Prison Ship (32 page)

“Why are you so concerned about him?” Steiner asked.

“Quinn claimed to be just another convict, yet he spoke frequently to the captain in private. I found it too coincidental that he left the ship after Barker’s death while the rest of the prisoners remained on board.”

“Are you implying he might have been working with Barker?”

“Yes.”

“What if you’re mistaken? Director Riggs authorized his transfer. I trust her judgment—”

“Quinn is dangerous,” Tramer said. “Get him off this ship before it’s too late.”

“I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to,” Steiner snapped. “My superior made out his transfer orders. I can’t throw him off without authorization from her first.”

“Allow me to eliminate him before the launch.”

“No,” Steiner shouted. “You will not harm him.” His hands trembled. “How could you suggest such a thing? Down on Earth, I thought you’d changed.”

The deathly pale face glowered at him.

Steiner’s anger refused to be held back any longer. “It horrifies me to know that you can justify killing a man so easily. Have you become so desensitized to life that you can only see in black-and-white terms—life or death? Even if this man is as dangerous as you say, I could never kill him based on a suspicion, nor could I look the other way if you did.”

“He might destroy everything we’ve worked to achieve,” Tramer replied.

“How could he do that? He’s only one man.”

“That’s how mutinies start. If I had not acted against the two dissidents during the previous voyage, you would be dead, and the United Star Systems would have been invaded a second time.”

“I’ll assign Quinn to the engine room,” Steiner said. “Daniels will keep a close eye on him down there.”

“I will watch him as well.”

“We do this according to military policy. If you catch him doing anything disruptive, contact me, and I’ll throw him in the brig.”

“This ship will not be able to operate under normal military guidelines. These are convicts.”

“Nevertheless, that’s how I intend to run it. Is that clear?” The weapons officer saluted.

They continued solemnly through the docking tube.

When Steiner opened the air lock into the
Marauder
, he nearly gasped in shock at the sight of crewmen bustling around, preparing for the upcoming launch. He had not expected any of them to be ready. Over the ship’s intercom, he heard Daniels giving status reports.

“Just like a normal military ship,” Steiner said. “Discipline even when the captain is away.”

Tramer didn’t respond.

When they reached the bar, Bricket greeted them from behind the counter, where he was securing all his bottles within cabinets. It looked like he was happy to see Tramer.

Two strangers sat alone at a back table, talking softly to one another. Steiner kept one stride ahead of Tramer as they approached the men.

“Gentlemen, I’m Captain Steiner.”

Both men rose and introduced themselves.

Quinn, a muscular man in his late thirties, stood over six feet tall. Short, spiky hair covered his head, framing ice blue eyes that stabbed into Steiner.

In direct contrast to Quinn, Boon Wong was a heavyset man in his forties. A thin beard hung from the tip of his chin. He studied Tramer’s body from every angle and even probed one of his arm joints with his fingers. Tramer ignored the attention, probably accustomed to overly curious people.

Steiner assigned Quinn to the engineering section just as he had promised. Since Wong had a lot of computer experience, he put him in Bricket’s department.

Tramer instructed both men to follow him to their designated cabins. As he led them out of the bar, he glanced back at Steiner as if silently repeating his warning.

“I see you found Tramer,” Bricket said, limping out from behind the counter. “The tracker must have worked.”

Steiner slapped the device still strapped to his belt. “Perfectly.”

“I never thought I would say this, but I’m glad he’s back. That tall guy gives me the creeps.”

Steiner didn’t reply. Meeting Quinn had reaffirmed his premonition about the voyage ahead.

What can one man do?
he reminded himself.

Shaking the thought from his head, Steiner used his comlink to call the command center for a status report. Daniels responded, telling him they were fully prepared for the launch three minutes ahead of schedule. Steiner decided to use the extra time to return to the security checkpoint to see if Suzanne had shown up yet.

When he stepped out of the docking tube and didn’t see Suzanne, he checked with the guard to find out if she had sent any messages. She hadn’t.

“Suzanne, where are you?” Steiner muttered.

“Sir,” the guard said, handing his computer board to Steiner, “I just received this report. It’s concerning Director Riggs.”

Steiner read the printout, feeling his heart sink. “Not Suzanne, too,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the docks are on a tight schedule.”

Steiner returned the computer board to the guard, then stormed back into the docking tube.

AS soon as the outer walkway was sealed up behind Steiner, Jamison stepped out of the shadows and approached the security checkpoint.

“Sir, I did exactly as you asked,” the guard said. “I gave the captain the disk you instructed me to.”

“Good. Do you still have the one Commodore Cole delivered?”

“Yes, sir. Here it is.” He handed it over.

The naive guard grinned with pride, unaware of the trea sonous act he had committed. Jamison smiled back. With the disk in hand, Jamison strolled to a nearby window, which overlooked the P.A.V. inside the dock.

The battle-scarred old vessel reversed out of the dock, ferrying with it the disk that held the U.S.S. military data. Soon, Steiner’s band of convicts would cause the fall of the U.S.S. to the New Order Empire. Jamison loved the irony.

Once the P.A.V. had maneuvered out of view, he turned back to the guard. “Make sure that you tell no one of the disk switch.”

“No, sir. I’m just honored to be aiding a member of the Council.”

“One day, history books will tell of what you’ve done here today.”

LEANING against the bar counter in Hell, Steiner watched the bruiseball game on the giant video screen at the far end of the room. Twenty off-duty personnel huddled around the viewer, cheering for their favorite players. Bricket had installed the screen to keep the spectators from interfering with the game. It also provided him with the opportunity of creating gambling pools. Small scraps of paper and napkins posted on the wall blew in the breeze flowing from the ventilation ducts above, each with a handwritten gambled amount and signature.

Steiner lifted his mug up to his mouth, then hesitated. Suzanne’s face seemed to shimmer in the liquid surface. He swallowed a mouthful of the high-alcoholic mixture, trying to forget about her. Twelve days had passed since Steiner had learned of her death. According to the report, she had confronted a burglar during a computer theft.

A howl erupted from the screen.

“Oh great,” Mason muttered from the barstool next to him. “They’re doing it again.”

Steiner glanced at the viewer and saw Rex tackle an opponent, snatch up the yellow helmet, and sprint toward his team’s goal. He tossed the helmet over to Bo, just before Eddie pounced on him. Jumping over the giant security officer, Bo launched the yellow game ball through the posts, giving their team another score.

The bar patrons exploded into applause and boos.

“I can’t believe it,” Mason exclaimed. “I’ve got to invent a defense against those two before our next game.”

“Just keep the helmet away from both of them,” Bricket said, from behind the counter. “By the way, I don’t see Sam anywhere. Doesn’t he usually help you plan strategies?”

“Yes.” Frustration leaked out through Mason’s voice. “I haven’t seen him for hours. If he’s been spying on people again, I’ll kill him.”

“Spying?” Steiner cut in.

Mason huffed. “That stubborn kid has the impression he is supposed to protect you from every rumor of a mutiny.”

Steiner went rigid. “What rumor are you taking about? Why haven’t you told me about this before?”

Mason exchanged an uneasy look with Bricket, then answered reluctantly. “There’s always some disgruntled person speaking about wanting to mutiny.”

“Usually someone who can’t get enough beer because of the regulations on the bar,” Bricket added. “It’s nothing to be concerned with. I doubt any of them have the audacity.”

“Whom did Sam hear?” Steiner asked.

Mason sighed. “Yesterday, he overheard Simmons talking about a mutiny about to happen.”

“The navigator is the biggest coward on board,” Bricket replied. “He’s probably trying to impress people with some fabricated story.”

When the
Marauder
had left Earthstation twelve days ago, Steiner wouldn’t have believed any rumors of mutiny, but during the course of the voyage to the southern border, the attitudes of some of the crew had become more disrespectful.

Steiner’s gaze settled upon Travis Quinn, sitting alone at a table in the corner. The man’s cold eyes stared back. Since hearing Tramer’s suspicions about him, Steiner had begun to sense something dangerous in his gaze. It was as if he wanted to be suspected of something. So far, he had been a model crewman. Steiner glanced up at the security camera overlooking the bar, which pointed straight at Quinn. If the man ever did try anything disruptive, Tramer would be the first to know about it.

Who, then, is behind this rumor?
Steiner wondered.

SAM inched up to the corner of the junction he had seen Simmons turn right at. He suspected that the navigator would use the distraction of the bruiseball game to meet his contact. Sam had learned much about spying on people since Steiner had caught him that first week of the voyage. Glancing up and down the empty passageway, Sam extracted a wire-handled mirror he had constructed for covert viewings. He eased the shimmering circle past the edge of the corner. He adjusted the angle until he could see Simmons talking with Boon Wong twenty feet away. Sam had met Wong on several occasions and didn’t care for him much. The man often acted resentfully about his assignment to the
Marauder
.

Wong handed Simmons something too small for Sam to make out. Wong fingered the wispy beard on his lower chin as he whispered to Simmons. Sam strained to hear what was being said, but only could make out the words “cyborg” and “trap.”

Simmons smiled brightly and nodded as he slipped the object into his pants pocket. The navigator shook Wong’s hand, then whirled toward the junction. Sam whisked the mirror back from the edge, jogged back a few steps, then walked forward casually. Simmons came around the corner, whistling a tune, smiled politely at Sam, and continued toward the command center. Sam passed through the junction, making sure he didn’t glance down the corridor Wong was in. After he passed by the other wall, he looked back and saw Simmons dancing with glee down the hall until he was out of sight. Sam crept up to the edge of the junction and angled his mirror around the corner to look for Wong. The computer maintenance man was nowhere in sight.

Sam slipped into the adjoining passageway and went in search of him.

THE buzzer rang out from the video screen, signaling the end of the match. The BLUE team raised their hands in victory. Despite Eddie’s guerrilla runs, Rex and Bo’s masterful teamwork had prevailed.

Inside the bar, a surge of convicts rushed the counter, demanding their winnings. Bricket shouted for them to form an orderly line, but the greedy mob continued to push and shove each other. The bartender rolled his eyes and filled the outstretched hands, one by one.

Steiner’s comlink chirped right on schedule. After every bruiseball game, Tramer called to inform him that he was on his way to the playing field to secure the body-armor suits.

Standing directly under the active security camera, Steiner stared up into the lens. “Yes, Tramer,” he said into the comlink. “I’ll meet you at the cafeteria.”

A series of shouts rose behind Steiner. He whirled about in time to see one crewman shove another. A burly man jumped on the first man. Without warning, the mob broke out into a brawl. Fists flew. A pile of men tumbled down to the floor, clawing and choking one another.

Hulsey, the smallest of the security officers, sprinted from his post at the door and started immobilizing the men fighting on the outer fringes with his stun gun.

Bricket cried out for help as two convicts climbed onto the counter, reaching for him.

Steiner jumped up onto the polished wooden structure and kicked the two men in the face, knocking them back into the quarreling mass. He whipped out his AT-7. Two bolts rent the air above the brawling convicts’ heads, inciting them to silence.

“The betting pool is closed permanently,” Steiner shouted. “Disperse immediately or face the consequences.”

“What about our money?” one of the men asked.

Steiner aimed at the convict’s face. “What good will it do you with a hole fried through your head?”