feet, Hulsey was small-boned, built for quick mobility. At first glance, he looked like a college student on the honor roll, but this seemingly harmless man had teeth. He had gunned down three drug dealers because they had overdosed his girlfriend. Steiner recalled his amazement when Suzanne had told him it had taken a SWAT team to capture Hulsey.
Towering over his colleagues at nearly seven feet, Eddie was a former professional wrestler, in prison for raping a senator’s daughter. His dark-skinned arms rippled with muscles twice the size of Steiner’s. The mountainous swells of his chest stretched his uniform to the limits, but farther down, his contour narrowed into an overhanging stomach. Even out of shape, he looked like he could easily fight three people at a time.
“Weapons have been smuggled aboard, gentlemen,” Steiner told them. “Your job will be to search out and confiscate any weapons on the ship.”
“May we be armed with anything more than stun guns?” Richards asked.
“Not at this time.”
The security chief frowned as he and his assistants returned to their seats.
The two remaining men at the table showed no enthusiasm as they announced themselves.
“Julio Sanchez, pilot.”
“Mack Palmer, pilot.”
“Rick Mason, the best pilot,” came a shout from the opposite end of the table.
The two stared at Mason, who smiled triumphantly.
Since all the men at the table had introduced themselves, Steiner turned toward Tramer. It remained silent.
“Tramer is our temporary weapons officer,” Steiner said. “It will be leaving us at Tycus.”
The cyborg didn’t react in the slightest.
“I understand my predecessor had many rules,” Steiner said, casually walking around the table to escape the blue glare from the cyborg. “I have only one—stay alive. To do that, we must function as a team. Anyone not willing to do so will end up in the ship’s brig.” He purposely glanced over at Tramer. It was a meaningless threat. A detention cell probably couldn’t hold it.
While he outlined their upcoming raids, he found himself constantly reminded of Tramer’s presence. The sensor orb glistened in the pots hanging above the adjoining kitchen. When he looked at the floor, he saw a pale blue glow bordering his shadow on the floor.
He passed out lists, which divided the forty-eight-member crew into three groups of sixteen and designated them by a color code, RED, BLUE, and GREEN. According to his schedule, each crewman would spend eight hours a day in ship operations, followed by another eight of weapons training.
The stench of the cyborg grew more prominent in the room as each moment passed. Steiner began to taste it in his mouth.
“From now on, the bar will be restricted,” Steiner said. Bricket’s mouth dropped open. “For each successfully completed work shift, everyone will be awarded time to use it. This will give the crew an extra incentive to perform.”
“You’ll put me out of business with rules like that,” Bricket said.
“Your money would be worthless if we don’t survive the first mission. Any other questions?”
No one spoke.
“All stations, report ready at 0930. RED shift leads out. You’re dismissed.”
Steiner watched the men leave. Tramer stared at him for a long, uneasy moment, then marched out through the door.
“Ironhand—I mean, Captain,” Mason said. “If I were you, I would try to make friends with Gruesome, not anger the thing.”
The mutilated bodies of the cyborg’s two former victims flashed into Steiner’s mind, but he quickly discarded them. “There’s a half hour left before the launch,” Steiner said, changing the subject. “Would you check on Sam before you head to the command center?”
“Sure,” Mason replied, heading toward the door.
Steiner sat alone in the spacious sanctum, enjoying a moment of silence. He reached into his jacket and pulled out Mary’s holocard. When he activated it, her face flickered to life before him. Green
Towering over his colleagues at nearly seven feet, Eddie was a former professional wrestler, in prison for raping a senator’s daughter. His dark-skinned arms rippled with muscles twice the size of Steiner’s. The mountainous swells of his chest stretched his uniform to the limits, but farther down, his contour narrowed into an overhanging stomach. Even out of shape, he looked like he could easily fight three people at a time.
“Weapons have been smuggled aboard, gentlemen,” Steiner told them. “Your job will be to search out and confiscate any weapons on the ship.”
“May we be armed with anything more than stun guns?” Richards asked.
“Not at this time.”
The security chief frowned as he and his assistants returned to their seats.
The two remaining men at the table showed no enthusiasm as they announced themselves.
“Julio Sanchez, pilot.”
“Mack Palmer, pilot.”
“Rick Mason, the best pilot,” came a shout from the opposite end of the table.
The two stared at Mason, who smiled triumphantly.
Since all the men at the table had introduced themselves, Steiner turned toward Tramer. It remained silent.
“Tramer is our temporary weapons officer,” Steiner said. “It will be leaving us at Tycus.”
The cyborg didn’t react in the slightest.
“I understand my predecessor had many rules,” Steiner said, casually walking around the table to escape the blue glare from the cyborg. “I have only one—stay alive. To do that, we must function as a team. Anyone not willing to do so will end up in the ship’s brig.” He purposely glanced over at Tramer. It was a meaningless threat. A detention cell probably couldn’t hold it.
While he outlined their upcoming raids, he found himself constantly reminded of Tramer’s presence. The sensor orb glistened in the pots hanging above the adjoining kitchen. When he looked at the floor, he saw a pale blue glow bordering his shadow on the floor.
He passed out lists, which divided the forty-eight-member crew into three groups of sixteen and designated them by a color code, RED, BLUE, and GREEN. According to his schedule, each crewman would spend eight hours a day in ship operations, followed by another eight of weapons training.
The stench of the cyborg grew more prominent in the room as each moment passed. Steiner began to taste it in his mouth.
“From now on, the bar will be restricted,” Steiner said. Bricket’s mouth dropped open. “For each successfully completed work shift, everyone will be awarded time to use it. This will give the crew an extra incentive to perform.”
“You’ll put me out of business with rules like that,” Bricket said.
“Your money would be worthless if we don’t survive the first mission. Any other questions?”
No one spoke.
“All stations, report ready at 0930. RED shift leads out. You’re dismissed.”
Steiner watched the men leave. Tramer stared at him for a long, uneasy moment, then marched out through the door.
“Ironhand—I mean, Captain,” Mason said. “If I were you, I would try to make friends with Gruesome, not anger the thing.”
The mutilated bodies of the cyborg’s two former victims flashed into Steiner’s mind, but he quickly discarded them. “There’s a half hour left before the launch,” Steiner said, changing the subject. “Would you check on Sam before you head to the command center?”
“Sure,” Mason replied, heading toward the door.
Steiner sat alone in the spacious sanctum, enjoying a moment of silence. He reached into his jacket and pulled out Mary’s holocard. When he activated it, her face flickered to life before him. Green
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