The Fortress in Orion

by Mike Resnick

“Yes,” replied the robots in unison.

  “Okay, load him and leave.”

  The robots lifted the dead soldier, carried him to the container, stood him upright in it, locked it, and wheeled it out into the corridor.

  “Pandora, you still there?” said Pretorius. “And I assume Michkag is too?”

  “Right,” she said.

  “The robots are on their way back up.”

  “Well, that went smoothly enough,” remarked Michkag.

  “Not as smoothly as you think,” replied Pretorius. “There was a low-level soldier, probably some kind of orderly, in the room. I had to kill him. At least, I think he’s dead. He’s certainly unconscious. When they get up there, I want Michkag to climb in and get down here as fast as possible. Who the hell knows how many other orderlies or even officers have access to this damned room?”

  “And the orderly you’re sending up?”

  “Have Felix and Snake kill him. Chop him into pieces and toss ’em in the atomizer. Same with anything he bleeds on when they’re subdividing him. I don’t want any trace of him to remain.”

  “We may be taking off tomorrow,” said Pandora. “Can’t we just keep him incapacitated until then?”

  “No,” answered Pretorius. “We’re not all leaving, tomorrow or any other time. Michkag is staying here, and I don’t want him to have to answer any awkward questions in the near future. Besides, even if you doped him and tied him up, you’d still have to hide him just to be on the safe side, and the likelihood is that he’d starve to death before anyone found him. Just do as I say.”

  “All right,” said Pandora. “I’ll pass the word to Felix and Snake.” There was a moment’s silence, and then she said, “They’re here now.”

  “Okay, get Michkag loaded and moving fast. I want him down here before there are any more surprises.”

  Pretorius waited for a count of 90, then whispered softly: “Can you hear me?”

  Utter silence.

  “Shit!” said Pretorius. “We just made this a one-way system between me and you. When you get here let me know if my voice came through to you.”

  It took the robots another three minutes to arrive. They waited until the door lid shut behind them, then unlocked and opened the container. Michkag stepped out, stretched his arms—they were longer than Men’s arms, and he’d clearly felt uncomfortable—and turned to Pretorius.

  “I heard you,” he said.

  “Good,” replied Pretorius. He turned to the robots. “All right, go back to the tower and get the last person. If anyone stops you on the way there, you’re just service robots moving an empty container to a storage area, and if they demand to see what’s inside, open it and show them that it’s empty. But once you’ve put Circe into it, you’ll give the same answers you would have given on your last two trips from the tower to this room—that you’d been ordered by Michkag to move some of his personal property inside this container to Level 3, Zab 43, and you will refuse any order to open the container until I personally issue that order. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, go.”

  The robots wheeled the empty container into the corridor, and the door slid shut behind them. Michkag began pacing through the two rooms, past the couch, chairs, and table in Zab 42, around the bed and chair in 43. He stopped and stared at the bottle, filled with what he had been told was his favorite intoxicant. It was surrounded by exquisite crystal goblets, and be began rearranging them on their platinum tray.

  “Nervous?” asked Pretorius.

  “A little,” answered Michkag.

  “Don’t be,” said Pretorius. “You’ll almost certainly be dealing with officers. Take it from me, they’re a lot easier to fool than the average enlisted man.”

  Michkag smiled. “But you yourself are an officer.”

  “I’ve been trying to get busted down to sergeant and inherit a desk job for years,” answered Pretorius. “One of these days . . .”

  Michkag laughed. “Thank you. That was just the relief from tension that I needed.”

  “Good.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Hope that Michkag comes in alone,” said Pretorius. “We’ve got to incapacitate him almost instantly, before he can call for help or leave the room. And we have to get his medals onto your uniform. If anyone’s with him, we’ll have to kill them before they can escape or let anyone know there’s a problem.”

  They waited in silence for a few more minutes, and then the robots returned with the container. Pretorius opened it and helped Circe out.

  “Nobody’s shown up yet?” she asked.

  “No one but the orderly I sent up a few minutes ago.” He turned to the two robots. “Take this container and put it in Zab 43’s bathroom, then order the door to close and return to me.”

  The robots moved the container, then turned to Pretorius, awaiting further instructions.

  “Can you both fit, upright, in the closet?” he said. “It’ll be tight, but I think you can manage it without damaging the uniforms.”

  They walked to the closet and briefly inspected it. “Yes,” they replied.

  “Zab 42’s closet is empty,” noted Michkag.

  “Yeah, but you’re going to be entertaining there, and we don’t want anyone getting warm and opening the closet there so they can hang up a coat and finding the robots.” He turned to the robots. “Once you’re in, order the doors to shut, and stay there until I order you to come out.”

  The robots entered the closet, which shut behind them a moment later.

  “What now?” asked Circe.

  “Now we wait and hope to hell that the next guy through the door is Michkag, since he’s the only one we won’t have to kill on sight.”

  “And if it is someone besides Michkag?” she persisted.

  “I don’t know about you,” he replied, “but I, for one, will be very unhappy.”

  “Seriously, Nathan.”

  “Seriously, if there’s just one, and he’s alone, I suppose we can hide him in Zab 42’s bathroom for a while. If there are two, there’s going to be a lot of shooting on both sides. Our job is to stay alive and make the switch in the confusion. Let’s hope we don’t have to.” He paused. “Let’s assume it goes the way we hope it does. You and I can stand over here”—he indicated the wall beside the door—“so that the first thing Michkag sees is his double. We totally hide, but if the first thing he sees is his double, he may take a step forward out of curiosity or because he can’t believe his eyes. If we’re the first thing he sees, he’s just as likely to back out and call for help.”

  “Why don’t we hide in the connecting room?” she asked.

  “I don’t know which is the connecting room,” said Pretorius. “Is he coming to bed, or is he coming to relax and maybe chat with some officers? If the latter, he’ll almost certainly go to Zab 42, which is set up for that and hasn’t got a bed in the middle of it. Which means if he comes here, he’s more likely to be alone, and if he goes there, at least we’ll have a chance to hear if he’s got company before we show ourselves and the shooting starts.”

  “You sound like you do this all the time,” said Michkag in admiring tones.

  “Only between stints in the hospital,” said Circe.

  “Probably going to happen again this trip,” muttered Pretorius. “I think the odds are that he goes into the other room first. Unless he plans to come right in and go to sleep.”

  “Then why aren’t we waiting there?” asked Michkag.

  “Like I said, our best chance is if he comes in alone, and he’s more likely to come into this one if he’s alone.”

  “Well, we might as well stand by the wall as you suggested, since the food was probably served close to an hour ago,” said Circe. “But if he likes to visit at the table or make long speeches, we could be waiting for a long time.”

  Pretorius pulled the tiny dart gun out of a pocket, checked the firing mechanism to make sure it was charged, checked the rest of
it to make sure it was loaded, put the small case back into a pocket, and held the gun in his right hand.

  “How quickly will that work?” asked Circe.

  “They tell me it’s instantaneous,” answered Pretorius. “I’ll settle for it knocking him out before he thinks of yelling for help.”

  They remained standing for another half hour.

  Suddenly Pretorius whispered so softly that Circe, who was standing next to him, wasn’t aware of it. “Get ready. Someone’s at the door.”

  Michkag adjusted his position by the bed so that he was bathed in the brightest light.

  Pretorius touched Circe on the arm, held a finger to his lips when she looked at him, and handed her the dart gun. He had just finished doing so when the door slid open.

  Michkag—the original Michkag—stood there frowning at the clone.

  “What is going on here?” he whispered—and as he did so, Pretorius stepped over, grabbed his arm, and jerked him into the room.

  He took the weapon back from Circe and fired a dart into Michkag’s neck, all in one motion. Michkag began reaching for him but collapsed before he could take a step.

  “Damn, that stuff works fast!” said Pretorius, impressed.

  He opened the closet door. “Robots!”

  “Yes?” they replied.

  “There is a Kabori officer lying on the floor. Remove all of his medals and put them in exactly the same places on the uniform of the Kabori who is standing. Do the same with any other insignia.”

  It took them about five minutes to move everything from one Michkag to the other.

  “All right. Now bring in the container from where you put it in the bathroom, lift the fallen officer, and place him in it.”

  They did so.

  “Now lock it.”

  They locked it.

  “Good. Now take him up to the storage facility in the East Tower. If anyone should stop you and ask what is in the container, you don’t know. All you know is that Michkag himself told you to take it there and not to open it for anyone. If anyone has any questions, Michkag is in Zab 42 of Level 3 and will be happy to answer them. Once you get to the storage area, wait until the door shuts behind you, then open the container, but leave him in it unless one of the three Men up there gives you a contrary order. Then go into standby mode.”

  “Yes,” said the robots, wheeling the container into the corridor.

  “Well,” said Pretorius. “That takes care of Step One.”

  “I can’t believe we made it!” said Circe.

  He looked at her and said, “That was the easy part.”

  31

  A minute passed, then another. Pretorius frowned.

  “I think you’d better summon some of your officers. For all we know, you don’t like to be disturbed at night, and no one’s going to come in here.”

  “I do know them,” answered Michkag. “I have been studying them all my life.”

  “If a few of them don’t show up pretty soon, I think we’ll have you summon them.”

  “Have you decided whether we’re spies or turncoats?” asked Circe.

  “We’d better be turncoats,” answered Pretorius. “If we’re spies, sooner or later someone’s likely to take a shot at us or wonder why the hell we’re still here and not in irons. But if he’s given us our instructions, and we’re going back to the Democracy to feed them false information, they’ll be less likely to interfere—and of course Michkag will make them understand that they disobey his orders concerning us under pain of a very slow, very painful death.”

  Another ten minutes passed.

  “I think I’d better precipitate the action,” said Michkag.

  Pretorius nodded. “Otherwise we could be here ’til morning, and I think Pandora’s the only one who won’t mount a rescue operation by then.”

  “You two wait here,” said Michkag. “I’ll call some of my officers into Zab 42 and explain that you’re working for me, then introduce you. If they see you before I can explain your presence, they’ll almost certainly try to kill you.”

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “Might as well get started.”

  He and Circe sat on the bed while Michkag walked through the door to Zab 42 and waited for it to slide shut behind him. A moment later they heard his voice on a fortress-wide speaker system summoning half a dozen officers by name. They soon heard them enter Zab 42, and the clone began speaking to them.

  Pretorius turned questioningly to Circe, who seemed lost in concentration, though her eyes were open.

  “So far, so good,” she whispered.

  Michkag spoke for a few more minutes, and then the door slid open and he motioned Pretorius and Circe to join him. The Kabori officers, who had been seated, were instantly on their feet, and two of them actually pulled their weapons.

  Michkag held up a hand. “Calm yourselves,” he said sternly. “These are my operatives. You may ask them any questions you want, but when this meeting is over they are to be treated with the upmost respect and courtesy, and I want the word passed to everyone in this fortress.”

  “I know of this one,” said a Kabori, indicating Pretorius. “He brought down an entire empire in the Albion Cluster.”

  “And now he’s here,” said another. “How do we know he doesn’t plan to do the same to our empire?”

  “One Man, against thirty billion Kabori?” snorted an officer contemptuously.

  “You,” said the first officer, pointing at Pretorius. “Why have you suddenly turned against your own people?”

  “It is not as sudden as it seems,” answered Pretorius in heavily accented Kabori. “I don’t know how it works in your society, but in the Democracy a man with my military accomplishments would reasonably expect to be commanding his own division by now. He would expect the money and honors due him for his service to a society that is no better or worse than any other but is simply the one into which he was born.” He paused. “I am not a young man anymore. If I am ever to receive my just rewards, it must be soon—and while my own Democracy has made it clear that such rewards are beyond my reach, your General Michkag has made it clear that we see risk and reward in the same light. I ask for no special treatment, just what we might call, in some other field, an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work.”

  “And what is this work to be?” asked another.

  Pretorius rubbed his hand briefly across his jaw and mouth, whispered, “Secret!” as he was removing it, and looked at his questioner.

  “There may come a day when I will confide in each of you, and of course General Michkag can tell you anything he likes whenever he wishes to, but right at this moment I am a covert operative for the Coalition, and I trust no one but my partner”—he indicated Circe—“and Michkag.”

  “We know about Pretorius,” said yet another officer, “though of course we don’t know if we can trust him or indeed any Man, but at least he has what I shall call credentials.” He stared at Circe. “What are yours?”

  “Don’t answer that!” snapped Michkag, and all eyes turned to him. “Once she has done her job, you will all know where her talents lay. In the meantime, I agree with Colonel Pretorius that we will keep our mission secret for the present except from those few officers who must participate in it.”

  Damn! thought Pretorius. You’re not bad at this!

  “All I can do now is tell the rest of you,” continued Michkag, “that before two years have passed, each and every one of you will remember this night and be pleased that these two have come over to our side.”

  “But for fame and money, not principle?” said one of them dubiously.

  “You are free to worry about motives,” said Michkag with a touch of contempt and more than a little arrogance. “As for me, my position in the Coalition is such that I care only about results.”

  The officer began backtracking and apologizing.

  “Enough!” snapped Michkag after another minute. He turned to Pretorius and Circe. “You two will go into the next room while
I discuss this further with my officers. They must feel free to speak their minds.”

  They got up, walked into the bedroom, and waited for the door to slide shut behind them.

  “Well?” asked Pretorius.

  “Some of them doubt your motives,” she said. “But none of them doubt Michkag’s identity.”

  “That’s all that counts,” said Pretorius. “We’re out of here in another day. He’s here for the duration.”

  They sat in silence for another ten minutes. Then Circe tensed.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know what he said,” she replied, “but he’s losing one of them.”

  “Can you tell which one?”

  “Not without being in the room with him.”

  “Damn.” He flicked his transmitter on with his tongue. “I don’t know what you just said, but Circe tells me that they all believed you up to then, but you’re losing one of them. If you can fix it, do so. If not, call us back in so we can at least identify him.”

  They spent another five minutes in the room. Circe shook her head at the end of it.

  “You still haven’t won him over,” whispered Pretorius. “Bring us back, let Circe identify him, and let him take us to the tower. I’ll have a reception committee waiting for him.”

  The door slid open after another minute, and Pretorius and Circe walked back into Zab 42.

  “This meeting is now officially over. Pretorius and Circe, welcome to the Coalition.”

  “Third from the right,” whispered Circe.

  Pretorius whispered the information to Michkag.

  “Zbagnorg,” said Michkag, facing the Kabori in question. “Take our two new allies to the storage room high up in the East Tower. They will be shipping out incognito on a supply ship in the morning.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” asked Zbagnorg.

  “Tell him that he can come along to keep an eye on us,” whispered Pretorius.

  “I have a feeling that I have not quelled all your doubts about this mission,” said Michkag. “Here is what I shall do. I relieve you forthwith of all other duties. From this day forward, you shall be their bodyguard, with the added duty of being their executioner if they behave in any manner that is not in keeping with their mission.”