Prison Ship

by Michael Bowers

  Upon reaching the command deck, the weapons officer showed Steiner a layout of the surface installation on a computer screen. On the largest island, the base was built in a deep canyon, with fortifications on all the surrounding ridges. A mined jungle hemmed it in on all sides, making a ground attack impossible. If the Stormquest tried any bombing runs, the heavy artillery on the encompassing bluffs would shoot it down before it succeeded in hitting anything.

  Mason had been right. The place was a fortress. Maybe it didn’t have a flaw.

  “Skyport, this is Landbase, requesting a routine check,” a voice said. “Please respond.”

  Steiner’s heart stopped. Had they come so far only to be stopped? His eyes locked with Tramer’s. What were they going to do? Someone had to respond.

  “Stans, where the heck are you?” the voice repeated. “If you left your post again, the commander will put you on report.”

  Tramer moved to the communication console and opened the channel to the base. Instead of speaking, he scraped his metallic fingers against the microphone.

  Steiner froze, uncertain of what the weapons officer was doing.

  Faint voices and laughter echoed down the corridor from some approaching raiders. If they were heard—

  Steiner rushed to the entrance of the passageway. Rex and Bo, rifles slung over their shoulders, stopped cold at the sight of their captain.

  Pattie shushed them, pointing toward Tramer. The weapons officer continued to scrape at the microphone a few seconds more, then stopped and closed the channel.

  “What’s going on?” Rex asked.

  Tramer’s torso spun around on the pivot at his hips. “We were almost discovered because of your foolishness.”

  Rex stiffened. “We just came to inform you that the station has been secured.”

  “Both of you boys, stand guard at the air lock,” Pattie bellowed. “Make certain we aren’t disturbed by anyone else. Off with you now.”

  Both raiders nodded and left.

  Steiner looked at the weapons officer, trying to ignore his unnatural positioning. “What did you do with your fingers that caused them to stop their transmissions?”

  Tramer’s torso pivoted back to normal. “I simulated the sound of a damaged communication array. They may have been temporarily deceived by it. We should find the man they requested.”

  Pattie hummed. “ ‘ Stans,’ they said, didn’t they? I think I know which of the prisoners that might be. Short, little guy, a bit hardheaded. He tried to reach for the controls …”

  “You killed him?” Steiner gasped.

  “Nay, I didn’t have to. I kicked the puny runt halfway across the room.”

  “He’s okay, then.”

  “Yah, banged up a bit, but he’s fine.” Pattie frowned. “He’s a determined little guy. I just don’t think he’ll help us.”

  Steiner thought about it, then noticed the face shield in the weapons officer’s hand. “Stans hasn’t seen Tramer’s face yet, has he? I’ve got an idea how we might enlist his help.” He smiled up at Tramer. “Have you ever played poker?”

  Tramer looked bewildered. “No.”

  “Want give it a try right now?”

  Both Tramer and Pattie listened as Steiner explained his plan.

  Pattie broke into a laughing fit, slapping his knee in delight. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  Accessing the station’s personnel files and finding a picture of Second Lieutenant Stans Holtzman, Steiner confirmed that the man was the same one Pattie suspected. They proceeded to the room where the prisoners were being held. Whenever another raider appeared, Pattie would banter with him about their successful mission, while positioning himself as a shield between him and Steiner. When they reached the room, the weapons officer entered alone and dragged out a screaming man. Pattie snickered as he watched Tramer lock the struggling man in an empty storage chamber.

  “Very good choice, Maxie. I couldn’t have done better.”

  “Was Mr. Holtzman in the room with the other prisoners?” Steiner asked.

  “Against the far wall,” Tramer replied.

  Steiner smiled. “Good. Give me five minutes with Holtzman, then make your entrance.”

  The weapons officer nodded once.

  Steiner composed himself as he headed back to the room. His performance had to be convincing if their charade had a chance of working.

  “This will be beautiful.” Pattie’s smile disappeared into a phony angry expression. “Go get ’em.”

  Steiner burst into the room, finding Holtzman where Tramer said he would be. “You in the corner,” he said, motioning at his quarry. “Step outside.”

  Stans Holtzman stood up hesitantly, a bruise on his swelling forehead, and followed him out of the room. Upon seeing Pattie, the man’s countenance tightened.

  “Sorry about that lad,” the Saint said. “It could have been far worse—if the Killer Cyborg had gotten ahold of you.”

  “Is that what it was?” Holtzman asked.

  “Don’t worry—he’s a little busy at the moment,” Steiner said. “I need you to call the ground base for me.”

  Holtzman looked away defiantly.

  Steiner rubbed his forehead. “I don’t want to see the orgy of slaying that occurred at the previous outpost we raided.”

  Pattie crossed himself with his left hand. “God have mercy on their souls.”

  “If you don’t help me, that thing will butcher everyone here, including you,” Steiner said. “That last man refused to cooperate.” He shook his head sadly. “I wish he had.”

  “That robot thing killed Marco?” Holtzman asked, his voice trembling.

  Steiner almost pitied the poor man. “It seems to love murdering,” he said. “You should have seen the massacred bodies it left behind at the last place we raided. None of them would help us. Please, I’m begging you. For your sake, help me.”

  Precisely on cue, Tramer appeared in the doorway, blood smeared all over his breastplate and arms from the dead man at the entrance to the station. He gave a cold, heartless stare at Holtzman. Steiner remembered his own terror at seeing the weapons officer for the first time, but that sight paled in comparison.

  “I’ll help you … help …” Holtzman choked on the words in his hurry to get them out.

  It worked, Steiner thought, trying to contain his excitement. Pattie led the way toward the command deck. Steiner escorted the shivering lieutenant to the communication console.

  Holtzman looked back at the cyborg.

  “It’s all right,” Steiner assured him. “He won’t hurt you as long as you obey me.” He placed his hand on the controls for the communication device. “I want you to tell Landbase that a meteor damaged your communication array. Apologize for the delay in transmitting a response to their voice check.”

  Their prisoner nodded. Steiner opened the channel.

  “Landbase,” Holtzman said with a slight hesitation. “This is Skyport, acknowledging your voice check.”

  “Stans, what happened up there?”

  Holtzman glanced back at the cyborg, his hands trembling. “Sorry about the delay.” His voice cracked. “A meteor damaged our communication array.”

  “If you require any additional parts, just send Marco down here in a shuttle.”

  Steiner exchanged glances with Tramer. This might be the flaw they sought. He closed the channel briefly and turned to their captive. “Tell them Marco will be right down.”

  Holtzman did as he was instructed, forcing the words out quickly, then signed off.

  “Thank you, lad,” Pattie said, taking Stans by the shoulder. “You’ve been a big help.” He led the captive back toward the holding room, leaving Steiner and Tramer alone.

  “Do you think our deception worked?” Steiner asked.

  “Possibly,” the weapons officer said, blood still oozing from his breastplate. “I did not detect any hidden messages, but that doesn’t mean anything. Stans Holtzman spoke with very little inflection. The peop
le on the other end might suspect he had been coerced.”

  “Are you suggesting we shouldn’t go through with this?”

  “If the base has been alerted to our presence, it’s already too late to run. We have no other choice but to attack.”

  Tramer was right once again. If the fighters didn’t get them, the outpost could contact Separatist battlecruisers to intercept them before they could get out of enemy space.

  “I want to go down with the attack force,” Steiner said.

  “That would not be wise.”

  “I’ll take the risk. Besides, if this mission fails, we’ll probably all die anyway. I want to be there in the middle of it.”

  “What if one of the convicts tries to assassinate you?”

  “I doubt anyone will risk anything behind enemy lines. They need me to get them back alive.”

  The weapons officer paused for a heartbeat. “Very well. Stay behind the attack team.”

  Steiner nodded wordlessly. He thought that was a reasonable request. Why risk himself by being out in front? At least he would be there when the computers were accessed.

  Moving closer to one of the viewports, which overlooked the planet below, Steiner considered what they were about to do. It seemed too incredible. A bunch of convicts were about to attempt the impossible, to raid Hurot IV.

  CHAPTER 14

  ALONE inside the control booth of the Skyport’s shuttle bay, Steiner put on his body armor. Tramer had insisted that he be separated from the rest of the raiders until the launch. Through a giant window, Steiner half watched Rex, Bo, and Midas strip the furnishings from the tiny craft they would soon use as a Trojan horse. He wondered if the sixteen raiders Tramer wanted to take would fit inside the barren shell.

  Steiner stood up and tested his mobility within the suit. It had been such a long time since he had worn combat gear. His arms and legs moved too loosely within the padding. The sides of the plates scraped against each other as he reseated himself and began tightening the straps of his suit.

  A series of tremors rumbled through the deck. The door to the booth slid open to reveal Tramer’s pale countenance and piercing orb. “It might not be wise to let Rick Mason fly the shuttle down.”

  “Why? He’s the best pilot we have.”

  “I agree,” Tramer said, with a certainty that startled Steiner. “His skills are too refined to have been self-taught.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I believe he has served in the military.”

  “No. He has no previous service record with the United Star Systems.”

  “I didn’t say which military.”

  Steiner stopped working with his suit. “Are you suggesting he might have been a Separatist?”

  “That would explain the code he used and his extensive knowledge of this region of space.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. If he did steal the code like he said, he could’ve gone anywhere he wanted within the Separatist empire without detection.”

  “Perhaps, but that wouldn’t account for his ability to skim the atmosphere. By his own words, he claimed to have used other spacecraft to accomplish the same maneuver. No cargo vessel would have survived. Only military fighters with defensive screens equal to ours could have attempted the maneuver.”

  Steiner’s body began to feel sticky within the armor. “Even if your assumption is correct, he has proven his loyalty to us repeatedly.”

  “Has he? He has done whatever was necessary to keep himself alive.”

  “Why would he give us information about how to defeat the space station?”

  Tramer didn’t answer. Steiner suspected he wouldn’t.

  “He’ll pilot the shuttle down.”

  “I’m bringing Julio Sanchez as a reserve pilot in case I am forced to eliminate him.”

  Steiner jumped to his feet. “Mason will not die at your hands. For the mission, he will stay with me in the flank position. Is that understood?”

  “Be wary of him.” Tramer turned, opened the door, and thumped away.

  The entryway closed up, sealing Steiner in with his thoughts. His mind spun with the possibilities of Tramer hurting Mason, or Mason betraying them all. While at Atwood Penitentiary, Steiner had never heard Mason tell any stories about his life before becoming a smuggler. He had always thought it was because Mason’s earlier years were too dull to entertain a crowd, but what if the real reason was that he wanted to keep his past secret? What if he did have Separatist ties? No, there must be another explanation.

  When the raiders finished removing all the unnecessary instrumentation, Tramer surveyed the barren shell of the shuttle, then ordered the rest of the assembled raiders to file in. Each man brought one assault rifle since there wasn’t enough room for any larger weapons.

  Picking up his assault rifle, Steiner opened the door to the control room and stepped out. Pattie, standing behind the line of raiders, nodded an acknowledgment. Steiner smiled in response. When he noticed a medical kit slung around one of the armored warriors, he moved closer to that warrior and tapped him on his shoulder pads. The helmeted head twisted about, revealing J.R.’s face.

  “Captain?” the assistant engineer said.

  At the sound of the title, three raiders directly in front of them peeked behind them. Steiner recognized the startled faces of Henry Stiles, Digger, and Glenn Edwards.

  “Is there a problem, boys?” Pattie shouted from the rear of the line.

  They all shook their heads and faced back toward the open hatch of the shuttle, exchanging whispers with those in the front of them.

  Attempting to project confidence, Steiner met each of the curious glances as word of his presence spread up the line. “I’m glad you’re coming even though you don’t have much combat experience.”

  Being so vital to the ship’s operations, Steiner had never risked any of the engineers on a previous raid. Since Hurot IV would be their toughest challenge yet, he thought bringing J.R. for his medical training would be wise in case of injuries to the raiders.

  J.R. produced an uncertain grin. “Hopefully, nobody will need my services.”

  “Be sure to stay to the rear of your assigned team.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tramer beckoned Steiner with his spiny fingers, having prepared room for him right behind the cockpit. Steiner squeezed into the space.

  Mason and Sanchez sat inside the cockpit, prepping the shuttle for launch.

  Pattie helped the last few men inside the rear hatch of the shuttle. The cramped passengers groaned and cursed as they crammed themselves in to make space for the Saint. The butt of a rifle dug into Steiner’s right side while Tramer’s cold metal breastplate pressed on his left. Finally, the rear hatch latched in place.

  “Mr. Mason, take us down,” Steiner said, trying not to betray how uncomfortable he was.

  As Mason pressed a series of keypads on the instrument panels in front of him, Skyport’s landing bay lit up with red lights as the decompression cycle began, lasting only a few seconds. The outside doors split apart, allowing the glow of the planet to shine into the cockpit. When the shuttle accelerated out of the bay, the momentary inertia caused everyone in the back of the tiny ship to groan in response to the added pressure.

  Sweat permeated the air, mixed with Tramer’s formaldehyde scent. The once-loud, boisterous group of raiders became quiet. Steiner could feel their tension mount in anticipation of the battle ahead. His head was so close to Tramer’s breastplate, he could hear the mechanical heart inside pumping fluids through the oversized body.

  Hurot IV’s sun blazed through the front window for a few blinding seconds as Mason adjusted his trajectory to the one highlighted on the instrument panel in front of him. “We’re in the preprogrammed flight path. Twenty-five minutes until we land.”

  Looking at the blue-and-white swirls on the globe below, Steiner thought back to the last time he had visited Hurot IV. Once included within the United Star Systems, Hurot IV had been captured by the
New Order Empire on the Day of Betrayal. The water, which covered 95 percent of the surface and left only a scattering of islands available for human habitation, coupled with the weather, which created seasonal superstorms capable of engulfing the smaller landmasses, prevented any serious colonization of the world. Multitudes of automated water-collection platforms floated on the open seas, conveying the vital resource to one of two export stations, where cargo ships could transport the life-giving fluid to planets that lacked it. Back when the United Star Systems controlled Hurot IV, extravagant pleasure resorts had been built on all of the islands, welcoming guests during the calmer weather seasons, making it a once-sought-after vacation hideaway. Steiner had honeymooned there with Mary, two years before the war had broken out. She would have been heartbroken that the Separatists had installed a planetary base on one of the islands, making it a military target.

  “How are you enjoying the ride, Captain?” Rex whispered in mocking fashion from somewhere behind him. Almost immediately after he had spoken, he yelped in pain.

  “Show some respect, or I’ll put you over my knee and whup your behind,” Pattie admonished.

  Rex remained silent, though stifled giggles sounded from around him.

  “You heard what I said. Show some respect, or I’ll teach you some.”

  “Uh … sorry, Captain, sir.”

  “That’s better, laddie. You’ll get your fill of Separatist skulls to—”

  “Quiet, please.” Tramer’s synthesized voice filled the interior. “Listen.”

  From the cockpit, Steiner heard a strange voice. Mason looked back, his face pale. Leaning forward, Steiner listened intently as the message repeated.

  “Marco, this is Devin, please respond.”

  Someone from Landbase was calling the shuttle.

  No, not now, Steiner thought. If Mason responded to the signal, his voice would give away the fact that he was not Marco.

  “Marco, you stubborn fool,” Devin said again. “The commander wants me to remind you that the colonel is still down here on his inspection tour, so be on your best behavior.”