Free Prison Ship by Michael Bowers Page A

ears.
    Steiner cried out as his attention snapped back to the range. James Grant froze in the midst of what seemed to be a celebration dance. His target blinked with the symbol for a perfect score.
    Grant and the men around him stared at Steiner, startled by his sudden outburst. An uneasy moment passed as Steiner tried to think of a way to rationalize his odd behavior. His mind was too clouded by weariness to be creative.
    “Continue with the next set.” Tramer’s voice echoed throughout the arena.
    At the command of their leader, Grant and the rest of the BLUE shift began firing at the targets once again.
    When Steiner looked up into the rear corner, he found the camera still aimed at him. He tried to swallow the shame welling up in his throat.
    Faint snickers sounded from the trainees as he left the range. Steiner was disappointed with himself. The incident would be all over the ship within a few hours. It might cause the crew to lose their fear of him.
    As he continued with his rounds, he found that his mind strayed more often. It became a struggle to focus his attention. Shadows played at the corners of his vision, causing him to flinch for no reason. Maybe he needed some food? He stopped by the cafeteria, got a meal, and took it to his cabin. He refused to eat in view of the convicts since it would be a sign of his own mortality. They needed to believe him to be an indestructible man, requiring no nourishment or rest. His mistake earlier might have tarnished that image. He couldn’t afford any more displays of weakness. Not ever.
    The synthesized entrées tasted bland, but at least they were nourishing. He closed his eyes momentarily and found it difficult to open them again. His muscles ached with fatigue. He had to have rest, even if it was just a brief nap. He couldn’t risk being asleep for long, since he still had to maintain his hourly rounds. He stretched out on the cot, his body welcoming the softness of the mattress.
    For reassurance, he dragged out the weapons that he had put under the cot during his tour with Suzanne. He positioned the satchel of grenades next to him on the mattress, then propped the blast shield up against the bed frame, directly in front of his body.
    Satisfied, he surrendered himself into the tender grasp of his pillow and let his thoughts go.
    It wasn’t long before sleep embraced him, a dreamy haze of images and colors, swirling around in giant whirlpools. Peace replaced all worries. He wanted to stay there forever.
    An irritating sound echoed throughout the rainbowlike landscapes. He recognized it as the call of pain and suffering. When he tried to flee from it, his legs wouldn’t move. The noise grew in intensity until he couldn’t bear it any longer.
    When he awoke, he found his portable comlink flashing, its message alarm beeping. He brought the device up to his face. “Steiner here,” he said.
    “Captain,” the synthesized voice of Tramer replied, “we have a U.S.S. ship requesting transmission of your password.”
    “How long have they been waiting?”
    “Nearly five minutes. They have forced us to dephase into normal space and armed their weapons.”
    Steiner bolted from his cot, almost falling down from a head rush. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” he bellowed as he strapped on his gun belt.
    “I have been signaling you since the ship first appeared. Only now have you answered.”
    The mysterious noises in Steiner’s dream must have been the message alarm. It was his own fault for not responding to it earlier. “I’m on my way,” he said, softening his tone.
    He splashed water on his face, jarring his senses back to life, and sprinted from his cabin. As he ran down the corridors, dodging crew members, he scolded himself for dropping his guard again. Twice now, his mistakes had weakened his image.
    When he bounded up the steps to the command center, his heart stopped at the sight of the cyborg standing at the top. His hatred of it paled in comparison to the