The Prison in Antares (10 page)

“I'm trying to,” she answered. “The trick is finding the damned trains. Finding the tunnels is easy.”

“We could encourage them,” said Ortega.

“Oh?” replied Pretorius. “How?”

“Drop some bombs over the tracks. If they think we're trying to reach Nmumba, they might rush him to the far side of the planet, and if Pandora's looking for that . . .”

Pretorius sighed and shook his head. “Stick to being the strong guy we know.”

“What's wrong with—” began Ortega.

“We're not in a military ship,” answered Pretorius. “Do anything unusual—and I'd have to say that dropping bombs is a bit out of the ordinary—and they'll blow us to pieces in about two seconds.”

Ortega frowned. “How can they, if they're all a quarter mile or two miles under the surface?”

“I'm sure they have weapons on the surface. They surely have weapons on the planet's moons, weapons that can be directed from the moons or from the planet.” He paused. “Do you need more reasons, or will those suffice?”

“Okay, okay,” muttered Ortega. “But if they're that well protected, I don't see how we're gonna rescue this genius.”

“Ask me in two hours,” said Pretorius.

As it happened, it only took an hour and thirty-six minutes.

“I've found him!” announced Pandora at that time.

“You're sure?”

“Well, I've found a Man,” she replied. “I assume it's him. I'll have a better readout in another couple of minutes.” They were all silent as she manipulated and studied her computer. “Dental matches, and he's got a platinum plate in one of his legs. That's our boy, all right.”

“How about blood type?” asked Pretorius.

“Can't do it from up here, Nate,” said Pandora. “That's like asking if his DNA matches.”

“Okay, we'll assume it's him. Now that you've pinpointed him, I assume we can follow the train's progress, wherever it goes?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Check the direction it's going,” said Pretorius, “and see if there's any part of the route where, once it's committed, it can't divert for, say, an hour.”

She put the question to the computer.

“Yes, there is. About two hundred and sixty miles from here, it'll enter a . . . I don't know what to call it; a
tunnel,
I suppose . . . where there won't be any branches for another seventy-two miles.”

“So we'll want to gain access to the train shortly after it enters that area, and make our getaway, such as it is, before it's gone another seventy miles.”

“You're going to have to be more precise than that, Nate,” said Pandora.

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Let's say you get off at Mile Sixty-Seven. Then what?”

“I hadn't considered that,” said Pretorius. “Getting off is just the first step. We still have to reach the surface, and get back to the ship.” He paused. “Okay, where
should
we get off?”

“I suppose it depends on how well-guarded Nmumba is,” said Pandora. “If you can access the train, get to him immediately, and leave without incident, there seem to be—
hatches
is clearly the wrong word; make it
routes—
routes to the surface at the twenty-third and fifty-first miles, give or take. Failing that, you actually reach—I can't call it a
station
—make it a loading
platform—
at Mile One Hundred Twelve. There's clearly a pathway to the surface there, but it's just as clear that you'll have to fight your way
to
the surface, since unlike the others it's not deserted.”

“So if we can get access to the train, we definitely want to get Nmumba off it before it's traveled fifty miles?” said Snake.

“That's if we get onto it when it's entered the area with no forks or branches,” said Pretorius. “That's our ideal boarding spot, but it's always possible that we'll have to board when it's moved farther along.” He turned to Pandora. “How fast is it moving right now?”

She checked. “About seventy-five miles an hour.”

“Okay. Where can we touch down in the landing sleds and get right down to the level of the tracks or whatever the hell it's riding on?”

She put the question to the computer, which pinpointed a spot on the planet's surface that looked like every other spot.

“How many alien life-forms are guarding it?”

She asked again, then looked up with a puzzled frown. “None,” said Pandora.

“That's too easy,” said Pretorius. “The damned place must be booby-trapped.” Then he shrugged. “What the hell, it makes no difference. We have to chance it. Every minute we wait is one more minute they have to break him.” He turned back to Pandora. “Can you get us a schemata of the trains—what size they are, how to board them, what the atmosphere is like?”

“On the train?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It'll be normal—well, normal for
us
—on the train,” he replied. “They don't want to asphyxiate Nmumba before he talks. No, I mean in the tunnels.”

She checked. “Nothing there to hurt your skin. I'd say just take breathing apparatus, and something to protect your eyes.”

“One final question: there have got to be some military ships in the vicinity, either to protect whatever the hell they're transporting on the trains that aren't carrying Nmumba or to shoot down anyone who's come to rescue him. Where are they, how many are they, and what kind of weaponry are they carrying?”

Pandora studied her computer one last time. “You're going to have a hard time believing this, Nate, but we're the only ship in orbit around the whole damned planet.”

“You're reading it wrong.”

She stepped back and gestured toward the computer. “Be my guest.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “I apologize. You're the best there is. If you say there's no ships, there's no ships.” He frowned. “But
why?
”

He was still wondering when he, Ortega, Snake, Irish, and Proto boarded a space sled and began descending toward the planet.

15

“So where
is
it?” said Snake, peering ahead.

“We're going to have to trust Pandora and the instruments,” answered Pretorius. “If we could see it from here, or even from just a mile above it, it'd probably be the best-guarded hole in the ground you ever saw.”

“What makes you think it isn't?” she asked.

“We know what kind of weaponry the Antareans use, and the sensors couldn't spot it,” said Pretorius. “That doesn't mean we won't be spotted, so Felix, keep alert. If there's anything down there, don't give it a chance to shoot first.”

“Right,” said Ortega.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Irish.

“Plenty,” said Pretorius. “But first we have to get our hands on Nmumba.” He turned to Proto. “Okay, we know you can't fool their instruments, but assuming we get past them, there's got to be some Antareans on the train. Time to change into one.” He paused. “You studied their uniforms?”

“Yes,” answered the alien.

“They'll never believe a general traveling without underlings,” continued Pretorius. “I think maybe a colonel or the equivalent, and make sure the insignia identifies you as security, something that just lets you look at them as if they were insects when they start questioning you about what you're doing there.”

“I'll have to,” said Proto. “I don't speak the language.”

“None of us do,” replied Pretorius. “Snake, pass out the t-packs. Most of the people we met in the Tradertown spoke some form of Terran, and that won't be the case from here on.”

She opened a box she had carried onto the sled with her and handed out tiny translator mechanisms to each member of the team.

“They're set for Antarean, right?” said Ortega, attaching his to a metal shoulder blade.

Pretorius couldn't restrain a chuckle. “Wouldn't be much use if they weren't.”

“Just checking,” said Ortega. “It wouldn't be the first time I didn't know what the hell an enemy was saying.”

“Not on any mission with me,” replied Pretorius.

“No, not with you,” admitted Ortega. “But it's made me a little cautious about these things.”

“All right,” said Pretorius. “Proto, where the hell is yours?”

“Right here,” said Proto, indicating the image of his foot. “Remember, I'm just projecting a picture, so to speak. My image can't support any physical objects.”

“Okay,” said Pretorius. “Keep it hidden. Remember: you're an Antarean, so obviously you don't need a t-pack. And by the same token, don't speak, because if they've got half a brain between them they'll see that your lips don't match the sounds, and that the words are coming from your boots. Just look important and arrogant. Don't speak to us, not in Terran, not in any language, for the same reason. We don't want them spotting where the sound is coming from, even though you can make it match your lips in Terran.”

“Are you sure we're even going to encounter any Antareans?” asked Proto.

“Somewhere below us is a Man who's changed the balance of power in the war,” said Pretorius, “a man that our government will do anything to rescue. Wouldn't
you
guard him?”

“How are we going to get onto or into this train or whatever it is?” asked Snake.

“I've been considering that,” answered Pretorius, “and I think the one thing we
must
do is board it while it's moving. If Pandora can track it from space, surely they've got stations on and under the planet that are tracking it every second. If we stop it, or even slow it down perceptibly, it's like broadcasting that we're trying to steal their prisoner.”

“Fine,” replied Snake. “So we can't slow it down or stop it. It's going sixty or seventy miles an hour, and if it has any windows, which I doubt, they're going to be sealed.” She stared at him, frowning. “So how do we board it?”

“I'll show you when we get there.”

“What's wrong with telling us now?”

Pretorius smiled. “I don't want half of you to decide to quit and go home.”

Irish noticed that no one smiled back.

“So how will we tell when we're over the hole or whatever the hell it is we're aiming for?” asked Ortega.

“Pandora's programmed it into the sled,” answered Pretorius. “It's one of the few things we don't have to worry about.” He checked his watch. “We should be approaching it in another five minutes.”

They rode in silence for the next three minutes, and finally they could spot their destination on the viewscreen.

“Good!” said Snake. “For a while there it looked like we were just going to go headfirst into the planet.”

“I'd tell you to check your weapons,” said Pretorius, “but of course Proto can't lift a weapon and Snake just uses her knife, and Felix
is
a weapon.” He smiled. “Very odd crew.” He handed a burner to Irish. “Here,” he said. “I hope you know how to use it.”

She looked at the laser pistol as it lay flat on her hand as if it were some alien creature. “I've never fired one in my life.”

“Here's the firing mechanism, here's the safety,” said Pretorius, pointing to them. “Hopefully everything will go smoothly and you can make that same statement tomorrow.”

“Passage coming up,” announced Ortega as the sled slowed. “Looks like it goes straight down.”

“It does,” replied Pretorius. “Almost half a mile.”

“So are you ready to tell us what the hell we're doing next?” asked Snake.

“I'd like to check it out first, just to make sure our information is correct, or see if we have to improvise,” said Pretorius. “But what the hell, we're here, there's no turning back, so let's hope it's correct.” He paused as the sled entered the chute that led down to the tunnels. “It's true that the trains, vehicles, cars, whatever the hell they are, average seventy-five miles an hour, but like I say, that's their
average.
They'll go up to ninety or so on straightaways, but like any vehicle they have to slow down for turns, and the reason we chose this chute is that it's a couple of hundred yards from a turn of almost ninety degrees.”

“A right turn?” said Ortega.

Pretorius shrugged. “Right, left, it depends what direction it's coming from. But it's going to have to slow down to a crawl, whether it's on tracks or even floating above the tunnel floor, and that's where we'll board it.”

“From the top, through a window, a door, or what?” asked Snake.

“We're going to have to play it by ear,” answered Pretorius. “We'll have about twenty minutes to take up our positions, and we'll do so in such a way that, however the vehicle is constructed, at least one of us can enter it.”

“And what about the rest of us?” said Ortega.

Pretorius walked to a box on the floor and opened it. “This is a super-strong and super-lightweight cord. We'll all be attached to it.” He held up a small metal object. “And this mechanism will reel us in before the thing can pick up speed after rounding the corner.” He paused. “Now this is
essential.
Since we don't know who's going to gain entrance first, you're going to be attached directly to each member of the team. Each attachment will have a little red mark on it. To detach it, you just touch the mark. You'll detach from everyone but the one who's inside the vehicle.” He looked at each of them in turn. “If you don't touch those marks within seconds, you're going to be dragged along in the wake of a vehicle or train that's approaching ninety miles an hour.”

“Let's see them now,” said Snake, “so if we have any questions we can ask them before we're all hooked up to them.”