The Prison in Antares (5 page)

“The star system itself?” said Pretorius. “Not just the Sector?”

“The system itself.”

“Which planet?”

“Give me a second,” she said, touching a small diamond-studded bracelet on her left wrist, then stared at a tiny readout only she could see. “Antares Six.”

“It's a big world,” noted Pretorius.

“They're
all
big worlds in that system,” she replied. “Antares itself is bigger than the orbit of Mars. Quite a bit bigger, in fact. It'll probably go supernova in another couple of hundred thousand years.”

“Then I won't worry about it this week,” said Pretorius. “I'll need his exact coordinates.”

“I'll have them sent to your ship. And have fun. My understanding is that the prison is almost two kilometers below the surface.”

“What's the best way to approach it?” he asked.

She smiled. “Not in a Democracy ship, that's for sure.”

“Okay,” said Pretorius, getting to his feet as Irish followed suit. “That should do it.”

“Are you sure you don't want to wait another half hour?” asked Madam Methuselah.

“Is there some reason why we should?”

“I saw your friend out there,” she said with a smile. “In case it's slipped your memory, I'm the one who directed you to him the last time you were here, so of course I know where his talents lie. You doubtless want to know what the insignia of an officer from Antares Six looks like. There happens to be one with one of my frail flowers right now. He should be clothed and back in the bar in another twenty to thirty minutes.”

“Thanks,” said Pretorius. “We'll head back to the ship, but I assume you have no objection to him sticking around until the officer shows up?”

“Not as long as he buys a drink or two.”

“I'll tell him on the way out.”

He helped Irish to her feet and led her to the door.

“It was very pleasant meeting you, my dear,” said Madam Methuselah. “If you ever get tired of the hero trade, I'm sure we can find a place for you here.”

“Thank you,” said Irish awkwardly, then fell into step behind Pretorius.

“Well,” he said as they reached the bar, “what did you think of her?”

“I'm still trying to comprehend her age,” admitted Irish.

“There's more to her than longevity,” he said. “If there's anything of import going on anywhere in the galaxy and she doesn't know about it, then no one does.” He smiled grimly. “That's one of the advantages of having the clientele she's got.”

He signaled Proto to join them, told him to keep an eye out for the officer from Antares Six, told him to buy a drink, and ordered him not to imbibe it.

“Nate, I'm less than two feet high. I can't even lift a glass, let alone empty its contents.”

“Damn!” said Pretorius. “You look so real I keep forgetting.”

“I
am
real. I'm just not a six-foot-tall biped.”

“Okay, stick around until the officer shows up, see what he's wearing and what his insignia looks like, and then come back to the ship. Try not to let him get a good look at you.”

“Right.”

Pretorius and Irish left the building and began walking toward the ship, which was almost a kilometer away.

“Well,” he said, “you've had your first contact with the enemy. What do you think of it?”

“Enemy?” she said, frowning. “You mean some of the men we didn't see?”

“I meant Madam Methuselah.”

“I thought she was your friend.”

“If you live long enough,” said Pretorius, “you're going to learn that nobody except your teammates is your friend. You think Nmumba's captors are the only people she'd sell out? Hell, she'll sell me out just as fast if someone makes an offer.”

Irish shook her head in wonderment.

“What is it?” asked Pretorius.

“Now I'm
really
amazed that she's lived eight hundred years. Or eighty.” She smiled. “Or eighteen.”

He returned her smile. “See? You're learning already.”

7

Proto saw what he needed to see, and when he returned to the ship Pretorius debriefed him and then told the rest about what little had transpired.

“You want to wait for her to contact us?” asked Pandora.

“No,” he replied. “She's in contact with people halfway across the galaxy. She won't have any trouble signaling the ship when she's found what we need to know.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “I expect to hear from her within an hour, but just in case it takes her longer, stay in the Neutral Zone. Why dodge the enemy until we have to?”

“No problem,” replied Pandora.

“And as long as we know we're heading to Antares, have your computer find the five closest Earth-type worlds.”

“Right.”

“Okay,” said Pretorius, heading off to the galley. “I'm gonna grab something to eat.”

“I'll join you,” said Irish.

“Me, too,” chimed in Ortega.

The three of them ordered their meals, then waited the requisite two minutes for the ship to manufacture and serve them.

“I don't know,” muttered Ortega when he finally received his meal and began eating it. “It doesn't make any difference what I order—beef, pork, fish, eggs. It all tastes like soya products.”

“And this surprises you?” said Pretorius.

“No. But it disappoints the hell out of me.” He made a face. “Isn't there anything we can do about it?”

“Sure.”

“Oh?” said Ortega. “What?”

“Develop a taste for soya products,” replied Pretorius.

“Well, it's one way to keep my girlish figure,” commented Irish, taking a taste of what passed for pie and pushing it aside.

“That's fine for you,” said Ortega. “But I don't
want
a girlish figure.”

Pretorius was about to comment when Pandora called to him from the bridge. “Communication from the Madam.”

He got up, walked over to the control room, and confronted her holograph that floated just above the control panel. “You've got what we need?”

“Yes,” replied Madam Methuselah, frowning. “It's not what I expected.”

“He's alive?”

“Yes.”

“And he hasn't broken?”

“I assume not,” she replied. “At any rate, his imprisonment hasn't changed.”

“Okay, where is he and what's unusual about it?”

“They've got a prison two kilometers beneath the surface,” she began.

“I know,” said Pretorius. “You told us about it.”

“That's what's surprising,” said Madam Methuselah. “He's not there.”

“He's not on Six?”

“Oh, he's on Antares Six, all right,” she replied. “But not in the prison.”

Now it was Pretorius's turn to frown. “Okay, where is he?”

“In transit.”

“Explain.”

“Their miners have excavated a network of subterranean tunnels across half the world,” answered Madam Methuselah. “The surface is just too damned hot to work on, even for beings who have evolved and adapted to the place.”

“Okay, they have a network of tunnels. So what?”

“Maybe he couldn't take the pressure at two kilometers, maybe there was some other problem down there. But instead, he's on a constantly moving vehicle—a prison car, you might call it—in the tunnels maybe fifty meters beneath the surface.”

“And the network of tunnels extends across the whole damned planet?” asked Pretorius.

“Right.”

“They've got to have more than one car moving at a time, maybe thousands. How do we spot the one we want?”

“I'm working on that,” she replied. “I should have the answer within one Standard day.” She paused. “But this is going to cost.”

“Another undefined favor?” said Pretorius.

She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Nathan, but it's money this time. I'm going to have to do a little bribery.”

“All right,” he replied. “If it'll save time, just tell me who to—”

“Forget it,” she said. “They'd sooner shoot you than look at you.”

“But they'll deal with you?”

“I'm not a partisan,” she answered.

“Okay. Let me know when you've got what we need and I'll have the money transferred to any account of your choosing.”

The holograph vanished.

“Well?” said Circe. “Is that better or worse?”

“Who the hell knows?” replied Pretorius. “We don't have to fight our way two kilometers deep on a non-oxygen world and then back up. But on the other hand, we may have to hunt up an underground vehicle going God knows how fast and God knows where on that same world.” He grimaced. “Maybe we should just kill Wilbur Cooper. He can't be as well protected.”

“I'd volunteer,” said Snake.

He stared at her. “Why am I not surprised?” He turned back to Pandora. “Well, one way or another we're going to Six. Find out everything you can from the computer—spoken language, written language, any alliance with any human or humanoid species . . . and especially, see if you can get us a map of what I'm going to call the subway system until we get a better term for it.”

“Right.”

“Proto, let me see a native of Six in uniform.”

The alien instantly morphed into the desired species.

“Looks good,” said Pretorius. “What rank are you?”

“Damned if I know,” answered Proto. “The same as the officer in the bar.”

“Let Pandora run your insignia through her computer.”

“Right,” said Proto, walking over.

Pandora had the machine scan him, then waited a few minutes for it to come up with an answer. “It is almost the equivalent of a captain,” she announced at last.

“Almost?”

“They have three levels of officer between their lieutenant and colonel. This one's closest to a captain.”

“Okay,” he said. “We can't expect Proto to learn the whole damned language, and besides, we don't want him to have to explain away an accent. Find him a couple of simple phrases: Yes, sir; no, sir; right away, sir; things like that.”

“Right,” agreed Pandora.

“What do the rest of us do?” asked Irish.

Pretorius smiled. “Just be glad I haven't given you any orders yet,” he said. “I assure you that's due to change.”

“Well, clearly I can't apply my expertise until we rescue Nmumba,” she said, “but I'll be happy to do anything that's necessary to effect that rescue.”

“And I'll be asking you to,” he replied. “But until we know where he is, or where he's likely to be, and how best to get to him without getting him or all of us killed, you might as well just relax.”

“And once we hear from Madam Methuselah again, you'll develop a plan of action?”

“One thing you can count on,” said Snake in amused tones. “Whenever you ask him what that plan of action is, he'll tell you he's working on it. You'll be lucky to get any details three seconds before the bad guys start shooting at you.”

“Oh, come on, Snake,” said Circe. “He brought us all back alive. What do you suppose the odds were against that?”

“I didn't say he wasn't lucky,” replied Snake. “I said he wasn't talkative.”

“If I have a choice,” said Irish, “I'll take luck.”

“Ship approaching,” announced Pandora.

“Registration?” asked Pretorius.

“Nothing we've ever seen before.”

“Okay, it's a Neutral Zone. As long as he's not showing his weapons, pay him no attention. He's probably just on his way to McPherson's World.”

“That place is a gold mine,” said Irish.

Circe smiled. “You're undervaluing it.”

Irish considered the remark, then nodded her agreement. “Platinum.”

The ship ignored them and proceeded to its obvious destination.

“Don't leave the Neutral Zone until we hear from Madam Methuselah,” Pretorius instructed Pandora.

“I know,” was her reply.

“And scramble whatever we send her.”

“Right.”

“In fact,” continued Pretorius, “we'll move the money the long way around.”

“I don't understand,” said Pandora.

“Once we know where she wants it, send the message in code to a space service bank and tell
them
to transfer it. They'll have better protections for something like that than we do.”

She nodded her head. “Right. Got it.”

Circe walked over to the galley. “I think I'll have some tea.”

“I'm dying to see you work,” remarked Irish. “I've never seen a living lie detector before.”

“I like to think I'm a little more than that,” said Circe. “But I do have one thing in common with lie detectors.”

“Oh?”

Circe nodded her head. “Yes. If the subject believes what he's saying, I can't detect that he's lying. Remember: I'm an empath, not a telepath.”

“And I'm an image-projector, not a shape-changer,” added Proto.

Pretorius smiled. “We're a unit of almosts and not-quites.”

“Except for you,” said Circe to Irish. “You're exactly what you're purported to be.”

“She'd damned well better be,” Snake chimed in. “I don't want to risk my life bringing Nmumba back if he's already given them what they want.”

“On the flip side, you don't want to kill him if he hasn't,” said Ortega. He smiled at Irish. “That's what we've got
her
for.”

Irish realized just how much depended on her, and suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore.

8

“It's taking her longer than I'd have thought,” remarked Circe, checking her timepiece.

“Damned planet's ten times the size of Earth,” replied Pretorius. “It could take her a couple of days to pinpoint where he is, or what his route is.” He paused. “Well, there's no sense just sitting around waiting. She told us something else, too.” He turned to Irish. “Remember?”