The Fortress in Orion (15 page)

“Why did
you
agree to come along?” Circe asked her.

Pretorius grinned. “The alternative was to spend another couple of years in jail.”

“Would you have come if you hadn't been serving time?” persisted Circe.

Snake shrugged. “I don't know. Probably.”

Circe smiled. “I read that as ‘Certainly.'”

“All right—certainly.”

“Even though you knew you'd be putting your life at risk, perhaps more than the rest of us?”

“It's not much of a life,” answered Snake. “So I can fold myself into a suitcase. Big fucking deal. I've been a thief since I was eleven, and I've spent as much time in jails as out of them. Our friend Nathan has a habit of surviving—I've survived two other missions with him—so he seemed like a good man to partner with.”

Pandora turned to Pretorius. “How about you, Nate? You got a story or an opinion to share?”

“I've undergone a couple of decades of instruction on how not to share those details with anyone,” he said with a smile. “I'd hate to see all that training go to waste.” He got to his feet. “Okay,” he announced. “It seems that damned near every time we touch down we take too many risks of exposure.”

“And of death,” added Snake.

“And of death,” he agreed. “So I think our next step is to get to Petrus, even if we're a week or two early, rather than landing on any more worlds.”

“Not in this ship, I assume,” said Pandora.

“No, not in this ship—at least, not all the way.”

“So some Samaritan is just going to transport us the last part of the journey?”

“In essence.”

“How?” demanded Snake.

“I'm working on it,” he replied.

16

They remained at the trading post for two days. On the first day they went out searching for the aliens' ship but couldn't find any trace of it.

“That means they have at least one other colleague, either well away from here or perhaps even in orbit,” said Pretorius. “There are probably warrants out for them and the ship, and they didn't want to land it where it could be identified.”

“So what do we do if it returns?” asked Ortega.

“If they actually land, we'll kill him or it or them and take whatever we need from the ship.”

“
If
they land?” repeated Ortega. “Why wouldn't they?”

“They probably have an all-clear signal, and if they don't get it they won't approach,” answered Pretorius. “We could just as easily be police or military.” He paused. “Okay, why don't you and Proto start moving the pelts to our own ship? Just the ones that have been properly cured. I saw a couple that were starting to rot. We'll sell them along the way, and that should see us through the next few weeks.”

Ortega nodded and went off to find Proto, who was exploring the various storage rooms with other members of the team, and as he did so, Pandora approached Pretorius.

“We have to talk,” she said.

“Privately?”

“That's up to you. We're all a team, and I don't much care who's listening.”

“Follow me,” he said, leading her to a private office and closing the door behind them. “Okay, what's this about?”

“You made a major blunder, Nathan, and I don't want you to make it again.”

“Oh?”

She nodded her head. “Yes. You told me to stay behind when you came over here last night.”

“It was a proper decision,” he said firmly.

“It was not.”

“I'm sorry if it hurt your feelings, but I'm not concerned with feelings, only with the success of the mission.”

“It has nothing to do with my feelings,” she replied. “You fucked up.”

“Look,” he said, “you are the best computer and cypher expert I've ever met, surely the best in the Democracy, maybe the best there's ever been. But that doesn't mean you can handle yourself in a fight. I've never even seen you with a weapon, and if you come at me right now I'll have you pinned flat on the floor in two seconds.”

“Pull your weapon, Nathan,” said Pandora.

“Burner, screecher, or the little pulse gun I've got tucked in the back of my belt?”

“Makes no difference.”

He withdrew his burner.

“Point it at me.”

He did as she said.

“Now fire it.”

He frowned. “I don't know what this is about, but I'm no good at playing games.”

“All right,” she said, holding out her hand. “May I see it for a moment?”

He passed it over to her.

She switched off the safety and pointed it at him. “This is why you blundered,” she said, pressing the firing mechanism.

Nothing happened.

“What the hell's going on here?” he said, frowning.

“I disabled all your weapons while you were speaking to Felix,” she said. “And I could have done it to the aliens' weapons last night if you'd had the foresight to invite me along.”

“You can do that without knowing the nature of their weapons?”

“I can negate just about any weapon except a projectile one—an old-fashioned bullet gun—within fifty meters.”

“Son of a bitch!” he said. “You never told me that!”

“You never asked.”

“One question: would it have disabled our weapons too?”

She nodded her head. “The trick is for there to be more of you than of them . . . but in a little building like this, with no ship in the area, there didn't figure to be many of them. And once all the weapons were disabled, all you had to do was send in Felix with that remarkable artificial body of his.”

“You were right,” he admitted. “I won't leave you behind again.”

“Okay,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that you weren't making use of all your assets.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked.

She reached forward and shook his hand. “None.”

“All right,” he said. “I've got another task for you.”

“What is it?”

“Proto is never going to learn Kabori in time to pass for one by the time we get to Petrus. Find out what races don't draw any attention in the Orion constellation, see what they speak, and see what languages he knows. He's got a remarkable ability, but it's going to be hard enough to hide him from security systems without having him give himself away the moment he opens his mouth.”

She nodded her head. “I'll start researching it here, and when I've narrowed it down to the likeliest races, I'll have the ship's computer produce life-sized holograms so he can study their physiques and modes of dress. Then it'll just be a matter of which language, if any, he's comfortable with.”

Pretorius grimaced. “Don't say ‘if any,'” he said wryly. “He's supposed to be an asset, not a liability.” He paused. “It's amazing that his race didn't rule the whole damned galaxy before security systems became this sophisticated.”

“I asked him about that a few days ago,” said Pandora.

“And?”

She smiled. “They only developed light speeds about two centuries ago.”

“Yeah, that'd explain it,” said Pretorius, returning her smile. “Damned good for the rest of us.”

They went to the primitive kitchen, where they were joined by the other team members, ate a minimal meal—none of them cared for Torqual food, and that was all there was—and then continued their inventory.

“Not much worth appropriating except the pelts,” announced Circe after another hour. “The poor Torqual couldn't have led much of life, living all alone here in these primitive surroundings.”

“So what's our next move?” asked Snake.

“I think the closer we get to Petrus, the more we're going to be stopped, probably boarded, certainly questioned,” said Pretorius. “If that happens enough—and for all I know, once is enough—we're incarcerated at best and killed at worst. So I think we'll stop doing it in small jumps and go straight to the Petrus system.”

“In our ship?” said Ortega. “It'll never work.”

Pretorius shook his head. “Definitely not in our ship. We need to transfer one last time.”

“Just what kind of ship do you plan to approach Petrus in?” asked Snake.

“Something large,” answered Pretorius.

She frowned. “Like a battleship?”

He chuckled. “They'd blow it to pieces.”

“Then I don't understand.”

“Outside of one of Michkag's military ships, what ship is most likely to approach and land on Petrus without raising any eyebrows—not that the Kabori have any—and without incredibly detailed security inspections?”

“Oh, shit!” said Snake. “We're going to stow away on a supply ship!”

“Not just any ship,” said Pretorius. “It's got to be one that definitely supplies the fortress.”

“How many ships do that?”

“I don't know,” he answered, “but our information back at headquarters is that the fortress has a standing army of close to ten thousand, and since most of them aren't native to Petrus IV, they import most of their food, as well as their weaponry and ammo.”

“Okay,” said Snake. “Which ships go there?”

“We don't know yet,” said Pretorius. He turned to Pandora. “But someone is going to find out for us, isn't she?”

“I can probably track the larger ones,” she replied.

“We need to know their routes as well,” continued Pretorius. “We've got to choose the best place to create a diversion while we're sneaking aboard, and we don't want to be stuck on it for more than a week.”

“I'll get on it as soon as we're back on the ship,” said Pandora.

“You might as well start now,” said Pretorius. “There's nothing for you to do here.” Suddenly he smiled. “Besides, the food'll be better on the ship.” He turned to Djibmet. “I know we've packed a couple of uniforms for you and Michkag, but I want you to check daily newscasts and make sure that it hasn't changed, that he hasn't given himself four or five more medals, that he hasn't put on or lost a lot of weight.”

“I will do so,” agreed Djibmet.

“Michkag, you monitor those broadcasts as well,” continued Pretorius. “I know you've been schooled in all his gestures and speech patterns, but make sure he hasn't picked up any new ones or that he hasn't fallen in love with some new expression since Djibmet left the Coalition.”

Michkag nodded his acquiescence. “It will be a pleasure to finally have something to do.”

“Something important,” confirmed Djibmet. “This, after all, is what you were created for.”

“Circe,” said Pretorius, “I know you're feeling like a fifth wheel, but we're getting near the point where your talents are going to be essential. If any Kabori becomes even the least bit suspicious of our Michkag, we've got to know that before he can act on his suspicions.”

“I know,” replied Circe.

“Okay,” said Pretorius. “Anyone who wants to return to the ship is free to do so. But we've been confined to ships for so long, we can take an extra day here to just stretch and relax. It's up to each of you.”

Snake, who had no problem with close quarters, elected to go back to the ship and indulge in some human food. The rest of them remained, not in the trading post but in the immediate vicinity of it, walking, exercising, and just relishing having the room to move freely.

It was during twilight of their second day on the planet that Pretorius, who had moved a chair out past the front door, heard an ear-shattering bellow that startled him into immobility for a few seconds. When he finally stood up, he found himself confronting one of the gold-pelted creatures, six-legged, perhaps eight feet at the shoulder, sporting a quartet of long, razor-sharp horns.

He immediately pulled out his screecher, set it on half-power, and fired point-blank. The creature jumped as if electrified, emitted one last, shaky bellow, and raced off.

“What happened?” asked Circe, rounding the corner of the building just in time to see the beast running away.

“One of the creatures they come here to hunt,” replied Pretorius, returning his screecher to full power and holstering it.

“Why didn't you kill the damned thing?” asked Ortega, joining them.

“Why bother?” responded Pretorius. “We have enough pelts. Besides, who the hell wants to skin one of those? I gave him a hell of a blast of sound. He won't be back.” He looked at the setting sun. “I think we'd all better get back to the ship.
He
won't be back, but I can't speak for his brothers and sisters, and I don't think any of us want to run into them in the dark. Felix, hunt up Proto and the Kabori and tell them.”

Ortega nodded and headed off to find them.

“You know,” said Circe, “it occurs to me that we'd better sell the pelts quickly and spend the money quickly as well. I don't imagine Men are free to walk around Petrus, let alone spend money there.”

“We're not going to need it before we get there,” said Pretorius.

“Then why even take the pelts we have with us?” she persisted.

“Because we may need the money to get back to the Democracy once we're done here.”

“I'm glad
someone
thinks we're going to be going home at the end of this.”

17

The ship was twelve hours out of the Mitox system when Pretorius woke up from a nap, stopped by the galley for a few minutes, and then approached Pandora at her workstation.

“How's it coming?” he asked.

“I've found seven supply ships that stop at the fortress every five to ten days,” she replied.

“Big ones?”

She nodded. “Quite large. Definitely big enough for our needs.”

“How many are between us and Petrus right now, and how many are on the far side?”

“Three on this side, two on the far side.”