Prison Ship (15 page)

Fifteen minutes later, Steiner exited the shuttle into the bay. The engineers were waiting, full of questions but no answers. After shoving his prisoners out of the hatch of the tiny vessel, Pattie introduced himself to the engineers as an old friend of their captain and began to explain what had happened on the planet surface. More concerned about what had happened to Sam, Steiner went and opened the door of the landing bay. Sam stood on the opposite side, tears running down his face.

“You’re alive?” the boy exclaimed.

“Didn’t you cut the power?” Steiner asked.

Sam shook his head. “I couldn’t move the lever.”

Steiner stared at him, dumbfounded. If Sam hadn’t saved them, who had?

His comlink beeped.

“Steiner here.”

“Captain,” Security Chief Richards said, “we have a murdered crewman in one of the gunnery ports, the same one that fired on your shuttle.”

“How was he killed?”

“You should see this for yourself, sir.”

“Send Eddie or Hulsey down here to escort two prisoners to the brig. I’ll meet you at your location as soon as I can.”

After Bricket and Pearce were taken away, Steiner secured the bay, then left with Pattie to see the murder victim. He smelled burnt flesh as he neared the designated gunnery port. When he arrived, he found a virtual bloodbath. The targeting chair had a body in it that couldn’t be recognized because it had been shredded by energy bolts.

“Holy Mother of God,” Pattie muttered under his breath, crossing himself.

Wounds like that couldn’t have been caused by conventional pistols. Only high-powered assault rifles were capable of that kind of damage—the kind of weapons that were only found in the armory. No one could have smuggled one on board. Even Suzanne’s weak security measures would have detected it.

Why had it been used to save Steiner rather than kill him? Who would want to protect him?

Steiner stared up into the camera in the upper corner of the corridor. It was fixed directly on him.

STEINER stood alone inside the brig, staring through the glass portal of the detention cell, which held Bricket. The bartender lay stretched across the cot, with his back against the wall, staring into nothingness. When Steiner had first met him, he had thought him to be a hard, unshakable person, but now he saw quite the contrary, a man who had lost his most-treasured possession, terrified of what fate awaited him.

Pattie burst around the corner, causing Steiner’s hand to reach for his holster. The big man had changed into a gray-and-blue P.A.V. uniform, with the sleeves rolled up, proudly displaying the Celtic crosses on each biceps. “I just saw Archimedes, and by the Blessed Virgin, I can’t believe my eyes.”

“You mean Maxwell Tramer?”

“Yes, of course, Maxie. We used to call him Archimedes, way back before he became that godforsaken creature.”

“When did you have a chance to talk to him on the
Valiant
? You weren’t even in the same department.”

“Everyone has to eat, and I made it my point to meet everyone when they did. Maxie got into making weapons because he admired this Greek fellow named Archimedes. Apparently this fellow could walk around in front of a large group of soldiers, and they would be terrified of him because he created inventions that could defeat entire armies.”

Their discussion must have been heard by Bricket in the cell because he was sitting up now on the cot, staring at the glass portal in the door.

Pattie glanced inside. “What are ya goin’ to do about the pansy?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Remember how many pansies got killed on Day of Betrayal for followin’ the leader, and how many good
men
they took with ’em? Space him, and be done with it.”

A beep from the comlink on his belt sounded before Pattie finished.

“I can’t do that,” Steiner replied before reaching for the device.

Pattie frowned. “It’s your funeral.”

“Steiner here.”

“Captain,” Richards said. “We’ve completed a search of the crew quarters but couldn’t find any trace of an assault rifle.”

“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 trapped 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.