The Fortress in Orion by Mike Resnick

a couple of stores and bars, maybe a drug den or two, and get a feel of the place and the clientele.”
    â€œI thought we were just looking for Kabori.”
    Pretorius shook his head. “Outside of Djibmet and the clone, only you can pass as Kabori, and that ends the second you open your mouth. No, we’re looking for any citizens of the Coalition.”
    â€œThere are no Men,” noted Proto.
    â€œBut there are a number of humanoids. We don’t need to look like them, we almost certainly won’t be presenting IDs in person, but we’ll travel more freely within Coalition space if we can identify ourselves as some minor humanoid race rather than as Kabori. It’ll explain the non-Kabori ship, any accent if we make verbal contact, and any minor variation in IDs.”
    â€œVariation?” asked Proto, frowning.
    â€œIdeally we’d like to present ourselves as being from a very minor planet, one that’s part of the Coalition but so remote that if they’re changing IDs every week or two, we could be a few days behind.”
    Proto looked dubious. “I don’t know . . .”
    â€œNeither do I,” admitted Pretorius. “But if a team of eight is going to overthrow a government that controls eight thousand worlds, the first thing to do is proceed with confidence.”
    Proto smiled.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    â€œYou’re making that prison cell look mighty comfortable.”
    Pretorius chuckled. “We could return you.”
    Proto paused and considered it. “Let’s see how today goes first,” he finally replied.
    Pretorius couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, decided not to bother figuring it out, and entered a clothing store with Proto just a step behind him. He went directly to the section for humanoids and decided that what he and the women were wearing wouldn’t necessarily identify them as members of the Democracy—there were quite a few million Men on the thousands of neutral planets, and many of them had occasional business inside the Coalition. He studied a number of humanoid customers but was simply unable to tell which ones might be from within the Coalition.
    He went back outside, looked around, and spotted what he wanted.
    â€œI think,” he said softly, “that if we can’t find a fight, we’re going to have to start one.”
    â€œI don’t understand,” replied Proto.
    â€œI can’t tell by looking at them who’s in the Coalition and who isn’t. I mean, the Coalition isn’t all Kabori, just as the Democracy isn’t all Men. There are a number of races that have spread their seed; some are from neutral worlds, some from Coalition worlds. There’s simply no way to tell by looking at them.”
    â€œWhat does this have to do with fighting?”
    â€œWe’re going to go into that bar there,” he said, pointing across the street, “and I’m going to get drunk and start cursing the Kabori and Michkag and the Coalition, and you’re going to defend them, and we’re going to get into a fight, and I’m going to be winning, and when someone comes to your defense, we’ll have a pretty good idea that he’s from the Coalition.”
    â€œIt won’t work,” said Proto.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYou’re forgetting. I look like a Man, and I can look like any other race, but I am just projecting an image. If you aim a punch at my jaw, it will go clear through the image, perhaps three feet above the top of my head.”
    â€œShit!” muttered Pretorius. “You look so real, I keep forgetting.” He paused. “There’s no sense getting into a fight with one of these bozos for real. I could get myself killed, or he could have enough friends that win, lose, or draw we can’t get him alone long enough to remove his ID. We’ll need a totally different plan. I’ve got to remember what you can and