The Prison in Antares Read Free Page A

. . . I don’t know . . . I guess you’d call him an image-caster. If you walk over and touch his shoulder or shake his hand, you’ll find there’s nothing there.” She frowned and continued to stare at the alien. “Proto can make any being of any race we’ve discovered so far think that he’s what he appears to be—and he can appear to be anything from a tiny insect to something that dwarfs the dinosaurs on Procyon VI. But those are all projected images. He’s exactly what you saw: a little furry alien.”
    Irish frowned. “Machines don’t think.”
    â€œI do believe you’ve figured it out,” said Pretorius with a smile of approval.
    â€œHe can fool any living creature, but he can’t fool a camera or an ID machine or any kind of scanner,” she said.
    â€œRight. Fortunately he remembers that, because it’s awfully easy for the rest of us to forget it.”
    â€œI’m pleased to meet you all,” said Irish. Another frown. “It makes me wonder what I’m doing here. I have no unique talent, not inborn like Circe or Proto, not acquired like Pandora.”
    â€œOh, we’ll figure it out soon enough,” said Pretorius. “Cooper is a pain in the ass, but he’s not a dumb pain in the ass. If he sent you here, he had a valid reason.”
    â€œHow long have the Dead Enders been a unit?” asked Irish.
    â€œWe’ve been a unit for two months, maybe a little less,” answered Pretorius. “We’ve had a name for about twenty hours—and we’ve had an assignment for maybe an hour and a half.”
    â€œI don’t suppose you’d care to share with us?” said Ortega.
    â€œI’d rather spend a couple of more minutes surrounded by happy faces,” said Pretorius.
    â€œ That bad?” asked Pandora.
    Pretorius shrugged. “Compared to what?”
    â€œHow about: compared to kidnapping the enemy’s best general and replacing him with a clone?”
    â€œYou guys did that?” asked Irish.
    â€œBarely,” said Pretorius.
    â€œWow!” she said. “I’m in with experts!”
    â€œLucky experts,” said Snake.
    â€œVery lucky,” added Ortega.
    â€œBut you pulled it off!” enthused Irish. Suddenly she frowned. “How many members of your team did you lose?”
    â€œNone,” said Pandora. She jerked a thumb in Pretorius’s direction. “Thanks to the genius here.”
    â€œNone?” repeated Irish. “Suddenly I feel better. Awestruck, but better.”
    â€œDumb luck,” said Snake.
    Circe shook her head. “We made our own luck. Or at least, Nathan did.”
    â€œEnough,” said Pretorius. “I’m too old to blush.”
    â€œFine,” said Snake. “That’s history anyway. What are we all here for this time?”
    â€œAnyone here ever hear of Edgar Nmumba?”
    He was greeted by a roomful of blank expressions.
    â€œLeft wing on the local murderball team?” suggested Snake sardonically.
    â€œNo such luck,” said Pretorius. “Let me try another question. Has anyone here ever heard of the Q bomb?”
    â€œOf course we have,” said Ortega.
    â€œWe’re not delivering a goddamned Q bomb?” demanded Snake. “I mean, we’ve got a space force to do that!”
    â€œNo, we’re not going to deliver one. As far as I know, we don’t have a single Q bomb in our arsenal.”
    â€œThen we’re going to steal one from the Transkei Coalition!” said Snake.
    â€œSnake, do you want to tell them what we’re here for, or may I?” said Pretorius with a slight edge of anger in his voice that immediately caught her attention. She pressed her lips together and sat perfectly still.
    â€œOkay,” said Pandora. “Who is Edgar Nmumba?”
    â€œHe’s a scientist,” answered Pretorius. “More to the