Prison Ship

by Michael Bowers

  Shedding their extinguishers, the engineers raced to the ladder that led up into the bulkhead above and began to scramble up it. Daniels brought up the rear, directly behind the whimpering Spider. Rung by rung, Daniels climbed toward safety. A quick glance back at the pressure door found the barrier finishing its trek to the bottom. As soon as the appropriate keystrokes were entered, they would all instantly be sucked into space.

  “Put on your oxygen masks,” Daniels ordered the others. One by one, they all activated the backup air supplies built into their fire suits.

  An explosion shook the ladder. Daniels’s left boot slipped from one of the rungs. He dangled, held up only by his hands, until he could get his footing back. Spider screamed wildly. Looking over his shoulder, Daniels saw that the exterior hatch was still intact. The noise had been caused by the backup cooling generator bursting into a fierce inferno.

  Spider started gasping in short breaths, his fists frozen tight to the rungs of the ladder.

  “Spider, it was the generator, not the hatch,” Daniels shouted. “Keep going.”

  The man shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “If you don’t, we’re both going to die.”

  Spider remained still for several heartbeats, then raced up the rungs in a frenzy, catching up with the other engineers in seconds. The abrupt change in behavior stunned Daniels. With all his might, he followed behind him up into the dark tube cut in the bulkhead.

  If only they had a moment longer.

  The engineers in the lead had already reached the church and begun dragging the others up into the air lock.

  Please God, Daniels prayed. I don’t care about myself, but save my men.

  The other engineers lifted Spider out, then their hands reached down and grabbed Daniels. Immediately, he was drawn upward into the lighted chamber. He fell to the floor amidst his rescuers, and they dragged him clear of the hatch.

  An earsplitting crack came from below followed by an explosive rush of escaping air. The sheer force lifted them from their feet. The instant it began, it ended. Daniels landed a few feet away, the other engineers falling on top of him. A sharp hiss sounded, and his ears popped. Pushing a boot out of his face, Daniels rose out of the sprawled heap.

  Spider lay on top of the closed hatch, shuddering uncontrollably.

  WITH his AT-7 muzzle aimed at Steiner, Palmer reached down and retrieved the other pistol and shoved it under his belt. “You can come out now, Simmons. He’s disarmed.”

  The small man’s head popped up from inside the stairwell that led to the navigation chamber. His eyes darted about uncertainly, then he came up the rest of the steps.

  Palmer moved closer to Steiner, halting within an arm’s reach. “Give me your comlink.”

  With his gaze fixed on the pilot’s weapon, Steiner slowly disconnected the device from his belt and handed it over. Palmer threw it to the ground, shattering it.

  “We can’t have you calling for help,” he said with a smirk. “Can we?”

  Keeping his temper under tight control, Steiner glared at him.

  “I’ll inform Travis that we succeeded,” Simmons said, moving to the communication station.

  Steiner’s heart rate jumped. Travis Quinn? How could he be involved in this? He had been locked up in a detention cell.

  The navigator pressed a keypad on the console. “Engine room, this is the command center.”

  “Do you have the captain?” Quinn’s voice asked.

  Shivers raked through Steiner’s bones. How had he gotten free?

  “We have him,” Simmons answered.

  “Good. Our allies have all joined us on the lower level. Daniels and his flock are already dead.”

  Steiner gasped. His shock melted into rage.

  “Bring the captain down here,” Quinn said. “We need him to serve as an example to the rest of the crew.”

  “We’re on our way,” the navigator responded, then closed the channel and turned to Palmer. “Mack, give me the captain’s pistol. I want to be armed when we escort him down.”

  “Not a chance,” Palmer replied. “I wouldn’t trust you with it. You might accidentally shoot me.”

  Simmons’s face flushed. “I’m the one who introduced you to Boon. You wouldn’t be a part of this if it hadn’t been for me. Give me the captain’s pistol.”

  “No.”

  Without warning, Simmons grabbed the gun from under Palmer’s belt and yanked it out. Palmer turned fiery red as he tried to seize it back. In that brief instant, Steiner made his move.

  A swift kick sent the AT-7 flying from Palmer’s hand. It landed under the helm station. Cursing, the pilot dove after it.

  Steiner leapt on top of Simmons and both of them went tumbling down into the stairwell. As they rolled over one another, Steiner’s left hand closed around his stolen pistol. His head burst into pain as it hit the edge of a step. His fingers lost hold of the gun. He tumbled into a heap at the bottom of the stairs, with Simmons on top of him.

  Bright flashes exploded into the wall above them, showering down burning embers.

  Simmons scrambled over Steiner, desperately fleeing into the interior of the room.

  Steiner threw himself deeper inside the chamber, barely avoiding another onslaught of searing beams blazing down the stairwell.

  Simmons cowered in the far corner, his shaking hands trying to steady the pistol. Steiner pounced on the navigator and tried to pry the AT-7 from his grasp.

  Footsteps sounded from the stairwell.

  Palmer raced into the chamber, firing blindly. Steiner dropped to the floor as bolts scorched the wall above him. He saw Palmer’s pistol level—

  A bolt flashed out of Steiner’s peripheral vision and struck Palmer’s chest. The pilot fell back, convulsed, then went perfectly still.

  Simmons whimpered, holding the smoking AT-7. Steiner used the navigator’s hesitation to rip the gun from his grasp.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Simmons whined.

  Steiner aimed the muzzle at the navigator’s head and paused, watching the beads of sweat building up on the other’s face.

  “Please don’t kill me,” Simmons sobbed. “I can help you.”

  “You can bet on it.” Steiner brought the handle of the gun down sharply against the man’s head, knocking him out cold.

  Steiner jumped over Palmer’s body and raced up the stairwell. Sliding into his command chair, he sealed off all the pressure doors on the lower level. If he had been too late to stop a mutiny, perhaps he could contain it.

  It wasn’t long before Quinn’s voice came back over the intercom. “Palmer, Simmons, what happened up there?”

  Steiner activated the channel. “Make a good guess.”

  “My respect for you has increased, Captain. Maybe you aren’t as weak as I first thought. To the death then.” The channel went silent.

  CHAPTER 22

  DEATH looked more like a kaleidoscope of images from life. Faces of family and friends passed by in endless parades. The pressures of existence had faded into unwanted memories. Only a warm sensation remained, whispering to embrace it.

  Jacob Steiner strode out of a cloud of swirling mist, dressed in a P.A.V. uniform. He stood at attention and saluted. Behind him, just out of focus, many shadowy figures hunched, like stalking predators.

  Look out behind you!

  He didn’t seem to hear.

  Ralph Jamison materialized out of the haze in the background, snuck up behind Jacob Steiner, and pulled out a gleaming knife.

  Jake!

  Jamison thrust the blade into Steiner.

  No!

  Suzanne’s eyes popped open. The overwhelming glare of the outside world stung them shut again. Knowing only that Jake needed her help, she sat up from where she lay and saw a blurry form looking down at her.

  “Miss Riggs?” a female voice gasped.

  Blinking to orient her vision, Suzanne focused on a strange woman standing above her, dressed in a white uniform. Nausea swept
through her. Her head fell back onto a soft pillow.

  The woman leaned over, a smile widening across her face. “Welcome back from the dead. We were afraid that you might never awaken from your coma.”

  “Where am I?” she asked, not recognizing her own raspy voice.

  “Military Intelligence has transferred you to a secure location for your protection. Do you remember anything before you lost consciousness?”

  Suzanne searched through the dense fog that shrouded her memory. She recalled a reception with many inquisitive guests. A burglar in her office. A computer transmission. A statue—

  A barely audible cry escaped her lips. Her hands came up to her chest, groping for the object that should have been embedded there. Looking beneath her gown, she found that her skin showed no signs of ever being damaged.

  The female doctor sat at the end of the bed. “We did a nice job of reconstruction, don’t you think?”

  “How long have I been unconscious?”

  “Almost two weeks.”

  Suzanne caught her breath. Had she actually been asleep that long?

  The doctor leaned forward, and whispered, “Military Intelligence suspected your life might still be in jeopardy so they released a false report of your death. Do you know who attacked—?”

  Suzanne grabbed the woman’s hand. “Tell them that Jacob Steiner is in danger.”

  “THIS is the U.S.S. Marauder to any vessel in the area, please respond,” Steiner repeated into the microphone for the sixth time, his voice becoming despondent. Only static answered him.

  Simmons must have sabotaged the entire communication grid to prevent him from calling for help. The intercom system was out, too, except for the channel to the engine room—to Quinn. Steiner’s comlink lay shattered on the deck beyond repair. Without any form of communication, he couldn’t contact any of his security officers. He didn’t even know if they were still loyal to him.

  He glanced over at the two blackened holes blasted through the security station. Without the monitors, he had no idea how many people he was up against.

  A groan rose from the command chair, where Simmons had been tied up. The navigator opened his eyes. He struggled against the computer wires that strapped him to the chair.

  “Good morning, Mr. Simmons,” Steiner said, his tone threatening.

  The navigator stiffened. “What are you going to do to me?” “If you answer my questions truthfully, I’ll let you live.” Steiner yanked him by his collar. “After all, you saved my life earlier.”

  A frown creased Simmons’s lips.

  Steiner held up the AT-7 in front of the man’s eyes. “Where did this weapon come from?”

  “Boon gave it to Mack.”

  “Boon Wong, the computer specialist?”

  Simmons nodded. “Yes, he’s Travis Quinn’s partner.”

  Frustrated, Steiner slammed his fist into the armrest of the chair, barely missing his captive’s arm. He had been right in suspecting someone else.

  “Where did he get the pistol? Steiner asked.

  “The armory.”

  Steiner pressed the muzzle into the navigator’s right nostril. “You’re lying. Only I have access to the armory.”

  “That’s what I was told,” Simmons whimpered. “I don’t know any more.”

  “Was it you who damaged the communication grid?”

  “Boon told me to do it.”

  “Was there anything else he instructed you to do?”

  “To steal the ship’s Orders disk.”

  “Why? What did he want that for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Steiner thrust him against the back of the chair and paced around him. “Surely you must be aware that if their mutiny had succeeded, the U.S.S. would have destroyed this vessel. Why would you invite death?”

  “Travis Quinn is taking us to the Centri System, where we could be free.”

  Steiner glowered down at him. “Even if you made it to the outlaw sanctuary, you would have been pursued by bounty hunters.”

  “Not if Boon removed our tracers,” Simmons answered.

  “How could he do that?”

  “He’s a cyberneticist.”

  The hair on the back of Steiner’s neck rose as he realized the implications of what he’d just heard.

  “Where’s Tramer?” he shouted.

  MAXWELL opened his human eye and waited a few seconds for it to focus. He found himself staring up at a ceiling. Where was he? What had happened to him?

  He tried to access his digital memory to find out how long he had been unconscious, but it didn’t seem to be functioning. It had never failed to work before. He attempted to move his head, yet it remained motionless. None of his appendages responded to his will.

  His proximity sensors gave him a picture of his surroundings. He was lying on a table within a closed room, perhaps one of the engineers’ quarters on the lower level.

  Maxwell vaguely remembered Simmons sneaking up behind him and injecting him with some kind of drug. Since it would have taken several men to carry his heavy metallic body here, a sizable mutiny must be in progress.

  The door to the chamber whined open. Footsteps approached. A man—Boon Wong—leaned over into his face.

  “You’re awake,” Wong said. “Wonderful. We can begin.”

  “Begin what?” Maxwell snapped. “What have you done to me?”

  Wong smirked. “I’ve made you better than you were before.”

  “How? I cannot move.”

  “You move when I tell you to,” the oversized man answered, seating himself at a table at the side of the bed. “Behold.”

  A couple of computer tones chimed, then Maxwell’s right arm rose into the air. Maxwell couldn’t bring it back down. Another series of chirps commanded his mechanical body to sit upright.

  “How have you done this?” Maxwell shouted.

  “I’ve routed all your functions into this command box,” Wong answered.

  Wong instructed Maxwell’s head to turn until he could see the small mobile console that held his body hostage. Wong tilted it up on its side, showing it off.

  “It was quite easy to set up,” the man boasted. “I installed a bypassing receiver next to your central processing unit that overrides—”

  “Release me at once, or I’ll destroy you,” Maxwell demanded.

  Wong pressed some keypads on the box. “You’re in no position to be threatening me.”

  Maxwell’s hand lifted up to his face, stopping inches from his human eye. The fingers opened and closed like the teeth of a claw, ready to dig into his flesh and brain.

  The door slid aside. Maxwell couldn’t believe who he saw enter the room. Travis Quinn.

  “What are you doing, Boon?” Quinn scolded. “You may damage our prize.”

  Maxwell’s arm returned to his side.

  Quinn stopped a few feet away. A confident smile twisted through his hard features. No doubt he controlled whatever was happening on the ship. For the first time in his life since his transformation, Maxwell felt truly afraid.

  “So we meet again, Cyborg. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I’m enjoying it immensely.”

  “Boon Wong,” Maxwell said. “You are aiding a Separatist agent. After you have used up your usefulness to him, he will eliminate you.”

  Wong chuckled softly.

  “A waste of time, Cyborg,” Quinn answered. “He’s been with me from the beginning.”

  Anger built up inside Maxwell for his failure to see what should have been so obvious. “So you are both spies,” he said. “Why would you be here on this ship now? Barker has already been eliminated.”

  Quinn folded his arms and scowled. “I’ve always suspected that you were the one who murdered Joseph.”

  “After I free myself, I will destroy you, too.”

  Quinn tilted his head. “I’ve already made precautions for that event if it should occur. See this?” He displayed a miniature device secured to his wrist. “Boon has planted an e
xplosive charge right behind your head. All I have to do is activate this detonator, and you die instantly.”

  “Why wait then?” Maxwell screamed. “If it’s revenge you want, take it now.”

  A devilish grin cracked Quinn’s lips. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of the glorious end I have planned for you. I need you to take over the ship for us.”

  Wong typed on the mobile console. Maxwell’s body stood up from the table, and his breastplate dropped open, revealing the twin guns.

  Maxwell screamed in rage at his helplessness.

  “HOW many men are behind the door?” Richards asked.

  Steiner scanned through the sealed entryway to the engine room with his tracker. “Eight.”

  After leaving the command center, he had found Benjamin and his team inside the bar, trying to figure out what was happening. He was thankful none of the security team had joined Quinn’s mutiny. As a precaution, he had Eddie round up all the crew members who were not locked on the lower levels, and had them taken to the bar while the other two security officers helped him squelch the mutiny attempt.

  “We’ll need to find another way down onto the lower level and surprise the renegades,” Steiner said.

  “I agree,” Richards said. “Besides this central passageway, the only other route to the lower level was damaged in the battle with Conqueror.”

  “What if we used the maintenance shafts at the top of the ship to sneak into the generating station,” Hulsey said. “From there, we could climb down onto the lower level.”

  Steiner had forgotten all about the maintenance shafts. Only Daniels and J.R. ever went in them. Maybe Quinn didn’t even know they existed.

  “How did you know about the route?” Steiner asked.

  “I studied the entire layout of the vessel before coming on board,” Hulsey answered with a slight smile. “If I’m going to guard it, I need to know everything I can about it.”

  “That you do,” Steiner said. “Let’s go up there and check it out.”

  “No,” Richards snapped. “In order to get down onto the lower level from up there, we’d have to use the maintenance stairway.”

  “Yeah,” Hulsey replied. “What’s the problem?”