Prison Ship (37 page)

He could have sworn Tramer was smiling.

TRAMER is finally free,
Steiner thought as he lay sprawled out on the floor. Thanks to Tramer’s sacrifice, the mutineers had been held back long enough for the pressure door to be sealed.

A barely audible whimper broke the stillness. Richards leaned over Hulsey, gripping the body of his dead friend. Abruptly, he faced Steiner, his watering eyes narrowing. A trembling hand rose until the gun it held aimed directly at Steiner.

Steiner remained motionless, expecting a flash of energy to ignite at any second.

The pistol fell from the quivering fingers. Richards buried his head into his dead colleague’s chest.

Steiner almost wished that the chief had pulled the trigger. It would have released him from his own tormented existence and reunited him with Mary.

Breathing in rasps, Richards pried himself away from Hulsey and leaned back against the far wall. Wincing, he untied his blood-soaked shirt from around his abdomen, then looked at his wound.

“How bad is it?” Steiner asked.

Richards glanced up, his brow dotted with perspiration. “Not as bad as Larry.” His eyes trailed over to Hulsey’s body.

“I’m sorry that you lost—” Steiner’s guilt wouldn’t allow himself to say Hulsey’s name.

“Don’t be,” Richards snapped harshly. His features softened. “He knew the risks.”

“If I had known what we were up against, I would have never—” Steiner stopped himself, realizing that Simmons had told him, but he hadn’t believed the navigator. His fist released all his frustration into the wall. “How could Quinn have gotten control of the armory?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Richards replied. “The real question is, what do you plan to do about it?”

Steiner didn’t have the faintest notion. He had never planned for this occurrence. Even though there seemed no hope of defeating Quinn, his pride refused to allow himself to concede.

“I’ll find a way to stop them,” he answered firmly.

“How? None of the crew will stand with you once they learn of the armament the others possess.”

“They will if they want to survive. I’ve still got the security code to keep us from being attacked by U.S.S. forces.”

“How do you know Quinn doesn’t have that, too? If he knows one password, he may know others.”

Steiner opened his mouth to argue but held his tongue. What if Quinn did know it?

“I’ve heard Quinn has promised to take the crew to the Centri System,” Richards said. “I’m beginning to believe he might be able to do it, and so will the others.”

A cold feeling settled over Steiner. “What are you saying?”

“Only that if you force any of the men to help you, they will turn against you for freedom.” Richards coughed and almost doubled over from his pain. After a couple of labored breaths, he looked up at Steiner, apparently waiting for a response.

“Anyone not wishing to join me can be sealed up inside the bar,” Steiner said.

Richards gave a weak nod. “That would be the wisest course of action.”

“Can I expect any help from you or Eddie?”

Richards pursed his lips for a moment, then answered. “Eddie wouldn’t support a lost cause, and I’m in no condition for fighting, but we’d be willing to help you escape from the ship.”

“No,” Steiner shouted, his voice rising a notch. It had come out automatically, without any thought. McKillip would have never abandoned the
Valiant
without a fight.

“You can’t possibly stand against a fully armed raiding party on your own.”

Steiner picked himself up from the floor. “Nevertheless, I will, if I must.”

DANIELS looked around at the other five engineers lying about on the floor, trying to conserve oxygen. Fred, Andrew, and Charles were asleep. Spider huddled in one of the corners, shivering. J.R. whispered a prayer. For more than an hour, they had been trapped in the church, their hopes of rescue fading with each passing moment.

Daniels climbed up from the floor and made his way to the rear of the air lock. The oxygen indicator on the wall told him they had an hour left to live.

Daniels wondered if Steiner still controlled the ship. Probably not. They would have been rescued already. That meant they would have to find a way out on their own, but how?

Then he saw the answer on the far bulkhead. He had overlooked the most obvious escape.

“Everyone, get up,” he shouted. “It’s time to leave.”

“What?” J.R. asked. “Where can we go? The reactor chamber is still decompressed.”

Daniels opened a storage cabinet, grabbed a space suit from the rack inside, and tossed it to J.R. “Outside,” he declared, pointing to the exterior hatch on the opposite side of the chamber.

Spider climbed to his feet. “There’s no way back in from out there.”

“We’ll break in through another air lock.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Maybe not,” Daniels said. “During the battle with the
Conqueror
, we received many hits to the starboard side. Maybe one of them left some exposed circuitry?”

“That’s a long shot, considering all the repairs we underwent,” J.R. replied.

“Would you rather sit around here, waiting to die?” Daniels asked.

J.R., Fred, Andrew, and Charles climbed to their feet. Daniels passed out suits to each of them. Without a word, Spider retreated into a corner by himself.

While the rest of the engineers got dressed, Daniels knelt next to Spider. “We could use your skills to help us break back into the ship.”

Spider shook his head. “My biggest fear is to die in space, to float out there forever. I can’t go.”

“Wouldn’t it be more frightening to suffocate in here—alone?”

Spider looked up at him, the terror evident in his eyes. He took the suit.

UNABLE to bear the doubts voiced by the crowd any longer, Travis Quinn exploded several bolts from his rifle into the ceiling. All eighteen of the men surrounding him trailed off into silence.

“I didn’t promise you an easy victory,” he said. “Freedom is something you must earn. We outnumber and outgun Steiner and his supporters. Why do you still fear him?”

“He destroyed Tramer, didn’t he?” one answered back.

“No,” Travis snapped, still angry at being cheated out of his greatest prize. “The cyborg killed himself.” He paced through the gathering of men, challenging them with his gaze. “Some of you saw what I did to Steiner in the bar. He is weak. Who among you is brave enough to lead a band of warriors against him?”

“Why don’t you lead it yourself?” Julio Sanchez shot back.

Travis recognized the challenge to his authority. “I am the only one who knows the passwords. If I am killed accidentally, all will be lost.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the others.

“How about you leading the attack, Julio?” he asked, hoping to bring the pilot under his control again. “It will give you a chance to avenge your friend Palmer, unless you feel it’s too heavy a responsibility for you to handle?”

Julio glared at him.

A few others shouted encouragements. Travis knew they admired Julio as one of the smartest of the raiders. In the end, the peer pressure forced Julio to accept.

A faint voice from the control cubicle caught Travis’s ear. He rushed inside just in time to hear a message repeat.

“Command center to Quinn.” Steiner’s voice came from the intercom. “Please respond.”

Men rallied around Travis as he pressed a keypad on the console. “Yes, Captain. Are you surrendering to me?”

“Never.”

“Why have you called me then?”

“Most of the crew wishes to remain neutral in our dispute. Would you agree to declaring the bar a safe haven?”

Travis read straight through the request. It meant none of the neutral crew wanted to help Steiner.

“No one inside the establishment will be harmed as long as you don’t seek refuge there as well,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” Steiner replied. “If it’s a fight you want, that’s what I’ll give you.”

The channel disconnected abruptly.

Travis looked over at Julio, wondering if the pilot was cunning enough to kill Steiner. If he was, it might sway the rest of the men into following the pilot. Travis needed to create dissension among the party to keep that from happening. “When we reach the Centri System, I’ll give ten thousand credits to whoever brings him back alive,” he said.

“What if we’re forced to kill him?” Rex asked.

“Five thousand.”

Hoots and hurrahs broke out. Rex let out a howl.

Fools,
Travis thought.
They believe every word I tell them.
His fingers fondled the Orders disk sitting atop the console.

RICK Mason sat at one of the tables within the bar, watching his drink bubble. Bricket sat across from him, sullen-faced, shuffling a deck of cards.

Across the room, Eddie helped Richards re-dress the wound in his side. Five other crewmen sat at the counter, drinking and singing to Quinn’s victory.

One of the drunken convicts staggered over to Mason and Bricket’s table. “Your beer tastes great, bartender. Especially since it’s free.” His four friends at the counter roared with glee.

Bricket stuck his cane out under the feet of the drunken man and tripped him. The group at the counter burst into another round of laughter. Their friend tried to struggle to his feet, then collapsed unconscious on the floor.

“I’m sorry that you’re losing your entire stock of liquor,” Mason said.

“It’s not everything I have. A couple of barrels are locked in a storage room next to the port-side air lock, but I’m sure these lushes or the mutineers will eventually find them, too.” Bricket looked over at the men and threw the cards to the floor. “Is life in the Centri System any better than this?”

“Not much,” Mason answered. “You must show loyalty to five different overlords, even when they’re in conflict with each other.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“Almost.” Mason took another swallow from his mug. “What I can’t figure out is why any of them would let Quinn bring a shipful of U.S.S. prisoners in there. They never have liked outsiders.”

Bricket rubbed his beard. “How do you know so much about the place?”

“Before becoming a convict, I lived there for five years. I used to be a smuggler for the Overlord Ty.”

“It looks like you might be again.”

Mason smiled, remembering pleasant memories from when he had worked for Ty. “I could charm him into letting me do whatever I wished. It’s quite ironic since, when I first met him, he almost had me killed for being the son of—” He cut himself off just as he realized what he almost said.

“Son of whom?”

“Forget about it.”

Bricket leaned over the table. “Perhaps you’re the son of a Separatist official,” he whispered.

Mason emptied the rest of his mug, pretending not to have heard.

“Don’t worry,” Bricket continued softly. “I’ve suspected it ever since you gave me that command password.”

Mason shot a sharp look at him. “I told you that I stole it.”

Bricket grinned. “Nobody other than family gets that close to Separatist brass.”

“You haven’t told anyone else that, have you?” Mason whispered.

“Why would I? What do I care about your background? I wouldn’t even care if you were a spy.”

Mason sighed. “I’m the son of Admiral Richina.”

“The Emperor’s Executioner?”

Mason squirmed, already regretting having told the bartender.

“No wonder you never told anyone,” Bricket said. “Every U.S.S. soldier would probably hold you responsible for the massacre at Macrales on the Day of Betrayal.”

“Emperor Staece gave him a medal for that,” Mason muttered, remembering how much it had distressed his mother.

“If your name isn’t Rick Mason, what is it?”

“Mason Richina.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Mason hesitated, then lifted a second full mug. “A brother. Sam reminded me a lot of him.” He drank the liquor, letting it wash the bitter memories away. He found his hatred of his father rekindled when he remembered his younger brother, Randy. Randy hadn’t been as strong as Mason had been in resisting their father. If only Randy had been like—

Sam.

Sam had the strength that Randy lacked, but it also got the kid killed. Maybe death would have been a better fate than what happened to Randy.

Forget him,
Mason scolded himself.
Forget them both. They’re gone forever.

Mason reminded himself he would soon be back in the Centri System, smuggling for Ty once again. That didn’t seem so appealing anymore. He had enjoyed fighting against the New Order Empire, extracting revenge on his father by using the knowledge with which the admiral had endowed him.

A hush settled over the room. Mason found the source standing at the entrance of the bar. Ironhand. His presence no longer intimidated those around him. He looked tired and broken.

“Are there any volunteers who wish to join me in fighting the mutineers?” Ironhand asked.

The room remained quiet.

“There is no guarantee this ship will reach the Centri System, or that the U.S.S. won’t hunt all of you down. This might be the only opportunity to save yourselves.”

“We don’t have any assault guns,” a convict shouted from the counter.

“Ingenuity and bravery are far better than weapons.”

Eddie swiped his hand toward him and muttered angrily. The five convicts at the counter giggled.

Ironhand locked eyes with Mason, then wheeled about and left the establishment.

Mason glanced over at Bricket, who had a scowl on his face.

“If I weren’t crippled, I’d help him,” the bartender said.

“It would be suicide whether you had full use of your legs or not.”

Bricket ran his finger over the knife scar on his cheek. “Sam would have joined him.”

“Sam is dead.”

“Yes, but he died with audacity.” Bricket snatched his cane and lifted himself from his chair. “Good-bye, Rick.”

“You can’t be serious,” Mason exclaimed. “You’d be an easy target.”

“If I’m going to die, I’m doing it with audacity, too,” Bricket snapped back. “Besides, I wouldn’t like living in your Centri System.” His hand motioned toward the other occupants of the room. “They sound worse than the people in here. If I went there, I
would
be throwing my life away.” With that, he headed toward the door, then hesitated and glanced back. “Don’t forget. Quinn murdered Sam.”