The Fortress in Orion Page 10

  He was awakened by a warning siren that rang throughout the ship. He’d kept his clothes on, so he had only to slip into his boots, and then he was out of his cabin and heading to the bridge.

  “What’s the problem?” he demanded.

  “We’ve been hailed by a small military ship,” answered Pandora, throwing an image of it onto a holoscreen.

  “Kabori?”

  “I think so.”

  “What do they want?”

  She shrugged. “They haven’t said. It might be just routine, or it might be that they’ve put two and two together and figured out this is the ship that took off from Brastos III an hour after the bank president was killed.”

  The others were now on the bridge and had heard what Pandora had said.

  “What kind of armaments do they carry?” asked Ortega.

  “Yeah,” added Snake. “Do we fight or run?”

  “Neither,” said Pretorius.

  “We just sit here and wait to be boarded?” demanded Snake.

  “They’ve already had time to identify us,” answered Pretorius. “If we shoot, the whole navy will know. And if we run from a navy ship, the whole navy will be after us.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Ortega.

  “Hide.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Snake.

  “Snake, Pandora, Felix, Circe, go to your cabins.” Pretorius turned to the Michkag clone. “You, too. You’re the last thing we want anyone to see out here.”

  The clone and the four humans reluctantly followed his orders.

  “Proto,” he said, “become a Kabori. The same identity you showed me the last time I asked you.”

  Proto instantly projected the asked-for illusion.

  Pretorius turned to Djibmet. “They won’t bring a security system, or even a camera, onboard, but he still doesn’t know the language enough to convince anyone he’s Kabori, so you’re going to have to do the talking.”

  “Me?” said Djibmet nervously.

  Pretorius nodded. “If anyone asks, you found this ship abandoned on Questos II, that little world we passed last night, and you and your mute friend are bringing it back home to . . . to whatever planet you want to claim as home.”

  “I don’t know . . .” said the Kabori.

  “It’ll work,” said Pretorius. “They’re looking for three Men and a lump, not two Kabori. Hell, it may even save us the need of stealing another ship. Let them come aboard, be friendly, be surprised but thrilled that you found such a nice ship sitting deserted on that little dirtball.”

  “I’ll try,” said Djibmet.

  “You can do it.” Pretorius turned to Proto. “Not a word, not a sound. You were born mute, or you lost your voice to a disease, whatever Djibmet says. You’re not afraid of them. After all, they’re your own race. If they need a loyalty salute or anything, just be guided by Djibmet and do what he does.”

  “Right,” said Proto.

  “That’s your last word until they’ve come and gone.”

  Proto nodded his agreement.

  “They’ll be here in another ninety seconds,” announced Pandora’s voice over the speaker system.

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “I’m outta here. Good luck.”

  He considered going to his cabin, then changed his mind and joined Pandora in hers, where her machines allowed him to see and hear what was happening on the bridge.

  “Hail the ship!” said a voice in Kabori, which Pandora’s computer translated into Terran. “Name and registration, please.”

  She quickly sent the registration data to the bridge computer, and Djibmet transferred it to the approaching ship.

  “Prepare to be boarded, Victor.”

  Pandora handed Pretorius an earphone and plugged one into her own ear so they could continue monitoring the situation with no sound coming from her cabin.

  A moment later three Kabori, all in military gear, burners in hands, boarded the ship. The leader stopped when he saw Djibmet and Proto.

  “You are Kabori!” he said, surprised.

  “Yes,” said Djibmet.

  “We were told this ship was the possession of three wanted Men and an alien.”

  “Perhaps it was,” said Djibmet. “I cannot speak to that.”

  “Explain!”

  “We found this ship half a Standard day ago on Questos II,” said Djibmet. “It had been abandoned. I left my crew on my own ship and decided to take this back to my home planet to sell it.”

  The leader turned to Proto. “Is that true?”

  “He is mute,” said Djibmet quickly.

  Proto offered a helpless and convincing shrug.

  “What was your business on Questos II?”

  “We had none,” answered Djibmet. “We were passing through the Questos system on our way to Magtar IV, where I do have business. Evidently the previous owners were in such a hurry to leave the ship that they neglected to shut down all the systems. We detected a weak signal, and thinking it might well be a distress signal we landed as close to it as possible and found an empty ship. At first we thought the owners might be on the planet, but then we saw signs that they had transferred to a ship that had been kept nearby and departed. I felt that there was no sense letting a perfectly serviceable ship go to waste, so . . .” He left the sentence peter out.

  “So you’ve no idea what direction the previous owners went, what their next port of call might be?”

  “I do not even know who they were,” answered Djibmet. “The ship had been stripped clean of all identification.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “I do not believe they were Kabori, though. The chairs, the galley, even the lavatories were not created for us.”

  “They were not Kabori,” confirmed the leader. “And you saw nothing of them?”

  “No,” said Djibmet. “I am not a thief. If they had been there, I would never have appropriated this ship.”

  “I commend your attitude.”

  Pretorius turned to Pandora, smiled, and gave her a thumbs-up gesture, mouthing the words They bought it.

  The Kabori asked a few more questions, then returned to their own ship and headed away a moment later, as the rest of the team gathered on the bridge.

  “You pulled it off!” said Pretorius enthusiastically as Proto resumed his human identity.

  “I was frightened every second,” admitted Djibmet.

  “You didn’t show it,” noted Pandora.

  “I have to sit down,” said Djibmet, all but collapsing in a chair.

  “What now?” asked Ortega.

  “Now we figure out what we learned,” said Pretorius.

  “What we learned?” repeated Ortega, puzzled.

  Pretorius nodded. “Pandora, once Djibmet’s had a few minutes to relax, blow the whole scene up on the holoscreen and have him identify ranks on the uniforms and also tell you if the uniforms themselves have changed since he left the Coalition.”

  “Right,” she responded.

  “Circe, I assume you were monitoring it?”

  “That’s not quite the term I would use,” she said.

  “But they bought it?”

  She nodded. “One was a little suspicious, but he was an underling and not inclined to argue with authority.” Suddenly she smiled. “The overwhelming emotion came from Djibmet, poor baby.”

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “We’ve had our first serious confrontation. Let’s hope all future ones will go just as well.”

  But somehow he knew that they wouldn’t. He just didn’t know how soon it would be.

  14

  “Shit!” said Pretorius.

  “What is it?” asked Circe.

  “There’s a fleet of about a dozen ships headed this way, including one hell of a dreadnought.”

  “How far away?”

  “A couple of days, but there’s no way we can avoid them or even avoid being seen, not with the sophisticated gear the big one has.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Proto.


  “We can’t run,” said Pretorius. “That’ll just attract their attention.” He paused. “So we have two options. We can keep going, as if we have every right to be here. Or we can touch down in this upcoming system. Seems to have seven planets, but I haven’t checked any of them for oxygen yet.”

  “Why not go?” suggested Pandora. “After all, we’ve been inspected by the military. If they got the report, we’re a harmless ship with a crew of two, both Kabori.”

  “I know,” said Pretorius. “But if anyone checks for records or even traces of this ship on Questos II, we’re in deep shit. So we’re in one of three situations: they believed us and didn’t check our story out, they believed us and checked it out anyway, or they didn’t believe us. Given the odds, I’d say we’re better off landing until the fleet passes by.”

  Snake shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  “Okay, we’ll make for the nearest star. Pandora, start monitoring any messages they’re sending. Let’s find out what they’re doing here and whether they plan to stay in this quadrant, or if they’re just passing through.”

  Within an hour Pandora was able to report that the fleet was on a normal patrol route and would clear of the quadrant within two days.

  “So they’re not hunting for Men?” said Pretorius.

  “I’m sure they’d love to find some, but no, they’re not,” she answered.

  “All right. The fifth planet has an oxygen atmosphere, maybe a bit thin but breathable for a couple of days. And on the plus side, it’s a smallish world, with about seventy percent Standard gravity, so at least we’re not going to work up a sweat getting around. We should reach it in about six hours.”

  “Any sentient life?” asked Circe.

  “Nothing native to the planet,” answered Pretorius. “There’s some animal life, and there seems to be a trading post, though what the hell they have to trade is beyond me.”

  “Got a name?” asked Snake.

  “Just Mitox V,” answered Pretorius. Suddenly he smiled. “We can dub it Sally Kowalski if you like.”

  “Make it Snake Kowalski and you got yourself a deal,” she replied, returning his smile.

  “Djibmet, how will you fare with the planetary readout I just gave?”

  “I’ll be fine with the gravity,” answered the Kabori. “I think I may want weights in my boots, just to be on the safe side. Kabori legs are much more heavily muscled than yours.”

  “Okay, you have a few hours to make whatever adjustments you need.”

  “Good news,” announced Pandora, looking up from the tiny computer in her hand.

  “Oh?”

  She nodded. “The dreadnought broadcasted its route to some other ship or fleet that’s out of our range, but I was able to monitor it, and they don’t seem to be stopping off at Questos II, so we can keep this ship, since it’s on record that they’ve already inspected and cleared it.”

  “Good,” said Pretorius. “The closer we get to the Orion constellation, the harder it will be to buy or even steal another ship.”

  “How are we going to land on Petrus IV?” asked Ortega. “I can’t imagine we can just ask for coordinates and set the ship down in a military hangar, then hope no one’s watching as we leave it and hunt for the fortress.”

  “I’m working on it,” said Pretorius.

  “Bullshit,” said Snake.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know exactly how you plan to get in,” she said. “You improvise when you have to, but you never set out without a plan and a number of options.”

  “Like I said, I’m working on it.”

  “And we’re not going to approach the damned planet in this ship, are we?” she continued.

  “No, of course not.”

  She turned to Ortega with a triumphant smile. “See?”

  They killed time for the next few hours.

  “You know what I hate second-most about these damned covert missions?” said Ortega at one point. “It’s all the goddamned waiting.”

  “What do you hate most?” asked Proto curiously.

  “The part where we’re not waiting anymore,” answered Ortega.

  “He hates everything,” said Snake. “With an attitude like that, he should be in the regular army.”

  “Where do you think I got all these artificial limbs and eyes and such?” growled Ortega.

  Pretorius walked over to stand behind Pandora’s shoulder as she read one computer and listened to another. “How’s it going?”

  “Near as I can tell, no one’s landed there in a week or more” was her answer.

  “What the hell do they sell, or trade, or black market?”

  “You want a shot in the dark?” she replied.

  “Why not?”

  “There seems to be a hell of a vicious fur-bearing animal living in the eastern hemisphere. Since there’s no sentient native population and no colony, the only conclusion I can draw is that there are a few Kabori or other sentients roaming the hemisphere hunting for pelts. One small trading post would handle it, and it explains why there are only three ships there. No one wants to hike a thousand miles to find his prey, so they probably take their ships to where the critters are and then bring ’em back to the trading post.”

  “I believe Pandora has hit upon it,” offered Djibmet. “There is a very rare, very valuable fur that comes from this general area of the Coalition. I confess that I don’t know or recall what the animal is called.”

  “What does it look like?” asked Pandora.

  “The animal?” said Djibmet. “I have no idea. But the pelt is an exquisite red-gold.”

  “That’s probably it,” said Pretorius. “At least it’s as good an explanation as we’re going to get until we touch down.” He checked the navigation computer. “Which should be in about an hour. Djibmet, you’ll go in alone. No sense letting them see that there are five Men and a Michkag on the ship. Tell them you were feeling sick, or lonely, whatever you think they’ll buy, and that you don’t want to inconvenience them and you’ll take off in another couple of days.” He turned to Proto. “Remember the bank president?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take her form.”

  Instantly Proto was the female that Pretorius had killed.

  “Pretty good. Do you speak her language?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not,” said Pretorius with a grimace. “Okay, these guys are pretty isolated, and Brastos III is quite a few light-years from here. Speak any language you know, and let them assume it goes with the female you’re imitating.”

  “Why send both of us?” asked Djibmet.

  “Because if for any reason they distrust you, I want one of you to go into hysterics or faint or something to take all their attention while the other presses the alarm button.”

  “Alarm button?” repeated Djibmet, confused.

  “You’ll each have a communicator. Pandora will rig it so that if you touch it in a certain spot or say a certain word, it alerts us on the ship that you’re in trouble and need help.”

  They touched down in early evening, in the middle of a storm, and waited an hour until the worst of it had passed before sending Djibmet and Proto to walk the half mile to the trading post, a large but unimaginative building made of some alloy that could withstand all of the planet’s weather conditions, some of which could be incredibly harsh.

  “So how do you think they’ll do?” asked Ortega after they’d shut the airlock.

  “People out here in the boonies don’t seem to want to make Kabori mad,” answered Pretorius. “I can only assume they have good reasons not to.”

  “Their ships sure aren’t much,” noted Snake, looking at a viewscreen.

  “These are the shopkeepers. The rich, or soon-to-be-rich, or hopefully rich hunters will have the best ships, and they’ll all be parked out in the wilderness where the golden animals are,” answered Pretorius.

  “I was just hoping we’d find a nice one to steal.”

  “Forge
t it,” said Pretorius. “This one’s already passed inspection. Why get one that has to do it all over again. The next crew might not believe Djibmet and might want to inspect the whole thing. Besides, why do you care? You once told me that you don’t like ships.”

  “I don’t,” she responded. “But I like stealing.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” he said.

  “I don’t know why I couldn’t have gone with Djibmet,” said Michkag.

  “You’re our treasure,” answered Pretorius, “the reason for the whole mission. We can’t risk you.”

  “But even if they identified me, we’re well into the Coalition,” continued Michkag. “Surely they wouldn’t even consider harming me. The consequences would be cataclysmic.”

  “They thought no one would ever kill Caesar or Abraham Lincoln,” responded Pretorius. “They tried to kill Adolf Hitler and Conrad Bland.”

  “I don’t know any of those names,” said the Kabori.

  “No reason why you should. They were Men, and you’re only two years old. But they’ve killed Kabori leaders in the past. Sometimes people don’t care about the consequences, and you’re too valuable to risk.”

  “I feel so useless on this mission!” complained Michkag.

  “Wait until we reach Petrus IV and you convince a few hundred million countrymen that you’re the original Michkag,” said Pretorius with a smile. “I guarantee you’ll feel useful in one hell of a hurry.”

  The Kabori remained silent, and Pretorius went to the galley for a snack. He was joined by Snake and Circe, and then Ortega. Finally they returned to the bridge and then, a couple of hours later, to their quarters.

  Pretorius lay down on his bunk, an amused smile on his face as he marveled at how quickly they adjusted to day and night once again. He was awakened by an alarm that woke the whole ship. He went quickly to the bridge, where he found Snake and Pandora already there. Circe, Ortega, and Michkag joined them a moment later.

  “Something went wrong,” said Pandora. “That was the distress signal.”