The Fortress in Orion (9 page)

They entered the jail and were confronted by a robot custodian.

“May I help you?” it said.

“Yes,” answered Pretorius. “I'm here to visit a prisoner.”

“And which prisoner is that, sir?”

“I'm going to mispronounce his name, I'm sure,” said Pretorius. “But it's something like Grizcharly.”

“Are you referring to Gzychurlyx?”

Pretorius nodded. “That's the one. What's he in for?”

“Cheating at the casino, striking an officer, impersonating an officer, and impersonating an attorney.”

“That's him, all right,” said Pretorius. “What's his bail?”

“You are of the race of Man, are you not?” asked the robot.

“Yes.”

“His bail, in your currency, is one hundred thousand Democracy credits.”

“Okay,” said Pretorius. “Let us see him.”

“Follow me,” said the robot, as another robot took its place by the door. It took them past two security stations, down two levels below the ground, and along the length of a short corridor to the very last cell.

“We have arrived,” it announced.

Pretorius looked through the shimmering force field than encircled the cell.

“You must be mistaken,” he said.

“This is the cell of the prisoner you named.”

“But there's nothing there but a lump of . . . I don't know . . . fur, it looks like.”

“That is Gzychurlyx.”

“But—”

Circe touched his arm, and he looked at her.

“It's sentient,” she said.

“
That?
”

She nodded her head. “That.”

He turned back to the robot. “Does it understand Terran?”

“Is that what we are speaking?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, it does.”

“Okay,” said Pretorius, “you can leave us. We can find our way back to where we met you.”

“I cannot leave you alone with the prisoner,” replied the robot.

“Okay. Move as far from us as you can and don't listen to what we say.”

The robot moved to the far end of the short corridor.

Pretorius turned back to the blob of fur. “Hey, can you hear me?”

“I have heard every word you have said since you arrived at my cell,” said a very human voice in near-perfect Terran.

“You know Madam Methuselah?”

“I know
of
her” was the answer.

“She says you're a shape-changer.”

“She is mistaken.”

“Damn,” said Pretorius. “Then we're wasting our time here.”

“Possibly not,” said the inmate, and suddenly Pretorius was staring at a gray-haired blue-eyed man, an inch or two under six feet, dressed in an expensive suit, perhaps twenty pounds overweight.

“This is
you
?” said Pretorius, staring at him.

“Yes.”

“Then you
are
a shape-changer.”

“I told you I am not.”

Pretorius turned to Circe, who nodded her head that the alien was telling the truth.

“Then what the hell are you?” insisted Pretorius. “Why do you look exactly like a Man?”

“I cannot change my shape,” answered Gzychurlyx. “But what I
can
do is change your perception of my shape.”

“Explain, please.”

“Any security machine will know my true appearance. So will cameras. But I can project an image of myself that will fool any living being of any race, no matter how close or far away they are.”

“I see,” said Pretorius, frowning. “That makes it more difficult, but I think we can still use you.”

“Who is this ‘we,' and how do you propose to use me?”

“Let me answer that with a question,” said Pretorius. “We're in neutral territory between the Democracy and the Coalition. Which side do you favor?”

The Man who was not a male grinned. “I favor any side that will get me out of this dungeon.”

Pretorius turned to Circe for confirmation, and she nodded again.

“All right,” he said. “If I pay your bail, will you come to work for me? I warn you, it will be dangerous.”

“It can't be any worse than being bored to death in this cell,” replied Gzychurlyx.

“Okay. It'll take me perhaps an hour to raise the funds for your bail.”

“I am not going anywhere.”

“One more thing,” said Pretorius.

“Yes?”

“I can't begin to pronounce your name, and neither can anyone else on my team. Have you got a nickname or an alias?”

“No.”

Pretorius lowered his head in thought for a moment, then looked up. “All right. From this moment forward, your name is Proto.”

“Proto?” repeated the alien.

“For protoplasm, and the way you sling it around.”

“But I don't.”

Pretorius smiled. “We'll let that be our little secret for the time being.” He turned to the robot. “Okay, we're ready to leave now.”

The robot escorted them to the ground level and out the front door. Their vehicle was gone, but another pulled up in less than a minute, and shortly thereafter they were aboard the ship.

“You look troubled,” noted Circe.

“I was hoping he and maybe Djibmet could masquerade as members of Michkag's military and march us into the fortress as prisoners, but we'll never pull that off, not if he can't fool a security system.”

“Then why are we getting him out of jail?”

“He's got a talent. We'll find
some
use for it. Besides, I don't think Wilbur will let us keep the pirates' loot, so we might as well spend it.”

“Wilbur?”

“General Cooper,” he answered. “Okay, let's get some of that stuff we appropriated from this vessel's former owners. As many losers as a casino this size has, there's got to be a lot of jewelers and pawnbrokers circling it like carnivores to the kill.”

Djibmet, Michkag, and Circe helped him sort through the booty, and a few minutes later he and Circe returned to town, where they quickly sold enough of it to make up Proto's bail.

Then it was back to the jail, where Proto still appeared as a gray-haired man.

“You made my bail?”

“Yeah,” said Pretorius. “And you remember our deal?”

“Yes.”

Pretorius turned and signaled to the robot, and a moment later the force field vanished.

“All right,” he said, “let's get this show on the road.”

10

The other three humans were still at the casino, and the two Kabori were in their quarters when Pretorius and Circe returned to the ship with Proto.

“Let's see just how good you are at what you do,” said Pretorius after showing his newest recruit where his quarters were.

“You've already seen it,” answered Proto.

“You appeared to be a middle-aged man that neither Circe nor I had ever seen before,” answered Pretorius. “How long does it take you to create an image or whatever it is that you do?”

“Instantly.”

“Okay. Take a good hard look at Circe, study her voice when she speaks, study her gestures and mannerisms. Then, when I tell you to,
become
her and see if you can fool her crewmates.” He turned to Circe. “When we see them pull up to the ship, go to your cabin for a few minutes.”

She smiled. “At least we'll find out right away how good he is.”

Proto kept the shape of the middle-aged man and spent a few minutes acquainting himself with the ship, then went to the galley and ordered it to mix him a foul-smelling drink.

“Heads up,” said Circe a moment later. “They're on their way.”

“Okay,” said Pretorius. “Off you go.” She got up and walked directly to her cabin. “Proto, do your thing and sit over there where she was.”

And suddenly, as the words left his mouth, he wasn't talking to a gray-haired man anymore, but to Circe, who moved gracefully across the bridge to her chair.

“Amazing!” said Djibmet. Michkag merely blinked his eyes rapidly and then smiled.

A moment later Snake, Pandora, and Ortega entered the ship.

“So did you find what you were looking for?” asked Snake.

Pretorius shrugged and gestured to Proto. “Ask her.”

“So did you?” continued Snake, facing Proto.

“I hope so,” answered Proto, mimicking Circe's voice and inflections.

“Don't you know?”

“I think that's for you to decide,” said Proto.

“Me?”

“The three of you.”

“Well, you sure as hell had better luck than we did,” said Pandora. “I really should stick to my machines.” She smiled. “At least no one tried to pick us up. That's one advantage of going there with Felix.”

“How much did you lose?” asked Proto.

“Not much,” answered Ortega. “But then, we didn't start with much.”

Pretorius let them chat for a few more minutes, then turned to Djibmet. “Tell our friend to come out of the cabin now.”

Djibmet went to Circe's cabin and returned with her a moment later.

“Well, I'll be damned!” exclaimed Ortega, looking from Proto to Circe and back again.

“Our Michkag can't look like the real one any more than whichever of these isn't that Circe looks like the real one,” added Snake.

Pandora turned to Proto. “I commend you. That is one hell of an impersonation.”

“What makes you think she's not the real Circe?” asked Pretorius.

“She made a mistake. A little one, but a mistake.”

“Oh?”

“Our Circe always wears red nail polish. This one doesn't.”

“Damn! You're right!” said Ortega.

“Yes, you are,” said Pretorius. He turned to Proto. “I'm not sure exactly how we're going to use you, but you can't mess up any details, no matter how minor.”

Proto nodded his head. “I'll work on it.”

“What do you really look like?” asked Snake.

“Like this,” answered Proto, the image gone, appearing in his true form again.

“I've never seen anything like you,” said Pandora. “Where's your home planet?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know?”

“I gather I was not a very good citizen,” he answered. “I know I have been banished from my planet, but I do not know why. My entire life there, including its location, has been expunged from my memory.”

Snake frowned. “Now I'm going to be up all night wondering what a shape-changer can do to get himself exiled from a world of shape-changers.”

Proto then launched into an explanation about how he was not really a shape-changer at all, which led to more questions, including how a being who could appear to be the arresting officer or the judge could land in jail on Belore V, leading Pretorius to conclude that the newest team member was simply a very ordinary being possessed of extraordinary skills.

“All right,” he said at last. “There's nothing more to be accomplished here. We might as well take off.”

“And go where?” asked Pandora.

“The team's complete,” he replied. “Time to start moving closer to Petrus. I think Tiroga II is one of the last planets as we approach Coalition territory that's reasonably friendly to Men.”

“Not a bad idea, at that,” said Pandora. “There were four pirates. There are eight of us. It wouldn't hurt to lay in some more supplies, especially if our newest member doesn't eat human or Kabori food.”

“Well, yes, I suppose we
could
do that,” said Pretorius.

“You had something else in mind?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I thought we might steal a Coalition ship. Not a military one—we don't know the codes—but a civilian one, something that will arouse a little less suspicion when approaching Petrus than this one.”

Ortega nodded his head. “Makes sense.”

“It may even be easier than I thought a couple of days ago,” continued Pretorius. “Proto?”

“Is that her name?” asked Snake.

“
His
name,” said Pretorius. “And trust me, you couldn't pronounce his real name. Proto, you've seen Kaboris before. Let's see you appear as one—and not as either of the two in this ship.”

Instantly Proto projected the image of a Kabori.

“Damn, that's impressive!” said Ortega.

“You'll need a military uniform,” said Pretorius.

Proto became a general.

“Not too high ranking,” continued Pretorius.

Proto's rank was reduced to the Kabori equivalent of a lieutenant.

“Yeah, that'll do. We'll find some way to make use of that.”

Proto appeared as his true self instantly.

“Why aren't you king of the universe?” asked Snake.

“Don't tempt him,” said Pretorius. “For all you know, that's what he had in mind when they exiled him.”

“I hope not,” said Proto, whose natural voice was a hoarse and guttural-sounding.

“I have a request,” said Snake.

“What is it?” asked Pretorius.

“Of Proto.”

“Yes?” said Proto.

“Could you please appear as a Man while you're on the ship?” she said. “I'm afraid I'll trip over you, and I find your true voice disconcerting.”

“That won't be a problem,” said Proto, immediately appearing as the middle-aged man that seemed to be his favorite projection.

“Thanks,” said Snake. “No offense meant.”

“None taken.”

“All right,” said Pretorius. “As long as we're all being thoughtful, we can stop on an uninhabited planet for a day if our Kabori friends are going stir-crazy in here.”

Djibmet looked at the clone, who responded with the Kabori equivalent of a negative head shaking.

“We are fine,” said Djibmet.

“Okay,” said Pretorius. “But understand: our Michkag is almost certainly going to be confined to whatever ship we're on until we actually reach Petrus. So if he thinks he'll need some exercise or fresh air, now's the time to let me know.”