The Castle in Cassiopeia

by Mike Resnick

  “I’m flattered,” he said with a smile. “And I still don’t know what Michkag’s like. Although I imagine he has a lot in common with history’s other great tyrants.”

  “He’s bright,” said Pretorius. “And creative. And merciless, of course. He never bites off more than he can chew.”

  “Until he ran up against you,” suggested Apollo.

  “Not quite,” answered Pretorius. “He was holding his own against the Democracy. We didn’t outgun him; we tricked him. I mean, who the hell ever thought we could find a turncoat who actually could supply us with an identical Michkag, or that we could pull off the switch inside the most heavily guarded fortress in the whole damned galaxy?” He paused. “It was a confluence of circumstances that’ll never happen again. This is not an enemy we can underestimate. Especially this enemy. Don’t forget; he was created and tutored inside the Democracy.”

  “I’m surprised you volunteered to go up against him again,” said Apollo.

  Pretorius smiled. “I don’t recall the word ‘volunteer’ in any of my discussions with General Cooper.”

  Apollo chuckled. “Nevertheless, someday you must join me as a freelancer.”

  “Who has a freelancer’s back?” asked Snake.

  Apollo offered her a mock frown. “Why do you always ask the tough questions?”

  “Got a Colteipa II ship coming this way,” announced Pandora.

  “Armed?” asked Pretorius.

  She shook her head. “Looks like a passenger ship,” she answered. “A big one.”

  “Then if they’re just bringing a load of passengers back they probably don’t know this ship is stolen—and even if they do, they’re not going to endanger all those passengers. Just send them the equivalent of a friendly wave and keep on going.”

  “Right,” said Pandora, and a few second later uttered a deep sigh. “It worked.”

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “How long until we’re within the Michkag’s system?”

  “Three hours, maybe three and a half.”

  “We can assume they’ll have ships out to the edge of it, not just around Garsype. In fact, especially not around Garsype.”

  “Seems reasonable.”

  “Then we’ll initiate contact out at the edge, where we’ll face even odds, or at worst two-to-one.”

  “Makes sense,” agreed Pandora.

  “Apollo,” said Pretorius, “I’m putting you in charge of the weaponry. Remember, we’re going to do our damnedest not to damage whatever ship seeks us out, because if things go the way we plan, we’re going to be approaching and landing on Garsype in that ship.”

  “Got it,” said Apollo. “Anyone here speak Kabori?”

  “I think I do,” said Proto. “But I haven’t tried yet.”

  “Ditto,” added Pandora.

  “And you haven’t tried either?”

  “That’s right.”

  Apollo turned to Pretorius. “Let me guess,” he said with a grin. “Whenever you bet, you always pick longshots.”

  11

  They spent two hours maneuvering in deep space, making sure no one from the Colteipa system was following them, then headed slowly toward Garsype.

  “They’re going to contact and probably approach us as we reach the outskirts of the system,” said Pretorius. “It’s not inconceivable that the second they see Men onboard they’ll start firing, and there’s no sense having Proto take the form of Michkag since the holo won’t show that.”

  “So what do I do?” asked Pandora. “Tell them that the camera’s not working?”

  “Would you buy that if you were expecting enemies to come after Michkag at any moment?” said Pretorius.

  “No,” she replied. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “So we’ve got to show them something,” he said. “And the only thing we can show them that’s not a Man is Proto.”

  “You’ve already admitted that won’t work,” said Snake.

  “No he didn’t,” said Apollo with an amused smile.

  “Of course he did,” persisted Snake. “Train the camera on him when he’s being Michkag and all we get is the real Proto.”

  “Right,” said Apollo, still grinning at her.

  She stared back at him, then at Proto. And suddenly she clapped her hands once and emitted an amused laugh. “Son of a bitch! It’ll actually work better this time! They would certainly question what the hell Michkag was doing aboard our ship, but not a . . . a whatever-the-hell-you-are, Proto.”

  “Right,” said Pretorius. “And you’ll speak to them in Terran. I guarantee that if the Democracy is your major enemy, every means of communication you have will recognize and translate Terran.”

  “There’s another advantage,” added Irish. “Since he has no facial features as such, he won’t look nervous when he’s speaking to them.”

  “So when they contact us, and it won’t be long,” said Pretorius, “we’ll turn the camera on Proto.”

  “But what shall I say?” asked Proto nervously.

  “Don’t worry about it,” answered Pretorius. “I’ll do the speaking for you. Just move your mouth a little. They’ve almost certainly never seen a member of your race, so the mouth’s movements won’t have to match the words or pronunciations.” He paused, then smiled. “Actually, I probably haven’t been in your unadorned, undisguised company for ten hours in well over a year, and to tell you the truth, I don’t know where the hell your mouth us.”

  “I guess that’s a compliment,” said Proto.

  “It’s more than a compliment,” said Pretorius. “It could be a lifesaver.”

  “Times six,” added Apollo.

  “All right,” said Proto. “Where shall I stand?”

  Pandora pointed to a spot halfway across the bridge from her control panel. “Right there.”

  Proto undulated to where she indicated.

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “How the hell many planets in this system?”

  “Fourteen,” answered Pandora. “Garsype’s the third.”

  “Start approaching the fourteenth, circle it a few times, and if nobody stops or questions us, do the same to the thirteenth, and so on until we’re stopped and contacted.”

  “You got it,” she said, heading toward the outermost planet, one of half a dozen gas giants on the outer perimeter of the system.

  They went through the same routine on the fourteenth and thirteenth planets. Then, as they approached the twelfth, they received a radio signal.

  “Halt where you are!” said a hoarse voice in Kabori.

  Three small ships showed up on the viewscreen.

  “Name, race, and purpose of this intrusion,” demanded the voice.

  “I am sorry,” said Pretorius in Terran. “I do not mean to trespass. I mean no disrespect.”

  “Name!” insisted the voice, and it was obvious that the ship had no intention of showing any of its crew to its camera.

  “Napoleon.”

  “What the hell kind of name is that?” said the voice.

  “It is my name,” said Pretorius. “I do not know from what it might have been derived.”

  “Race?”

  “It will probably just translate as gibberish.”

  “Race!” repeated the voice.

  What the hell do you look like when you’re being yourself? thought Pretorius, staring at Proto. “Briefcase.”

  “Container?” demanded the voice.

  “I told you it wouldn’t translate very well.”

  “And why are you here?”

  “I assure you this system was not my destination,” said Pretorius. “My ship needs some minor repairs, and I am looking for a safe place to set it down while I am making them.”

  “You may not set it down in this system,” said the voice sternly.

  “But I must!” Pretorius said desperately. “It cannot reach the next system in its current condition. Please let me land.”

  “What is the matter with it?”

  “I don’t know!” said P
retorius desperately. “You can see me on your viewscreen: I am very small, I am unarmed, I cannot locomote with any speed or dexterity.”

  “It is against regulations,” insisted the voice.

  “If I can’t land and effect repairs, I will die in space.”

  “That is hardly our concern,” replied the voice.

  “Let me make a counteroffer,” said Pretorius. “I am an archaeologist. If you will let me land, you can land right beside me, watch me the entire time I effect repairs so you’ll know I have no ulterior purpose, and to show you my gratitude you may take all the accumulated artifacts I have gathered from a dozen worlds, some of them quite valuable, plus all the food I have except for enough to see me through to the next star system.”

  “One moment,” said the voice.

  The transmission went dead.

  “Well?” said Snake.

  “It’s working, or they wouldn’t be conferring right now,” said Apollo. “Five’ll get you ten when they come back online they’re willing to transmit their images.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than a typical member of the Kabori race appeared on the screen.

  “All right,” he said. “You may land and effect repairs. Are you a chlorine breather?”

  “No,” said Pretorius. “I breathe oxygen.”

  “Pure oxygen?”

  “An oxygen-nitrogen compound.”

  “All right,” said the Kabori. “Follow us to the seventh planet, which has a similar atmosphere. It almost certainly won’t be what you’re used to, but at least you’ll be able to function in it for short-term repairs.”

  “Thank you,” said Pretorius. “I shall always remember you for this.”

  “Just remember us long enough for us to relieve you of your artifacts.”

  They cut the transmission again and began heading for the seventh planet.

  “What do we do when we get there?” asked Irish.

  Apollo laughed. “It’s obvious.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t,” she said.

  “Those look like two-man ships,” said Pretorius. “After we touch down, we hide in our cabins until Proto signals us that they’re all inside our ship, and we kill them.”

  “What if they leave one or two behind?” asked Irish.

  “We find which ships they’re on and eliminate them. And if we’re not sure, well, it’s an oxygen world, so Proto will finally get a chance to play Michkag, or if I feel that’s too far-fetched, then some high-ranking officer.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Pandora.

  “I devoutly hope so,” added Proto. “I hate being in the middle of any shooting.”

  “It’ll all be going on over your head,” said Apollo.

  “Damned well better be,” muttered Proto, returning to his human form.

  They passed a few planets, followed the Garsype ships through a very small wormhole, and in less than thirty minutes they were in orbit around the seventh planet.

  Pretorius turned to Pandora. “Anyone signal you where to set it down?”

  Pandora shook her head. “Not a word, not a signal.”

  “Okay, choose a nice flat spot and land.”

  The ship touched down, and Pretorius immediately opened the hatch. “Instruments say we can breathe this stuff,” he said. “Might as well find out if they’re right.”

  “Smells bad, but it seems harmless enough,” said Apollo.

  “I agree,” said Pretorius. “Good. That means if we’ve got to go outside, with or without our phony Michkag, we can do it.”

  “What now?”

  “Get out of sight. They’ll either all enter the ship, or they’ll leave one or more behind. We kill whoever comes aboard, and improvise if there are less than six.”

  Snake, Irish, and Apollo made their way to their quarters.

  “What if they signal first?” asked Proto. “I can’t manipulate the controls, and we don’t want Pandora out here where they’ll see her the second they board us.”

  “Good question,” said Pretorius. He turned to Pandora. “Send them a message, no image attached, that you think you damaged the camera when landing.”

  Pandora sent the message, finished just as two of the ships touched down, and closed the door to her sleeping compartment seconds before the third touched down.

  Pretorius squatted down in the galley, out of sight to anyone entering through the hatch, and Proto stayed where he was to greet their visitors.

  One of Michkag’s soldiers entered the ship, then a second. A third followed a few seconds later and barked out a question.

  “I do not understand,” said Proto in Terran, “and my translating mechanism seems to have become disabled during the landing procedure.”

  Pretorius dared a quick peek. Four . . . five . . . Where the hell is the sixth?

  The intruders began yelling at Proto, and when it seemed that the nearest was about to kick him Pretorius stood up, burner in hand, and killed the first two. Snake and Irish accounted for one apiece, and then Apollo, outsized and outweighed but not outmuscled, grabbed the fifth from behind and with a quick move snapped his neck.

  “That was fast,” said Pandora, emerging from her compartment, screecher in hand. “What about the sixth?”

  “We’re going to have to get to him before he either leaves the planet or reports that things aren’t going smoothly here,” said Pretorius.

  “Hell, that’s easy enough,” said Apollo.

  “Oh?”

  Apollo nodded. “Proto, study this one I just killed.”

  “Oh, shit!” exclaimed Pretorius. “Of course!”

  “Of course what?” demanded Snake. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s not going to come here if he doesn’t hear from his companions,” said Pretorius. “But if I walk over to his ship with my hands in the air and Proto, disguised as this warrior here, is holding a burner to my back, I’m sure as hell going to get into his ship before he realizes anything’s wrong.”

  “Good plan,” agreed Apollo. “There’s just one little change we need to make.”

  “Oh?”

  Apollo grinned. “I’ll be the prisoner. After all, I already killed one with my bare hands.”

  “He does have you by about sixty pounds of muscle, Nate,” said Snake.

  Pretorius stared at Apollo for a long moment, then shrugged. “Shit!” he muttered. “When you’re right, you’re right. Proto, I know you can’t pick up one of their weapons, but try to hold the image of one in the image of your hand. Can’t have him getting suspicious because you’re carrying the wrong weapon.”

  “Right,” said Proto, and a moment later they were staring at the mirror image of the fifth dead Kabori.

  “Just a second,” said Apollo, walking over to the galley. He returned a few seconds later with the knife they had discussed the night before.

  “Just in case,” he said, tucking it in the back of his belt. He turned to Proto. “Now remind me to take it out when we’re done, or I’m gonna embarrass the hell out of some nurse who has to stop the bleeding.”

  “To say nothing of cutting off half your IQ,” added Snake.

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Apollo, walking to the hatch, climbing down to the ground, then raising his arms above his head, partially to show he was an unarmed prisoner, and partially to shield Proto as Pretorius lowered him to the ground on a thin cord.

  “Which ship?” asked Proto as they neared the trio of ships.

  “Makes no difference,” said Apollo.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if we start entering the wrong one, he’ll stick his head out and tell you. And he’s got to be curious as all hell. What happened at our ship, why is only one of you coming back, who told you to take a prisoner and a Democracy prisoner at that, who—?”

  “Okay, I get the picture,” said Proto.

  “Looks like you’re not the only one,” said Apollo, as a Kabori stuck his head out, yelled something in his
native tongue, and vanished back inside his ship.

  Apollo walked directly to the ship and climbed the stairs to the open hatch while Proto, who was incapable of climbing stairs in his true form, waited outside.

  There was one loud bellow, three or four thuds as bodies crashed into the ship wall, and then the same loud crack! Proto had heard on their own ship when Apollo had snapped his opponent’s neck. A few seconds later the corpse was hurled down to the ground. Then Pretorius, Snake, Irish, and Pandora made their way over to the ship and entered it.

  “Can you run the damned thing?” Pretorius asked Pandora.

  “Give me a few minutes to translate some of the commands and yes, I can do it,” answered Pandora. She turned to Apollo. “How about you?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Same make-up as a Tabarinti ship. Just got to learn a couple of new words.”

  “Then let’s get this show on the road,” said Pretorius, and in less than ten minutes they were finally on their way to the world that had been taken over by the false Michkag.

  12

  “The next step is gonna be a little bit harder,” announced Pretorius as the ship neared Garsype.

  “Oh?” said Irish.

  Apollo chuckled. “By a magnitude of five hundred or so.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but can you explain, please?” she replied.

  “You saw the difficulty we had just approaching an outer planet,” said Pretorius. “Now try to imagine how much harder it’s going to be to land on Garsype.”

  “But we’re in a military ship!” Irish protested.

  “Yeah,” agreed Apollo. “But sooner or later, before we touch down, they’re going to want to see who’s piloting it, and what’s he doing where he wasn’t scheduled to be. For the first part, all we can show them is a Man or a briefcase, and for the second, I hope we’ve got a good storyteller on board. And for ‘storyteller’ read ‘liar.’”

  “Okay,” said Irish grimly. “Now I understand.”

  Pretorius reached into a sack that he’d brought out of a storage area and began withdrawing small artificial leather packages. “Field kits,” he announced, passing them out. “Each one’s got a t-pack that can translate to and from all the major languages and dialects, though they’re pretty slow working with Kabori. I’d be a lot happier if we had one legitimate Kabori speaker with us.” He paused. “And each kit has condensed meals that taste almost as bad as they look but will keep you alive and healthy—”