Larry Niven: Ringworld's Children

"An antimatter missile destroyed one of the ramjets on the rim wall," the puppeteers voice said. "Twenty-eight Ringworld days ago. The explosion was tremendous, not just antimatter but kilotonnes of confined plasma under fusion. Spill mountains melted. I couldnt learn what faction did that. I thought chaos would follow. I made ready to depart, but nothing happened."

"Those attitude jets always were too vulnerable. Tunesmith must have set up something else by now." Louiss mind ranged ahead of his words. "The Ringworld builders never did want rim wall ramjets as anything more than a temporary fix and a safety feature. They built the superconductor grid to move the system magnetically, push against the sun. Tunesmith controls that."

"Youre guessing."

"I guess good. Im a protector. Free me, Hindmost, and Ill get off your property."

"Whats it like?" the Hindmost asked.

"I feel confined. Im crippled," Louis said. "I cant fight and cant run. I can think faster than I ever did before. I see more answers. Thats confining too, in a way. If I see the right answer every time, therere no choices.

"Tunesmith has a plan. I wont interfere unless he threatens my N-children, but I should talk to him. Its just that there are things I have to do first. What about you? Do you have a plan?"

"Run away when I see a chance."

"Good. Do you remember where Tunesmith worked cm Needle? Do you have webeye cameras in there?"

"Beneath Mons Olympus."

"Is Long Shot there? Is it functional?"

"He took the ship apart and put it back together. He hasnt tested it since."

"What about Carlos Wus autodoc?"

"It hasnt been touched."

"Its still spread out across the floor?"

"Yes."

"Watch for me to cause a distraction. Then get the autodoc aboard Long Shot in working condition. Can you do it?"

The scream of a demented orchestra. "Why would I even consider committing burglary on a protectors turf!"

"But youll have a protector on your side. Hindmost, we are under a deadline. Tunesmith will not consider your convenience. He will act as soon as he can, because he cant predict when the Fringe War will go to hell. If we cant get off the Ringworld soon, youll lose your home forever, and so will I, and worse."

Into the silence that followed, Louis said, "Youre thinking you could hold me prisoner until you turn me over to Tunesmith. Buy something with that. Shall I tell you why you cant do that? Do you remember three chairs in the Meteor Defense Room, on booms?"

"I remember."

"Tunesmith only needs one."

The Hindmost understood. He was as quick as some protectors. "Triumvirate."

"He let me see that on purpose. Its a message, a promise. Tunesmith, Proserpina, and me. He extrapolated a surviving Pak protector, and he knew he could feed me tree-of-life. He didnt expect me to be running loose. He probably wont mind finding me crippled like an ancient Greek slave. He needs my input. He cant guess what the Fringe War will do as well as I can.

"See, you can sell me to Tunesmith, but youll have to deal with me afterward."

"Youre free to move about the ship," the Hindmost said.

Louis let himself slump into his more natural twisted pose. "Give me access to the stepping-disk master controls. I need to rewrite some instructions."

"To make yourself hard to find? I can help."

"Me and a couple of others. I dont need help."

After he had finished reprogramming the stepping-disk system, Louis flicked into Needles cargo bay. He extruded a pressure suit. It didnt fit him well in his twisted condition, but it would do. He took some gear: a rope, mag specs, a flashlight-laser.

He tapped at stepping-disk controls and flicked out.

He was in orbit. Hed thought that might happen. The settings he wanted were the most recently deployed, and some of those would match orbiting service stacks.

He spent a few moments looking down at the Ringworlds face. This was a region hed never seen in detail, partway between the Great Oceans. There were ochre deserts, and tiny pockmarks of impact craters, and three little knots of cloud: eyestorms.

Tunesmith wasnt making repairs unless he had to. Given what he was doing, Tunesmith might be glad to find places where the landscape was ripped down to the scrith.

Aircraft and spacecraft he saw none. That was better than his predictions. By now the Fringe War might have worked its way down to the surface. Louis still had time.

But he would have made this side jaunt despite the Fringe War. A protector didnt often have choices. He tapped in another setting.

Still in orbit, but elsewhere. An ARM camera the size of a gnat was looking at him from two meters away.

That tore it! Now they had a verified protector sighting. Or would the pressure suit and his twisted shape hide his nature for long enough? He tapped and flicked out quick.

Might wasnt particularly dark on the Ringworld. Nothing was here but sand and scrub and Tunesmiths service stack, and the calm surface of a sea. Louis prowled about for a bit, but the sand wouldnt hold footprints.

But it held a trace of a scent.

Theyd flicked in here, but they hadnt stayed long. They had a flycycle to play with. Louis walked around the island, using mag specs to study the distant shore. A flycycle ought to stand out.

Nothing. Try again.

Nowhere. He flicked in and was trapped in branches and thorns.

He looked about him, he felt about him, before he tried to move. The thorns didnt do much harm to his leathery skin. Behind his hardshelled face his mind grinned.

Tunesmith had sent a service stack to rendezvous with Louiss flycycle.

Half a year ago. Roxanny, riding the flycycle, might have moved several times before she gave up. Tunesmiths programming would hold: the service stack would follow the flycycle. For all Roxanny knew, it might be covered in sensors and cameras! Finally she must have run it into a jungle and let thorn plants grow over the flycycle and service stack both.

Louis did some careful cutting with the flashlight-laser. The brush started to burn around him. Not a good thing. He crawled down through the thorns, around the edge of the stepping disk, picking up scratches, cutting more brush as he went. Popped the rim and turned off the stepping disk, and lofted the stack of float plates before the fire could roast him.

The forest ran a fair distance, following a river, and hed been in the middle of it. Now he was above it, with a fine view. Where would a pair of strangers go after abandoning their transportation?

Not far. Wembleth would lead Roxanny to the nearest center of civilization: he knew strangers were welcome everywhere. Follow the river downstream and theyd find something.

What Louis found was a convergence of two rivers and a small village. He drifted toward the conical houses. Somewhere a voice shouted, "Vasneesit!" and Louis thought, "Stet."

A fire was growing in the forest. A pillar of smoke to gather attention, right where Roxanny and Wembleth had left their vehicles. Looking toward the fire, theyd see a stack of float plates limned against smoke. And what then? Would they hide, or flee?

Hide. They couldnt run faster than a service stack.

Louis sniffed. Population of a thousand to fifteen hundred, smelling like meat eaters, not many elders, lots of parasites but little disease. And -

There.

He set the stack down in the village square. Locals gathered. They were short, brawny, wolfish-looking men and women. Eyes faced front from deep sockets. Small sharp jaws protruded a little.

An elder tried to speak to him. Louis couldnt understand the language, but he tried to placate the man with body language. When that didnt work, he nipped the elders nose, then knocked him down. A brief shoving match and the man was groveling.