The Fortress in Orion (22 page)

“It's coming,” she replied. “Slowly, but coming.”

“How much longer?”

“For the whole castle? Maybe a Standard day.”

“Just one level,” he said.

“I've got the seventh—that's the top level—just about done, but I thought you wanted something we hadn't seen yet, something with a little more activity.”

He nodded. “And how soon can you give us one of them?”

“Well, you certainly don't want the ground level. This isn't Michkag's home planet, so there'll be more security there than anywhere else. And I believe we're assuming most of the business will take place on levels two, three, four, and possibly five. I can bring up six in about two more hours; five will take a little longer.”

“We're just talking blueprints or floor plans here,” said Pretorius. “They're all the same size, so why should any one of them take longer than any other?”

“I'm accessing
their
floor plans,” she said. “And the more security they've built into a level, the longer it's taking to pinpoint it and break through their codes. Of course, if you'd like to just go down there and hope you'll be lucky . . .”

He didn't respond, and she went back to work.

“Now what exactly am I trying to do when I climb into the uniform and descend to the main fortress?” asked Djibmet.

“See if you can find out exactly when Michkag's arriving,” said Pretorius. “Try to find out where his sleeping quarters are, and if he's sleeping alone. Find out how to access his quarters when he's awake and elsewhere.”

“To lay a trap for him?” asked the Kabori.

Pretorius shook his head. “He'll have better security than that. I just want you, or one of us, to steal one of his uniforms so
our
Michkag isn't walking around naked while trying to convince them all that he's
their
Michkag.”

“But he already
has
a uniform!” protested Djibmet.

“He has a military uniform. If he'd had to walk around on one of the planets we touched down on while we were on our way here, he might have gotten away with it. But not a general's uniform. Wearing it would be like waving a red flag and saying ‘I'm an imposter!' Michkag's not here yet, but they have to have
some
generals quartered here. We can probably create facsimiles of the medals, but we've got to have the basic uniform.”

“I'm not military,” said Djibmet. “I won't even know what to look for.”

“I just told you: a general's uniform.”

“No,” said the Kabori. “I mean now. I don't know where to look for security devices and systems.”

“Not a problem,” said Pretorius. “I'll be with you.”

“We'll both be killed on sight!” protested Djibmet.

“Oh, I won't be there in the flesh,” answered Pretorius. “We'll rig you with the same kind of camera Snake had, and we'll plant a tiny receiver in your ear so I can speak to you and no Kabori, or even any device, can pick up the sound.”

“You're sure nothing will be able to pick it up?” asked Djibmet.

“Pretty sure.”

“You don't give me an overwhelming sense of confidence.”

Pretorius smiled again. “It'll help keep you on your toes.”

“Kabori don't have toes,” said Djibmet.

“Okay, spend the next two hours figuring out what I meant.”

“This is
boring
,” complained Snake. “Did we have to get here this early?”

“No,” answered Pretorius. “We could have arrived the day after Michkag gets here. I guarantee it would have been less boring.”

As she was speaking to him, she practically curled herself into a pretzel.

“My God!” exclaimed Circe. “What are you doing?”

“Stretching exercises,” answered Snake.

“No one stretches like that!” said Circe. “It's like you don't have any bones or joints, or at least they're all in the wrong places.”

“No one's born a contortionist,” said Snake. “If I go a week without stretching, it'll take me another week before I can curl myself into this kind of ball again. And if I go a month, that's the end of it; I'll never be able to do it again.”

“How did you become a contortionist?” asked Circe.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I had a drunken, abusive father who tried to beat the hell out of me every time he was liquored or drugged up, so when I heard him coming home I used to hide . . . and as I got bigger, I couldn't fit into the usual places in the usual way. But since the alternative was getting my head split open, I found new ways to fit, and that was the start of it.”

“I'm sorry,” said Circe.

“Don't be,” answered Snake. “Hell, if I wasn't a contortionist, I don't know what the hell I'd be. Made me a much better thief, and I've been on my own since I was eleven. I'm not bright enough to work with computers like Pandora here, I was never pretty enough to be a stripper, I can't sing, I can't dance, and as Nathan's fond of pointing out, I left my manners in my other set of clothes. So I'm doing the one thing I'm good at doing.”

“And even then she could be better,” added Pretorius.

“Bullshit!” snapped Snake.

“Where did I find you this time?” he asked with a smile.

She frowned and sighed deeply. “Okay, that one time I could have been better.” She turned to Circe. “He got me out of jail.”

“Got it!” announced Pandora.

“Which level?” asked Pretorius, getting to his feet and walking over to her.

She shook her head. “Sorry. No level—yet. But I've got Michkag's arrival time. He lands in fifty-three Standard hours.”

“At the eastern tower?”

“No. It looks like he'll touch down about a mile from here and have a triumphant parade to the fortress, surrounded by tens of thousands of cheering subjects.” She smiled. “They're rounding up his spontaneous applauders right now and carting them in to the city.”

“Has this city got a name?” asked Pretorius. “So far all we've referred to is the planet and the fortress.”

“I can answer that,” said Djibmet. “It's Turrobage. Named for a local hero of the indigenous race.”

Pretorius frowned. “All I've seen on any screens are Kabori. What does the native race look like?”

“I don't know,” answered Djibmet. “We wiped them out a millennium ago and colonized it ourselves.”

“Nice people,” remarked Ortega.

“Come on, Felix,” said Pretorius. “We've done the same thing on dozens of worlds. And we have the temerity to say that we've pacified them.”

“If you feel that way, why are you fighting for the Democracy?” asked Michkag.

“Because I believe in our stated ideals, even if circumstances are such that we don't always live up to them. And because I believe the Coalition wants to annihilate us, and I truly don't think we want to do the same to the Kabori.”

“And if we would,” added Snake, “at least we'd rather be on the winning side.”

“I wonder if the two sides can ever live in peace,” said Djibmet.

“We're here to see that they have a chance to,” replied Pretorius, walking back to his chair. “It all depends on our Michkag.” He turned to the clone. “If we do our job right, you're going to be in charge not just of this world or the Orion constellation but about a thousand more worlds. It'll be your job to tone down the rhetoric, start dealing even-handedly with the Democracy, and give peace a chance.”

“
Now
you sound more idealistic,” commented Djibmet.

“Every soldier, whether overt or covert, puts his life on the line for a cause,” answered Pretorius. “There's no sense risking it if he didn't believe in the eventual goal, however much he disapproves of the immediate one.”

“You disapprove of our mission?” asked Ortega.

Pretorius shook his head. “I was making a general statement.”

“I've even got the parade route,” announced Pandora. “Looks like there's a moveable ramp somewhere on the grounds, and he'll be marching up it to the second level, where he'll make some kind of speech from a balcony there.”

“And when does whoever he's meeting arrive?”

She shook her head. “No exact word yet, but I'd say it's about a week away.”

“That gives us five days to make the switch and get away clean,” said Pretorius. “If we can't do it by then, we're in the wrong business.”

“I'll vouch for that,” said Snake. “I'd just like the rewards to be a little greater.”

“Sell your autobiography if you live through this.”

“You're all heart, Nathan.”

“My job is to keep it—and everyone else's—beating.” He looked over at Pandora. “How's it coming?”

“You just asked five minutes ago,” she said irritably.

“I assume that's a ‘No progress,'” he said. “I'll ask again in another five minutes.” He looked over at Djibmet, who had finally donned the uniform. “How's it feeling? Comfortable?”

“Yes. A bit tight, but not enough to cause any comments or questions.”

“And the gun is loaded?”

“Gun?” he asked, frowning.

“The laser pistol,” said Pretorius. “The burner.”

“Yes, it's fully charged. I never heard it called a gun before.”

“All right. I assume you know how to salute, or respond to salutes?”

“Certainly.”

“And you don't speak Kabori with a noticeable accent, so once we know where we're sending you, you should pass muster.”

“Unless you send me to a proscribed area.”

“I wouldn't think there'd be many of them until Michkag arrives,” answered Pretorius. “Now, we certainly don't want any trouble this early, and we don't want you killing anyone—but I assume you know how to use your burner if you have to?”

“Yes, though I've never killed anyone with it.”

“Hopefully you can make that statement on Deluros VIII in a month,” said Pretorius. He turned to the clone. “Michkag, I especially want you watching and listening to Djibmet as we track him. If you see anything you can incorporate in your bearing or behavior, make a note of it. Same for anything that's said.”

Michkag nodded his massive head. “I will.”

“Getting nervous at all?”

“Excited,” said Michkag. “This is what I was created for.”

“Good attitude,” said Pretorius. “Anyway, as soon as Pandora can access some of their security devices, I want you to spend every waking moment watching and studying them. I like your confidence, but the fact remains that Djibmet is the only member of your race you've ever seen until today, the only one you've interacted with, and I want you to feel as comfortable as possible with your people—because that's just about
all
you're going to see for at least the next year.”

“I fully understand.”

“And if you do it right, no one currently on this planet or in the Democracy will think of the Coalition as the enemy in a few years' time.”

“This is my goal,” Michkag assured him.

“I've got level five!” announced Pandora.

Pretorius got to his feet. “Blow it up and cast it in the middle of the room here,” he said.

A moment later they were staring at an incredibly detailed holograph of the fifth level of the fortress.

“Where are the security devices?” asked Pretorius.

“Cameras in blue, sensors in red, scanners in yellow,” she announced, and tiny well-concealed lights of all three colors began blinking.

“Okay, what's the big room in the center?”

“Looks like a lobby or a gathering area,” answered Pandora. “I suspect on one of the lower levels it's an auditorium, probably a bit larger than this. Note the corridors around it front and back. That means if it
is
an auditorium on the second or third level, it could extend all the way to the fifth, since people can easily walk around it.”

“What would you guess the fifth level's function is?”

“Mostly small offices,” she said.

He shook his head. “A fortress doesn't have that much office work.”

“What do
you
think it is?”

“Probably enlisted men's quarters, or enlisted Kaboris, if you prefer.”

“I don't think so,” she said. “None of these rooms have the Kabori equivalent of a bathroom.”

Pretorius chuckled. “These are enlisted men. Dog soldiers, we used to call them. They'll have one communal bathroom on the whole damned level, or at most one at each end.”

Pandora smacked her forehead with the flat of her hand. “Of course!”

“Anyway, that's what it's likely to be.” He paused. “And as such, there's no sense sending Djibmet to the fifth level. They'll expect him to know where his quarters are, and when he doesn't, he'll be arrested at best and shot at worst.”

“Then what shall I do?” asked Djibmet. “She's already said she can't pull up another level right away.”

“The sixth, maybe,” said Pandora.

“Forget the sixth,” said Pretorius. “Work on the second through the fourth.”

“To which I repeat,” said Djibmet. “What do
I
do while she's trying to access more floor plans?”

“I'm thinking about it,” said Pretorius. He shut his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and stared at Djibmet. “Do you have a friend who died young, or at least moved away, one you've lost contact with for at least fifteen years?”

“Yes.”

“What was his name?”

“Drelsung.”

“All right,” said Pretorius. “We'll rig you with a well-hidden camera and the speaker in your ear, and send you down to the third level.”

“The third level?” Djibmet asked nervously.