The Prison in Antares (7 page)

“What about me?” demanded Snake.

He shook his head. “You stay with the ship.”

“Why?”

“You want a valid reason or the real one?” asked Pretorius.

“Both.”

“The valid one is that if we have any problems and they figure out which ship is ours, your job is to protect it and Pandora long enough for her to take off, get into orbit, and await orders.”

“Yeah, that's valid,” agreed Snake. “Bullshit, but valid.” She glared at him. “Now what's the real reason?”

“Same as always,” he replied. “You're the best thief I ever saw as well as the best escape artist, but you simply can't keep your hands in your pockets, and I don't need the added hassle of protecting you when they catch you robbing the till.”

“What makes you think they'll catch me?” she demanded without bothering to deny his basic assumption.

“You don't know what kind of security they have, or what kind of sensory perception some of the races there will have,” answered Pretorius, “and even if you swipe some cash, this is a Tradertown, not a city. If they find some money's missing, they'll shoot you as you run to the ship.”

“Not if I don't run in a straight line,” she replied. “And we could use some local currency.”

He looked amused. “The only currency we'll be able to use will be Antarean. Do you plan to rob the guys whose ship we're stealing?”

“Why not?” said Snake.

“I've got one hundred credits that says she can pull it off,” said Ortega.

“Oh, shut up, Felix!” said Pretorius irritably.

“You really don't think I can do it?” demanded Snake.

“Probably you can,” he acknowledged. “But I'm not interested in probablies, and I'm not willing to bet five lives on it. You're staying on the ship, and that's an order.”

“Okay,” she said. “But you're a fool.”

“I've been called worse,” he replied. “Okay, Pandora, let them know we want to land, get whatever coordinates and permissions you need, and take us down.”

“Excuse me,” said Irish as the ship touched down, “but I have a question, doubtless based on my inexperience.”

“Ask,” said Pretorius.

“You mentioned Snake robbing the Antareans,” she said. “That implies that we're going into the town, since your reasons would be invalid if we were gaining access to their ship immediately after we land.”

“Right,” he said.

“That's my question,” she said. “If we want their ship, why are we going into town?”

“We don't want any survivors contacting the Antarean military and warning them to be looking for a ship of this description and registry,” answered Pretorius.

She frowned. “So you're not hunting them up to question them or evaluate their strength?”

He shook his head. “We'll question them if we can, but the end result's going to be the same.” She seemed about to say something, but he held a hand up to silence her. “We're at war, remember? And they've got a prisoner who can save literally billions of lives if we can get to him before they break him.”

“I'm sorry,” she said awkwardly.

“Don't be. You're new to this, and asking questions is how you learn.”

“Okay,” announced Pandora. “We're cleared to land and are about to begin our approach. They've given us a spot about six ships away from the one we're after.”

Pretorius frowned. “That makes it a little more difficult, but what the hell.”

“I don't follow you,” said Circe.

“I was thinking if we could land right next to the ship we could transfer most of the armaments and the computer without being spotted, but we can't be seen doing that much walking back and forth from half a dozen ships away. We'll keep our ship and transfer everything in deep space or on a totally empty planet once we take control of the Antarean ship.”

“How many of them are in the town and how many are still on the ship?” asked Ortega.

“How many are in the town is just guesswork,” answered Pretorius. “We don't know how many the ship is carrying. But Pandora can tell us how many are still onboard.”

“In a minute,” she said. “I'm still making course adjustments.” After another thirty seconds or so, she began manipulating the computer again. “There are three living entities onboard.”

“Three Antareans, right,” said Pretorius.

She shook her head. “Two Antareans.”

“What's the third thing?”

“I can't tell from the readings,” she replied. “It could be anything from a prisoner to a pet to a non-Antarean passenger.”

“Big? Little?”

She studied her computer. “Maybe eighty pounds.”

Pretorius turned to Ortega. “So if we only see the two Antareans when we board it, keep an eye out for something with teeth or pincers that may be lurking in a bulkhead.” He turned to Irish. “That goes for everyone. I'm telling Felix, because with his physical equipment, real and artificial, he'll be first in line when we board it.”

“Okay, we're through the stratosphere, entering the atmosphere, and should touch down in three minutes,” announced Pandora.

“Proto, time to become an officer,” said Pretorius. “Make him a native of Antares Two.”

“Why Two?” asked Irish as Proto's image changed.

“Because he doesn't speak a word of Antarean,” answered Pretorius. “Hopefully they have different dialects on different worlds. And since our prey isn't military, maybe they'll leave him alone if he's an officer and projects a nice, haughty air.”

“Makes sense,” she said, nodding her head. “I'm learning.”

They fell silent then, watching the planet growing huge on the viewscreen, which then adjusted and began homing in on the Tradertown. In another minute the buildings and streets were visible, as was the spaceport, and shortly thereafter they touched down.

“All right,” said Pretorius, walking over to the hatch. “I have no idea how long we'll be, but don't contact us. I'll contact you if we need anything.” He turned to Snake. “Grab a weapon and kill any Antarean that tries to enter the ship.”

“What about something other than an Antarean?”

“Keep him or them covered, have Pandora disarm them, and wait for me to get back.”

“Always assuming you live long enough to come back,” said Snake.

“Always assuming,” said Pretorius, climbing down the stairs to the ground. He waited for his four companions to join him, and then began walking into the town.

“Shit!” muttered Ortega. “It's all bars and restaurants. We're gonna look mighty suspicious looking into every one of them.”

“We won't have to,” said Pretorius. He activated his communicator. “Pandora?”

“Yes?”

“That's the only Antares Six ship in the port, right?”

“Right,” she answered.

“Okay,” he said. “Have the computer locate the ones that aren't on the ship.”

“Working on it.”

After a minute he spoke again. “It's taking a while.”

“Their physiology is very similar to natives of Antares Two and Three,” she replied. “I don't want to send you into the wrong den of iniquity.” There was a brief pause. “Okay, got 'em. They're in . . . damn, I can't translate or decipher the name. Walk to the first cross street. I'll keep the channel open.”

Pretorius and his crew followed her instructions.

“Now look to your left,” she continued. “Do you see a building, on the far side of the street, maybe thirty meters from you?”

“Yes.”

“Has it got a door wide enough to accommodate you and Felix entering side by side?”

“Right.”

“Okay, that's the spot.”

“Thanks. Over and out.” Pretorius put his device back into a pocket. “You heard her,” he said. “That's the joint.”

“How do you want to handle this?” asked Ortega.

“We'll kill them,” said Pretorius, “but I'd much prefer not do it in front of the population if we don't have to. No sense alerting the locals, or having one of them contact the ship we want.”

“Then why are we here at all?”

“There's a difference between killing them and neutralizing them,” answered Pretorius. He turned and stared at Proto. “Damn, you look real! I wish to hell you could speak their lingo.” He continued staring, his brow furrowed. “Well, we might as well
try
to do it without killing them all. Proto, lose your lower jaw.” The jaw vanished. “No, not totally. As if you'd been shot there. Not recently. An old war wound. It blew away part of your jaw and crushed the rest, so no one can reasonably expect you to speak clearly.”

“Then why am I still in uniform?” asked Proto as he made the adjustments Pretorius had asked for.

“Maybe you're a scientist or an engineer. It doesn't matter. They can't question you, because you can't answer them.” He began walking to the side of the building. “This place got a back entrance?”

“It must have,” said Circe.

“Okay. Felix, go around back and wait there. When they finally come out, put them all out of commission, swiftly and silently.”

“Right,” said Ortega, heading off.

Pretorius turned to Proto. “I'm going in with Circe and Irish first. It wouldn't do for us to be seen as your companions, even in the Neutral Zone.” Proto nodded his head in agreement. “I still don't know if it's a bar or a restaurant, not that it really matters. Give us a minute to get settled at a table, then come in, hunt up our Antareans, act distressed, and signal them to follow you out the back door, as if there's something there you want them to see.”

“I have a thought,” said Proto. “Won't it work better if I enter from the back, as if I've just seen whatever it is I want them to see?”

“I
like
that!” said Pretorius. “Much better idea. Felix will know it's you because of the uniform. If there's any doubt, talk to him in Terran. He knows the sound of your voice.”

“Right,” said Proto, heading off.

“And give us a minute or two to get settled.”

“Why, if you're not coming out back with or after them?” asked Proto.

“Because I want Circe there when you try to get them to follow you,” answered Pretorius. “If there's any chance that they're not buying it, or that they see through your disguise, that something's not right physically, she'll know and wave you off.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” admitted Proto. “Okay, I'll take a few minutes.”

He began walking around the building, while Pretorius and the two women entered what turned out to be a tavern, populated by half a dozen races, half of them of human stock, the rest more reptilian—and sitting at a table in the corner were five Antareans.

“How close do you have to be?” asked Pretorius in low tones.

“Anywhere in the room will do,” answered Circe.

He led them to a table, and they all sat down. The Antareans shot them some hostile glances, but otherwise ignored them. Then, after perhaps two minutes, Proto, appearing distraught in his Antarean guise, entered the tavern from behind the bar, and walked swiftly to the middle of the room, looked around until his gaze fell on the Antareans, walked over, and began gesticulating.

They simply stared at him for a moment. It was clear they didn't understand what he wanted, and clear that he couldn't speak with part of his jaw misshapen and the rest of it missing. Pretorius kept waiting for him to slam a fist into the table and find some way to demand they follow him, then remembered that his entire body beyond the lowest eighteen inches was an illusion and he
couldn't
slam his fist into anything.

“Are they buying it?” whispered Pretorius to Circe.

“Yes,” she replied. “They're confused, but I assume that's because they don't know quite what he wants. None of them doubts that he's an Antarean officer, or that he's truly unable to speak.”

Finally Proto took a few steps to the back door, turned, gestured for them to follow him, and repeated the procedure three times until they finally rose from their chairs and did indeed follow him out the back door.

“Well, that's that,” said Pretorius. “Let's give Felix a couple of minutes, and then we'll go out and meet them.”

“I'm surprised we haven't heard a sound yet,” said Irish.

“Felix is a walking armory,” said Circe. “He's not only as strong as four or five men put together, but all those mechanical parts double as weapons.”

“He's a good man,” said Pretorius. “Not the brightest member of the team, God knows, but absolutely fearless, and loyal to a fault—along with being a killing machine
par excellence.
” He got to his feet. “We might as well go. If he hasn't disabled or killed them by now we're in real trouble.”

The three of them paid for their unfinished drinks, walked out the front door, waited a moment to make sure no one else was leaving, then walked around to the back of the building, where they found Ortega and Proto standing over the five Antareans.

“Dead?” asked Pretorius.

Ortega nodded. “No trouble, Nate. Two of 'em had weapons in their hands as they walked out the door, but I took care of that.”

Pretorius looked around. “There's a small storage shed over there. Let's move the bodies before someone trips over them.”

Ortega carried three at once, then came back for the other two.

“I'd help you,” said Pretorius, “but I'd probably end up dragging him, and why leave tracks?”

“I doubt that Irish or I could even budge one,” said Circe.

“Not a problem,” said Ortega. “That's what you've got me for.”

“All right,” said Pretorius. “There's two more on the ship. It'd be stupid to leave any other witnesses. Let's take care of them and get the hell out of here.”