Prison Ship (38 page)

Mason’s grip tightened around the handle of his mug. “Go to your death then,” he mumbled.

The bartender hobbled out of the exit. The five convicts at the counter bellowed with laughter.

Eddie shut the door, then ignited a laser torch. Sparks flashed as the giant made a blackened trail up the frame, sealing it closed.

Mason stared at the second drained mug in front of him. It symbolized his life—void of meaning. Sam didn’t play it smart. He should have acted more like Rand—

Mason threw his glass to the ground, disgusted at himself. He overturned his chair, then stormed to the exit. When Eddie saw him coming, he deactivated the torch.

“I’ve already started to weld it closed,” he said. “It’s too late to leave.”

“Cut it back open,” Mason growled.

Eddie set down his tool and stood up, towering over him. “You lost your chance,” he sneered.

No one had ever taken on the Giant and won, but that wouldn’t stop Mason. Just before he swung his fist into the massive body in front of him, a voice shouted out.

“Stop!”

From a nearby table, Richards pulled himself to his feet, bandages wrapped around his chest. “Let him go,” he ordered his officer. “The fight is out there, not in here.”

With a sigh of frustration, Eddie picked up the torch and changed the setting. “Both you and the bartender are insane,” he spat at Mason.

“I agree,” Mason replied.

DAVID Cole paced back and forth on the bridge of the
Magellan
. About an hour ago, they had reached the spot where the
Marauder
should have been if she were on the correct flight plan.

After Suzanne’s testimony, a warrant had been issued for Jamison’s arrest, but so far he had eluded capture. According to the admiral’s computer’s transmission records, not only had the stolen passwords been sent to his personal console but so had many top secret data files from the military’s mainframe.

“Sir, a message is coming in from the leader of the Council,” Commander Cromwell announced.

“Put it on the monitor.”

A small screen on the bridge came to life with the picture of Admiral Barton.

“Commodore Cole, I have some good news and bad news. Admiral Jamison has been captured aboard a cargo vessel believed to have been heading for the Separatist Empire.”

“Has he been interrogated yet?”

“Yes, that’s the bad news. He has admitted to stealing the military information and storing it on Captain Steiner’s Orders disk. Two of the crew on his ship possess the stolen passwords and are planning to take the P.A.V.
Marauder
into Separatist space through the southern border.”

“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.

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 pace. 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.