The Fortress in Orion (6 page)

Michkag, having completed his physical therapy, was in his quarters, where Djibmet would spent the rest of the day, like all the previous ones, schooling him in his country's recent history; in military protocols; in the original Michkag's personal likes and dislikes in literature, entertainment, food, and associates; as well as working on his speech inflections.

Circe sat by herself, plugged in to an ancient classic, living the life of Elizabeth Bennet as she first met Mr. Darcy, oblivious to all else.

And Pretorius continued to go over the checklist of possibilities and eventualities in his mind, wondering how many he was missing, wondering if he had recruited the right team. They were better than any crew Cooper would have provided, but that didn't mean they could break into the enemy's stronghold, kill or kidnap its best-guarded leader, replace him with a clone who as of this moment had only encountered a single member of his own race, and somehow escape intact. He almost wished there was a bookmaker aboard; he'd have loved to bet against being able to pull it off.

After a few hours, Pandora began composing messages in Kabori and having Djibmet make any necessary corrections so that if she had to send a phony one within the Orion constellation its construction wouldn't give it away. The evening was pretty much a repeat of the morning, and Pretorius decided the only reason he hadn't gone mad from boredom preparing for so many missions was that, having experienced them, he'd have traded the excitement and especially the danger for some nice peaceful boredom every time.

When they were within three hours of the Bortai system, Pretorius got his crew's attention.

“Okay,” he announced. “Bortai's got about ninety-four percent of Standard gravity and an oxygen-nitrogen ratio within two percent of Deluros VIII. It was colonized by a race that calls itself the Bort—I have no idea if they took their name from the planet or vice versa. They have their own language, but most of them speak and understand Terran.” He turned to Djibmet. “They understand Kabori, too, though I gather their mouths have some difficulty forming the words correctly. You're welcome to come with us or stay on the ship.” He jerked a thumb in Michkag's direction. “He stays.”

“We can disguise him so that he doesn't look like General Michkag,” said Djibmet. “And surely Pandora can create a passport for him under any name we choose.”

“There's no doubt that she can,” agreed Pretorius. “But he stays anyway.”

“But why?” asked Djibmet.

“I don't want him answering to any other name, speaking in any other dialect or tone of voice, or carrying himself in any other way. There's an old scam, dating back thousands of years, though it applied to livestock, not sentient beings. The term was ‘ringer,' and it was a different, usually less valuable, look-alike animal that was substituted for a more valuable one. Well, we're trying to pull off the biggest ringer scam in history, and the odds are already too stacked against us.” He turned to Michkag. “I'm sorry, but you are Michkag and no one and nothing else, not even for an hour in a non-Kabori town three thousand light-years from Orion. I hope you understand, but whether you do or not, you're staying on the ship until the impersonation begins.”

Michkag inclined his head slightly. “I understand.”

“Now, at some point you've got to meet some Kabori,” continued Pretorius, “and convince them you're Michkag. We need a trial run, but we'll have to dope out the proper scenario. It'll almost have to involve them coming aboard whatever vessel we're on, where, if you do make a mistake, it won't be fatal to the mission.”

“When will that be?” asked Djibmet.

“I'll work it out and let you know,” replied Pretorius. He looked around. “Any other questions or comments?”

There was no initial reply, but just as he was about to get up and return to his cabin Pandora spoke up.

“Got a problem here,” she announced, looking at one of her tiny computers.

“Oh?” said Pretorius.

“Yeah,” she said. “We'd better not land on Bortai.”

“Why not?”

“If these codes weren't so hard to break I could have warned you yesterday,” continued Pandora. “The Coalition has entered into a secret agreement with the Voche Empire, which consists of twenty-three systems, including Bortai. It's been in effect for five Standard days, which means when you ask for landing coordinates they'll direct us to a military base and intern us.”

“Okay, it'll cost us a few extra days, but let's give this new arm of the Coalition a wide berth.” He checked his navigational computer and had it lay in a course for Belladonna.

“Belladonna,” said Circe. “That certainly doesn't sound like an alien world.”

“Just means it was named by a human and programmed into our maps that way. The Kabori and other races probably call it something else. Anyway, it's got much the same atmosphere and gravity as Bortai III. Only difference is that this one has a native population, and Bortai was a colony world.”

“It'll cost us a few more days, then?” asked Ortega.

“Not a problem,” replied Pretorius. “No sense getting there before Michkag does.”

“I wonder . . .” said Pandora.

“About what?”

“
Is
there some advantage to be gained in getting there first?”

Pretorius considered it for a long moment, then shrugged “There are pluses and minuses either way. If we get there first, we'll have time to acquaint ourselves with the fortress, to determine the best place to make the switch, to learn the routines of their security forces. But on the other hand, the longer we're there, the more chance we'll be discovered.” He paused. “And if
he
gets there first, at least our target will be there on the ground, but so will all his massive security. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

“Oh, well,” said Pandora with a shrug. “It was an idea.”

“Keep coming up with them,” said Pretorius. “You never know which improvisation will work, just that the best-laid plans usually fall apart when dealing with alien races and worlds.”

And though he didn't know it then, twenty-two hours later they would have a chance to test the truth of that statement.

6

“Incoming message,” announced the computer.

“From a planet?” asked Pretorius.

“From an approaching ship.”

“Is it military?”

“No.”

“Okay, let me hear the message.”

There was some brief static, and then a voice in heavily accented Terran said: “Ahoy the ship!”

“Ahoy?” repeated Pretorius, frowning. “No one's said ‘Ahoy' in centuries.”

“SOS! SOS!” continued the voice. “We have three severely wounded females aboard, and our fuel supplies have become corrupted. May we approach and transfer our sick and wounded to you?”

Pretorius turned to Circe. “Bullshit?” he asked.

“They're way too far away for me to tell,” she replied.

“I don't like it,” added Snake. “Females, not women?”

“The speaker's clearly not human,” said Ortega. “He's learned the language the way they teach it in textbooks, not the way we speak it.”

Pretorius waited to see if anyone else had any comments, and when they remained silent he replied to the signal. “You may approach us. Please state your race, so we can determine the nearest medical facility that can accommodate you.”

“The females are human.”

“But you're not,” noted Pretorius.

“No, I am a Beldorian.”

“All right. Disable your weapons and continue approaching.”

“Thank you.”

The communication was cut off, and Pretorius waited until the ship got to within ten miles.

“Are they sending to anyone else?” he asked Pandora.

She checked her various machines and shook her head.

He ordered the computer to put the approaching ship on visual.

“Okay,” he said. “Is that Beldorian?”

“No,” answered Pandora. “But Beldor is a long way away from here. It's probably just some local transit service.”

Pretorius was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. “Okay, direct him to us and make sure any weapons are disabled.”

“So are we going to take the women back to base?” asked Ortega.

“There aren't any women,” replied Pretorius.

“But he said . . .” began Ortega, and then his voice trailed off.

Pretorius glanced over at Circe.
Can he really be this naive?

She stared back at him with a knowing grimace.

“They're almost here,” announced Pandora.

Pretorius nodded. “Let's have a look.”

A holograph of an approaching ship, a little larger than their own, came to life.

“Not heavily armed,” reported Ortega.

“Makes sense,” commented Pretorius. “We're in No Man's Land or so close to it as makes no difference, so every ship needs
some
weaponry—but you don't want so much that bigger ships, and there are a lot of them, start to covet them.” He studied the ship again. “Still, they've got enough to cause trouble.”

“I take it you don't believe them,” said Pandora.

“I get paid for not believing them.”

“More to the point, he survives by not believing anyone,” added Snake with an amused smile.

Pretorius turned to Circe. “I think you'd better go to your cabin.”

“Why?” she said. “If they're not legitimate, I'll be able to tell you instantly.”

“If they're not legitimate they might enter the ship shooting,” answered Pretorius. “If you sense that they
are
legit, come on out and join us.” He stared at her.
Don't make me explain in front of the others that you're the only who can't take care of yourself in an attack
.

She couldn't read his mind, but she could read his emotions and his concern, and left for her cabin without another word.

“You, too,” said Pretorius to the clone. “I don't want anyone to report that Michkag was seen on a ship in the company of Men.”

The clone nodded and went to his quarters, while Pretorius turned to Pandora and pointed to the half-dozen miniaturized computers hanging from her belt. “I assume at least one of those is a weapon?”

She nodded and patted one that rested on her left hip.

“Have it ready,” he said.

“You're sure these guys are enemies?” asked Ortega.

“I'm not
sure
,” answered Pretorius. “But my experience tells me that a small nonmilitary ship like ours is definitely at risk anywhere outside the Democracy, and my brain tells me the odds of a ship with three injured human women chancing upon us before contacting anyone else are pretty damned long. So be ready.”

Ortega shrugged his prosthetic shoulders. “You're the boss.”

“Let's all remember that,” replied Pretorius.

The approaching ship reached them in another five minutes, docked alongside, and extended an enclosed walkway between the two ships' airlocks. They requested permission to come aboard.

Ortega, who was closest to the airlock, turned to Pretorius. “Do I let them in, or should we insist on a visual inspection first?”

“If they haven't got three wounded women, they'll find a way to substitute a holo of them, and we won't know the difference until we see them,” answered Pretorius. “Let 'em in and keep alert.” He turned to Snake. “Make yourself scarce.”

She nodded and curled herself up in a near-impossible fashion beneath her seat.

The airlock door slid into the ship, and suddenly four burly Beldorians, heavily boned and heavily muscled, mildly humanoid in form, entered the ship, weapons in hands.

“If you want to survive,” said the one who seemed to be their leader, “do exactly as you're told!”

Pretorius checked their weapons, saw that they were all computer-operated, and quickly glanced at Pandora, who seemed to be fidgeting nervously but was actually manipulating two of the microcomputers she had on her belt.

“Disarm yourselves, slowly and carefully,” said the leader.

Pretorius looked at Pandora, who smiled and nodded her head almost imperceptibly.

“I don't think so,” he said.

The leader turned, aimed his weapon at Pretorius, and pressed the firing mechanism.

“It tickles,” said Pretorius.

The other three Beldorians tried firing their weapons, also to no effect.

“Felix, I think our visitors would like a little exercise,” said Pretorius.

Ortega grinned and knocked the nearest one senseless with his prosthetic left arm. Then he turned and pointed at the leader—and as he did so, his arm instantly extended almost the length of the bridge, sending the leader flying into a wall where he collapsed with a resounding
thud!

One of the two remaining intruders turned to face Ortega and tried to advance toward him but instead fell on his face, with Snake wrapped like a boneless grapevine around his legs.

The final Beldorian dropped to one knee. “I surrender,” he said in Terran.

“And you think we're going to let you live, do you, Pirate?” asked Ortega.

The Beldorian turned to Pretorius. “You are the leader,” he said. “Let me live and I will join you, serve you, fight, and even die for you.”

“We're not in the pirate business,” replied Pretorius. “We could save a lot of time and trouble by killing you right now.”

The pirate stared at him for a long moment. “I have offered my fealty once. I will not do so again.”

“Snake, see if either of the first two is alive,” said Pretorius.

She checked them out. “They're breathing,” she said. “I can't speak for their condition, what might be broken, which innards are still working.”

“We're going to kill enough sentient beings before we're done,” said Pretorius after a moment's silence. “I don't see any reason to kill these too.”