The Prison in Antares Read Free Page B

point, he’s the genius who’s created a defense against the Q bomb.”
    â€œA defense?” continued Pandora. “What kind of defense?”
    â€œI don’t know the technical details—nobody but Nmumba does—but I know it works. It detects them, it negates them, and it stops them from doing damage, which as you know can be devastating.”
    â€œIt really works?” asked Circe.
    â€œIt has so far.”
    â€œI almost hate to ask the next question,” she said.
    â€œI don’t blame you,” said Pandora. She turned to Pretorius. “Okay, lay it on us.”
    â€œThe Transkei Coalition has captured him,” replied Pretorius. “He’s got half a dozen mind blocks, put there by our best psychiatrists, but sooner or later they’re going to break through, learn what he knows, and find a way to circumvent it.” He paused while they assimilated the magnitude of the situation. “Those bombs take out close to a billion Men every time one makes it through our defenses. We have to get to Nmumba before they find a way past those blocks.”
    â€œAnd?” asked Snake, frowning.
    â€œWe rescue him and bring him back before they get what they want.”
    â€œThere’s got to be more to our orders than that,” persisted Snake.
    Pretorius nodded. “If we can’t bring him back, we kill him.”
    â€œMakes sense,” said Snake.
    â€œMaybe it does, maybe it doesn’t,” said Pandora.
    All eyes turned to her.
    â€œHow will we know if he’s broken by the time we get there?”
    Pretorius grimaced. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Suddenly he turned to Irish. “But I’ll bet someone here does.”
    Irish nodded her head. “That’s my specialty,” she replied. “I’ve been working with posthypnotic suggestions and blocks for the past five years.”
    â€œIsn’t that what Circe does?” asked Ortega.
    Circe shook her head. “I read emotions, not thoughts. If he doesn’t know he’s been tinkered with, if he thinks he’s giving us true answers to the questions we’ll be asking him, I won’t know if he’s been fed a bunch of phony answers because he won’t know.”
    â€œThen we do need you, Irish,” said Pandora.
    â€œWelcome to the team,” added Proto.
    â€œI just hope you’re as good as Wilbur Cooper thinks you are,” said Snake.
    â€œ You hope so?” said Irish seriously. “Believe me, I hope so even more.” She looked around the room. “I’ve always thought I was pretty good at my profession—” she grimaced “—but having literally billions of lives depending on it . . . well, I find it unnerving.”
    â€œCooper knows what’s at stake,” said Pretorius. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have what it takes.”
    â€œI hope you’re right, sir,” said Irish.
    â€œThere are no sirs or ma’ams here. I’m Nate, you’re Irish.”
    â€œYes, Nate.”
    â€œI mean it,” he continued. “We’re going to be out of uniform, infiltrating enemy territory. One ‘sir’ could give us away.”
    She nodded. “Got it.”
    â€œWe haven’t got much time to waste,” continued Pretorius. “I’ll have at least a preliminary plan worked out by morning. We’ll meet in this room an hour after sunrise, go directly to the spaceport, and take off. I’ll make sure a ship is waiting.” He turned to Irish. “The others know the procedure. Leave behind anything military you may possess—insignia, weaponry, anything that could possibly identify you as a member of the Democracy’s armed services. We’ll all be supplied with IDs, clothing, weaponry, whatever’s needed, once we’re aboard the ship.”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Irish.
    Pretorius frowned.