Larry Niven - Footfall

“It will be done, Herdmaster.”

“Talker, get me Takpusseh-yamp.” Be glad even of small benefits: the mating season was over. “Breaker-two, is Tashayamp available too? Good. Send Tashayamp to fetch Rogachev from the human restraint cell and bring him to the bridge. You come straight here.”

Night. Jeri lay curled against his chest. It was a frustrating experience, sleeping with a woman in a public place, a woman who did not care that her daughter knew what she did with Arvid Rogachev, but who would not let anyone see her behave improperly. Alien speech sounded. The room tilted sideways. Arvid felt Jeri’s nails dig into his arm.

The others stirred. “What is it?” Jeri demanded.

She believes that I know everything.

Dmitri shouted in Russian.

So does he. “Wait. What else can we do?”

Presently the door warning light came on. Tashayamp stood at the entrance. “Rogachev. You will come.”

Takpusseh-yamp moved at a slant. It wasn’t exactly a run, yet it was fast. His body tilted against Message Bearer’s awkward acceleration. Message Bearer was losing its spin. The Herdmaster must be preparing for acceleration.

The bridge was frantically busy. The Herdmaster summoned him with a wave, and pointed. “I want to know what to expect from that.”

Takpusseh-yamp looked at three displays of the sky. Black, star-sprinkled, with a crescent of Winterhome showing large — and a black dot that flashed light around its edge. There were sparkles in the flash.

“I am not a technician.”

“How did I know you would say that? Breaker-two, I can learn about that craft. Assume that there are humans in it. Assume length of twice eight-cubed srupkithp or less, and half that in width. It moves in the manner of a digit ship, but more crude! — probably using fission bombs instead of deuterium fusion. Assume a bumpy ride. Query: humans can tolerate more shock than we can?”

“Yes.”

“Assume at least one weapon which we can’t describe. Query what do they want to do with this?”

“Win a war.” — The intruder had stopped pulsing.

The Herdmaster said, “But of course they—”

“No, listen, Herdmaster. This is no demonstration, to give them higher rank after surrender. If there were two of these, they would have sent two. If they know it to be inadequate, they would not send it until they could build two. I am no Predecessor. I guess my best guess is that this device is expected to set a human foot on the Traveler Fithp.”

“How?”

“You spoke of a new weapon. Remember that the human fithp must write their own thuktunthp.”

At that moment the unknown ship seemed to explode. Message Bearer must have looked like this when the digit ships were loosed on the USSR space station. Ships were spreading out around it … “Defensemaster, how big are those ships?”

“Tiny. No fi’ would fit the small ones. They must be automatic. Two or three might wedge themselves into the large—”

Takpusseh said, “Automatic, perhaps. Perhaps one human each.”

Hardly volunteers… rogues, captured, then forced into ships launched, then expected to perform alone in space and under fire with no similar mind nearby, no contact with the herd… “No. Ridiculous. These are big automatic devices. We would not have built so large.”

“’Now my digits are whole again,’ remember? Human rogues may cooperate.”

It was still nonsense. The devices were tiny. Even a single rogue man would not fit. “Take an acceleration pad, Takpusseh. Remain. Defensemaster, is the drive ready?”

“No, Herdmaster. I need another sixteen sixty-four-breaths. The alien device would need sixteen times as long to reach us. We could move if I had kept the digit ships mounted, but—”

“Better to set them free to defend us, yes.”

The doorway opened. Tashayamp entered, with the human. Takpusseh-yamp curled his digits, a private message of affection. She pretended not to see.

“Tashayamp! Excellent.” The Herdmaster gestured her toward his station. “I will need you to translate. Arvid Rogachev, look at this.”

The human stood tilted, looking about the bridge. He came forward, lurching, gripping consoles and machinery where he could. Screens showed him the intruder pulsing against the dark night side of Winterhome. “What is this?”

“Man, I expect you to tell me that!”

“Lead me.” Rogachev braced himself against a console and continued to watch.

The intruder had resumed acceleration, but more slowly now. The smaller ships diverged on what had to be chemical flame: some toward the two closest of the digit ships now converging from low orbit above Africa; some moving ahead, toward Message Bearer. One enemy flared, then became a fog.

Rogachev spoke in the language of the thuktunthp. “Some fi’ placed weapon well. This is a spacecraft carrying smaller spacecraft—”

“We know that.”

“Bombs make it go. Thuktun students of United States and England consider idea long ago, but we make it against the will of the Fithp of Nations. Query: size of these things?”

“The largest is twice eight-cubed srupkithp. The smallest are five srupkithp in length, no more than one srupk thick.”

“Ah. My fithp may ride such small things, but I thought United States fithp be afraid.”

“The device rose from the North American continent,” Takpusseh-yamp said. That was certain; otherwise it would have been seen. “Rogachev, they have something that is killing our fithp aboard the digit ships. Can you make a device that throws gamma rays in a narrow beam?”

“Not understand.”

“Tashayamp?”

“Shine light like laser at two times eight to minus twelve snipkithp wavelength.”

“Means nothing,” Rogachev said. “I need tools—” He gestured, tapping on his hand with one finger.

“Ah. He wants the calculating device from their space city,” Tashayamp said.

Why did I not understand that? I was shrewd to choose Tashayamp as my mate. “Shall I send for it, Herdmaster?”

“Yes. Rogachev, that sparkle within the explosion—”

“I not understand either. Query: the United States build some rogue device? They did not tell us!” Rogachev laughed, a peculiar, hackle-raising sound.

He should not do that.

The Herdmaster stamped impatiently. “Tashayamp, return Rogachev to the restraint cell.” He turned to Takpusseh-yamp. “The fi’-killer has not heard a fithp or human voice in more than sixty-four days. Will he be sane? Will he be amenable to reason?”

“Herdmaster, I do not know. I believe he will be both sane and reasonable, even though such treatment would make rogues of any normal fi’. Dawson understands how machinery may be used in space. Perhaps we can learn.”

We’re finally fighting back! No, the United States is fighting back, Arvid corrected himself. Never mind. What have they got? Can they win? Can they even catch us? The spin was gone. Gravity was a feather-touch aft. Thuktun Flishithy’s drive took time to build power, but it was possible that the ship could simply outrun the Americans.

“Tashayamp. Query: you usually have warriors with you?”

“For this breath the warriors have better things to do!” Her tone was sharp. The fithp could enunciate, could decrease the air escaping with the words, when they wished. “Here we are.” The key she used was a bar of metal; the lock was magnetic, as Arvid had established long ago. The hatch swung out. “You have sufficient padding, but acceleration may come from abnormal directions. Be careful. Grip when you can. You will be as safe as any fi’ aboard. Now go in.”

The others watched as Arrid swung his body around the edge of the hatch. They saw him grip Tashayamp’s trunk, brace his feet, and pull her digits loose from her handhold.