Prison Ship (29 page)

“If anyone finds out that I gave you the frequency for the tracers, I’ll lose my rank.”

“I haven’t betrayed Mason, and I won’t betray you.”

She sighed. “It’s 65150.”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

She blushed slightly, then her anger returned. “I can’t believe all the trouble you’re causing me. Here I am, about to mingle with the most influential people in the U.S.S., and I’m under the threat of a possible court-martial.”

Steiner replaced the tracker within his jacket. “Just don’t think about it.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

After their car stopped at the New York Metropolitan Center, they passed through a security checkpoint and entered a lift that took them to a luxurious lounge. Flora sprouted from circular planters and scented the air. Colorful holographic artwork decorated the towering walls. Stars glittered through the glass ceiling fifty feet above them.

Suzanne tugged at Steiner’s shoulder. He turned in time to see her exchange greetings with Commodore David Cole. She appeared to be holding up well, not displaying any of the fears she had revealed earlier.

“Captain Steiner, it’s good to see you again,” the commodore said, shaking Steiner’s hand. “How is your visit to Earth so far?”

“Uneventful.”

“I heard that your officers came down with you,” Cole said. “Will they be joining us for the celebration?”

“They are occupied tonight.”

Suzanne fidgeted, her gaze dropping to the floor.

“Intelligence officers interrogated Captain Ronald Peters yesterday. He still insists that we have a Separatist admiral in our back pocket.” Cole chuckled softly.

Steiner faked a laugh.

“Military Intelligence has requested a copy of that computer program your specialist wrote to break into the battlecruiser’s weapons systems,” Cole said. “Drop it off at my office tomorrow before your ship departs.”

The color drained from Suzanne’s face. “Excuse me.” She moved quickly toward the restrooms.

Cole didn’t even seem to notice that she had gone. “I think M.I. wants to find a way to re-create your success in future engagements.”

“I doubt they will make the same mistake again,” Steiner replied.

“That’s unfortunate. We could use some more captured battlecruisers.” Cole grinned.

Steiner pretended to be amused, thanked the commodore again, and moved to the punch bowl to fill a cup with the bubbling ruby mix.

“Yes, yes, bring us more Separatist battlecruisers for our collection,” a familiar voice said. A seven-foot-tall man stood behind a nearby column with his back to Steiner as if he were purposely hiding from the majority of the people in the room. “If you complete a full set, we might obtain a surrender,” the man continued as he turned his head toward Steiner.

The penetrating gaze from the pale face with golden-rimmed spectacles was unmistakable. Professor Isaac R. Steele, whom Pattie used to call “Smarty Pants,” among other things. Very eccentric, often misunderstood, Steele had been a silent partner in McKillip’s Cyrian Defense. His face looked younger than his forty-five years of age demanded it should. Still free from graying, his blond hair was parted in the middle and feathered back on both sides. The rims from his spectacles sparkled in the bright room, further distinguishing him in that few people wore optical ware anymore, choosing instead a simple corrective surgery. Steele had claimed all cosmetic surgery was an expression of vanity and that he had too much of that trait already.

Steiner held out his hand. “Isaac, it’s good to see you again.”

“Yes, yes, let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we,” Steele said, waving his fingers in disdain. “Always uncomfortable with physical signs of greetings.”

Steiner had forgotten the man’s aversion to touch. “Are you still teaching at the academy?”

“Yes, yes, never left. Classes in astrophysics, philosophy, and ancient literature.” Steele smiled as if talking about his own accomplishments pleased him. “Teaching man’s past, present, and future, all in the attempt to forestall the eventual decline of all governments into the chaos of subjectivism. It seems to be working for now since it is a president giving you an award rather than an emperor.”

Long before the war, at the early age of twenty-eight, Steele had become the youngest professor of multiple subjects at the academy. At a time when loyalties of all military officers were under question, Steele tested the loyalties of the incoming cadets with carefully designed essay questions to determine who could be trusted not to sell out for a bribe and who would fight for their principles. Steele could remember every essay, word for word, of every student who had ever taken his class and could recite them all back.

“It’s strange to see you here,” Steiner said. “You used to avoid all social gatherings.”

“Yes, yes, but matters of necessity have forced me to come here.” When some people approached the punch bowl, Steele shrank back, beckoning Steiner to follow. The professor disappeared behind a spreading plant in an alcove of the room.

Steiner followed him curiously out of sight of the other guests. “Is there anyone in particular you are trying to avoid?’

“Everyone. I do hate reminiscing, and the dreaded small talk with old acquaintances. Chat. Chat. Chat. How’s this? How’s that?”

“Have you heard what happened to Captain McKillip?” Steiner asked.

“Yes, yes, of course. I followed the tragic loss of both Fern and Judith.”

“I hope you believe me when I tell you that Admiral Jamison had them both killed. He is a spy.”

Steiner expected a look of shock from Steele, but the tall man chuckled. “Of course. I know he is. Do you mistake me for some simpleminded dupe?”

Unable to believe what he just heard, Steiner stood speechless.

“I doubt Ralph Jamison was always a Separatist spy. During the invasion on the Day of Betrayal, I do believe he was our ally, but I suspect his relations with the pirating ring put him in a position to be bought.”

“You know about the link to the pirates that McKillip was attempting to collect evidence on?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I am certain much of his evidence came from me anyway. McKillip was protecting my involvement in the matter, but I had no choice but to come and speak to the president after the
Valiant
was conveniently sent to a sector of space to face two battlecruisers and a dreadnaught, alone. It was plainly obvious Ralph Jamison had become an enemy agent.”

Steiner tried to grasp what Steele was saying. “If that’s true, why hasn’t he been arrested yet?”

“Michael Lindsey and I both agreed that since Ralph Jamison was in such an influential position, we had to make certain he could do as little damage to us as possible. For the last month, I have been modifying our current jamming buoys near the border to create what I call the ‘Steele Net,’ which blocks all unauthorized transmissions into the New Order Empire. We only brought it up online today.”

Steele’s nose twitched. “Why do people insist on having flowers within a closed room?” He pulled out his handkerchief and sneezed. “Until the net became active, we could not risk tipping Ralph Jamison off that he was under suspicion. Our next step goes into effect tomorrow, as each ship will be redeployed from its current location to block off any possible routes back into the New Order Empire. Then we will begin an official investigation.”

Steiner soaked in the information for a moment. “So when I attacked Jamison, it was for nothing.”

“An emotional overreaction, resulting in the imprisonment of a good officer. I had completely given up hope on you, as I had Patrick Braun, until both of you surprised me by joining the Penitentiary Assault Vessel program and making it a huge success.”

“You came here to congratulate me?”

“No, Jacob Steiner. I came to this party to save your career.”

“How so?”

Steele reached into his dinner jacket, produced two of the magazines with the scandalous headlines about the success of the P.A.V., and handed them to Steiner. “By tomorrow, these will read ‘The son of Admiral Richina, the Emperor’s Executioner, in league with Captain Jacob Steiner, convicted attempted murderer.’ By this time tomorrow both you and he will likely be tried for treason.”

Steiner stood, dumbfounded. “How did—?”

“Surely you didn’t think I was an oblivious fool who might believe the alien story or the equally preposterous story you just gave Commodore Cole. It’s elementary to any keen observer.” He tapped his glasses twice. “I know that the only way to disable a Separatist battlecruiser is to use a command code, one the New Order had installed in each of their ships after the terrible fiasco the United Star Systems had during the Day of Betrayal invasion. If a battlecruiser ever became compromised, an admiral could access its computer with a single command code and shut down its weapon systems. Since an admiral didn’t give you the code, it had to be a family member.” He paced around the pillar, looking rather proud of himself. “There are three senior admirals in the New Order’s fleet, David Scheidner, Francisco Richina, and Matthew Patterson.” He held up three fingers. “Patterson isn’t married.” Two fingers. “Scheidner has three girls, who couldn’t be serving on your all-male ship.” One finger. “Admiral Richina, on the other hand, had two boys, Mason and Randy. Upon checking your crew manifest, I find a ‘Rick Mason,’ a poorly constructed alias that interchanged the first and last name of ‘Mason Richina.’” His fingers sprang out in the “eureka” expression that Steiner remembered him best for. Steele picked up one of the magazines, looking at the headline, which read “Prison raiders in league with Separatists to gain favor with the United Star Systems.” He shook his head sadly. “At the very least, he should have used an anagram.”

“He’s not a spy,” Steiner tried to explain. “He hates his father.”

Steele looked up immediately. “Of that, I have no doubt. Fathers often impose a perfect vision of themselves onto their children, resulting in the exposure of the hypocrisies interlaced within their own lives and driving wedges between themselves and the intended clone of their image. I don’t doubt his loyalty to you at all.” Steele tapped the magazine in Steiner’s hand. “But that’s the kind of sensational exploitation they’ll thrive on.”

“What can I do about it?”

“Your only hope is that Commodore Cole explains to everyone at Military Intelligence exactly how your computer specialist cracked a New Order command code, or you’ll never make it out of the space docks again.”

Steiner shrugged his shoulders, defeated by his situation. Perhaps Steele was right. If the instructor figured it out, the news services would, too. “I wouldn’t be able to convince anyone.”

“You are precisely right,” Steele replied with a smile. “But I can.” His hand produced a computer data card from inside his dinner jacket. “This is a little computer program I created last night. It’s a ‘smart brute-force-attack’ cryptographic computer program, based on previously broken Separatist code structures. This could have generated the password he used, as long as he correctly guessed the salted key, the cleartext word or phrase that finishes encrypting the cipher. Do you know what that was?”

Steiner had no trouble remembering the ominous phrase. “The future begins.”

Steele let out a single laugh, stifling it immediately, bringing himself came back under control. “So predictable,” the man muttered to himself. He handed the card to Steiner. “Give this to Cole and tell him that Bryan Sicket randomly heard another convict in prison mention that same phrase, and you’re in the clear. Rick Mason can remain undetected on the P.A.V.”

“Thank you, Steele. Rick will probably want to thank you as well. Why are you so willing to believe him?”

“Because I’ve never told you who my father is,” the tall man said with a wink. “And I never will.”

Music from an orchestra began playing in the central lobby. The people in the lobby began filing into the auditorium.

Steele straightened up. “I hear you are receiving the ‘Louis Harrison’ medallion. Frankly, I don’t know which Louis Harrison would have enjoyed more, the irony of having an award named after him or your receiving it. After the ceremony, would you care to join me on a visit to Patrick Braun in the hospital?”

“Sorry, I won’t be able to. I have another crisis I need to deal with. I heard a private donor is personally overseeing his medical care.”

Steele smiled. “You are correct.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Just don’t tell him that—I don’t think he could take it. Right now, he thinks the government is doing it because of his heroism.”

“Please get him to walk again.”

Steele patted him on the back and led him into the conference room. “Even if I have to design the legs myself.”

RALPH Jamison stood alone in a cargo hold on Earthstation, contemplating the news he had just received. His plan lay in tatters. All the years he had spent moving the United Star Systems into a new era of freedom, one unhindered by public opinion, seemed to be in vain. Jamison scratched the middle of his hairless scalp. How could he free the galaxy from the bureaucratic chains of democracy if he were exposed as a spy?

He tensed when the door opened, then breathed with relief when Quinn entered the room.

“What is the emergency? I thought you were going to be stationed at Tycus until next month.”

“I was called here from Tycus for a special meeting of the Council.”

Quinn chuckled. “Are they planning to surrender yet?”

“Haven’t you seen any news reports in a while?”

“I just arrived back from the Empire yesterday. I haven’t had time. Why?”

Jamison gritted his teeth as he answered. “The Northern Invasion has been defeated.”

“The base at Macrales?”

“Destroyed.”

The color drained from Quinn’s face. “How did the U.S.S. find out about it?”

“Steiner and his crew of convicts deviated from their raiding schedule and overran Hurot IV.”

“Impossible.”

“Ask the crew of the battlecruiser
Conqueror
what’s possible,” he said, raising his voice. “Steiner and his wretched band captured them during the attack on Macrales.”