The Fortress in Orion by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online Page A

There’s room for both of us to work up a sweat.”
    â€œNo, thanks,” he said. “I don’t exercise.”
    â€œEver?” she asked, surprised.
    â€œEver,” he replied. “When I get up, from sleeping or even from just sitting down to eat—or to watch you, for that matter—if my arms and legs are working, they’re working. They never tire, they don’t get any stronger with exercise, they’re powered by tiny batteries embedded just below my right ear in one of the few original parts of me, so stamina never enters into it. Once a day I test my various visions—telescopic, microscopic, infrared, ultraviolet—but that only takes maybe a minute.”
    â€œI envy you,” said Snake.
    â€œDon’t,” he said unhappily. “There’s not a lot of the original me left to envy.”
    Pandora sat in a corner with her computers, oblivious to the others, and kept picking up distant signals, translating or deciphering them, very occasionally replying to them, saying nothing, letting the cup of coffee in the flat arm of her chair grow cold.
    Michkag, having completed his physical therapy, was in his quarters, where Djibmet would spent the rest of the day, like all the previous ones, schooling him in his country’s recent history; in military protocols; in the original Michkag’s personal likes and dislikes in literature, entertainment, food, and associates; as well as working on his speech inflections.
    Circe sat by herself, plugged in to an ancient classic, living the life of Elizabeth Bennet as she first met Mr. Darcy, oblivious to all else.
    And Pretorius continued to go over the checklist of possibilities and eventualities in his mind, wondering how many he was missing, wondering if he had recruited the right team. They were better than any crew Cooper would have provided, but that didn’t mean they could break into the enemy’s stronghold, kill or kidnap its best-guarded leader, replace him with a clone who as of this moment had only encountered a single member of his own race, and somehow escape intact. He almost wished there was a bookmaker aboard; he’d have loved to bet against being able to pull it off.
    After a few hours, Pandora began composing messages in Kabori and having Djibmet make any necessary corrections so that if she had to send a phony one within the Orion constellation its construction wouldn’t give it away. The evening was pretty much a repeat of the morning, and Pretorius decided the only reason he hadn’t gone mad from boredom preparing for so many missions was that, having experienced them, he’d have traded the excitement and especially the danger for some nice peaceful boredom every time.
    When they were within three hours of the Bortai system, Pretorius got his crew’s attention.
    â€œOkay,” he announced. “Bortai’s got about ninety-four percent of Standard gravity and an oxygen-nitrogen ratio within two percent of Deluros VIII. It was colonized by a race that calls itself the Bort—I have no idea if they took their name from the planet or vice versa. They have their own language, but most of them speak and understand Terran.” He turned to Djibmet. “They understand Kabori, too, though I gather their mouths have some difficulty forming the words correctly. You’re welcome to come with us or stay on the ship.” He jerked a thumb in Michkag’s direction. “He stays.”
    â€œWe can disguise him so that he doesn’t look like General Michkag,” said Djibmet. “And surely Pandora can create a passport for him under any name we choose.”
    â€œThere’s no doubt that she can,” agreed Pretorius. “But he stays anyway.”
    â€œBut why?” asked Djibmet.
    â€œI don’t want him answering to any other name, speaking in any other dialect or tone of voice, or carrying himself in any other way. There’s an old