Prison Ship (33 page)

The man backed away. The rest of the crowd started leaving, grumbling among themselves.

Looking at the scraps of paper littered on the ground, Steiner found it hard to believe these were the same convicts who raided Hurot IV and captured a Separatist battlecruiser. What could have caused the change in attitude?

Among the couple of notes still clinging to the wall was one that he recognized as a type of smuggling code. He snatched up the note, which was pretending to be a bet. He couldn’t decipher its meaning—but it had been a message to someone. He looked over to the table where Quinn had been sitting. Only an abandoned mug of beer remained.

IN his mirror, Sam viewed Wong as the computer maintenance man watched Tramer pass through a distant junction, then rushed down the steps leading to the lower level. Sam followed as close as he dared, keeping the heavyset man’s image within the mirror’s reflective surface. He lost his quarry within the sloping corridor of the lower level. He crept forward until he found Wong sneaking up to the sealed entrance of the armory.

Sam trembled with excitement. The rumor he was investigating might not be a fabricated story after all. He wanted to run and tell Steiner all that he had witnessed, but he didn’t want to miss whatever Wong was attempting to do. He positioned himself in a niche in the bulkhead and adjusted his mirror.

Wong pressed a series of keypads in the control panel next to the door of the armory.

Sam’s breath caught in his lungs as motors within the wall behind him whined.

The door to the armory parted, and Wong stepped inside.

Sam couldn’t believe what he saw.

A slight noise caught his attention coming from the corridor behind him. Sam angled his mirror around the corner in the opposite direction from Wong. Within the reflective circle, Sam saw a face with pale blue eyes grin devilishly at him.

AS Steiner left the bar, he looked sadly at the “S” and “Y” that had almost faded and peeled completely away, leaving only a bar named HELL. He really missed Pattie right then. Carrying the scrap of paper with the smuggling code, Steiner entered the cafeteria and found Tramer already supervising Richards and Eddie as they finished piling the last of the body-armor suits onto a cart. Steiner stepped over to the weapons officer. The blue orb glistened as it focused on him.

“Have you heard any rumors of a mutiny running through the crew?” Steiner whispered.

“I have,” Tramer answered softly.

“Do you believe them?”

“Most rumors have their basis in fact. They surfaced shortly after Quinn’s arrival and have been increasing the closer we get to the border.”

“Since we left Earthstation, you have not caught him speaking to anyone, but perhaps someone is communicating to him.” Steiner handed the note to Tramer. “It’s some of smuggler code. I’ve seen it before a few years back. Pirates used script like this.”

Richards and Eddie wheeled the loaded cart of suits toward the lower level. Tramer and Steiner followed, just out of earshot of the security officers.

“For the sake of argument, let’s say Quinn is behind the rumors,” Steiner said. “What if someone is helping him? Maybe he even wants us to suspect him in order to remove any suspicion from someone else. Maybe you’ve spent so much time watching him that you’ve neglected the rest of the crew?”

Tramer remained silent for several strides. “I will increase my surveillance.”

“Good.”

Tramer halted as if he sensed something. The sensor orb narrowed into a fine ray that shot ahead into the corridor then returned to normal. The pale face turned toward Steiner. “Please return to the command center. I can secure the suits.”

“Why?” Steiner asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Captain,” Richards shouted from ahead, “we’ve found a murdered crewman down here.” The security chief rushed toward a fallen figure in the distance.

“You will not want to see this,” Tramer’s voice rumbled.

“Why? Do you recognize the victim? Who is it?”

Tramer met his gaze. “The teenager.”

“Sam?” Steiner mumbled. Without another word, he sprinted ahead, then stumbled to a halt when he saw the puddle of blood surrounding the body. When Richards turned the head over, Steiner saw Sam’s face, the eyes staring out into nothing, just like McKillip’s. Steiner’s hands trembled as he approached the boy. A wave of nausea swept through him. Leaning his body against the bulkhead, he fought to keep himself from vomiting.

“It looks like his chest was ripped open with a utility laser cutter,” Richards said.

Steiner looked at the mutilated corpse with two slash wounds across the chest but couldn’t believe it was Sam he was looking at.

“Are you all right, Captain?” Richards asked.

Steiner composed himself, reining his emotions in. There would be time later to grieve for his friend.

“It looks like he tried to write something here,” Eddie said, lifting one of the boy’s arms from the pool of blood.

Steiner bent over for a closer look. Scribbled in the red ooze was the letter “Q.”

Steiner whisked his comlink off his belt. “Hulsey, have you seen Travis Quinn?”

“He entered the bar a few minutes ago,” the security officer answered.

Steiner glanced up at Tramer standing motionless in the background. The weapons officer had been right all along. This ship could never operate under military regulations. The only deterrent for convicts was death. Steiner spun around and stormed down the corridor, his common sense sinking into a sea of rage. He remembered his helplessness when he saw the fuel from Mary’s shuttle splash onto the launchpad. He could still feel McKillip dying in his arms and being powerless to save him. He would take action this time. Sam would be avenged.

Hulsey shielded the entrance to the bar. When he saw Steiner approach, the small man stepped aside.

Steiner burst into the smoky room, his hand resting on his holster. All voices ceased as the crew stared at him. His gaze zeroed in on Quinn, sitting on a stool at the counter. Steiner’s muscles tensed as he traversed the maze of tables.

Bricket approached from the other side of the counter. “Captain?”

Steiner barely heard the bartender. His senses blocked out everything around him except his prey. His fingers clenched the handle of his pistol as he halted directly next to Quinn.

“A young man was killed just now on the lower level,” Steiner said. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Mason swivel around on his barstool, his mouth dropping open. Steiner kept his gaze fixed on Quinn. “He was slashed open with a laser cutter.”

Quinn sipped from his mug casually. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Before he died, he wrote the initials of his killer in his own blood.”

Quinn’s icy gaze met Steiner’s. The corners of his lips curled. “I should have aimed for his heart.”

Steiner drew his AT-7. “You killed my friend.”

With astonishing speed, Quinn snatched the pistol from Steiner’s hand and brought the muzzle to bear on him.

Steiner’s rage turned instantly to shock. The dark pit of the barrel stared at him, promising death.

“Captain, I’ve waited a long time for this moment,” Quinn said. “I hold in my hands the power to take your life just as I did the boy’s.” His hand twirled the gun, then slammed it onto the countertop between Steiner and himself. “But, I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you another chance. Try to take up your weapon.”

Some of the patrons gasped.

Steiner stared at the AT-7 just inches away. To save his image in front of the crew, he had to try. In his mind, he imaged snatching up the pistol, hearing the abrupt blast of energy, the crackle of Quinn’s cartilage, seeing the spray of his blood, feeling the victory. He focused on the handle of the gun and—

“Captain,” a familiar voice woke Steiner from his madness. He saw Tramer poised at the entrance to the bar. Somewhere beneath the shell of the weapons officer, he could see his old friend Maxwell, who had lost his family, his career, and his body. The air chilled Steiner’s sweat-drenched skin. He couldn’t muster enough saliva to moisten his parched throat.

Quinn obviously knew that Tramer could rip him limb from limb if he wanted to. “Too bad our little game was interrupted,” Quinn said. “We’ll have to play again sometime.”

Tramer marched up to Quinn and held out his metallic hand as if demanding something. With his gaze riveted to Steiner, Quinn lifted his uniform shirt, pulled out a laser cutter stuffed under his belt, and gave it to the weapons officer.

Tramer motioned to Benjamin Richards, who stood outside the door. The security chief came forward and shackled Quinn’s wrists.

“Which cell do you want him in, Captain?” Tramer asked.

Steiner realized Tramer was trying to repair his shattered image in front of the crew by asking such an unimportant question.

“Cell two.”

Tramer saluted, then nodded to Richards, who led away the prisoner.

Steiner could feel the crew members’ stares boring into him as he picked up his AT-7 from off the countertop and marched out of the bar. The weapons officer followed in formation a step behind.

When they reached the brig, Richards put Quinn into cell two, then sealed the door. A red light flashed, indicating the locking mechanism had engaged. Richards returned to the murder scene to help Eddie move the body. Steiner and Tramer stood alone in the brig, staring into the cell.

“It was not wise for you to challenge Quinn alone,” Tramer said at last. “You have damaged your image.”

“Why didn’t he just kill me when he had the chance?” Steiner wondered aloud.

“He needed to display his superiority over you in front of the crew. If I hadn’t intervened, he would have shot you when you reached for your gun.”

Within the cell’s window, Quinn’s icy stare locked onto Steiner. “I want to kill him now,” Steiner said.

“That would not be wise,” Tramer replied. “Since he has robbed you of your respect, he must be publicly executed in front of the crew as an example.”

“I see what you mean. Schedule a hanging for tomorrow, after a short funeral for Sam.”

Tramer nodded.

Steiner could have sworn he saw Quinn grin at him.

STEINER stood over the metal casket, staring down at his young friend’s body. The boy’s face looked peaceful. It almost seemed like he might awake from a deep sleep at any moment.

Most of the engineers were present for the funeral, as well as Mason, Bricket, and a few other select crew members who had befriended the boy during the voyage. Steiner had taken the
Marauder
out of starspeed so that they could jettison the body into space through the port-side air lock.

A red light glowed from the security camera above. Steiner had invited Tramer to join them, but the weapons officer wanted to keep up his surveillance on the crew in case someone tried to pick up where Quinn had left off.

Steiner missed Sam. In prison, the boy had boosted him out of his depression, giving him someone to care about when everyone else had been stolen from him. How had Steiner repaid his devotion? By letting him die?

Maybe the blame rested on Steiner for allowing Sam to board the P.A.V. in the first place. He should have left him back at the Atwood Penitentiary. At the time, he had reasoned that he was saving Sam from being taken advantage of by Big Al, but he’d had an ulterior motive. He had brought Sam along because he had needed a friend. His selfishness had taken priority over the boy’s safety and had stained his hands with innocent blood.

When Spider and J.R. began to sing “Amazing Grace,” Steiner’s eyes started to burn.

MAXWELL watched the funeral through one of the security monitors while he sped through the rest of the ship’s cameras. He hadn’t known Sam personally. Steiner seemed to be taking the loss of Sam rather hard. Long ago, Maxwell had resolved never to become that attached to anyone again. It hurt too much.

His sensors detected Simmons approaching from behind. The navigator loved to watch him view the screens, then gossip to other people about whom Maxwell had monitored and when.

In the midst of one of his sweeps, Maxwell detected movement in the reactor chamber. When he zoomed the image in, he saw Boon Wong working near the backup cooling generator. He zoomed in closer, trying to determine what the computer maintenance man was doing down there. Then he saw Boon rummage through a bag and extract an explosive pack—

A sharp prick stung the exposed flesh on the back of Maxwell’s neck. His sensors registered a syringe in Simmons’s hand.

Infuriated, Maxwell spun around, grabbed the small man by the collar, and lifted him into the air. “What have you done?”

Simmons turned white and stammered something unintelligible.

Maxwell’s vision blurred. Control of his autonomic functions slipped away from him. Dropping the navigator to the floor, he attempted to steady himself against the security console. His metallic fingers scratched its surface for a handhold but found none. In desperation, he reached out to activate the ship’s alarm, but his hand missed the keypad. He collapsed to the deck of the command center with a heavy thud.

As he drifted out of consciousness, he scolded himself for lowering his guard and allowing this to happen. Simmons smiled down at him, then everything went dark.

SPIDER and J.R.’s duet of the ancient hymn stirred Steiner’s soul, giving him hope that maybe the boy had gone to a better place.

All eyes turned to him, waiting for the eulogy.

He took a deep breath. “We have all assembled here to honor our friend, who has passed on.” A lump formed in his throat. “His loyalty to those he called his friends was unsurpassed. Regardless of his age, Sam was more a man than most, and I’ve come here to honor him for it.”

Amens arose from a few of the engineers.

Kneeling, Steiner touched Sam’s face with his fingers.

Thank you, amigo.

TRAVIS Quinn sat motionless on the cot inside the detention cell. His takeover of the ship was nearly complete. The excitement of the approaching moment built within him.