The Fortress in Orion

by Mike Resnick

  “What is it?”

  “Michkag has a reputation for killing people who question his orders,” answered Pretorius. “That goes for planetary populations all the way up to long-time trusted officers.”

  “Someone will still follow us,” said Ortega.

  “Probably,” agreed Pretorius. “But at least we’ll be off the planet and out in space.”

  “That’s not much comfort if we’re facing a dreadnought.”

  “No, but it’s minimally less uncomfortable if we’re evading it rather than facing it.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Ortega.

  “Welcome to the club,” said Pretorius.

  “So do we just sit here until Michkag lands?” asked Circe. “No more sending anyone out in the corridors?”

  “If you can think of anything we can learn that’s worth the risk of sending them out, I’ll send them,” answered Pretorius. “But until then, we’ve found out pretty much all there is to find out until we learn where Michkag’s quarters are and exactly when he’s due to land.”

  “I can help you a bit on that,” said Pandora, staring at yet another of her computers. “They just issued a directive that they’re not allowing any commercial traffic tomorrow afternoon, so my guess is that’s when he’s coming in.”

  “But no one’s said so officially?”

  “No,” said Pandora. Suddenly she smiled. “Who can blame them? There’s always a chance the Democracy will send in a highly skilled team to kill or kidnap him.”

  “You never can tell,” replied Ortega.

  “Strike ‘kill’ from our lexicon until the switch is made,” said Pretorius seriously. “We kill him in front of anyone, and the whole purpose of this mission is destroyed.”

  “So we’ve got until tomorrow afternoon,” said Ortega. “What do we do until then?”

  “You might consider sleeping,” suggested Pretorius. “I want everyone alert and ready to put in maximum effort and some very long hours.”

  “And eating,” added Snake. “You may not have a chance for another meal until we’re in space.” She made a face. “Undoubtedly on a Kabori ship whose galley doesn’t cater to Men’s tastes.”

  They spent the next few hours eating, loafing, and napping. Then one of the computers beeped, and a moment later Pandora called out: “Got it!”

  “Where he’s staying?” asked Pretorius, suddenly alert.

  She nodded. “Fourth level, corridor Zab, rooms 42 and 43.”

  “Check the floor plan,” said Pretorius. “Are they connecting rooms, totally separate, or what?”

  “Give me a sec,” responded Pandora. “Connected by a standard doorway.”

  “So he may have bodyguards in the other room,” said Pretorius.

  “Or maybe a girlfriend,” suggested Snake.

  “Or maybe he just likes a lot of room,” added Ortega.

  “It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out,” said Pretorius. “Pandora, how did you know what his room numbers were?”

  “I intercepted a message to the robots.”

  “Did it say to deliver the same stuff to both rooms?”

  “Bedding to 43, foodstuffs to 42,” she answered.

  “There you have it,” said Pretorius. “He’s turned it into a suite. He’ll lounge and maybe have visitors in Zab 42 and do his sleeping in Zab 43.”

  “And maybe leave a bodyguard in 42,” added Circe.

  “Anything’s possible,” agreed Pretorius.

  “You don’t seem especially worried about it,” continued Circe. “It sounds damned dangerous.”

  “It is damned dangerous,” agreed Pretorius. “But look at it this way. Two months ago we were on Deluros VIII, hatching an impossible plan to kidnap the most powerful general of the Coalition and put our Michkag in his place. Today we’re actually inside his fortress, we know what room he’ll be in, we’re all still alive and unharmed, and we’re maybe a day or two from making the switch. What odds would you have given on even getting this far?”

  “It’s right that an optimist should be in charge of an operation like this,” replied Circe with a smile. “But it’s not a bad idea to have a pessimist pointing out potential pitfalls.”

  “You start counting pitfalls on a mission like this one,” said Snake, “and you could run smack-dab into eternity.”

  “Back to business,” said Pretorius. “Let’s assume he adjusts to Petrus IV’s hours, which is to say he’s awake in the daylight and goes to sleep a few hours after dark. That means if he lands here in, say, midafternoon tomorrow, we probably don’t approach him for perhaps ten to twelve Standard hours after that.”

  “You keep making it sound easier than I think it’s going to be,” said Circe. “Who says there has to be a bodyguard in Zab 42? What if there are half a dozen posted in the corridor outside the two doors?”

  “We’ll distract them, mislead them, or kill them,” answered Pretorius. “I know that’s not a comforting answer, but I’ve been on half a dozen of these missions, and my only observation is that whatever you expect, you’re likely to be surprised—usually unpleasantly. You just have to plan for every eventuality and take advantage of every opportunity, because the enemy—any enemy—isn’t inclined to give you too many.”

  “I don’t mean to be argumentative,” said Circe. “But unlike you, I haven’t been on half a dozen missions like this. In fact, I doubt that there have ever been half a dozen missions like this. I’ve been on one minor one, and even that was a lot more dangerous than any of us were led to expect.”

  “No offense taken,” said Pretorius. “But if we based our entire plan on one presumed set of circumstances and found at the last minute they were different, we’d be in more trouble than if we go in with open minds, following a general scenario but prepared to improvise on a second’s notice.”

  “I apologize,” said Circe.

  “Forget it.” Pretorius got to his feet. “Anyway, barring anything unforeseen, we can assume we’ll be going after Michkag about a dozen hours after he arrives here—and that’s always assuming there’s a cargo ship docked here. Pandora, let me know if a troop carrier or a dreadnought docks at the military tower, but only if you can ascertain that there’s no one left aboard except maybe some robots or androids that one of your computers can override.”

  “Right,” she said, nodding her head.

  “So we’ll plan on late tomorrow night, always on the condition that we have at least one potential means of escape.” He turned to the clone. “This is what you were created for. I hope you’re up to it.”

  The clone offered him an arrogant glare. Then, after a moment, he spoke. “Was my response acceptable?”

  Pretorius smiled. “I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble at all.”

  “Good. I really have spent half of my waking hours since my birth studying my other self.”

  “Just remember,” said Pretorius. “Once we’re in the room, even before we subdue him, you’re Michkag and he’s the imposter. You can pass any DNA test or any other physical test there is. Just act like you know who you are and of course you’re in total command, and you should be able to pull it off.” He turned to Ortega. “But if there are any other Kabori around, your first job is to knock their Michkag senseless. Ours can pass every physical test there is, but he can’t tell them what he had for lunch or what joke he told at the dinner table a few hours earlier.”

  Ortega nodded his head. “Got it.”

  Pretorius turned to Circe. “We finally have need of your special talent,” he said. “If we’re with him when our Michkag has to speak to any of his soldiers, you’ve got to let me know instantly if anyone has any doubts, not about his judgment but his identity. If we have to make up any lies . . .” He stopped, then started over. “We’re Men. Of course they won’t believe us. But if Djibmet has to lie about why we’re here, or in his company, or why a clearly senseless Michkag is with us, you have to let me know who’s buying it and, more important, who isn’t.”<
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  “Of course,” said Circe.

  “You seem suddenly less nervous,” he remarked.

  She smiled. “You’re asking me to do what I’m good at,” she replied. “I’m not at all good with weapons and sneaking around.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people of just about every race aren’t good at that,” replied Pretorius.

  It was four hours later, while Snake, Circe, and the two Kabori were sleeping, that Pandora walked silently over to Pretorius, who was lying on his back, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling some thirty feet above him.

  “You awake?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “The Moonbeam—that’s a cargo ship—docks here late afternoon tomorrow.”

  “Here?” he repeated. “You mean the fortress?”

  “No, I mean this tower,” she replied with a smile. “While everyone was sleeping or eating, I finally managed to find out the names of the towers.”

  “Which one is this?”

  “You couldn’t pronounce it. But it jibes with the floor plans.”

  “Then we’re in business.”

  “If you actually make the switch and get back up here intact and we can take control of the ship and they don’t blow us out of the sky.”

  He sighed deeply. “Yeah, always assuming that.”

  28

  The ships started arriving the next morning, dozens of them, then hundreds.

  “He sure likes to make a splash,” noted Ortega.

  “Got to be ego,” agreed Snake. “This is a secure planet, deep in their stronghold. There might be one assassin lurking, but he’s come prepared for a huge invasion—or a lot of publicity.”

  By noon cargo ships had docked at two of the other towers.

  “Any way to tell if we’re next?” asked Pretorius.

  Pandora shook her head. “I know that the Moonbeam is landing at our tower, but there’s no way to be sure which lands next. They have a dozen warships directing traffic up there. It seems to be on schedule, so I’d say it’s still docking in midafternoon.”

  “Real crew or robot crew?”

  She checked her computers. “Robot. They’re programmed to load and unload, and the flight pattern is controlled from . . .” She peered at the screen. “From Galladra VI. I would guess that’s the corporate headquarters or the equivalent.”

  “Good. You’ll be able to tap into their programming, order them to keep our existence secret, and do what we tell them to do.”

  “Within reason,” she replied. “I can’t, for example, order them to fire on the military. They’ll have certain inviolate commands embedded in them.”

  “They won’t have any weaponry anyway,” said Pretorius. “The Wayfarer didn’t.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not following me. I’m not worried about them blowing up a city. You wouldn’t have them do it even if the ship had the capacity to do so. We’re going to be trying to escape, not get into a shooting contest.”

  “Okay, what am I missing?”

  “I think there’s a real likelihood that they’ll instantly obey any orders our prisoner gives them. Not knowing who he is would be like not knowing who Hitler or Conrad Bland were during their eras.”

  “We can find out easy enough,” suggested Ortega. “Just have Proto appear as Michkag when they land and see if they listen to him.”

  “They’re machines with sensors, not eyes,” replied Pretorius. “They’ll see a lump on the ground.”

  “Damn!” said Ortega. “I forgot.”

  “Maybe it’s about time you laid out your plan for us,” said Circe.

  “Those are not very big rooms down on the third level,” said Pretorius, “and there are seven of us that have to move covertly, even if Djibmet approaches the rooms openly.” He paused. “I think it would be counterproductive for all of us to go down there together. We’ll just get in each other’s way—and more to the point, we’ll attract too much attention along the way.”

  “Just how the hell do you propose to get down there without attracting attention?” demanded Snake.

  Pretorius walked over to three containers and pointed at each in turn: “Michkag, Circe, me.”

  “No way you’re leaving me behind!” snapped Snake.

  “I’m going too,” added Ortega. “I’ve been rebuilt for the kind of trouble you’re going to be facing.”

  “It’ll attract too much attention,” replied Pretorius. “We’re not going to fight him, so I don’t need all your built-in weaponry, Felix. And we’re not entering stealthily, so I don’t need your skills to get in or out, Snake. You’ve gotten us this far, and we’ll need you on the way home, but seven crates would attract too damned much attention.”

  “And three won’t?” demanded Snake.

  “One won’t.”

  “Even I couldn’t fit three of me in one container.”

  “We’ll have a robot take ’em down one at a time, so no one ever sees three large crates going down the corridor at once,” said Pretorius. “I’ll be in the first, so that if Michkag shows up before we’re all there, I’ll disable him.”

  “He outweighs you by a hundred pounds,” said Ortega.

  “His size won’t help him against this,” said Pretorius, holding up a small, thin box.

  “What is it?”

  “Something that’ll knock him out for a day and a night,” answered Pretorius. “And I’ve got nine more if we need them.”

  “Why her and not me?” demanded Snake, pointing at Circe.

  “Because she has an essential talent that no one else here has. She’s an empath.”

  “So what?”

  “We’re not here just to kidnap or kill their Michkag. We’re here to replace him with ours. The whole purpose of this operation is to put an ally at the head of the Coalition. He looks the part. He’ll pass any DNA or retina or any other physical test they can devise. But with all due respect to him, the only member of his race he’s ever been in contact with is Djibmet. We hope he’s got the other Michkag’s inflections and mannerisms down pat—after all, he’s been studying holos of him for a long time now—but until we know that his closest associates accept him, we can’t leave him behind without any protection. As I say, our entire purpose is to replace the current Michkag with ours. It’s a matter of no importance to me, and not even much to the Democracy, whether their Michkag dies or returns to Deluros as a prisoner. The important thing is that our Michkag can convince them he’s the Michkag they’ve been following, and if there are any immediate doubts the only member of our party who will know is Circe.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you plan to stay in his rooms until he speaks to some subordinates and she can vouch that they’re buying it?”

  “She tells me she has to be in proximity, that she can’t do it off a hidden video or sensor,” answered Pretorius.

  “That’s correct,” said Circe.

  “How long do we give you before we mount a rescue operation?” asked Snake.

  “I don’t believe you’ve been listening at all,” replied Pretorius with a grimace. “Djibmet will have his microcamera with him. You can watch whatever he’s transmitting. But if we get into trouble, your job is to get the hell out of here and get word to General Cooper that the switch didn’t work, that the Michkag in charge is the one who’s always been in charge.”

  “He’ll figure that out soon enough,” said Ortega.

  Pretorius shook his head. “Michkag didn’t get where he is by being stupid. If this thing falls apart, he’s bright enough to pretend it worked, send a message of condolence to Cooper that his troops killed us before he could call them off, and offer to meet with him.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Ortega.

  You’re a hell of a killer, thought Pretorius, probably the best we’ve got here. But we could fill a few dozen encyclopedias with things you haven’t thought of.

  “All right!” growled Snake. “You’re the boss.”


  “I’m glad someone remembers that,” said Pretorius. He turned to Michkag. “Now, on the assumption that Michkag lands about the same time as the Moonbeam, or probably even earlier, we can assume his personal effects will be in one of his rooms by the time we get down there. The first thing we’ve got to do is get you one of his spare uniforms. Once we make the switch, check and make sure you’re wearing every insignia he’s got. I don’t suppose they hand out duplicate sets of medals here, any more than they do in the Democracy’s military, so once we subdue him, remember to appropriate all his medals and anything else that’s not on the uniform you’ll be wearing.”

  Michkag nodded his agreement.

  Suddenly there was a huge cheer from beyond the fortress, and they looked out various windows.

  “There he is!” said Djibmet, pointing to the original Michkag, who was walking up to the fortress at the head of a column of his troops.

  “He’s not going to look so cocky this time tomorrow,” said Snake.

  “Look at those medals,” said Circe. “He must work out in the gym just to be able to carry them all.”

  Pretorius turned to the clone. “What do you think?”

  “It’s like looking at myself in a mirror, only my reflection’s acting independently of me.”

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “Let’s give it maybe two hours. Then . . .”

  “Isn’t that awfully soon?” asked Circe. “He won’t be going to sleep for another eight or ten hours.”

  “I just want to grab something from storage here—any small thing—and sent Djibmet, or even a robot, down to Michkag’s room with it. That way we’ll know that you’ve got the right security code for it and we can get into it whenever we want, and also it may give us an opportunity to swipe a uniform for our Michkag.”

  “There won’t be any problem opening the door,” Pandora replied.

  “I hope not. But they may be putting him in those rooms precisely because the locks are more complex.”

  She manipulated her computer for a moment, then looked up with a smile. “I’ve locked it and unlocked it. Not a problem.”

  “Good,” said Pretorius. “There’s no sense drawing any attention to Djibmet—I don’t want anyone seeing him go in there twice in one day and start asking questions—so you’ll program one of the robots to do it.”