The Fortress in Orion (26 page)

“
Their
Michkag will be carted up, hopefully within a minute of his entering the room,” answered Pretorius. “But we can't leave
our
Michkag in his place until we know that they accept him. Which means Circe and I will have to hang around for a while.”

“They'll kill you on sight,” said Michkag.

“Not if you tell them not to,” said Pretorius.

“And they think he
is
Michkag,” added Snake.

“So what exactly do I do?” asked Michkag.

“You improvise,” replied Pretorius. “I wasn't going to mention this until we had maybe half an hour to go, so you didn't spend any time worrying about it. Just remember: you are an absolute dictator. You can tell them we're turncoats and spies in your service, or that we're prisoners. Either way, you want us taken up to this tower and shipped out of here. No one will dare disobey you.”

“And if one of my officers offers his own ship?”

Pretorius shook his head. “We don't want to split up. You'll find a reason not to accept the offer.”

“A
valid
reason,” replied Michkag, frowning. “I hope I'm up to this. I am not afraid, but when all is said and done I am less than two years old. There may be answers that will give me away.”

“We're going to supply you with a tiny earphone. I'll whisper into it when no one's looking—and if they
are
looking, I'll pretend to cough and cover my mouth with my hand. Just remember: anything you say is absolute law.”

“I assume I won't be sending you back to the tower without armed guards. What happens when they get there? They won't just open the door and shove you inside, and then go back down.”

“They'll turn us over to two of your officers who are waiting for us there,” answered Pretorius.

“Two?” said Michkag, surprised. “There's just Djibmet.”

“Proto, become an officer,” said Pretorius, and instantly Proto appeared as a uniformed Kabori officer, the equivalent of a colonel.

“But they'll know it's not real,” protested Michkag. “He can't fool any of the devices.”

“So what? They'll only see him at the doorway, with no scanners or sensors trained on him. Then the door will slide shut, they'll be on the outside going back to the lower level, and that's the end of it.”

“They may insist on entering this area.”

“That'd be against your orders,” replied Pretorius. “And if they're foolish enough to disobey orders, Felix and Snake will be happy to demonstrate the consequences of disobedience the second the door slides shut.”

“Well,” said Djibmet, “it
sounds
foolproof.”

“Nothing's foolproof,” answered Pretorius. “The trick is to be prepared for just about anything that can go wrong, because something always does.”

Pandora handed the earphone to Michkag and gave the tiny speaker to Pretorius. “You got any false teeth, Nate?”

“All but four or five,” he answered.

“Good,” she said, walking over and standing in front of him. “Open up.” He opened his mouth. “Yeah, there's a nice molar on the lower left. Too damned clean and unmarked to be an original. We'll remove it and insert the transmitter there.”

“Be my guest.”

She reached into her pocket, brought forth a number of tools, chose the one she wanted, and replaced the others. She then reached into his mouth, clamped the instrument on the molar in question, and gave it a yank.

“Goddamn, that hurt!” muttered Pretorius, rubbing his lower jaw.

“Of course it hurt,” she replied. “It was anchored in there. Now let me stick this in. There'll be a couple of pins on the bottom that'll keep it from moving around, so prepare to curse again.”

She fastened and adjusted the transmitter. He grimaced but made no sound.

“Now,” said Pandora, “run your tongue over the top of it.” She paused as he did so. “Do you feel a little extension or ridge at the top?”

“Yes.”

“Press it forward with your tongue, and Michkag will hear every word you whisper under your breath. And since most of what you have to say isn't worth listening to, or is shouted at the top of your lungs, just switch it off with your tongue when you're not trying to secretly feed him answers or instructions.”

“Okay, let me try it out,” said Pretorius. He flicked the switch with his tongue. “Can you hear this?” he whispered.

“Perfectly,” said Michkag.

“Michkag and I can both hear it,” said Pandora, “but no one in your proximity can.” She inserted a tiny receiver in his left ear. “And now you can hear me when I activate my transmitter.”

“Good,” said Pretorius, switching it off. “We'll test it one more time before we leave here and once more in Zab 42.” He turned back to Pandora. “Only one thing can screw us up.” Suddenly he smiled. “Well, lots of things can, but the one I have in mind is the
Moonbeam
. I haven't seen any robots unloading anything.”

“We're okay,” she replied. “It's due to dock in”—she checked one of her computers—“eighteen minutes, and I've already taken control of their robots.”

“No live staff at all?”

“None. Who needs them on a cargo ship? You'd just be paying them to sit around for days between stops, and they can't lift or carry anything or work any machine a robot can't lift or work cheaper and better.”

“Dumb,” muttered Pretorius.

“Why?”

“They're at war.
We're
at war. I hope to hell the Democracy knows to leave at least one Man on each ship. I mean, hell, look at us: five Men plus Proto plus a clone of their ruler came in on a ship run totally by robots, and except for the clone we'll be leaving the same way.”

“No one else would try a stunt like this,” offered Snake with a smile. “Where else are you going to find five people this crazy? General Cooper knows a madman when he sees one.”

A computer beeped, and Pandora turned to it. “The
Moonbeam
's entered the atmosphere,” she announced.

“And the robots know we'll be here and they're not to report seeing us?” said Pretorius.

“I just told you that.”

“It's worth making sure of,” he replied. He turned to Michkag. “This is a hell of a time for me to think of asking, but I really should know: if it gets a little wild down there, do you know how to use your weapons?”

“I have practiced every day prior to joining you,” answered Michkag. “The original Michkag is proficient with all weapons and is especially fond of this one.” He patted his pulse gun where it sat in his holster. He paused. “I have also memorized the names and faces of his closest friends and most trusted officers. Hopefully I'll be able to address them all by name when we finally confront them.”

“Good,” said Pretorius. “Let's hope ‘confront' isn't quite the word that fits, and that you don't have to use your weapons.” He stood up, paced around the room once, and sat back down. “I can't think of another thing to tell anyone.”

“Just as well,” said Snake. “The damned ship's due to start unloading in a few minutes.”

“All right,” replied Pretorius. “Let's see if they have any comfortable crates.”

“The next comfortable crate anyone makes will be the first,” replied Snake. “Except maybe for coffins, and I think their tenants are beyond complaining.”

“Now,
that's
interesting,” said Pretorius. He turned to Djibmet. “How do you bury your dead?”

“Pretty much the same as you do—in coffins,” answered the Kabori. “Well, when we have time for it. In the aftermath of a battle, we usually bury the slain right where they've fallen, after confiscating their IDs so we can report their deaths.” Suddenly he frowned. “At least, that's what I've been told. I've never actually been on a battlefield.”

“Since you're the only one here, probably including Michkag, who knows what a Kabori coffin looks like, see if we have one anywhere in this entire storage area, and if not, check the two other shipping towers as well. If we can pack their Michkag in a coffin, we might not have to explain anywhere along the way why we don't want to open it.”

“He'll suffocate.”

“We'll drill some breathing holes in it. If anyone wants to take a peek, we say he's been dead a month and his religion forbade us to do anything to preserve the body.
That
ought to keep them from asking us to open it.”

“I'll look,” said Djibmet, “but it seems unlikely that anyone would ship a single coffin to Petrus IV.”

“Probably,” agreed Pretorius. “But it beats sitting around doing nothing, and you're the only one who can walk the seventh-level corridors between the towers without getting arrested or shot.”

“I might as well start now,” said Djibmet, getting to his feet and starting to go through the accumulated objects in the tower.

A few minutes later the
Moonbeam
docked, and a minute after that a sextet of robots began unloading tons of cargo, helped by the robots that were already stationed in the tower. It took them almost an hour to finish.

“Okay,” said Pretorius to Pandora. “Not only don't they remember us, but they don't hear us unless we're directly addressing one of them but using the word ‘Robot' at the start of a sentence.”

She nodded, fiddled with her computers for almost a full minute, and looked up at him. “Done.”

“Good,” he said. “Now you're going to keep the ship docked here until we've finished making the switch and all of us are aboard, right?”

“At least that long.”

Pretorius frowned. “At least?” he repeated.

“It won't take off before I give it permission,” she replied. “But if I tell it to take off before it's programmed to, it'll set off every alarm in the fortress.”

“I see,” he replied. “When is it due to leave?”

She checked. “That's still undetermined. Probably tomorrow. They don't want it to fly home empty, so they're still trying to arrange a couple of stops along the way.”

“I suppose we'll just have to live with that.” He paused. “Is there anything on Michkag's schedule for the rest of the day?”

She checked. “Just a banquet in two hours, always assuming he's through giving his speech by then.”

“Okay,” said Pretorius, leaning back uncomfortably. “We wait.”

30

When the banquet was an hour old, Pretorius summoned a pair of robots. When they arrived he led them to a large cylindrical container and had them open it up.

“Once I step into this, you are to take me to Level 3, Zab 43. If anyone asks you, this contains some of Michkag's belongings, you don't know what kind, and he ordered you to take it to Zab 43. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said each robot.

“Good. Now, once we're in the room and the door is closed, you will immediately open the container and let me out of it. Then, unless I tell you otherwise, you will return the container to this room and take
this
person”—he indicated the clone—“back down to Level 3, Zab 43 in the same container. If anyone should question you, you will offer the same answer you would have answered before—that it contains the private property of Michkag, you don't know what kind of property, and he personally ordered you to bring it to his room. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” replied the robots simultaneously.

“Good. You will let him out of the container the moment the door shuts behind you, and then unless I order you otherwise, you will return to this room with the container, take
this
person”—he indicated Circe—“down to Level 3, Zab 43 inside it. If anyone asks what you are doing, you will offer the same answer as before. Once there, you will help her out of it and await my further instructions. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said the robots.

“All right,” said Pretorius. “Open the container.”

One of the robots unlocked it; the other opened the door. Pretorius stepped into it, found it awkward to let his arms dangle down at his sides, and crossed them across his chest.

“There'd damned well better be enough air,” he said.

“It should be good for forty Standard minutes, maybe a little more,” replied Snake. “Of course, with my breathing techniques
I
could make it an hour.”

“Close it and take it to Level 3, Zab 43,” ordered Pretorius.

The robots closed the door, leaned the container back, and began wheeling it out the door. He couldn't feel when they came to the airshaft, but he could hear it—or rather, he could no longer hear the container's wheels. They got off after descending almost half a mile, took him down the long corridor, turned at Zab, and a moment later stopped.

“Goddamn it!” growled Pretorius from inside the container. “Give them the code to open the door!”

A moment later they wheeled him into room 43, waited for the door to slide shut, and opened the door—and he found himself facing a Kabori in an enlisted soldier's uniform.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the Kabori.

Pretorius instantly drew his screecher and fired it, and the solid wall of sound hurled the Kabori back against a wall. As he bounced off, Pretorius fired again, and he fell like a stone.

Pretorius turned to the robots. “Wait here,” he ordered them. Then he walked to the door leading to Zab 42, screecher in hand, and waited until the door slid open.

He stepped into the room, prepared to fire at any movement, however slight, but there was none. He checked the closet and the bathroom, then holstered his screecher and relaxed.

“You two,” he said to the robots. “Load this Kabori into the container, lock it, and take it back up to the tower. If anyone asks what's in it, you don't know, you were just ordered by Michkag to store it in the tower until he needs it. Do you understand?”