The Fortress in Orion

by Mike Resnick

  “I accept,” said Zbagnorg, snapping a salute. “But of course, I do not know exactly what their mission is.”

  Michkag frowned. “You here are my most trusted officers, and I have no doubt as to your total loyalty. But should you fall into enemy hands, they have very efficient methods of extracting information, so I choose not to relate the details here.” He paused thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what: you go up to the tower with them now, and wait there for me. I’ll come up later, or at least before the supply ship leaves, and give you all the details. Does that meet your approval?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Michkag turned to Pretorius. “And you?”

  “Who are we to dispute our commander’s orders on our very first assignment?” answered Pretorius. “We will simply have to convince Zbagnorg through our ongoing efforts that we are exactly what we present ourselves to be.”

  “Then it is settled,” said Michkag. “I want all six of you to accompany our new friends to the lift, to avoid any scenes with those who do not know they have become our allies. Only Zbagnorg need ascend to the tower with them, but your presence until then will avoid any awkwardness.”

  The door slid open, and Pretorius and Circe, escorted by six high-ranking Kabori officers, walked the length of the corridor, amid curious and hostile stares. Then, at the airlift, the other five waited until the two Men and Zbagnorg were slowly being lifted on a cushion of air, then went about their duties.

  Pretorius coughed, covered his mouth, and whispered “Change of plans. Get Felix.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, stepped off at the proper level, and approached the door.

  “I shall be watching you every second,” said Zbagnorg to Pretorius. “I don’t know how you fooled Michkag, but you are not fooling me. Sooner or later you will blunder, or he will blunder, and I will be there.”

  They reached the door, and as it slid open, Pretorius took a quick step backward and shoved Zbagnorg into Ortega’s waiting prosthetic arms. The big man squeezed; they heard a loud snap! and four lesser ones as the door slid shut, and he let the Kabori fall to the floor.

  “Dead?” asked Pretorius.

  Ortega leaned over the body, then looked up. “He’s still breathing,” answered Ortega. “I wouldn’t bet on his ever walking again, though.”

  Pretorius took out his screecher, turned it full force on Zbagnorg’s head, and fired it.

  “Well, he’s dead now,” said Ortega, “and that’s for damned sure!”

  “I suppose you want us to chop this one up too?” asked Snake with a grimace.

  “Not necessary,” replied Pretorius. “They know he’ll be on the Moonbeam, so all we have to do is find some way to jettison him when we’re a parsec or more away from here.”

  “So you really pulled it off?” said Djibmet.

  “So far so good . . .”

  “Then you’re ready to go?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” said Pretorius. “And we’re all ready to go. Including you.”

  “Me?” said Djibmet.

  Pretorius nodded his head. “You.”

  “But . . . but he needs me!” protested the Kabori.

  “He’s had you since the day he was born,” answered Pretorius, “and he’s now in command not only of the fortress but of the whole damned Coalition. What does he need you for now?”

  “There are little things, nuances and subtleties . . .”

  “Djibmet, we’ve got the visual record here. There are between thirty and forty Kabori who saw you walking around here. You asked for the whereabouts of an officer who doesn’t exist. Now, if you leave with us, that’ll almost certainly all be forgotten, and if not, you were simply a spy who got away. But if you stay here under Michkag’s protection, sooner or later someone will remember—and that could cast doubts on Michkag’s judgment and maybe even his authenticity. Also, he’s lived with these officers for years. They know you’re not a fellow officer, they know you’re not a close friend, they know he has no reason to offer you either a commission or his protection. Don’t you think he’s taking enough chances as it is?”

  Djibmet was silent for a long moment, then looked up, his face a mark of pain and guilt. “I was being selfish and thoughtless,” he said softly. “You are right, of course. I will leave with you.”

  “I’ll let Michkag know,” said Pretorius. “It’ll give him one less thing to worry about.”

  There was another silence, broken by Proto. “Well, that’s that!” he said.

  “Yeah,” said Pretorius. “Now we just have to get back through maybe a thousand enemy star systems without alerting any of them, and with no Michkag clone to intercede for us if push comes to shove.”

  “Damn,” said Proto.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t even have a stomach—not the way Men and Kabori do—and suddenly you’ve made it start hurting.”

  32

  Pretorius couldn’t see any sense waiting in the tower, so he moved his crew and Michkag into the ship. Since it was all but empty, each of them took a large section for his or her own quarters. They designated one central area as a meeting room and promptly found themselves spending most of their time there. Pandora had no problem controlling and instructing the robots, and they made themselves reasonably comfortable for the next twenty hours, until the Moonbeam took off.

  “Its itinerary seems simple enough,” announced Pretorius. “It picks up a small amount of cargo on Althion II and Degma IV, and terminates on Vorrelb V.”

  “Speaking of cargo,” said Circe, “what about our own?”

  “I’ve got enough stuff to keep him sleeping for most of the trip, and tranquil for the rest of it,” answered Pretorius. “We’ll tube-feed him until he’s awake enough to feed himself, which if things go as planned won’t be until we’re back in the Democracy on the final leg of our trip.”

  “Okay,” said Ortega. “Getting back to the spaceports . . .”

  “They’re all within the Coalition’s boundaries, of course,” answered Pretorius, “so we’re going to have hunt up a ship that can take us the rest of the way on one of those three worlds. Another cargo ship is out of the question. We might find one that goes over the border to No Man’s Land, but we’ll never get a Coalition ship that’s going all the way to the Democracy.”

  “So we steal a ship?” said Snake with a smile. “I like it.”

  Pretorius merely stared at her.

  “What?” she said at last.

  “I know it’s not to your taste,” he said, “but I kind of thought we’d buy one with all that cash we got for the pelts on the way in.”

  “Damn!” she said. “I forgot all about that.”

  “Anyway, we don’t want to do it at Vorrelb V, which figures to have the biggest spaceport.”

  “They’ll have the most ships,” said Ortega.

  “Unquestionably,” agreed Pretorius. “But they’ll also have the most security, and along with Djibmet, who’d prefer not to have his face or voiceprint on any records, we’ll be five Men and an alien I’ll wager even their scanners have never seen before.”

  “I’m going to have to make the purchase,” said Djibmet. “I’m the only Kabori here, and we’re still in Coalition territory.”

  “Yeah, you’re elected,” answered Pretorius. “Anyway, we don’t touch down on Althion II for three days, so just relax and try to catch up on your sleep.” He walked over to where Pandora sat. “All except you. I need to see the layouts of the three spaceports.”

  “I anticipated as much,” she said, bringing up a holograph of each in turn.

  “Degma IV’s so little I’m surprised it can accommodate the Moonbeam,” he noted.

  She smiled. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “Something that small can’t just be hosting the occasional oversized supply ship.”

  “It’s not,” said Pandora. “It handles half the stellar traffic that comes to or leaves the planet.”

&
nbsp; “Just tell me we’re going to be on the ground during the night.”

  “We land in the middle of the night and take off about two hours after sunrise.”

  “Perfect,” said Pretorius.

  “Good. Because you’re not going to like the other two at all.

  Althion II’s in orbit between two stars, so it’s never dark. And the Vorrelb V one is a major-league spaceport with major-league security.”

  “One’s all we need,” said Pretorius. He got up, walked back to his own private area, lay down, and was gently snoring a minute later. The landing and takeoff from Althion II was fast and efficient. Pretorius decided they were far enough from the fortress to jettison Zbagnorg’s body and sent it spinning off into space.

  Four days later they were cleared to land on Degma IV.

  “Okay,” said Pretorius, handing a stack of currency to Djibmet. “You don’t want publicity, you might even be on the run from the law. It’s strictly a cash-and-carry sale. You don’t have to test it out, but you want to be sure it flew in on its own power, that it hasn’t been sitting there for months waiting for some sucker to buy it. And make sure it’s got room for five Men, you, Proto, and our sleeping passenger.”

  “And once the sale is made, what next?” asked the Kabori.

  “Hopefully Pandora will have their surface scanner temporarily disabled by then. You have some friends, and you don’t want the law to know they’re with you. They might be smuggling something valuable in that box. Of course they’re reluctant to even walk across the spaceport where they might be seen, so you want a transport vehicle, one with glass darkened and shades drawn, to pick us up and take us to the ship. And the only way the deal goes down is if you drive the vehicle yourself.”

  “They’ll never go for it,” protested Djibmet.

  “Hey, Felix,” said Pretorius, “what is one of those little spaceport transport vehicles worth?”

  “Used? Maybe six thousand credits. I don’t know how much that is in Coalition currency.”

  Pretorius peeled off more bills. “Your good-faith deposit,” he said, handing them to Djibmet. “Think they’ll still have a problem?”

  “No,” said the Kabori firmly. “No, they definitely won’t.”

  “Okay, you know what size ship we need. Make the best deal you can.”

  “You can trust me,” said Djibmet.

  “If I didn’t, what was left of you would be floating in space next to Zbagnorg’s body.”

  The Moonbeam touched down, Djibmet left with the first load of cargo, and thirty minutes later a darkened vehicle approached the ship.

  “He’s back,” announced Snake.

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “Pandora, order the robots to move that huge crate next, and then the box with Michkag in it. We’ll stand on the platform behind the crate as it lowers to the ground. Then we’re just a few steps from the vehicle.”

  “I could have them move it once it’s on the ground, so that it’s still between us and the cameras, just in case they come back on.”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” agreed Pretorius. “How long has the system been down?”

  “Since just before Djibmet left,” she answered. “They ought to be bypassing what I did and getting back online any minute now.”

  “Okay, have the robots move the box the way you said.”

  And within ten minutes they had left the Moonbeam, driven across the spaceport to the ship Djibmet had purchased, boarded the ship, loaded Michkag onto it, and taken off.

  “Done,” said Circe with a sigh as they reached light speeds.

  But of course, they weren’t.

  33

  The voyage went smoothly for a week. Even after they passed out of Coalition territory Pretorius refused to send the news of their success to General Cooper. (“We’ve got a Pandora” was his explanation. “Who’s to say they don’t have one? We’ll tell him when we see him.”)

  On the eighth day it became clear that they wouldn’t have enough fuel to make it the rest of the way to the Deluros system, so they headed for an orbiting hangar and fueling station around Preston IV.

  “Preston?” said Snake. “Isn’t that a human name?”

  “Yes,” replied Pretorius.

  “Then what the hell’s it doing in No Man’s Land?”

  “He probably didn’t know we weren’t going to expand forever, back when he named it.” Pretorius turned to the crew. “Since this is No Man’s Land, there’s no reason why Djibmet and the rest of us can’t stretch our legs and get a look around while they’re fueling us up.” He turned to Proto. “Probably be best if you went as a Man.”

  Proto, who had appeared as a middle-aged man since leaving the fortress, nodded his agreement.

  “I hate to ask, but how are we paying for this?” asked Pandora.

  Pretorius pulled out the rest of the cash from the pelts and held it up. “It’s Coalition money, but this is No Man’s Land. They’ll take it from them or the Democracy.”

  “But will they take Coalition cash from a Man?”

  “Probably,” answered Pretorius. “But just to be on the safe side, we’ll let Djibmet pay for the fuel.”

  “There was more?” exclaimed Snake. “How the hell much were they worth? I think we’re all in the wrong line of business.”

  “You held some back?” said Djibmet, frowning. “What if the person I bought this ship from had demanded more money?”

  “Then he was a thief and you’d have found another seller,” answered Pretorius.

  They began approaching the station, and in another twenty minutes they had docked, Pretorius had ordered the fuel and paid for it, while Circe gave Michkag his daily intravenous meal. Then they went over to visit a restaurant that served all races, just to vary their diet after weeks in space.

  While they were eating, a group of a dozen Torquals entered, each of them the usual nine to ten feet tall, each of them with the usual grim, unsmiling visage.

  “Men!” growled one of them.

  The others merely glared.

  “And a Kabori,” said another.

  “We fight your wars, and you sit here and eat together.”

  They kept up the verbal harangue throughout the meal. Finally Pretorius and his group got up to leave.

  “Where the hell’s Security?” whispered Circe.

  “Look at those little badges on their outfits,” replied Pretorius. “These guys are Security.”

  “And liquored up or the equivalent,” added Ortega.

  “Why not?” said Pretorius. “Who’s going to stop them?”

  Snake stood up to leave. “I can’t tell you how pleasant you’ve made this meal,” she said.

  “We didn’t try to,” said a Torqual.

  “That’s why I can’t tell you.”

  Suddenly six of the Torquals were on their feet, and the others were starting to rise.

  “I’ll handle this,” said Proto softly.

  Pretorius looked at Proto in astonishment. “You?”

  “Just be ready.”

  “We’re not looking for trouble,” said Pretorius. “Are you going to let us leave peaceably?”

  The Torqual who seemed to be the leader pulled his burner and fired it just over Pretorius’s head, then laughed. “Does that answer your question?”

  “Absolutely not!” thundered Proto—and suddenly the Torquals were facing a thirty-foot-high nightmare creature that seemed to be all teeth and was roaring at them. They instantly turned their weapons on it, as Pretorius began shooting them down one by one with his own burner.

  “Felix, get busy!” he snapped, and Ortega began blasting away with his built-in weaponry.

  The image of the roaring, screaming face with the huge teeth moved to the right, then the left, then seemed to grow even larger. Finally one of the Torquals, realizing their fire was doing no good against the hideous beast, turned his fire on Pretorius, who instantly fell over, cursing a blue streak.

  Then Ortega killed the last of them, insta
ntly the image vanished, and Proto was briefly the misshapen lump that constituted his true appearance. He then became a middle-aged man again.

  “God damn it!” muttered Pretorius from the floor.

  “Are you badly hurt?” asked Circe.

  “I’m not hurt at all,” he growled. “But that’s the third artificial foot I’ve had blown away. Can’t any of these bastards ever hit anything else?”

  “Just be grateful that they can’t,” said Ortega, lifting him up and supporting him.

  “How’s Proto?” asked Pretorius.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I was starting to wonder,” said Pretorius. “All those blasts . . .”

  “They shot at the image,” answered Proto with a smile. “If they’d aimed for its chin they might actually have killed me.”

  “We’ll let that be our little secret,” said Pretorius.

  “You know,” said Snake, “sooner or later they’re going to summon another Security team—a sober one.”

  Pretorius nodded, then suddenly lurched forward and began losing his balance. “Get me back to the ship. I don’t plan to spend the rest of the day leaning on Felix or having him carry me.”

  “Why not?” said Ortega. “After all, look how far you’ve carried us.”

  EPILOGUE

  Pretorius looked over to the door as Cooper entered his hospital room.

  “Got the foot again, I see,” said the general with a smile. “At least we’re not growing you any new organs this time. Evidently you’re getting minimally better at your craft.”

  “Go to hell,” said Pretorius.

  “Just kidding, Nathan, my boy.”

  “Can you guess what I think of your sense of humor?”

  Cooper chuckled. “Actually, it was a brilliant piece of work, and I’ve recommended medals for you and your whole team.”

  “I can’t tell you how thrilled we are,” replied Pretorius with a grimace.

  “I mean it, Nathan,” continued Cooper. “This is a truly remarkable team you’ve put together. It’d be a shame to split it up now.”

  Pretorius stared at him for a long moment. “Okay, let’s have it,” he said at last.