Prison Ship

by Michael Bowers

  “I’ll head for that area right now.”

  Barton frowned. “Not so fast. It gets worse. Since we’ve had no contact with Captain Steiner, we must assume he is already dead. The stolen data is much too valuable to fall into enemy hands; therefore, I am issuing an order for all ships to destroy the P.A.V. on sight.”

  Cole went rigid. “But, sir—”

  “No arguments, please. The other admirals and I have already decided we can’t take the risk. Too much is at stake. I’m sorry. Barton out.”

  The transmission ended. Cole slammed his fist into the console.

  “Commodore?” Cromwell asked with a salute. “Permission to begin targeting drills?”

  Cole had to hold himself back from striking the man. “Granted,” he forced himself to answer.

  If only there was another way.

  CHAPTER 24

  STEINER searched through the ship’s utility closet for potential weapons. The only items he found were a laser cutter and a pair of goggles that the maintenance personnel wore inside dark accessways.

  Besides those, he already had a box of grenades in his cabin, two pistols, and the tracker. Somehow, he had to use them all to make an adequate defense.

  As he exited the closet, he caught sight of the yellow bruiseball helmet in a corner. It reminded him of what he was up against. The entire voyage had been spent training the crew to fight, and now their skills would be used against him. They did have one weakness which he planned to exploit—no combat experience in the dark.

  Steiner knew that the best place to make his stand would be among the crew quarters. His next task was to open each cabin in order to provide more hiding places from which to ambush.

  While he moved from door to door, overriding their security locks, he began to question why he was preparing to do battle at all. What reason did he have to survive? All of his true friends had already died, Sam, Tramer, Daniels, and the other engineers. Self-preservation didn’t seem a good reason because he would rather be with Mary. Why not just end his own life here and now? One pistol bolt through the head would do it quickly. If he had access to the engine room, he could overload a reactor and destroy the entire ship, taking Quinn and the mutineers out with him.

  He stopped and leaned his head against the cold bulkhead, uncertain of what to do. In the past, he had always gone to McKillip to get advice about dilemmas like this. What would his old captain have said now?

  He envisioned himself walking into the man’s conference chamber back on the Valiant. McKillip sat in his oversized chair behind his desk, directly under the painted portrait of his wife. His fingers stroked his silver-tinted beard.

  “Come in, Jacob,” the captain said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  In his mind, Steiner stepped up to the edge of the desk but didn’t know how to begin. “I have no reason to go on,” he admitted.

  “When I brought you into the Cyrian Defense, I asked you how far you were willing to go to save the United Star Systems.”

  “I said that I was willing to fight to the death, even to a court-martial.”

  McKillip looked at him thoughtfully. “How far would Jamison go to cause the United Star Systems to fail?”

  “Jamison thinks by killing me, he is protecting himself, but he doesn’t know about Isaac Steele.”

  “Never underestimate your enemy. Your death can’t be the only objective; otherwise, Jamison would never have planned something this elaborate, would he?”

  Steiner could hear his words in his mind. Captain McKillip would have said that.

  McKillip stood up from his desk and moved to the chessboard at the end of it. “Just like in chess, you have to spin the board around and determine what the best moves are for your opponent.” The captain’s weathered hand twisted the perspective of the game board around so the dark pieces were facing out. “What are Jamison’s goals?”

  “Overthrow the United Star Systems,” Steiner answered out loud.

  “What are his resources?”

  “He is an admiral.”

  “Think outside of the box,” McKillip said.

  Steiner considered what Jamison had sent against him. “He has trained killers.” Suddenly, Suzanne’s assailant came to mind.

  “Keep going,” the captain said.

  “He has pirate contacts.” Then he thought of the smuggling code that had been used on the wall in the bar.

  “Keep going.”

  “By Tramer’s testimony, he knew Joseph Barker, and probably Travis Quinn, too.”

  “Keep going.”

  “He has access to all the revised troop deployments but no method to get the information out.”

  Steiner stopped cold. Simmons told him that Quinn had requested the ship’s Orders disk that he had received at Earthstation.

  Quinn must be one of the pirates Jamison had met. Jamison could have sent an assassin to murder Suzanne, which would allow him to be able to forge documents in her name and place Quinn and Boon Wong on the Marauder, arm them with some of the passwords—for the sole purpose of smuggling all the United Star Systems’ new ship deployments to the New Order Empire on the Orders disk. The information would most likely lead to another invasion and possible downfall of the last form of democracy in the galaxy.

  McKillip smiled. “Good man. Now, fulfill your duty.”

  Breaking the reverie with newfound purpose, Steiner continued opening cabin doors. He had to find a way to win this battle at any cost, but how could he possibly do it alone?

  “Captain,” a voice shouted through the empty corridor.

  Steiner whipped his pistol out and spun around. When he saw Bricket hobbling toward him, his muscles relaxed. He slipped his gun back into its holster.

  “How can a crippled man be of service?” Bricket asked.

  “I’m relieved to have an ally.” Steiner grasped the bartender’s outstretched hand. “The command center needs to be guarded. If what I suspect is true, the whole crew is in great danger.”

  Steiner explained his theory about Quinn being a Separatist agent trying to smuggle secret military data into the Separatist Empire. To provide Bricket with a defense, he told him the passwords for both the command center and Pressure Door C-1 leading to the forward section.

  “That’ll hold the cutthroats off for a while.” Bricket pulled a cigar out of his pocket and bit the end of it off. “While I’m up there, I’ll try to piece together the communication array.”

  Footsteps echoed from down the passageway. Steiner drew his gun again.

  “Don’t fire,” Mason shouted. “It’s just me.”

  The cigar dropped from Bricket’s mouth.

  “Consider me Sam’s replacement,” Mason answered.

  A belly laugh exploded from the bartender. “There’s audacity under your thick hide after all.”

  “It’s brains that I’m lacking.”

  “You may not think that after I tell you what Steiner told me. You and I must protect the command center.”

  “What is Ironhand going to be doing while we’re up there?”

  Steiner answered for himself. “Confronting the mutineers head-on.”

  “Alone?” Mason exclaimed.

  “I have no other choice—don’t worry, I’ve set a few traps.” Bricket smiled as he leaned over and retrieved his cigar. “Traps, huh? That gives me an idea.” He snubbed out the lit end of the butt and dropped the stick into his pocket.

  “Do you have any extra weapons?” Mason asked Steiner.

  “An extra pistol.” Steiner pulled it out from under his belt.

  Mason rolled his eyes. “That sure builds my confidence, especially since we’ll be up against assault rifles.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bricket replied. “I’ve got an idea for a trap we can use. You won’t even need a gun.”

  “What?” Mason exclaimed.

  “I’ll tell you my idea on the way because we don’t have much time.”

  Mason stared at Bricket, who limped away at a brisk p
ace. With a sideways glance at Steiner, Mason took the offered pistol and followed after the bartender.

  WITH great care, Daniels picked his way along the outside hull of the P.A.V. Behind him lay the eternal blackness of space, waiting to pull him into its grasp. J.R., Spider, Fred, Charles, and Andrew followed behind him in procession.

  Before they had left the church, J.R. had tied a cord to each of their suits to prevent one of them from tumbling off into forever.

  When Daniels reached a maintenance hatch that had been hit by a pulse-cannon blast during the battle, he shoved the exterior latch clockwise. The handle moved an inch, then held firm.

  J.R. and Spider moved up alongside him.

  “It has to work,” Spider pleaded, his face dotted with perspiration. It’s the last damaged air lock we’ve found. Try it again—please.”

  “It’s locked tight,” Daniels said.

  “I knew I should have stayed behind,” Spider whined. “I’m going to die in space.”

  Daniels turned Spider’s helmet to face his own. “Relax. There might be another hatch near the front of the ship. We’re not lost yet. Are you with me?” When Spider nodded, Daniels patted his shoulder.

  J.R. grinned at Spider. “Good ol’ Spide.”

  Daniels started forward again. A quick glimpse at his suit’s oxygen indicator told him they didn’t have much time left.

  WITH a kick of Julio Sanchez’s boot, the cutout circle of metal fell through and landed on the far side with a deep thud that vibrated through the floor. Dressed in full body armor and armed with an assault rifle, Julio stepped through the large hole in Pressure Door C-3. Since small arms were useless against his suit, there was no need for caution.

  The targeting computer within his helmet searched the empty corridor ahead and found nothing. The captain must be hiding somewhere farther into the vessel.

  When he motioned behind him, Rex and Bo rushed through the opening and charged past him, bumping against his shoulder. They raced into the cafeteria, which lay twenty feet away, and began shooting wildly. Startled, Julio sprinted to the entrance, peeked inside, and saw the two raiders hurling bolts into the tables, shattering them into twisted debris. Rex lifted his portable missile launcher. A howl rang out just before a missile launched into the kitchen. A thunderous eruption of flames consumed the section, expelling white-hot fragments in every direction. Julio backed out as black fumes billowed out from the cafeteria’s doorway. It took several coughs to clear his lungs of the poisonous vapors.

  From out of the dark cloud, the two destructors appeared, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

  “You’re next, Captain Steiner,” Rex shouted into the heart of the ship.

  Weapons held ready, they charged ahead.

  Julio looked behind him at the confused faces of the six other raiders who had come through the blasted-out hole.

  “It’s nothing,” he announced, motioning them to follow. “The captain isn’t anywhere around.”

  When he turned to lead the team forward, he caught sight of Rex and Bo at the end of the corridor, searing the walls and roaring with glee.

  Reckless idiots,Julio thought.

  STEINER heard the explosions as he sat at the main terminal in the computer room. He tried not to think anything of it. His fingers danced upon the keyboard, commanding the lights in the crew section to die. Darkness engulfed the room, broken only by the faint glows of instrument panels. Steiner lowered the maintenance goggles over his eyes. The lens painted his surroundings in pale green.

  Leaving the computer room, he raced through the green-highlighted corridors until he reached the site where he planned to make his stand.

  Rifle blasts echoed from the rear of the ship, getting closer and louder.

  Armed with his pistol, tracker, and laser cutter, Steiner knocked one of the ceiling panels aside. He lifted himself into the tight crawl space above, then replaced the panel. Lying perfectly still, he listened to loud taunts growing in volume.

  When he twisted his body to a more comfortable position, the sole grenade attached to his belt dug into his side, reminding him of its purpose. If all else failed, he would use it to commit suicide and take as many mutineers as possible with him.

  His thoughts then turned to Mary. In his mind’s eye, he could still see her, feel her, and even smell her perfume.

  “YOU won’t be able to hide from us in there, Captain,” Rex shouted into the pitch-black entrance to the crew quarters section. “We’ll be able to see you.”

  He and Bo activated the scopes in their helmets and raced down a center aisle of the darkened battlefield, their weapons blazing.

  Julio watched with contempt. That kind of cockiness would get both of them killed.

  “If we are to succeed, we must be careful not to throw away our advantage,” he told the six other raiders. “Fan out in pairs through the other corridors. Use your digital enhancers and targeting computers. Check inside each open cabin. Report immediately if you find anything suspicious.”

  “Will we have to share the reward?” Dante asked.

  Julio sneered. “Let’s worry about that later.”

  Peter and Fritz went down a far right passageway, while Glenn and Dicer disappeared to the left. Midas elected to remain behind in case the captain tried to backtrack. Julio signaled the remaining single raider, Dante, to follow him down another aisle.

  The scopes bathed the interiors of the bedchambers in multicolored hues that brought out every detail. There were cots and bags of belongings, but no captain.

  When Dante disappeared into one of the cabins for a few minutes, Julio decided to investigate. He found the man pulling a decorative dagger out of one of the bundles. Disgusted, Julio grabbed the knife away and glared at him until the thief went back to his patrol.

  When Julio laid the blade down, the glistening jewels from its handle beckoned to him, so he slipped it inside his suit.

  STEINER’S legs had cramped up, yet he stayed motionless. The tracker’s screen indicated that two mutineers were closing on his position, searching inside each cabin along the way.

  Anxiety built within him as each second passed. His blood pumped faster and faster until his head throbbed from the pressure. He swallowed but couldn’t wet his throat.

  When footsteps sounded near him, he raised the ceiling plate a half an inch, then froze when he heard faint whispers exchanged below. His lungs ached for air, but he feared to fill them. The voices went still.

  Holding his breath, Steiner snuck the plate back just enough to provide room for his arm to reach through. Noiselessly, he pulled the laser cutter out from under his belt and held it ready. With his other hand, he drew his gun.

  An armor-clad figure moved under the slit, then paused to look down the corridor. Steiner had to act fast—if the raider happened to glance up, all would be lost.

  With the cutter’s blade enabled, he reached down and sliced through the helmet’s power cable. It went dead, blinding its wearer.

  Immediately, Steiner exploded some bolts from his pistol into the floor near the man’s feet. The startled raider thrashed about, discharging his rifle. A section of the crawl space two feet away from Steiner erupted into fiery debris. A guttural cry sounded. Someone dropped to the floor.

  “Fritz?” the mutineer asked. “Where are you?”

  No answer.

  Steiner thrust the panel aside. He jumped down on top of the man, jerked his head back, and slit his throat. Blood spilled down the front of the convulsing body.

  The other raider, Fritz, lay several feet away, punctured with two smoking holes.

  When Steiner pried the assault rifle away from his victim, he heard someone approaching from the far end of the corridor. He flung himself backward a millisecond before the air was rent apart by fiery beams.

  His back impacted squarely against the floor inside a doorway. The assault gun flew from his grip into the interior of the chamber.

  Curses echoed from outside in the hall,
followed by approaching footfalls.

  Steiner scrambled after his weapon, snatched it up, and rushed back to the entrance. He lanced out energy blasts at the advancing raider. Two beams ate away at the man’s armor before he took cover inside a cabin twenty feet away.

  Steiner knew it wouldn’t be long before the other mutineers joined in on the attack.

  He stepped into the corridor, rapid-firing at the raider, then sprinted in the opposite direction, toward another cabin thirty feet away. Just before he reached it, bolts tore into the doorframe, blocking his way. He dove beneath the searing streaks and rolled through to safety.

  A cry of rage from the mutineer testified to the success of his tactic.

  Steiner scooped up the single grenade that he had earlier planted on top of a cot, activated it, then stuffed it under the mattress, where a pile of them lay. In nine seconds, they would all ignite.

  With his rifle in hand, he squeezed into the open air vent. He pulled the sheet lining the inside of the tunnel until the blast shield it was tied to covered the entry. Darkness shrouded everything except the distant light shining from the life-support station. Steiner crawled toward his escape.

  Weapon blasts erupted inside the room behind him. The raider must be shooting blindly, searching for a target.

  Then everything went silent.

  Teeth clenched, Steiner scrabbled forward in a maddened frenzy, his limbs banging against the walls of the tight passageway. He had lost count of the seconds left on the grenades.

  Three feet separated him from his sanctuary, when he heard the blast shield being moved aside.

  “Gotcha.” A voice echoed into the tunnel.

  No, Steiner screamed silently with one final lunge.

  Light flooded the shaft, accompanied by a deafening noise. He dropped to the floor of the life-support station as a geyser of fire and debris shot out from the vent like a cannon.

  After a few seconds, it died out, leaving the chamber in a smoky haze. Thankfully, the air generator continued its steady drone even though it had been dented in several places.