The Prison in Antares (11 page)

“Fair enough,” said Pretorius, passing the cords around.

“Seems simple enough,” remarked Snake after examining hers, and the others agreed. “I assume that pressing the white dot reels us in?”

“Right,” he answered. “And remember: Once we've gained entrance, our only concern is finding Nmumba. If he's alive, it'll mean he hasn't told them what they want to know yet. If push comes to shove, if it's clear that we're going to fail . . .”

“You mean
die
,” said Snake.

He nodded. “If it's clear that none of us are going to get out of this alive, our only obligation is to kill Nmumba before they can break or turn him. Is that understood?”

They all nodded.

“All right,” continued Pretorius. “Since it's clearly a prison train, we can assume there are no passengers, no innocent bystanders. Every being on the vehicle except Nmumba is an enemy and is expendable.” He sighed heavily. “There's no sense taking prisoners anyway. It's an enemy train on an enemy world. Where the hell would we stash 'em?”

“So how many cars is it?”

Pretorius shrugged. “It's about fifty meters. Hard to imagine any single thing that big making a right turn, but who the hell knows? It could be half a dozen cars, or one long car that's jointed. Or something we haven't considered yet.” He paused. “Any more questions?”

Silence.

“You forgot what may be the most important one,” he continued.

“What was that?” asked Irish curiously.

“Can you breathe the air?”

“Surely not in the tunnels,” she replied. “Not if the chutes are open to the surface.”

“Right,” said Pretorius. “So we're all taking oxygen with us.”

“How about on the train?” asked Ortega.

“I assume it's breathable, but just in case they've got Nmumba hooked up to an oxygen supply, keep your breathing apparatus. And according to our readouts, the temperature is a bit chilly, but well above freezing.”

“What about gravity?” asked Proto. “I hate to ask, but it affects me more than it does you.”

“Pretty much Deluros VIII Standard,” answered Pretorius. “Maybe a tad heavier. Ah!” he said as the ship touched down. “We're there. Felix, grab the cords. Everyone, hook up your oxygen and let's go.”

They all climbed out and found themselves in a totally round tunnel with a diameter of some thirty feet. The ship immediately rose and hovered in the shaft, hidden from view.

“Okay, where's the turn?” asked Snake.

“Maybe half a mile in this direction,” replied Pretorius, pointing down the tunnel. “Let's get started.”

“No tracks,” noted Ortega.

“No marks on the floor, either,” said Pretorius. “I have a feeling that it probably floats, if that's the right word and I suspect it isn't, a couple of feet above the floor.”

“How are we doing on time?” asked Proto.

“About ten minutes,” said Pretorius. “Figure seven. Who the hell knows if it speeds up every now and then?”

“As long as it slows to a crawl on the turn, who cares?” said Snake.

“All right,” said Pretorius, pulling his end of the cord out of the box. “Let's start getting ready. Remember, the white marks reel you in, and the red marks detach you, so position them where you can touch the red marks instantly.”

“Well,” said Snake, once she'd hooked herself up to the cord, “no sense all of us standing in the same spot. Felix, make me some handholds up to the ceiling.”

Ortega aimed his prosthetic left hand, which doubled as a burner, and created handholds and footholds every two feet, up to the ceiling.

“Give 'em a couple of minutes to cool off,” he said, “or you'll burn your hands.”

“The hell I will,” she said, slipping the cord up to her wrist, pulling a pair of gloves out of a pocket, and putting them on. She tested the new holes in the wall, then scampered two-thirds of the way up to the roof of the tunnel.

“Can't you go any farther?” asked Ortega.

“Of course I can,” replied Snake. “But why do I want to spend the next few minutes hanging upside down? I'll climb the rest of the way when we see or hear it approaching.”

“I'd blast a hole right in the middle of the floor,” said Ortega to Pretorius, “but if the damned thing has wheels it could wreck it.”

“Play it safe,” replied Pretorius. “We can't take any chances with Nmumba.”

“What should
I
do?” asked Irish.

Pretorius frowned. “There's no sense standing on the other side of the tunnel, since whether Snake, Felix, or I manage to get into the vehicle, you'd be dragged underneath it. You might as well stand right next to me.”

“And what about me?” asked Proto.

“It's never going to stop for an officer on foot in a tunnel,” answered Pretorius. “That's too damned far-fetched. And while I see a pair of hands at the end of two powerful arms, that's all an illusion and you can't grab anything.” He lowered his head in thought for a few seconds, then looked at the alien again. “I've never tried this before, but the
real
you isn't any bigger than a pillow. Can I lift you?”

“Probably,” said Proto.

“Let me try.”

“Go ahead.”

Pretorius began reaching down, then stopped. “Get rid of the illusion,” he said. “I don't know where you start and end.”

An instant later Proto's true shape appeared, and Pretorius lifted it.

“Forty pounds,” he said. “Maybe fifty. Yeah, that can work.” He set Proto back down on the floor.

“
What
can work, if I may ask?” said Proto.

“If there's an open window, I can toss you through it.” He stopped and stared at the alien again. “I don't see any hands or feet. I assume you have a top and a bottom, that if you land in much the same position you are now, it won't do you any internal damage.”

“I don't think so,” answered Proto. “No one's ever lifted and thrown me before.”

“Well, it's probably not on your job description,” said Pretorius wryly. “But the military teaches us to improvise.”

“And you'd better start improvising soon,” said Pandora's voice. “The train will reach you in about forty seconds.”

16

It wasn't quite a train, at least not the kind they had imagined, because it consisted of a single car—a flexible car some fifty meters in length that was able to curve with the tunnel as it approached the turn. There were a few windows, widely spaced and barred.

“Got it!” yelled Snake from where she clung to the tunnel's ceiling. An instant later she released her hold and dropped from sight as each of the others hit the white marks on their cords and Ortega grabbed Proto and tucked him securely under an arm.

Despite its flexibility the train slowed to a crawl as it maneuvered around the right-angle turn, and by the time it was picking up speed Snake's teammates had joined her on the roof of the vehicle between a pair of raised air ducts.

“Can you see in?” asked Pretorius.

“Not a damned thing,” replied Snake. “I don't think these ducts go down to the floor of the vehicle, which is to say we won't be trapped inside them if we enter the thing through them. But they do go down a few feet, and unless someone decides to stand right under them there's absolutely nothing to be seen.”

“The damned train's going to be going full speed in another half minute,” noted Pretorius. “We'd better enter right now. We could get blown off while we're maneuvering to get inside forty or fifty seconds from now.” He turned to Ortega. “Pull the duct's cover off, Felix.”

He drew his weapon in the few seconds it took Ortega to remove the top of the duct and hurl it over the side of the vehicle, and lowered himself, feet-first, to the floor. There were three uniformed Antareans standing nearby. All three were dead before they even knew Pretorius was among them.

He looked at the blank walls and realized that though the single vehicle was close to fifty meters long, it was divided into compartments, with a broad aisle traversing the middle of the car from one end to the other. He gestured to his companions to join him, then remembered that he'd have to catch Proto, which he did.

“What now?” whispered Ortega.

“Now we find out where the hell they're keeping him,” answered Pretorius, also whispering. “And we do it quietly, since if they hear a ruckus they might just kill him.”

“And you don't think they heard you kill these three bozos?” asked Snake, gesturing to the fallen Antareans.

Pretorius shook his head. “The burner just makes a low humming noise, they never got a shot off, nobody screamed. I think we're okay.”

“Lots of doors,” said Ortega, opening the door to their compartment and looking down the corridor. “We can't just start busting each of 'em down.”

“No,” agreed Pretorius. “But—” he pointed at some grates in the ceiling “—we know they've got a ventilation system. My guess is that it runs the length of the vehicle.” He pointed to a small grate on the ceiling. “Fortunately we've got a reasonably accomplished sneak thief with us who also happens to be a contortionist and doesn't panic in tight spaces.”

“Damned right I don't,” said Snake.

“You ready?” asked Pretorius.

“Stupid question,” she said, walking over. “Give me a boost.”

Pretorius was about to lift her when Ortega pushed him gently aside. “She'll never reach it short of standing atop your head.” He picked Snake up. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she replied.

He literally tossed her straight up. She reached out, grabbed the edge of the vent and pulled herself up.

“No lights or beams,” cautioned Pretorius.

“Spare me your platitudes,” she replied, starting to ease herself along the vent.

“What now?” asked Irish.

“Now we wait and hope she can make our job a little easier,” answered Pretorius.

“I don't suppose she can rescue him all by herself.”

He shook his head. “Seems doubtful, since they had three armed men—well, Antareans—in this compartment, which hasn't got any prisoners and isn't a galley. Still,” he added with a shrug, “with aliens you never know. Some of them think like us. Others would sacrifice their lives for the equivalent of a cup of coffee, or go to war over an object that's identical to three hundred other objects that they couldn't care less about.”

“Almost all my experience has been with Men,” said Irish.

“That's okay,” replied Pretorius. “That's what you're here for.”

“I'm sure this is old hat to you,” she continued, “but I find every aspect of it exciting.”

“Facing alien soldiers who want to kill you is a lot of things,” he answered with a grim smile, “but old hat isn't one of them. The reason I keep drawing these assignments is because I'm pretty good at keeping us
out
of danger.” He sighed. “Or I was, until we lost Circe.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“Don't be. It wasn't your fault.”

The vehicle slowed down briefly for another turn, then picked up speed again. A moment after that Snake reappeared, dropping lightly to the floor.

“Well?” said Pretorius.

“The aisle seems to be the dividing line. You're on the crew's and security's side of it, with living quarters, a dormitory, and a galley. There are eight long narrow cells on the other side of the aisle.”

“Eight cells doesn't make it from here to the front,” noted Pretorius. “What else is there?”

She shrugged. “Whatever it is, it doesn't need ventilation. The shaft stopped after the eight cells. At least, I assume they're cells. I couldn't see much, but they all looked empty.”

Pretorius frowned. “If you didn't find Nmumba, then Pandora was wrong.”

“Of course I found him,” said Snake. “That's why I came back.”

“You might have mentioned it,” said Pretorius. “Where is he?”

“From here, sixth cell on the left.” She paused. “Well, actually I didn't see him at all . . . but there were four armed Antareans in it, and there weren't any in any of the other cells, so that's got to be where they're keeping him.”

Pretorius grimaced. “We might as well assume he's there. I can't see us breaking into seven empty cells without drawing a little more attention than we want.” He turned to Proto. “Okay, time to become an Antarean.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the alien had projected an image of an armed, uniformed Antarean officer, the equivalent of a colonel.

“Looks damned good!” said Ortega. “Could have fooled me!”

“And me,” added Irish.

“But will it fool
them
?” asked Proto. “If Pandora is right, and she almost always is, this vehicle hasn't stopped for days. Won't they know what officers are on it?”

“They might have their doubts,” agreed Pretorius. “But if you outrank them, do you think any of them is going to challenge you to your face?”

“I hope not,” said Proto. “I can't wear a t-pack without giving myself away, which means I won't know what they're saying.”

“Not to worry,” replied Pretorius, pulling out a small device. “I had Pandora program three or four lines into this thing. They're all gruff commands:
Attention
, Silence,
and
Leave Us
. Touch a different spot and you get a different command. Run through it a couple of times until you're comfortable with it.” Since he couldn't see Proto's true shape he bent over and placed the device on the floor next to the “Antarean officer's” foot, and it vanished from sight almost immediately.

Proto activated it and played it three times, listening intently.

“Can you mouth the words?” asked Pretorius.