The Fortress in Orion (21 page)

“Why not five?” asked Ortega. “He'll be one level safer there.”

“This isn't enemy territory, Felix,” said Pretorius. “Once he makes whatever deal he's making, he'll probably want to make a speech from a balcony or the equivalent, and why make him even harder to see? He'll probably have a couple of hundred spotters and snipers positioned around the area.”

“
We
got in,” said Ortega stubbornly.

“We got in because he's still a few days away,” replied Pretorius. “Even up in the towers you can figure security will triple by the time he arrives.”

“So do you want me to go down to one of the more likely levels?” asked Snake.

“I think it's too dangerous,” said Pretorius. “Come on back.”

“Sooner or later we have to learn what the layout is on the operative levels,” she said.

“If I have to send you back again, I will,” said Pretorius. “But we've got a few days, which gives Pandora time to try to tie in to their computers and get the layout.”

“Okay,” replied Snake. “And for what it's worth, I've found two empty offices where we can hide if we have to.”

“No cameras or security devices?” asked Pretorius.

Snake smiled. “Cameras, yes. Sensors, no.”

“Then they'll see us walk in,” said Ortega.

Snake grinned. “There's one of us they won't see, and he can disable the cameras.”

“Sonofabitch!” said Ortega. “I never thought of that!”

Pretorius turned to Proto. “
Can
you do it? The real you isn't a hell of a lot taller than that box Snake hid in.”

“I can do it,” Proto assured him. “My body absorbs my limbs when I am not using them. I can reach to a height of five feet.”

Pretorius shook his head. “That's not enough. The ceilings in that corridor look to be ten feet high.”

“Then fashion me a tool I can use.”

“Yeah, I suppose we can do that,” said Pretorius. “Tell Felix what you need, show him how you'll handle and manipulate it, and let's see what he can come up with.”

“So you really don't want me to go any farther?” asked Snake.

“Not unless I'm your beneficiary in your will,” said Pretorius. “Come on back.”

“Okay, coming back,” she said.

“I confess that I feel useless,” remarked Djibmet.

“In a few hours you'll wish you were feeling useless again,” said Pretorius. Djibmet looked at him questioningly. “We have five Men who can't be seen, Proto's not going to fool any sensors, and the one member of the party who absolutely cannot be seen is Michkag. That leaves you.”

“Leaves me for what?” asked Djibmet, looking confused.

“Once Pandora gets us a better picture of the lower levels, you're the only one of us who can go down there without being shot or arrested on sight. We need to know, or at least have an idea, where they're going to be keeping
their
Michkag: where he eats, where he sleeps, where he conducts private business. There's no way we can make the exchange in front of an audience, in a huge meeting room or a balcony or anything like that. Remember: this is a
covert
operation.”

“I see,” said Djibmet.

“All right,” said Pretorius. “Circe, Michkag, start going through some of these boxes and see if there's anything useful—weapons, food, anything. Snake'll help you when she gets back.”

They began checking the containers while Ortega worked on a device that Proto could manipulate that would gently kill the power to a certain camera or sensor, rather than blow it away in a manner that would bring an instant response from the security forces.

Snake returned in another ten minutes, gave her video equipment back to Pandora, and promptly began helping them search through all the stored boxes and containers.

“Any progress?” asked Pretorius, walking over to where Pandora was working with her computers.

“I just need the right code,” she answered.

“How long is that likely to take?”

She sighed. “If the machine, fast as it is, has to go through a near-infinite progression of symbols and numbers, it could take days, or more likely weeks or months.”

“Which we haven't got.”

“Which we haven't got,” she agreed. “So what I'm doing is trying to focus on breaking into one of their less-sophisticated machines. Like most militaries, including ours, once they have something that works, they tend not to upgrade it until they need it to do more things. Some of the more sophisticated machines could take days, weeks, or even months for me to access all their security codes and systems, but there are a few that I should be able break into in less than a day.”

“Well, get some food and some sleep. I need you to be sharp once you
can
access them.”

“I'm not going to be sitting here all day and night, Nate,” she said with a smile. “What I'm doing now is ordering my machines to break through their defenses and take one or more of them over. I'll be done in another ten minutes, fifteen at the outside, and then they'll alert me when they've accomplished their task.”

“Serves me right for not being a computer scientist,” he said with a smile.

“From what I hear,” replied Pandora, “if you
had
been one, you'd still have your original spleen, liver, pancreas, left foot, and what else?”

“Nothing important.”

She nodded. “Right. You can always grow another brain.”

He wandered over to where they were inspecting all the crates and containers.

“Nothing yet,” announced Circe. “Not even any weapons.”

“But there are enough foodstuffs to make you think they're feeding a division or two,” added Snake.

“Anything we can metabolize?” asked Pretorius.

“Most of it is processed, and we can't tell what the hell is in it until Djibmet or Michkag reads the label,” said Snake, “but there's enough fruit and veggies to keep us going. Nothing we'll like, but it doesn't look like it'll kill us.”

“Good,” said Pretorius. “The alternative was to chop you up into steaks.”

“There's not enough of me,” replied Snake. “You chop anyone up, it should be Felix.”

“There's not enough of the original Felix left to supply even one meal,” said Pretorius with a smile. “Anyway, hand me a fruit and let's see what the hell it tastes like.”

She walked to an open box, pulled out something mildly round and mildly purple, and tossed it to him.

He took a bite and made a face. “Kind of bitter,” he said.

“But edible?”

He nodded his head. “But edible.”

“Good,” she said. “Because once we pull this swap off, they're probably going to be so hot on our tail that we won't have time to stop off and get anything more palatable to eat at least until we hit No Man's Land and probably not until we reach the Democracy.”

Pretorius ate the rest of the fruit and tried not to think of how it tasted. He looked around, and saw Ortega with Proto, in his true form, working on some gadget off in a corner.

“How's it coming, Felix?” he called out.

“Getting there,” came the answer.

“You need any tools?”

Ortega laughed and held up his left arm. Instruments instantly extended from it and then began rapidly spinning. “I
am
a goddamned tool kit!” he laughed.

Within another hour Proto had his tool, a plastic extender—it was difficult to think of it as an arm—with a laser, a pincer, and two or three other functions, and Ortega joined in the search through the boxes.

“So who goes out next?” asked Circe.

Pretorius considered her question for a moment. “If we want to check out a more populated level, it makes sense to send Djibmet,” he answered. “He's a Kabori—but we still have to pass him off as a grunt, and that's going to take a little work.” Suddenly he smiled. “Or maybe not.”

They all stared at him. “What did you have in mind?” asked Snake at last.

“Right now,” said Pretorius, staring at Djibmet, “you're an officer. Not a very high-ranking one, but an officer, and that should be enough.”

“Enough for what?” asked the Kabori nervously.

“Enough to commandeer the first grunt you see,” replied Pretorius. “Go down to the sixth or seventh level, walk along the corridors as if you had a purpose, and when you finally see an enlisted soldier, tell him you have a job for him up in the south tower.”

“What if he tells me he's already working?” asked Djibmet.

“Pull rank on him. You're an officer, he's not. He helps you right this minute, or he goes on report. This is a military fortress. Believe me, he'll come.”

“So I just go down to the sixth or seventh level, stop the first enlisted soldier I find, and order him to come up to the tower with me?”

“That's right,” said Pretorius.

“And then what?”

“Then stand clear.”

Djibmet uttered a little sigh, approached the door, waited for it to slide open, and walked to the airlift.

“Can we track him?” asked Pretorius.

“Take a look,” said Pandora, as she uttered a brief command and had various security cameras cast his image between them.

Djibmet walked down a corridor without seeing anyone, then stood still as an enlisted Kabori, carrying something over one shoulder, began approaching him.

“You there!” said Djibmet.

The soldier stopped and stared at him.

“Yes, you!” continued Djibmet. “I have need of you.”

“But . . .”

“Do you intend to disobey me?”

“No,” said the soldier promptly.

“Good. I have a job in the south tower. It won't take long, but it's essential that it be done before Michkag arrives.”

The soldier snapped to attention at the sound of Michkag's name. “I am yours to command,” he said.

“Good,” said Djibmet. “Follow me.”

He led the soldier to the airlift, and they ascended to the tower, got off, and approached the door.

The soldier turned to Djibmet with a puzzled frown. “In here?”

Djibmet nodded. “I'll be right behind you.”

The soldier entered, Ortega pulled him all the way in, and Pretorius hit him with a burst of solid sound at point-blank range. The soldier staggered and collapsed.

“Check him and make sure he's dead,” said Pretorius.

Snake knelt down next to him. “No breath, no heartbeat,” she announced after a moment.

“Good. A burner would have been even surer, but I didn't want to get any blood on the uniform. Okay, Snake, strip it off him. Give her a hand, Felix. And Djibmet, as soon as they're done, put it on. You look pretty much the same size, but if it sags or is too tight, we may have to alter it.”

It was indeed too loose, and Circe volunteered to spend the next few minutes adjusting it.

“I want you to learn your way around the place,” said Pretorius as Circe was working on the uniform. “You're going to have to get a good look—a good
close
look—at Michkag when he arrives.”

“Why?” responded Djibmet. “We already know what he looks like.” He pointed at the clone. “There's his double right there.”

“With all due respect, that's his
genetic
double. And maybe they looked exactly alike two years ago, and for all I know maybe they still do. But maybe they don't. If something doesn't match when they're seen together, which one will have the immediate authority? The one with the right scars and identifying marks.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” said Djibmet.

“You weren't being paid to,” said Pretorius. “But speaking of uniforms, we also need to know exactly what Michkag's looks like. What new medals he's given himself since the last holos we have of him. What new patches and ribbons. And along with preparing a one-of-a-kind Supreme Commander's uniform for our Michkag, one of the first things we do with their Michkag is remove his uniform. Hard to give orders when you're standing there in the Kabori equivalent of your underwear and telling people that the identical guy in the uniform they all recognize is a fake. Especially when
our
Michkag claims that the other is an imposter, brought here to do exactly what
we
are doing, and orders him immediately incarcerated.” Pretorius allowed himself the luxury of a smile. “You know how brutal their Michkag is. They may have their suspicions, but do you think anyone's really going to disobey the one in the uniform?”

“No, of course they won't,” replied Djibmet.

“We hope it doesn't come to that,” continued Pretorius, “that we can pull this off in secret. Because if we can't, he'll have to order their Michkag instantly put to death, before he can convince anyone that he
is
Michkag . . . and we want him back in the Democracy, where we have drugs and other less pleasant means of extracting vital information from him.”

Pandora got up from her computer.

“Figure another thirty minutes on your uniform. Perhaps an hour, just to be on the safe side,” said Circe to Djibmet. “I haven't done this kind of work in a
long
time.”

“Pandora ought to have some kind of info on Michkag by then,” said Pretorius. “Then we can get to work.”

The Kabori looked at him. “You frighten me, Colonel Pretorius,” he said. “You act like this is all just business to you.”

“It
is
my business,” answered Pretorius, “and for what it's worth, the feeling is mutual.”

“I don't understand.”

“You frighten me too,” said Pretorius. “Because it's
not
business to you, and in a couple of hours seven lives are going to depend on your becoming a damned good spy in a hell of a hurry.”

25

“How's it coming?” Pretorius asked Pandora.