Prison Ship (5 page)

After following Suzanne through the open outer hatch into the extended gangway of the P.A.V.’s air lock, Steiner watched as she paused before unveiling the interior of the ship. “Welcome aboard, Captain.” She pressed a keypad, and the door slid open, giving Steiner his first view inside.

A dimly lit landing area stood before him, with corridors running forward, to the right, and to the left, each leading to its own ramp, which elevated the walkways to meet darkened hallways five feet above the landing. Steiner peeked inside to see if anyone was hiding at the sides of the hatch. With a frustrated huff, Suzanne confidently stepped through the opening. Following her, he thought back to the last time he had been on one of these ships, almost ten years ago. He vaguely remembered its having three main decks and a command center sitting atop the outer hull. The air-lock landing area seemed to be situated between decks.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Steiner asked.

“The head engineer wanted to conserve as much power as he could until the launch.”

The silence felt deafening. The metal walls and floors amplified his footsteps. The air tasted musty, probably because of the outdated ventilation system, but at least it contained the correct oxygen mixture.

“Is anyone on board?” he asked.

“All forty-eight men,” Suzanne answered.

“Where are they?”

“Does it matter? This will make your tour much easier.” As they walked, Steiner touched the deep scars in the metallic walls from handheld weapons, as if someone had done it for fun.

Suzanne stopped at an adjoining passageway, which stretched the length of the ship in both directions. Loud voices came from the aft section.

“What’s going on down there?” Steiner asked.

“It’s the ship’s bar.”

“A bar?” he repeated, unable to believe it. “Aboard a prison ship?”

“It’s an incentive for convicts to join the program. I refitted the recreation hall.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to keep them sober for battles?”

“The beer has extremely low alcohol content. It would be next to impossible to become intoxicated.”

Loud cheers erupted, followed by thunderous laughter.

“Tell them that,” he said.

Suzanne sighed. “Ignore them for now. Let’s get on with the tour.”

She climbed a stairwell to their immediate right, which led to the upper-deck level. For the next fifteen minutes, she guided him through the vacant crew quarters, explaining how each door to all fifty cabins had been refitted so that the doors could be locked individually or locked in groups from the command center in case he wanted to secure the convicts during their off-hours to encourage them to sleep. Finally, she brought him to massive closed doors at the far end of a wide hallway. Accessing a computer panel embedded in the side of the frame, she entered a series of digits, then stood back as the entry split apart. On the opposite side, a stairway rose into a brightly lit chamber.

“This is the command center,” Suzanne said. “Like most of the vital areas of the ship, it can only be opened with a password.”

Together, they ascended the dozen steps to the main deck. Viewports surrounded the rectangular room, giving a 360-degree view of the space dock in which the ship sat. The floor sloped down to the helm console at the very front. At the heart of the center stood the captain’s seat. It differed from any Steiner had ever seen. A flat, semicircular control board with a domed cover over it was molded to the left armrest.

“I had this specially designed,” Suzanne pointed out. “The shielded section is where you can enter passwords without any of the crew seeing you.”

“Just how many different codes are there?”

“Ninety-seven.” She produced a computer pad from inside her uniform jacket. “I suggest you try to memorize them, so you won’t have to carry this around with you.”

Listed on the tiny screen on the pad were passwords for the command center, the armory, the landing bay, the two main air locks, and every single pressure door on board. The top code was highlighted. It read PAV:73993.

“What’s this one used for?” he asked, pointing to it.

“It’s the most important. That prevents other U.S.S. vessels from firing on you.”

Steiner’s stomach tightened. “Run that by me again.”

“Anytime another U.S.S. spacecraft passes near the P.A.V., it will request this password to be transmitted. If it isn’t, the ship will automatically assume that your crew has mutinied and open fire.”

“What if I’m occupied when that happens?”

“They’ll give you ample time to respond before they attack.”

“With my luck, I’ll meet up with an impatient, trigger-happy captain who will blow me away before I can.”

“You’ve got to think more optimistically. No one in the fleet would do such a thing.”

She guided him down a narrow stairwell on the right side of the center and introduced him to his personal conference chamber. The nameplate on the door read: CAPTAIN JOSEPH BARKER.

“This must be the man who was killed,” he said.

“Sorry, I’ll have it changed tomorrow,” Suzanne replied.

“No, leave it up.”

“Why?”

Steiner traced the carved letters with his finger. “It will serve as a constant reminder to me never to let my guard down.”

The stairwell on the opposite side of the command center led to where the star charts were kept. Suzanne guided him to the rear of the circular control console, which was elevated a foot above the main deck. The weapons console faced the front viewer. Six darkened monitors lined the rear wall. When Suzanne pressed a keypad on the console, the screens flashed to life, depicting vacant corridors.

“Surveillance cameras have been positioned throughout the ship,” she explained as she demonstrated by changing the images.

Steiner watched the quick succession of deserted areas on the screens. “Wait, what was that? Back them up just a little.”

Suzanne reversed the order, stopping on an overhead view of the massive engine chamber. Three small figures worked near the end of one of the long, cylindrical reactors.

“Who are they?” Steiner asked.

Suzanne zoomed the image in on one of the convicts, an ebony man with thinning gray hair. “That’s Phillip Daniels, the head engineer. He helped restore the P.A.V.”

Daniels guided a young-looking black man and a lanky white man in reattaching a piece of coolant tubing.

“What’s Daniels in prison for?”

“Does it matter?”

“I want to know each of my men’s crimes. Now, tell me.”

“A few years ago, he worked as a hit man for Mikey Ca landra.”

“Oh really. Our old friend Mikey, the most sadistic crime boss in the galaxy.”

“Jake, nobody is in prison for picking flowers in someone else’s yard. Many of these men have brutal pasts. Remember—you were arrested for attempted murder.”

“I sought justice.”

“A judge didn’t think so.”

Steiner held his tongue.

After Suzanne locked the command center, she returned to the stairway they had come up and proceeded down to the central hallway, where they could still hear the loud voices coming from the aft area. She headed toward the bow of the ship, showing him the training firing range that she had had converted from a cargo hold, with a row of training assault rifles aimed at light-sensitive targets on the far wall. Finally, trying to avoid the central junction where convicts might be, she directed him to a ladder well that descended into the lower decks. She opened the large landing bay, which held a shuttle and an Armored Transport Carrier to transport assault teams to planets or provide air support. Lining the back walls were four TRAC vehicles with pulse cannons for ground attacks. She ended the tour with the armory. The assortment of assault rifles, AT-7 pistols, handheld missile launchers, and portable laser cannons pleased Steiner. He had expected the ordnance to be as outdated as the ship, but they were top-of-the-line models. Before leaving, he packed two AT-7 pistols and a dozen grenades into Suzanne’s satchel and grabbed a handheld blast shield. He then asked her if she could take them to his assigned cabin, where he could set up his own personal emergency arsenal. She insisted he was being a pessimist but gave in. After they had deposited the armament, he tucked one of the AT-7s under his belt and pulled his jacket over it.

“You’ll have to give that back to me when we disembark,” Suzanne said.

“I won’t need it then,” he replied. “I assume our next stop is the bar. I want to be prepared to meet my crew.”

She rolled her eyes. “You won’t need to be armed for that.”

“I’m not as optimistic as you are.”

Suzanne shook her head, muttering to herself.

As Steiner exited the cabin, a flicker of light from down the corridor caught his attention. When he turned to look, it was gone. He walked to the end of the passageway and stared up at a lifeless camera embedded in the ceiling.

“Where are you going?” Suzanne asked, following after him.

“Someone just used this camera.”

“That’s not possible. They can only be operated from the command center. You saw me lock it after we left.”

“The indictor light was on.”

“It must have been a malfunction. The restoration team probably missed something.”

Steiner continued to stare up at the camera, hoping it would relight to confirm what he had said.

“Are you going to watch it all night or finish the tour?” she asked.

Steiner sighed and walked away from the camera. This was an old ship. He couldn’t afford to be paranoid over every malfunction. He followed her to their next destination to meet the rest of his crew.

SONGS and laughter mingled with the voices flowing from the bar as Steiner and Suzanne stood at the entrance. A sign labeled the place HELL.

“Part of your crew seems to be religious,” Steiner whispered, taking a cautious look through the open doorway. Cigar smoke screened out all but vague images. The odors of liquor and sweat permeated the air, testifying to the number of low-alcohol drinks being served and the patrons’ lack of cleanliness.

Steiner walked through the curtain of haze into the establishment. Hell it was, a place of cutthroats, thieves, liars, and murderers. No decent person would want to be there, yet it was filled.

Circular, varnished tables dotted the room, all occupied by groups of convicts. An antique, wooden bar counter, complete with stools, stretched the length of the rear wall. A burly man served drinks from behind it.

Steiner led Suzanne between the tables near a large poker game. Distrustful eyes stared, and cards were concealed as they passed by. A gathering to the left burst out in laughter as someone finished the punch line of a comical story. Vulgar limericks set to song rose from the far right. A couple of convicts huddled in a corner, engaged in an arm-wrestling match.

The bartender, a fat, balding man with a scraggly beard, wiped the wooden counter, oblivious to the proceedings. A smoldering cigar stuck out from his mouth. When he moved, he used a cane to support his left leg. His upper body was well muscled, making his movements quick, despite his disability. The shape of a knife scar on his right cheek matched the scowl on his face. He might have been mistaken for just another brawny thug if not for the glint of intelligence in his eyes.

“Two mugs, please,” Steiner said, trying to ignore the nauseous fumes of the cigar.

Without a word of acknowledgment, the bartender poured the drinks. Steiner took the opportunity to admire the assortment of various multicolored bottles shelved behind the counter. The man must collect them. The countertop vibrated when the bartender slammed two full mugs down. Just when Steiner expected him to demand payment, he returned to his cleaning.

Mystified, Steiner picked up the beers, then trailed behind Suzanne to a darkened corner of the crowded room. They found one empty table cluttered with abandoned mugs. She pushed them to one side, providing enough space for both of them to set down their own.

“That bartender,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear him over the noise. “What’s his story?”

“His name is Bryan Sicket,” she replied. “He uses the nickname Bricket.” She pressed a few keys on her computer pad, and a personnel file appeared on-screen. “He was a corporate embezzler.”

Steiner glanced through the information, noting that Bricket was an expert hacker. That would explain the hint of intelligence but not the rest of his appearance. “Has he always looked that rugged?”

“Eleven years in prison takes its toll.” With another touch of her finger, the screen changed to a picture of a gullible-looking, chubby man barely resembling the bartender. “He was disabled during an escape attempt seven years ago. Since then, he has been highly involved in reform programs like the P.A.V.”

Steiner peered over at the bartender, who grudgingly refilled a mug for another customer. “He doesn’t seem too excited about his current job.”

“On the contrary, he’s part owner of the bar. He splits the profits with the prison system. While the ship is docked, the drinks are free in order to keep the crew happy until the launch.”

Steiner took a sip of his weak beer, swished it around his mouth, then swallowed the bitter-tasting liquid. He watched as Bricket shoved back a drunken convict who had fallen asleep at the counter.
How could anyone drink enough of this swill to get intoxicated?
Steiner wondered.

For the next half hour, Suzanne went over the records of each member of the crew while Steiner observed their behavior in the bar. Most of their pasts sounded the same—murders, thefts, armed robberies, rapes, and assaults. Steiner found that small doses of his beer temporarily distracted him, making the time pass quicker.

“You have one more officer—the best one out of the lot,” Suzanne said. “He’s got a previous service record with the United Star Systems. In fact, you’ve worked with him before.”

“Really?” Steiner asked. “What’s his name?”

“Maxwell Tramer.”

Steiner had taken another sip from his drink when he heard the name. He coughed, liquid spraying out of his nostrils.