, slapping the side of the wall. “Maybe I’ll rub shoulders with some of the other grunts.” He placed his pistol in Steiner’s hand. “Thanks for lettin’ me borrow it, but I’ll be fine without it. I’ve been dyin’ for a good fight.”

  Turning on his heels, Pattie whistled “When the Saint Goes Marching In,” his own version of the old hymn, as he marched around the corner.

  Steiner again met Bricket’s gaze though the glass portal. Steiner wished he could keep the bartender inside the cell until the man could be transferred off, but some of the ship’s computers were already beginning to malfunction. No one else knew how to fix them. When the raids began, they would need all their systems fully operational if they hoped to succeed. The chances of Suzanne’s finding another computer genius before then were slim, perhaps even nonexistent.

  Could he trust Bricket after what had happened?

  Steiner opened the door to the cell. The bartender raised his gaze, then lowered it, with apparent shame.

  “I gave your assistant control over Hell,” Steiner began, stepping inside. “I made the same deal with him that I made with you. He can keep the shipment of liquor as long as I don’t see any drunken crewmen.”

  Bricket’s expression turned blank. Steiner realized that had been the wrong way to open the discussion. Before he could think of a better way to continue, the bartender surprised him with a question.

  “Do you play poker, Captain?”

  “Not much. I don’t like the chance factor. Chess is based more on skill.”

  “Success in poker requires skill, too,” Bricket replied, his disposition brightening slightly. “You have to be able to sense if someone is lying by their facial expressions. Some men twitch nervously. Others blink too many times. It’s a skill to interpret signs like that.”

  Steiner smiled to himself, remembering how Mason had cheated the man.

  Bricket toyed with his cane, his glum deepening. “Another important factor is knowing the odds.” He hesitated for a moment, then met Steiner’s gaze. “Frank would have cut my throat if I hadn’t brought him with me. I didn’t want to help him. It’s just that the odds were in his favor.”

  Steiner huffed, revolted by the bartender’s attempt to rationalize his cowardice. “I’ve seen you play poker. You’re not as skilled as you think.”

  Bricket frowned. “Are you referring to Rick cheating me?”

  Steiner swallowed hard.

  “Did you also notice that he only won enough to cover his bar tab?” Bricket asked.

  Steiner blinked. He had underestimated the bartender completely. “Why did you let him get away with it?”

  “I needed the companionship. Most of the crew, including Rick, envy me because I am wealthier than they are. They merely tolerate me because they want my liquor.”

  Steiner thought back to the night that he and Suzanne had secretly entered the bar. He remembered how all the patrons had acted disrespectfully toward Bricket. A small part of him sympathized with the man. Bricket was as much an outsider among the crew as he was.

  “What do you think I ought to do with you now?” Steiner asked.

  “Lock me up like you have, if you can afford to.” Bricket poked his cane against the floor. “I assume the computers are already beginning to malfunction—not that I sabotaged them or anything devious like that. Those machines are ancient. Some of the components are not even compatible with each other. I have to fiddle with them daily just to keep them functioning.”

  “Can I trust you not to betray me again?” Steiner asked.

  Bricket sighed heavily, his body sinking into the cot’s mattress. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “Someone betrayed me once, and it cost me the use of my left leg.” He looked up at Steiner. “I vowed to myself never to have faith in anything but the odds. Until now, they’ve never failed me. If I were in your place, I’d say the odds were against trusting me.”

  Steiner stood up and held out his hand. “I’ll give you another chance.”

  Bricket’s eyes fixed on the offered hand, then shifted to Steiner. “Why?”

  “Call it a judgment based on your facial expressions.”

  Bricket opened his mouth, but he seemed so stunned that he couldn’t speak. After a moment, he grasped the offered hand and lifted himself to his feet. “You won’t regret this.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Steiner led Bricket out while Pearce glared at them from the window on the neighboring door.

  “What about my bar?”

  “Consider this a probationary period. If you do well, I’ll let you have your bar back, too.”

  Bricket bit his lip. “Anything to be free of that cell.”

  As they made their way from the brig, Steiner wondered if Bricket might have been acting. Bricket might be leading him along until another opportunity to betray him arose.

  Steiner took the bartender to the command center first. When they arrived, Steiner found it odd that Tramer wasn’t anywhere around. The cyborg rarely left the security monitors unattended.

  “Rick’s been complaining that the left screen on the helm is emitting ghost images,” Steiner told Bricket. “Make that your first priority.”

  At the mention of his name, Mason, who sat at the opposite side of the defective console, glared over at his old poker partner. It was a look of contempt, perhaps even hatred.

  While Bricket detached the maintenance panel, he glanced over at Mason, who was doing his best to ignore the bartender.

  “I’m sorry, Rick,” Bricket whispered.

  Mason instantly tensed, growling something in response. Steiner couldn’t tell what he had said, but the threatening tone was unmistakable.

  “Bricket,” Steiner scolded, then shook his head.

  The bartender’s gaze fell to the floor. He gave a weak nod.

  After waiting for a few minutes to make sure the bartender completed his work quietly, Steiner descended into his conference room to review the orders given to him by Jamison. Extracting the disk from his pocket, he accessed it using his personal computer. As he glanced through a listing of current events that preceded their orders, he noticed that Captain Cole had been promoted to the position of commodore for the northern border region. Since Cole had been sympathetic toward McKillip, Steiner might be able to convince him to help get Jamison’s tribunal bumped up.

  After reading the war statistics of the past year, Steiner discovered that the United Star Systems hadn’t won a major victory in ten months. A couple of admirals boasted of new offensives being worked out, but he knew it was just a smoke screen to keep the captains thinking optimistically. The underlying fact was hard and undeniable. The U.S.S. was losing the war against the Separatists.

  When he looked over the Marauder’s assigned missions, he found they wouldn’t do any good whatsoever to the overall picture. The five enemy outposts that they were scheduled to raid were so close to the border that they probably expected to be attacked. He couldn’t remember all the times that the Valiant had been given crucial missions that determined the direction of the war. Back then, he had made a difference. It was so frustrating for him to be tr
apped aboard a prison ship while the future of the galaxy was decided without him.

  Someone began pounding frantically on the door to the conference room.

  With his hand on his pistol, Steiner stepped to the side of the entry, then opened it.

  Bricket scrambled inside, his face ashen. All he said was, “Tramer,” and pointed up the stairwell.

  When Steiner looked up at the cyborg at the top of the steps, his body went rigid. Before, the mechanical man had always been cold and emotionless, yet now its face glowed with rage.

  “Mr. Tram—?”

  “Captain,” it interrupted. “May I speak to you in private?”

  Steiner couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. The cyborg had barely spoken to him since the outset of the voyage. What had caused it to do so now? Even though he was apprehensive about speaking to it alone, he was also anxious to discover the reason for its unusual behavior. “Please come down,” he said, almost immediately regretting his invitation.

  The cyborg’s joints hummed as it descended the stairwell. Bricket backed away from it, waited until it entered the room, then fled up the stairs.

  When Steiner sealed the door, a feeling of vulnerability swept through him. His AT-7 was useless against Tramer’s armor. Its powerful mechanical limbs could easily rip him apart before he could escape. With all his willpower, he concentrated on maintaining a firm posture.

  “What seems to be bothering you?” he asked.

  “Why is a mutineer allowed to return to his duties?” Its synthesized voice echoed within the small room.

  “I believe he made a mistake and is remorseful. He may still be an asset to the—”

  “Execute him,” it cut him off abruptly.

  The statement shocked Steiner so much that he was speechless for a few seconds. “Execute him?” he asked. “For what reason?”

  “If you don’t, the convicts will no longer fear you or the consequences of defying you.”

  Steiner was surprised that the cyborg was concerned about his image as captain. “I need to gain their trust, not their fear.”

  “You will create unrest among the crew. Death is the only deterrent for mutiny.” It spoke with an iciness that sent chills through Steiner’s bones. Ending a man’s life meant nothing to it.

  “I will not kill him.”

  The cyborg stared at him as if it was challenging his stance.

  Steiner’s comlink sounded.

  “Steiner here.”

  “Captain.” Benjamin Richards’s voice came from the device. “We just found Frank Pearce dead.”

  “What?” Steiner exclaimed. “How could he die if he’s locked inside the brig?”

  “Someone cut off the air supply to all three detention cells. Pearce suffocated.”

  “That’s impossible. You and I set a proximity alarm inside the life-support station. Isn’t it still operating?”

  “My console indicates it is. No one could have broken in through the ventilation shafts without setting it off.”

  Steiner swallowed hard. If he hadn’t freed Bricket when he had, the bartender would be dead, too. His breath caught in his lungs. That was exactly what Tramer had wanted.

  “Captain?” Richards asked.

  “I’ll call you back in a minute,” Steiner said. “I think I may know who did it.” He closed the channel and looked up into the deathly pale face above him. “Did you execute Frank Pearce?”

  Tramer remained silent.

  “Answer my question.”

  “Frank Pearce trapped you in your cabin without air,” Tramer replied.

  “How do you know that? Did you see him?”

  “People do not hide their words from what they think is just a machine.”

  Steiner gasped. Could the cyborg be programmed to respond as if it thought it were still a man? That might explain the rage he saw within its human eye.

  “Did you break into life support and kill Pearce?” Steiner asked again.

  “His death was necessary.”

  “Were you responsible for it?”

  Tramer didn’t reply.

  Steiner fought to keep himself from shaking. He was angry at the cyborg’s failure to give him a direct answer and a little frightened of what it might do if provoked. He stepped back from Tramer and took a deep breath to calm himself.

  “Who is in command?” he asked.

  “You are.”

  “Bricket lives.”

  The mechanical man saluted, then marched from the room.

  Steiner stared dumbfounded after it, recalling its nickname, “Killer Cyborg.” It could murder without hesitation. Because it thought it was still human, it was more dangerous than before. It might be insane.

  CHAPTER 12

  “AMAZING Grace” echoed throughout the small service air lock, which served as a chapel. The engineers worked together harmoniously to give the hymn a beauty Steiner had never known. Some waved their hands in the air as if having a religious experience. Steiner didn’t share in their worship, nor did he understand it. It hadn’t helped Mary. He was here for only one reason—to seek counsel from someone who knew Tramer.

  When the hymn ended, Daniels led the congregation in a final prayer. After the men began dispersing, Steiner approached the head engineer, who was gathering his notes into his frayed Bible.

  “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  “Sure,” Daniels answered. “Is this of a professional nature or a personal one?”

  “Both.”

  Daniels indicated for him to sit on the floor beside him. “Please, go on.”

  “On the professional side, I need your assistance again in operating the landing bay during the transporting of the trainees to and from the planet.”

  The ebony man smiled. “No problem.”

  “But there could be problems,” Steiner replied. “If there are any attempts to overtake the bay, I’ll be forced to blow its emergency hatch.”

  As Steiner had expected, the head engineer gave no facial response—not even one of concern.

  “I’ll provide a space suit for you in case that does happen, but it won’t protect you against the suction,” Steiner added.

  Daniels chuckled. “I don’t care for one. Thank you for offering. What’s the personal question?”

  Steiner stared at him blankly for a second, then remembered what he had wanted to ask him. “I need some advice about Maxwell Tramer. You’ve known it longer than I. It seems unstable, perhaps dangerous. Do you have any insight to offer?”

  Daniels sighed. “The best suggestion I have is to try looking at life from his point of view.”

  Steiner stopped him there. “You think that Tramer is a man?”

  “He’s not a normal person like you and me. He’s a living soul trapped inside a mechanical shell.”

  “Then you believe its humanity is intact?” Steiner asked, genuinely curious.

  “Yes.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I’ve seen flashes of it occasionally. He likes me.”

  “Why you?”

  “Because I treat him as a real person.”

  “I’ve never seen you and Tramer together. If it—or rather, he—likes you, why doesn’t he spend time with you?”

  Daniels smiled. “Maxwell isn’t comfortable being around other people. He secludes himself.”

  “Any ideas as to his reasons?”

  “Maybe it’s too painful to be reminded he was once a man. It might be easier to live as a machine.” Daniels paused. “Have you ever seen how everyone treats him?”

  “Most keep their distance.”

  “Exactly. They fear him. A few others act impersonally to him like they would toward an appliance.”

  Steiner swallowed against the bile climbing up his throat. Hearing Tramer being referred to as Maxwell was growing too uncomfortable.

  “What do you think that does to him emotionally?” Daniels asked.

  Steiner shrugged, unwilling to make that stretch.

&n
bsp; “But it’s so easy, Jacob. Maxwell acts like a machine to protect himself from his own emotions.”

  A sliver of doubt cracked through Steiner’s stone-hard convictions. Could Maxwell be alive? No, he refused to accept that. Maxwell was dead—that was the only way it could ever be.

  “He likes you, too, you know,” Daniels said.

  Steiner looked sharply at the head engineer.

  “More importantly, he respects your authority,” Daniels said. “I saw how he acted toward Captain Barker. That man behaved like a fool. Maxwell resisted him. However, he deals with you respectfully. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t like you.”

  That was as much as Steiner could bear. “How can you say that? That monstrosity has no regard for human life. I believe it’s been involved in the recent murders. It might even be insane.”

  The head engineer shook his head. “If Maxwell had lost his mind, everyone on this ship would have been his victim by now. He is completely rational.”

  Steiner jumped to his feet. “Seven years ago, it mutilated two defenseless people. Does that sound rational?”

  Still seated peacefully on the floor, Daniels picked up his frayed Bible and held it close to him. “I’ve assassinated many people throughout my lifetime. If anyone is more worthy of being condemned as a murderer, it’s me.”

  Shame flooded through Steiner. He shouldn’t have lost his temper with a man who had done nothing but help him since the beginning of the voyage. “I can’t compare you to Tramer. You’ve changed, found God, or something like that.”

  “Maybe he has changed as well.”

  “I doubt it. All I see is the infamous ‘Killer Cyborg.’ ”

  “Behind the hardware, under the deformities, a tortured soul cries out in agony—in some ways, just like me.”

  “I don’t see that.”

  “Look into Maxwell’s human eye. The pain is evident.”

  BEFORE retiring for a nap, Steiner decided to go to the command center and verify Daniels’s theory. One by one, the ship’s cameras followed him. In his mind’s eye, he could see the cyborg’s frozen stare boring into him.