The Castle in Cassiopeia

by Mike Resnick

  “That’s because you looked in military files rather than police,” Snake answered with a smile.

  “Oh?” said Graalzhan. “Now I am impressed.”

  “So,” said Pretorius, “will we be forming an alliance?”

  “Let me preface my answer by saying that I consider you friends and allies, and whatever happens, you will remain so.”

  Pretorius stared at her for a moment. “If I interpret your remark correctly, even if you join Michkag’s army you will ignore our presence here and will not hinder us if we try to leave. Is that correct?”

  Graalzhan’s face contorted into the Jebarnogusti equivalent of a smile.

  “Half correct. We will ignore your presence here, whether you wish to join us or not, and we will not hinder you if you try to leave the planet.”

  “So you’re going to hire out to him,” said Pretorius. “You’re making a mistake.”

  Graalzhan smiled again. “No, my friend, it is you who are making the mistake.”

  “Explain, please?”

  “The reason we are not prepared to leave with you is not that we plan to join Michkag, but rather that we plan to kill him.”

  “I think you’re making an even bigger mistake,” said Pretorius.

  “You risked even greater odds and succeeded,” Graalzhan pointed out.

  “We had a major advantage,” replied Pretorius. “He knows you’re on the planet. He had no idea we were there.”

  “But he also knows we have come to enlist in his cause.”

  “I think his experience with us will have made him doubly cautious. He knows that a heavily guarded Michkag can be kidnapped or killed. It’s not just theory anymore.”

  “There’s a huge risk involved, no question about it,” admitted Graalzhan. “But there is a huge reward as well.” She leaned forward. “Do you know how much the new Commonwealth will pay, just to make sure that he never tries to reacquire what is now theirs?”

  “Okay, how much?”

  “Three hundred billion credits in any currency we demand.”

  “That’s a nice tidy sum,” said Pretorius. “My considered opinion is that none of you will live to spend it.”

  “You did,” said Graalzhan.

  “We did it for our regular pay. But more to the point, we did it first, and by doing it right, we were not hunted down day and night for kidnapping Michkag, because there was a genetically identical Michkag, who had been schooled to behave and think exactly like the original, sitting in his place less than a minute later.”

  “I know,” said Graalzhan. “The odds against your success were enormous, and the odds of mine dwarf yours.” She paused and stared across the table at Pretorius for a long moment. “May I speak to you as a friend? I realize we’ve only met once before, but what I have to say I cannot say in front of any of my warriors except for Czizmar, who has served with me for twenty revolutions of our planet around our sun.”

  “We call them years,” said Snake.

  “Yes, years,” responded Graalzhan. “Well, may I?”

  “Speak frankly?” repeated Pretorius. “Yes.” He turned to Snake. “Go into the next room until I call for you.”

  She seemed about to protest, then shrugged, got to her feet, and walked out.

  “You, too,” said Pretorius to Czizmar.

  Czizmar looked questioningly at Graalzhan, who signaled her agreement.

  “All right,” said Pretorius, when they were alone. “What did you want to say?”

  “I am a loyal Jebarnogusti—to my world, to my race, to all the things I was raised to be loyal to,” said Graalzhan. “And I am not a fool. I know the odds of actually killing Michkag are astronomical, as are the odds of escaping if I do manage to kill him.” She paused and exhaled deeply. “But my family is not among those favored in our society, and the only way to secure their future is with far more money and more prestige than I can accumulate in my allotted span of years. So if I kill him and it costs me my life, I will consider that an advantageous trade.”

  “Provided there’s a survivor to carry the word back to whoever’s offering the reward,” said Pretorius.

  “Actually, there are six different rewards, totaling the figure I named. And I have determined to do the deed myself so some of my warriors can take the truth with them when they return to our home system.”

  “Alone?” said Pretorius.

  “Yes.”

  “Let me suggest that Michkag won’t need any bodyguards. The average Kabori outweighs you by fifty percent, and it’s all muscle—and Michkag is that much bigger and stronger than the average Kabori.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why not get some of your warriors to help?” asked Pretorius.

  “Because if enough help, the military will demand the reward, and if not enough help and it costs them their lives, they’ll have died for no purpose except a selfish effort on my part to acquire the reward.”

  “There’s an alternative,” said Pretorius.

  “Oh?”

  “Ask my team to help. That’s the reason we’re here, and since my superiors haven’t mentioned any reward, and in truth couldn’t care less about it, it need never be mentioned to them.”

  “That is an interesting proposition, Pretorius,” said Graalzhan, “and under almost any other circumstance I would happily accept it, but I will not be responsible for the deaths of a team that has shown only consideration toward me.”

  “You’re making a big mistake,” said Pretorius. “We have not come unprepared for what must be done.”

  “I am sorry, but—”

  Pretorius help up his hand, palm facing the Jebarnogusti.

  “Will you agree to wait until tomorrow, so you have more time to at least consider it?”

  Graalzhan stared at him for a long moment. Finally she nodded her consent. “I will consider it,” she said.

  “Good,” said Pretorius rising from the table. “Snake!” he called. “Time to go.” They walked to the door, and then he turned to Graalzhan. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.”

  Graalzhan nodded her head, and then they were on their way to rejoin the rest of the Dead Enders.

  26

  There was a gentle knocking at the door. Irish answered it.

  “Nate,” she said. “It’s for you.”

  Pretorius walked over and found himself confronting Czizmar.

  “It’s pretty early in the day,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

  “A major one,” said Czizmar.

  Pretorius frowned. “She tried to do it herself.”

  “Yes,” confirmed Czizmar.

  “Stupid,” said Pretorius. “I assume she’s dead?”

  “Her head is already on display just outside Michkag’s private quarters.”

  “And the rest of you?”

  “We’re out of here, before they decide we had something to do with it.”

  “Did you?”

  Czizmar shook his head. “We wanted to, but she was our commander. She knew the odds and didn’t want us—or you—to take the risk. I must leave now. It will only be a short time before they come for us.”

  “You shouldn’t have come by here,” said Pretorius. “We’d have figured it out.”

  “I bring you a present from Graalzhan,” he said, pulling a folded paper out of his military harness and handing it to Pretorius.

  “What is this?”

  “A rough map plan to the center of the second level of the castle.”

  “I thank you,” said Pretorius. “Stay safe, my friend.” He stepped back as the door closed, then turned to his team. “I suppose you all heard that?”

  “We’re alone again,” said Pandora.

  “Hell, we were alone at the start of it,” said Snake. “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Not quite nothing,” said Pretorius. “A potential ally has been killed.”

  “And we’ve got a map,” added Apollo.

  Pretorius opened it up. “Correction: we’ve got a
map that none of us can read.”

  “Well, let’s assume it’s accurate and that we just have to translate it,” said Irish.

  “You know,” said Pandora, “it’s possible this Kabori computer here can read it.”

  “You really think so?” asked Apollo.

  She shrugged. “It depends how long they’ve been here, and how much they’ve spoken to Michkag’s people via the computer.”

  “Run it through and see what it comes up with,” said Pretorius.

  She inserted one end of the map into the computer and the machine slowly pulled it through.

  “No good,” said Apollo, picking up the map as the last of it came out of the computer. “Looks just like it did before.”

  Pandora smiled. “It is what we saw before. Give me a minute.” She uttered a few commands into her t-pack, waited for it to translate them into Kabori, then sat back. “Give it a minute, maybe ninety seconds, and we’ll see what’s what.”

  And eighty seconds later, the computer disgorged a new map.

  “Not bad,” said Pretorius. “Not all of the words seem to have a Terran equivalent, but at least we won’t get lost using it.”

  He spread it out at the end of the table that held the computer.

  “Okay,” he said. “Here’s the largest meeting room, these are four smaller rooms attached to it. Over here is a huge galley or restaurant—I can’t tell which, but it doesn’t really matter. Here’s the armory. This looks like a sick bay or a small hospital.” He studied the map further. “Ah!” he said. “And here, not close to anything, looks to be Michkag’s quarters.”

  “Look at the size of them!” said Apollo. “He sure lives like a king.”

  “Why is he so far from the other stuff—the meeting rooms, the armory, things like that?” asked Snake.

  “Our presence notwithstanding,” answered Pretorius, “he’s probably the best-protected being in the whole sector. Why not sleep and relax where it’s quiet? I guarantee you that suite of rooms is in contact with everything he needs to be in contact with, in and out of the castle, on and off the planet.”

  “Still, it makes our job a little easier,” said Apollo.

  “Minimally,” said Pretorius.

  “Well, what’s first?” asked Snake.

  “Seriously?” said Pretorius. “First we kill a Kabori, preferably an officer.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you rather go down to the second level as five Men looking for something or, more likely, someone, or would you rather go as a Kabori’s prisoners?”

  “What does one have to do with the other?” she asked.

  He pointed at Proto. “There’s the most valuable member of the team at this point. If we can find out how he should appear, he can display his uniform, replete with a few dozen medals, point his imaginary burner at us, and march us straight down to Michkag’s quarters.”

  “He may not have the whole damned army there,” said Irish, “but he’s got to have a fair number of them protecting his quarters.”

  “All the more reason why we want an officer of high enough rank that no one will challenge him,” replied Pretorius. “Preferably one of Michkag’s bodyguards.”

  “Hell, he can be a five-star general, and they’re still not going to let him—and us—into Michkag’s quarters alone.”

  “True,” agreed Pretorius. “But if they hold it to maybe a dozen elite guards, and we can each pull a couple or burners or screechers on a second’s notice, that’s about the best odds we’ll face start to finish.”

  “Okay,” said Apollo, “let’s go find us a general, or a high-ranking bodyguard.”

  “Would you know one if you saw one?” asked Pretorius.

  “No,” admitted Apollo. “Would you?”

  “Not yet,” said Pretorius. He turned to Pandora. “Give me a few hard copies of a general’s insignia.”

  She nodded, spoke into her t-pack, which spoke into the computer, and a moment later it cast a holograph into the center of the room: six smaller holos of generals in full regalia, and finally detailed close-ups of the insignia that told onlookers that they were generals.

  “Okay,” said Pretorius. “You better give us the equivalent on captain, major, and colonel as well. I mean, how the hell many generals are likely to be roaming the fourth level, especially before they get rid of those odors?”

  “More now than tomorrow,” said Irish.

  They all turned to her.

  “We know our foul-smelling friends are gone,” she continued. “But they don’t.”

  Pretorius nodded his head. “You’ve got a point.” He stared at Apollo for a moment, then turned to Snake. “Okay, you’re elected.”

  “I thought I was going!” growled Apollo.

  “It’s my experience that generals don’t walk alone,” said Pretorius. “That means our assassin is going to have to stay hidden until one is alone long enough to kill him without alerting everyone else. Snake probably weighs a hundred pounds, and as I told you, she’s a contortionist. I put you at close to three hundred, all muscle, and you contort about as well as an iron rod.”

  “But—”

  “I promise there’ll be work to do and Kaboris to kill before we’re done,” said Pretorius. “But our first job is to get off the starting line.” He turned to Snake. “You had enough time to study those drawings?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, no sense wasting any more time,” said Pretorius, stepping away from the door, “On your way, and good luck.”

  “No problem,” she said, walking to the door. Suddenly she stopped and smiled. “When I find our general, I’ll just pretend he’s Apollo.”

  Then she was gone.

  “Should have sent me,” said Apollo. “She awfully damned small to take on a Kabori.”

  Pretorius smiled. “You’d be surprised at some of the things she’s taken on.”

  “I asked once before: how the hell did you find her?”

  “She was robbing my ship one night when I came back from an assignment. If she didn’t have a taste for butterscotch I’d never have caught her, but she loves the stuff, and since it was a Man’s ship, she wasted about fifteen extra minutes hunting for some.”

  “Interesting story,” said Apollo. “But killing a Kabori . . .”

  “She’s killed bigger.”

  “Oh, well, might as well eat,” said Apollo. “Hopefully there won’t be too many more meals of this . . . this whatever-it-is.”

  “There won’t be,” said Irish.

  “Oh?”

  “If we kill Michkag in the next day or two, we’re out of here,” she said, “and if they catch us, they’ll probably kill us before the next mealtime.”

  “I love traveling with optimists!” said Apollo with a laugh.

  “Realists,” said Pretorius. “We think we’ll do it, but we know the odds are against us.”

  Apollo opened his field kit, pulled out a brilliant red alien fruit, and took a bite of it. “Hell, Michkag himself can’t taste any worse than this,” he remarked.

  “If all goes well, you can take one bite of his corpse before we leave,” said Pretorius.

  Apollo chuckled, then took another mouthful and made a face.

  “Don’t say it,” said Irish. “Believe me, you won’t dine any better on a Dead Ender’s pay.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Apollo.

  “Good,” said Irish with an amused smile. “We can use another atheist on the team.”

  Pandora tried to bring some pleasant, restful music into the room, but all she could get was something that resembled an atonal screeching.

  “And they relax to that,” said Irish.

  “Could be worse,” said Apollo. “Could be louder.”

  Suddenly the music, such as it was, stopped, and the door opened.

  “What’s going on?” asked Proto.

  Pandora pointed to a screen above her head. “We’re about to welcome a friend,” she said.

  And
no sooner had the words left her mouth than Snake entered, carrying a large, medal-filled Kabori jacket.

  “Good job!” said Pretorius. “He cause you any trouble?”

  “Not as much as I caused her,” answered Snake.

  “Her?”

  Snake chuckled. “You think we’re not as deadly as you guys?”

  “Oh, I know that you are,” answered Pretorius. “But I don’t see any sexual differences between male and female Kaboris.”

  “They’re not mammals, so that takes care of one difference,” replied Snake.

  “How do you know that?” asked Apollo.

  “Well, I did take her uniform off,” said Snake.

  “Shit!” muttered Apollo. “I can solve differential equations in my head, and I can create computer systems that make this one look like a retarded infant.” He frowned. “So why can I never see the obvious?”

  They all laughed at that. Then Snake tossed a very small object to Pandora.

  “What’s this?” asked Pandora.

  “A holo of the late unlamented,” answered Snake. “In case Proto decides to become her.”

  “Okay, Proto,” said Pretorius. “Study it until you know it as well as your own face and body—and when you’re ready we’ll get this show on the road.”

  “Right,” said Proto, moving over to study the uniform.

  Pretorius turned to Pandora. “While he’s studying that, you study the map. I need to know the least-populated way to get where we’re going, and the fastest way to get from there to the ship.”

  “I’m on it,” she said, map in hand.

  She spent the next half hour conversing in low tones with the computer, asking about possible routes to and from Michkag’s quarters, while Proto stood still as a statue, his eyes glued to the uniform.

  “Final touch,” said Pandora, taking Proto’s t-pack out of his kit and hanging it around what she assumed was his neck. “We’re going to be in close quarters. It’ll be better if no one sees me whispering into my t-pack a couple of seconds before you move your lips.”

  When Proto, now appearing to be a Kabori officer, announced that he was ready, Pretorius walked to the door.

  “Okay,” he said. “It’s time to go to work.”