Prison Ship (19 page)

“Nice flying down there, Rick,” Steiner said, casually breaking away from the bartender’s gaze.

Mason grinned. “Always.” The pilot didn’t even look at Bricket as he moved past both of them and headed toward the flight simulator in the corner of the room.

“He hasn’t forgiven you yet, has he?” Steiner asked the bartender, thankful for the opportunity to change the subject.

Bricket removed the smoldering cigar from his mouth and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “I have a feeling that may change in just a few minutes.”

“How is that?”

“I know how to win people like Rick over.” Bricket pointed at the simulator as Mason started it up. A holographic image appeared instead of the
Marauder
’s flight program.

“Through their vices,” the bartender whispered.

A scantily dressed, voluptuous woman with purple hair danced across the simulator’s screen. Steiner moved closer to get a better look, while Bricket hobbled behind him.

Mason glanced over at them. “I haven’t seen a woman like that since my capture.”

Exotic music played over the simulator’s speakers. The pilot chuckled and leaned back to watch the show.

“I call her ‘Princess,’ ” Bricket said.

“That she is,” Mason replied.

Steiner watched as the bartender instructed the pilot how to control her actions by using the simulator’s controls. The program included different kinds of dances, but Mason went wild for the striptease. The pilot acted so much like an excited schoolboy that he seemed to have completely forgotten about the bartender’s betrayal.

“What about that base, Captain?” Bricket asked. “Where is it?”

“Hurot IV,” Steiner answered.

“Hurot IV,” Mason cried out, jumping out of the simulator.

“You’ve been there since the New Order Empire captured it on the Day of Betrayal?”

“I used to smuggle in that area. That place is a fortress. They even have a squadron of fighter ships there that can be scrambled out at a moment’s notice. They would obliterate this vessel—I should know, they almost did it to one of my ships once.”

“According to the captain,” Bricket said, giving Steiner a sidelong glance, “we’ve been assigned to raid it.”

Steiner flushed. The bartender knew he had lied.

“That’s a suicide mission, Ironhand,” Mason shouted. “They’d tear us to shreds.”

Steiner hesitated. How could he convince Mason of the necessity of the raid? If he lied again, the bartender might expose him. Just then it came to him: use Mason’s vices to persuade him, just as Bricket had done.

“It would be the ultimate high, Rick. To conquer the Separatist outpost that almost destroyed you years ago. Every fortress has its flaw. With your knowledge of the area, we would have the advantage.”

The pilot shook his head. “No, it can’t be done. The manned space station orbiting the planet would detect us long before we got there and send up the fighters to greet us.”

“The orbiter won’t be able to call anyone for help,” Bricket cut in, then flashed a smile at Steiner. “I’ll see to that.”

Mason shrugged. “It would be exhilarating to bring them to their knees, but—”

“Consider it the story of a lifetime,” Steiner interrupted, “the ultimate revenge.”

At the mention of vengeance, Mason’s eyes lit up. “Revenge.” He breathed the word, then smiled to himself. “It would be a good tale, wouldn’t it? I guess there are a couple of tricks I can use against them if we get into serious trouble.”

Bricket winked at Steiner as if complimenting him for his quick thinking. Steiner remained mystified. The bartender had seen right through his lie earlier and had still supported his venture. Perhaps he would do anything to regain possession of his bar.

When Steiner met Tramer to work out an attack strategy, he told the weapons officer all that he had learned from Mason and told him Bricket would work on a way to jam the orbiting station’s communications with the ground installation. Tramer displayed survey maps of the planet and images of the orbiting station that had been taken by telescopes and automated spy drones several years ago. The small satellite station functioned as a long-range surveillance post, making their approach difficult. If they were detected, forces could respond within the hour, cutting off their retreat. Much of their success would depend on how well Mason could evade detection. Tramer pointed to the single air lock at the side of the station, explaining that the raiding party would have to enter at that point, which required that Steiner be secured inside the command center for his own protection during the operation. Steiner hated being excluded from the process. He wanted to be a part of this important mission, not stand by and watch it happen.

“If I’m to be locked up here, you’ll have to open the armory yourself,” Steiner said. “After all, you should already know the password.”

Tramer didn’t respond. Why would he feign ignorance? Perhaps he didn’t understand.

“I want you to open it without me,” Steiner repeated.

Tramer remained frozen, as if he had shut himself off to Steiner completely. All the progress they had made together working to save the United Star Systems from destruction seemed lost.

“Maxwell, if we are ever to be effective as a team, we have to trust one another.”

The single human eye stared out into nothingness, as if deadened. Finally, the black lips opened. “I will do as you wish, Captain.”

Steiner smiled. Perhaps Tramer’s admission was a beginning toward building a successful partnership. After notifying Pattie to assemble a team of seven convicts at the entrance to the armory, the weapons officer left to meet them while Steiner remained locked in the command center.

Mason reported to the helm and started jumping the
Marauder
into Separatist space, skillfully skirting suns and retreating behind planetoids to avoid contact with enemy patrols. During the entire trip, they encountered no battlecruisers, just as Tramer had surmised.

When they neared Hurot IV’s solar system, the helm console went dead. Steiner’s first thought was that an enemy vessel had spotted them and was attempting to engage.

Mason rapped his fist against the darkened instruments. “I should have expected as much. There are automated jamming buoys throughout the system. We’ll have to dephase.”

Stars pricked the darkness on the forward viewer, growing in intensity until natural space appeared before them. The effects of the deceleration weighted down Steiner’s body. He strained to lift himself from the command chair and walk to the helm. “We’ll be spotted if we have to go in at standard speed. The fighters will be waiting for us by the time we hit the station.”

“Maybe not,” Mason said, punching a sequence of numbers into the helm’s keyboard. “I always keep an extra ace handy for tight situations like this.”

“What are you doing? Changing our identification code?”

“Yep.” Mason grinned. “I’m configuring it to an older code the Separatists used to use.”

“How did—?”

“It’s a smuggling trophy. I escaped capture several times using this little baby.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that you had this?”

“I never reveal my cards until I’m called.”

Steiner recalled Mason saying he knew some tricks to get them in, but he never expected any Separatist codes. He wondered what other little bits of knowledge Mason was holding back.

“What if they no longer recognize that identification code?” Mack Palmer said from the standby chair at the helm.

Mason shrugged, as if the consequences meant nothing to him. “We flee for our lives.”

Hurot IV grew in size on the forward viewer. White spirals shrouded almost all of the blue of its oceans. Somewhere beneath those gauzelike puffs, on one of the many islands, the fighters were hiding in wait for prey.

“Have there been any transmissions from the space station?” Steiner asked.

“No, all channels are quiet,” Simmons answered from the communication station.

“Do they know we’re here?” Palmer asked.

“Absolutely,” Mason replied. “They’re trying to determine why.”

Steiner pressed his intercom button. “Bricket, begin impeding their transmissions.”

“I’ve got them locked down tight.” The bartender’s voice sounded over the speakers.

“The space station’s pulse cannons can still tear us apart before we get close enough to attack,” Palmer said.

“Not if we skim the atmosphere,” Mason replied.

“What?” Palmer shouted. “The ship could never stand the stress.”

“The trick is to focus all the defensive energy screens to the bottom hull, then angle the trajectory so that the ship slides right across.” Mason whistled as he swooped his hand out in front of him.

Palmer shook his head. “We wouldn’t have enough shield energy to ward off the station’s pulse cannons.”

“If we catch them without warning, we won’t need any more protection.”

“Have you ever tried this maneuver before?” Steiner asked Mason.

“In a smaller ship, but the same principle should apply to any size craft.”

“Why risk all our lives on one man’s fantasies?” Palmer said. “I say we attack them straight on and take our chances.”

“Why play fair when we can cheat?” Mason asked Steiner.

Steiner looked back at Tramer, who stood silently at the weapons console. “What’s your opinion, Mr. Tramer?”

“Tactically, the more chance of surprise we have, the better,” his synthesized voice replied.

Steiner pulled his harness around him. “Sound battle stations. Inform the crew to strap themselves in.” He turned back to Mason. “Show them our hand.”

The pilot smiled as he worked the controls at the helm. The planet engulfed the front viewport and crept up the side windows.

Buckles clicked around the command center as each member belted his body to his chair.

“Channeling all defensive power to lower screens,” Tramer announced.

It was then that Steiner realized Tramer hadn’t bothered securing himself in a chair or harness.

“Here we go,” Mason said, leveling out the ship.

The hull rattled and heaved as they struck the atmosphere. Flashes of orange and red licked at the viewports.

The ship convulsed violently. The harness straps dug into Steiner, holding him against the sheer force jerking his body around. A burning glow wrapped around the ship, blotting out all traces of the planet below.

Despite the bouncing and shaking of the ship, Tramer stood perfectly erect behind the weapons console.

Perhaps he can magnetize the bottom of his feet,
Steiner thought.

“The lower defensive screen is weakening,” Tramer said. “Hull temperature is rising to five hundred degrees.”

The ship’s outer shell groaned with fatigue.

“How much time to target?” Steiner asked.

“Three minutes,” Mason called back, keeping his gaze on the helm controls. His voice betrayed doubt.

Even under his safety harness, Steiner’s body ached from being jolted about within the confines of his seat. As he watched the fiery glow ripple across the viewports, he wondered if he would feel any pain if the hull failed.

The nose rose. The burning lessened. Flickers of darkness broke through the streams of heat. Colored lights blinked from an object hanging in the space above. Steiner’s excitement grew when he didn’t see any warning lights flashing from the space station’s windows.

“All gunners, open fire on my established targets,” Tramer commanded into the intercom.

Steiner watched Tramer’s hands move with inhuman speed, pinpointing each potential threat and transmitting the information to the convicts manning the gunnery ports.

Lances of sizzling energy streaked out from the
Marauder
. As each of the space station’s hidden weapon turrets rose into view, it vanished into brilliant explosions. Glowing debris tumbled out into the eternal blackness or flared into the planet’s gravitational pull.

The battle ended in less than minute, with only one shot fired in defense.

Blackened scars pitted the surface of the space station. People stared out the windows, probably terrified as to what would happen next.

“The station’s defenses are down,” Tramer said. “I’m leaving to take command of the raiding party.”

“Take prisoners, Mr. Tramer,” Steiner shouted. “I don’t want anyone to be killed without cause.”

Tramer’s frozen stare met Steiner’s for a moment, then the disfigured head nodded once. He put on his facial shield, which masked the white glare of his skin. Servos groaned as the weapons officer descended the back stairway. On his way out, he used the password to seal the massive twin doors at the entrance.

“He knows how to do that?” Simmons asked.

Steiner didn’t answer the navigator but watched as Mason lined up the
Marauder
’s port-side air lock with the one on the orbiter. A single jolt signified connection.

“Touchdown,” Mason said.

“Mr. Simmons,” Steiner asked, “are you picking up any transmissions coming from the ground base?”

“No, it’s clear.”

Steiner’s heart raced. Could they have actually pulled it off?

“Mr. Mason, keep your eyes out for those fighters.”

The pilot gave a nervous laugh. “I’ve been watching for them ever since we entered this sector.”

Steiner moved to the security monitors and activated Tramer’s transmitter. On the screen, Tramer opened the locked firing range and led seven armed raiders through the empty corridors toward the main air lock. The metallic walls amplified the clamor of the lightweight armor plates covering the suits. When they reached the air lock, the raiders gathered in a circle around Tramer. Steiner could just barely make out each man’s identity through the face shield of his helmet.

When Tramer reached the air lock, he opened the first hatch, then turned to face the group of raiders. “If anyone injures an unarmed person, I will do the same to him.”

Steiner didn’t doubt it, and from the looks of the raiders, they didn’t either.

When Tramer opened the lock on the enemy hatch, Rex charged through with a howl as if this were another bruiseball game. His companion, Bo, followed right on his heels. The two raiders dodged energy bolts from a sole defender and answered fire, killing the man instantly. Shouting wildly, they raced deeper into the orbiter. Tramer stayed close behind them to ensure that they obeyed his orders.