Larry Niven - Footfall

“Roger. acceleration.”

Gillespie sounds tired already. Maybe he’s just bored?

WHAM

WHAM

Spurt bombs rained into the blast. The forward view jittered but that distant object was too blunt to be a digit ship. Other cameras swung in arcs… and that glare-green star was a digit ship, and it had found them with its lasers.

Harry switched the intercom to local. “Max, when do we turn the Shuttles loose?”

“Not for a while.”

“But—”

“Just now we can shoot anything that moves.”

“But if we wait too long—”

“Harry, we all have work to do. Ed flies the ship, we watch for bandits.”

“Yeah.” And when the ship gets holes in it, we go fix it. That’s democracy.

WHAM

WHAM

Harry lost count of the explosions.

“Blue fire around primary target,” Ensign Franklin said. He was shouting again. “Sir, I think they’re accelerating.”

“Roger.”

WHAM

WHAM

Harry’s universe was a madness of noise and jolts, as if a giant had put him in a garbage can and used the can for a field hockey puck.

Quiet.

“Looks quiet for a while. Keep your straps on, and take a break.”

Harry opened his faceplate. So did the others in the damage control section.

“I think we took out that first digit ship. The second is receding; it can’t slow down in time to hurt us, and the third is around back of the Earth. Odds are we won’t see another digit ship for the next hour.

“We’re moving toward the prime target. It’s running away. We’ll give the computers a chance to gather data so we can tell which way to run. God knows, big as that thing is, once it gets started it won’t turn fast! When we launch the Shuttles, we’ll have to switch over from automatic aiming for the laser weapons. We’ll hang on to the Shuttles and gunships as long as we can.”

“Enjoy,” Max Rohrs said. He took out a pack of cigarettes. “Anybody really mind?” He offered them around. Harry reached out eagerly.

Ensign Franklin said pointedly, “There are studies that prove smoking takes ten years off your life. Harry, you really ought to give that up.”

“Well, I don’t believe in statistics. What about Max?”

“He’s smoked so long it will probably kill him about—” Franklin looked at the wall chronometer “-now, and I’ll be in command of damage control.”

Nobody wanted a second cigarette. Harry tried to relax; half close his eyes, to look like Franklin and his two Navy boatswain’s mates. His three personal TV sets showed unchanging views down access ducts within the Brick. Harry began playing with the view. Steam pipes; more steam pipes; outside, looking past the attitude jets into the overhang of the nose shield…

“Bandits,” Franklin said. “Half a dozen pulsing lights, west and a little south… more of them… start just above the arc of the Earth, you can follow them up to the primary target. They’re all accelerating.”

“Got them,” said Gillespie.

Harry slammed his faceplate shut. So did the others, but more slowly, deliberately. The lights were far apart, and they changed with relation to each other. Don’t panic. Calmly and deliberately as he could, Harry adjusted his straps. No one was watching. Pity.

Michael’s nose was a thick shield, and the butt plate ought to stand up to anything. Turn either of those toward danger and you couldn’t be harmed. But if danger came from half a dozen directions …

WHAM

WHAM

WHAM

Michael was pulsing too, and the spurt bombs were throwing gamma-ray lasers. Death rays! Eat hot gamma rays, foolish Centaurans!

WHAM

WHAM

One of the pulsing lights went out.

“Another one… Bandit, south, just above Europe.”

“Stand by. Maneuvering.”

Harry heard the faint hiss of steam jets. The drive explosions stopped, and Michael was turning, before Harry spotted the other lights.

“Bandits to starboard. I think those are missiles.” Tiny flames, wavering against the stars.

“Roger.”

Blam. Blam. After the shocks of the drive bombs, the big antimissile guns were almost gentle.

“Stand by. Maneuvering. Acceleration.”

WHAM

They attack at night. They know us that well. For us it is night. For them it is day. I should have expected this. Do the prey have other surprises for me?

Already the Herdmaster knew that he had been tricked. He had been strapped to his acceleration pad for an hour now, on duty to handle further emergencies; but this was not what he had expected.

It pulsed like a digit ship, but more slowly. Half a breath passed between explosions. We taught them that, the Herdmaster thought. It looked bigger than a digit ship, smaller than Message Bearer.

Four digit ships, the lowest in their various orbits about Winterhome, converged on the intruder. The Herdmaster saw the pulse drive fail on one of them. He watched, and another died.

How did they do that? They’re killing my fithp! “Defensemaster, you lead Message Bearer now.”

“I obey.”

There were sounds. The screens showed sixteen mounted digit ships released from their ring around Message Bearer’s stern. They formed an expanding ring about the mother.ship.

“Prepare. No spin. Prepare.” The Defensemaster’s voice was sent through the ship.

Spin decreasing. Digit ships launched, to form a defense screen. And where are the others?

He had lost several himself, an hour ago.

There had been eight digit ships in twelve-hour polar orbits, passing repeatedly over various parts of Winterhome. Two of those had been attacked by missiles from the sea. Attackmaster Koothfektil-rusp had agreed with his assessment: the missiles were a diversion like the attack that preceded the bombing of the Kansas foothold. The prey had already aimed one missile at the fithp base in Johannesburg. Surely there would be more. Pastempeh-keph had set several digit ships to converge on Africa, ready to fire on missiles aimed at the African foothold.

Wrong! Five, perhaps six could not reach the intruder in time to fight.

He tapped rapidly, summoning knowledge. Four digit ships were already rising from the Moon. Those carried material to wherever the war effort needed meteors. But, though two were empty, though they had risen as soon as the enemy ship was sighted, they would not arrive in time. Still, meteors would be needed. The enemy ship had to come from somewhere.

The ships patrolling Africa: could he use them? Sixteen were in eccentric geosynchronous orbits: dropping low while they moved east, falling outward, drifting west while they arced around and fell back; but always over Africa. Ten of those were in the upper arcs of their orbit, above Message Bearer. Lower above Africa, the remaining six were low enough to engage the enemy. The Defensemaster was doing his frenetic best to coordinate their efforts… and three were not responding.

He eavesdropped … The fi’ talking to the Defensemaster sounded sick, or mentally deficient. He had something like hiccups. “… like a laser attacked us, but not like. Heat all through the ship, fuel pressure very high, as if light we cannot see was shining all through the hull. Gamma ray, it may be, but where do they find their power? We were eight-cubed of makasrupkithp distant!”

“Can you fight your ship?”

“No. We cannot breath, can you hear? Shookerint-buth has stopped. I can’t control my digits or my legs. Controls burnt out too.”

Enough of this. Mourn in daylight. “Defensemaster.” Tantarent-fid broke contact with the sick fi’. “You will be certain Attackmaster Koothfektil-rusp is aware of the situation.”

“Herdmaster, I’m doing all I can. What could he tell us?”

“Possibly nothing. This is your thuktun. I will see that he is told.” He gestured to one of his aides. “It is important that you and the Attackmaster coordinate digit ships for simultaneous attack.”