The Fortress in Orion Read online

  “I like that idea!” said Pandora.

  “So do I!” said Snake.

  “All right,” said Pretorius. “Pandora, stick your computers in your backpack. Snake, Circe, put your weapons away. Ortega, I know you’re a walking weapon, but at least try to look cowed and harmless. And I want all four of you out of your black outfits and into street clothes. No sense looking like a unit.” Pretorius put his own burner and pulse gun into his backpack and began changing clothes. “Michkag, let Djibmet do the talking. We don’t want any record of your voice in the ship’s memory, just in case there’s some secret memory capture that Pandora’s computer hasn’t found yet.”

  Michkag gave the Kabori shrug that was the equivalent of a head nod.

  “Okay, Proto, time to bring the dead driver back to life.”

  Proto instantly changed his appearance.

  “What do you think?” Pretorius asked the others. “Is that the way he looked?”

  “It’s close enough,” said Circe. “It’s unlikely the robots have ever seen him. He just has to look the part.”

  “Point taken,” said Pretorius. He looked at the Wayfarer.

  “Okay,” he announced. “Let’s go.”

  21

  They approached the ship, with Djibmet and Michkag training their burners on them, and Proto walking nervously alongside—so nervously that Pretorius wondered if he was acting.

  When they reached the ship a robot—two-legged, upright, but definitely not shaped like a Man—appeared at the top of the ramp.

  “We have been told your ship is bound for Petrus IV,” said Djibmet. “These five Men are spies and we have been ordered to transport them to the fortress there. This one”—he gestured at Proto—“was our source of information. We have been instructed to bring him along, though whether for his testimony or for some reward I do not know. Now step aside and let us aboard.”

  He nudged Pretorius with his burner, and Pretorius began walking up the ramp, hands in the air, followed by the others.

  “Do you speak?” asked Djibmet in Kabori as he neared the top of the ramp.

  “I speak,” responded the robot.

  Djibmet quickly uttered the override codes. “You will not report that you are carrying us to Petrus IV,” he continued. “These are very important prisoners, and if word reaches Petrus IV before we arrive, there is serious concern that they may be assassinated before they can be interrogated. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “And you will tell the other robots?”

  “They already know,” answered the robot.

  Djibmet looked around. “Where are they?”

  “Inside the ship. I have transmitted your message to them.”

  “Good. You will tell them to clear a private area for my companion and myself. We will be responsible for our five prisoners and this local, and should any problem arise you will not be held responsible, and we alone will deal with it.”

  “Yes.”

  “It must have a door that can be closed and locked, and you will instruct the other robots that neither you nor they will be permitted to overhear anything we may say.”

  “By ‘we’ do you mean the two Kabori?”

  “I mean any of the eight of us,” said Djibmet. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will it be obeyed?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right,” said the Kabori. “Lead us to our private area and then leave us alone. If we need anything, I will seek you out.”

  The robot turned without another word and led them through the large ship, past huge rows of boxes and containers, until they came to a clear area that was perhaps forty feet on a side.

  “This is not private,” said Djibmet.

  The robot seemed not to hear or move, but an instant later the area was surrounded by walls of a bronze-colored alloy, and there was a door right where they had walked through to enter the area.

  “This will be acceptable,” said Djibmet.

  Before the robot could turn and leave, Pretorius cleared his throat noisily. Djibmet turned to look at him, and he silently mouthed the word Food.

  “Also,” added Djibmet before the robot could leave, “we have not brought any food for ourselves and the prisoners. Have you a galley, or will I have to appropriate some foodstuffs from your cargo?”

  “We have a galley. It is long-unused, but is in working order.”

  “Good. You will prepare two meals a day for each of us, after your scanners and computers determine what each of our species eats. If there are not the necessary materials for the preparation of meals in the galley, take whatever is needed from you cargo, and you will be reimbursed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Finally, is there a trash atomizer nearby, one where we can dump uneaten food?”

  The robot answered, using its own measurements. The nearest trash atomizer was twelve somethings straight out the door and then fourteen somethings to the left.

  “Thank you,” said Djibmet. “I have one final order. I want the ship to delete all record of our ever having been aboard.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Leave us now.”

  The robot left, and the door slid shut behind it as Djibmet leaned against a wall, looking like a runner who had just completed a marathon.

  “Well done,” said Pretorius. “You’re a born martinet.”

  Djibmet slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “I have never been so tense in my life.”

  “You did fine,” said Circe, reaching over and patting him on what passed for his shoulder.

  “What next?” asked Snake.

  “I know it’s impolite to discuss toilets in mixed company—and it doesn’t get much more mixed than right here,” said Pretorius, “but it’s even more impolite not to use one, and we’re going to be stuck in this room for nine days.” He turned to Djibmet. “Go out and get one of the robots to rig a toilet somehow, one all of us can use.”

  Djibmet approached the door, which slid open for him and closed again as soon as it sensed no one else was going to follow him.

  “Well, so far, so good,” said Circe.

  “You really think the robots won’t report their extra cargo, meaning us?” asked Snake.

  “It said it wouldn’t,” responded Pretorius. “And why would it lie, especially to a member of the ruling race?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said.

  “Damn!” enthused Pretorius. “That was easier than I thought.”

  “Getting aboard?” asked Proto.

  “Well, that too,” answered Pretorius with a smile. “But I was referring to getting Snake to agree with me.”

  She glared at him but remained silent.

  “And getting aboard was a hell of a lot easier too,” admitted Pretorius. “As for getting off, there are certainly enough containers to hide in.”

  “Won’t they be full of things?” asked Proto.

  “Not by the time we choose the ones we want and empty them out,” answered Pretorius. “We’ll want eight identical ones. The last thing we want is to get separated before we know our way around the damned fortress.”

  “If you’ve got nothing else for me to do, I’m going to get some sleep,” said Pandora. “I’ve been up almost a full Standard day.”

  “Not a bad idea,” agreed Snake, walking to the farthest end of the room. “This corner’s mine.”

  Djibmet returned twenty minutes later, just as Pandora and Snake had fallen asleep.

  “Well?” asked Pretorius.

  “It is done,” he answered. “There is no privacy, but since there is only one toilet only one of us will be using it at a time.”

  “You did well,” said Pretorius. “I have one more chore for you. Go hunt up a robot—any one of them will do, as long as they transmit everything instantaneously or nearly so—and explain that if they see any member of our party walking to or from the atomizer we are simply fulfilling a
biological need. They are not to harass us, report us, or hinder us in any way.”

  “I will,” said Djibmet. “I hope they believe me.”

  “You’re a sentient entity, and they’re machines that have been built to serve sentient entities—especially Kabori in military uniforms,” said Pretorius. “No reason why there should be a problem.”

  Pretorius noticed that Circe was smiling at him.

  Well, it sounds good and it calms him down, he thought as he smiled back at her. But it’ll never work on any robots we encounter inside the fortress.

  22

  On the fourth day they found the containers they wanted and very carefully emptied eight of them, bit by bit, carrying what they removed to the atomizer. It took them two days.

  On the sixth day they were close enough for Pandora to tie into the ship’s even more powerful computer and pull up the current security around the spaceport’s loading docks. It seemed that the containers would pass muster, that the weight of the Men and Kabori almost equaled the weight of the items they had removed. Proto, in his true form, didn’t begin to weigh as much, and Snake was too light as well, but they simply left some of the original contents in their containers.

  On the seventh day Pandora was able to study the fortress, looking for possible means of escape once they’d accomplished their mission. She pulled up floor plans of three levels, but the fortress was composed of seven levels, not counting its huge towers, and four of the levels were just too highly classified for her to access. She determined that the easternmost of the towers was the dock for military transport ships, and the other three for supply ships.

  On the eighth day the Wayfarer was assigned the dock at the southern tower, and Pandora was able to cast images of the tower’s interior into the room so they could study it—although, as Pretorius pointed out, it made no difference until they knew where their particular containers would be deposited. The main objective, he pointed out, was to get down from the tower once they’d gained access to the fortress and then determine where their quarry was, how best to approach him, and how to hide until that opportunity arose.

  On the ninth day Pretorius had Djibmet summon a robot to the room.

  “I have been given new orders,” said the Kabori as the robot appeared in the doorway. “I am to return the prisoners and the being who witnessed their brutality to Nortiqua II.”

  The robot, which had been asked no question and given no order, offered no response.

  “My superiors do not want anyone to know that the prisoners are aboard this ship, for fear of public unrest and anger. Therefore, in accordance with their instructions, I am ordering you and all other robots aboard The Morning Star to eradicate all trace of us, to restore this room, the atomizer, and the galley to the condition they were in ten days ago. You are to completely forget that we were ever aboard the ship, and should you see any of us between now and when the ship takes off from Petrus IV again, our images are not to register. You will proceed with your duties as if we are not present, and you will mention this to no one. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” said the robot.

  Pretorius caught Djibmet’s eye and mouthed the words he wanted spoken.

  “Is it understood and obeyed?”

  The robot seemed frozen for about ten seconds. “Yes,” it said at last.

  “Good,” said Djibmet. “Now go away.”

  Pandora told them when they were within thirty minutes of docking, and they left their room, sought out their containers, and climbed into them.

  They docked almost half a mile above the ground at the southern tower. A team of robots began unloading the cargo, they felt themselves being moved, and the preliminary stage of the operation was finally over.

  Now the fun begins, thought Pretorius wryly.

  23

  Pretorius waited until he was sure the robots were through moving cargo to the storage area where the containers had been placed, then opened his and stepped out. He found himself in a large circular room, perhaps one hundred feet in diameter. The room was filled with crates, containers, and boxes, and the portal leading to the ship was closed. He looked out a window and saw that he was perhaps half a mile above the ground. He walked by the seven crates that held his team and tapped gently on each. One by one they emerged, and he gave them some time to look around and get their bearings.

  Finally he walked over to Pandora.

  “The tower’s just for cargo, right?”

  “And defense against land attacks, though I don’t imagine there have been any in centuries,” she replied.

  “How many towers are there?” he asked.

  “Four. One at each corner.”

  “But the fortress itself is seven rectangular levels?”

  She nodded. “That’s right.”

  “It looks like stone,” he said. “At least the part I could see from the window.”

  “No, Nate. It’s much stronger than that. The stone is just a decorative surface laid on over the super-hardened metallic structure.”

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “Do they use the tower for anything besides defense and storage?”

  “I don’t think so,” she replied. “What did you have in mind?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Prison, laundry chute, anything.”

  “Like I said, I don’t think so.”

  “Djibmet?” he said, turning to the Kabori.

  “Yes?”

  “Would I be correct in assuming that no one comes up here unless they’re after something that’s stored here or the place is under attack?”

  “I assume so.”

  “You ‘assume’ so?” repeated Pretorius. “Why don’t you know?”

  “I have never been to Petrus IV,” answered the Kabori. “I am on this mission as Michkag’s coach and teacher.”

  “Have you heard anything about it?”

  “Very little,” said Djibmet. “Just that it has this impenetrable fortress.”

  “We’ve already penetrated it,” said Pretorius. “So much for myths.” He put his hands on his hips and slowly surveyed the room. “I guess we’ll make this our headquarters at the start, at least until Michkag shows up. They’re a lot less likely to do a spy check up here rather than down on one of the levels that we can assume are constantly in use.”

  “So we just sit here and then hope we can find Michkag?” demanded Snake.

  “I didn’t say that, Snake,” replied Pretorius. “This is where we’ll eat and sleep, and where we’ll come back to after making our excursions into the parts of the fortress where Michkag and his bodyguards will be.” He paused. “We’ve got to get Pandora access to some of their security systems if it’s at all possible, so she can rig them to let us pass. And we need a place to hide Circe where she can still contact us, because she’ll be the one who knows if they’re buying the impersonation or not.”

  “And the rest of us?” asked Ortega.

  “The rest of us are foot soldiers,” said Pretorius. “Or, more accurately, foot saboteurs. The three who definitely have predetermined functions are Pandora, Circe, and of course Michkag, who is the object of the exercise. The rest of us will work at harassing, misleading, and confusing the enemy enough so that we can pull off this masquerade and make our escape with our prisoner.”

  “How will we escape?” asked Proto. “We don’t have a ship.”

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

  “You’re not much for sharing your plans with your comrades,” complained Djibmet.

  “You swear in blood—always assuming you have some—that no one more than thirty feet away can hear me, sense my presence, or read my lips, and I’ll consider being more open with you.”

  “I apologize,” said the Kabori. “I am not a warrior or a saboteur or a kidnapper. I am just a businessman who is appalled by what my home planet and our Coalition have become.”

  “No hard feelings,” said Pretorius.

  “You have to understand,” said Circe gently,
“this is new to you and relatively new to most of us, excerpt perhaps Snake, but Nathan’s been doing it just about his whole adult life. That’s why we trust him as our leader, and we also don’t question him when we’re in enemy, or even neutral, territory.”

  Djibmet turned a dull shade of purple—the Men assumed it was his equivalent of a blush—and stared at the floor.

  “Well, we might as well get started,” said Pretorius. “Or at least one of us might.” He turned to Pandora. “I see a door off to the left. It looks too small for any machine that would be required to take these containers out more than one at a time, so I assume it’s for Kabori to enter and exit. Is it wired?”

  Pandora checked the tiny computer in her hand, then took another off her belt to double-check.

  “Yes, but I can negate it.”

  “Without sounding any alarms?”

  “There won’t be any alarms even if I screw up, Nate. It’ll show up in their security headquarters, but they won’t want whoever’s using the door to know that he’s alerted them.”

  “And you can negate that?”

  She checked her two computers again. “Almost certainly.”

  “Ninety percent chance or better?” he persisted.

  She nodded her head.

  “Good. Have the robots move six—no, make that seven—containers in here, containers that can hold a Man or a Kabori—and line ’em all up on that wall, just in case we should have any use for them in the days to come.” He turned to Djibmet. “All right. You’ll be our advance scouting party of one.” He stared at him. “Get out of that officer’s uniform. I don’t want anyone talking to you, mentioning things, or asking questions you don’t know the answer to. I know you packed a grunt’s uniform too. No one ever talks to them.”

  “A grunt?” asked Djibmet, confused.

  “An enlisted soldier,” said Pretorius. “Someone who can ask certain questions I want answered without arousing any suspicions.”

  Djibmet walked over to his backpack, opened it, and uttered a very alien growl.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s gone.”

  “Gone?” repeated Pretorius.

  “One of the robots on the ship offered to clean my goods for me when I was in the bathroom. Somehow it neglected to put it back.” He growled again. “But I never told it to clean that!”