Footfall

by Larry Niven

  "Yeah. A thousand atom bombs all exactly alike, and they're making an enormous steel hemisphere. Ed Gillespie is running it all. Thousands of workmen, and they're all welders or atomjacks. What does that mean to you?"

  "Orion." A smile flickered, then died. "They're building an Orion."

  "Yeah, and launching an Orion, John. A thousand bombs going off one by one under that plate. I seem to remember you like preserving the environment. Can you imagine what that'll do to Bellingham?"

  Fox nodded. His eyes seemed curiously unfocused. "You're going to publish?"

  "Publish? I'm telling you. At least the Enclave can get their heads down when it happens. But what about Bellingham? Shouldn't they know?"

  Fox was still nodding. "And who else?"

  That was the sticking point. "John, I'm not totally sure. Maybe there's no way to tell the people and keep it from the snouts. The Navy's right about that; the snouts can't learn. They can't take their CBs away from the whole country! At the same time—"

  "You'll think of something." Fox lashed out.

  Roger was doubled over. Something huge and heavy had tried to drive itself through his solar plexus and the spine behind it. Through a haze of pain he tried to sense, to orient . . . Fox had hit him. His bony elbow was crooked around Roger's neck, squeezing. Roger could barely breathe. They were walking . . .

  The pressure constricted his voice to a whisper. "I only wanted. To tell you. You. I hadn't decided. Anything else. John, let—"

  Fox released a hand to push a door open. Roger thrashed. The elbow tightened. Oh, God, Fox was strong. "I know you," Fox said. "You want that Pulitzer Prize. You'd publish. You'd tell the aliens yourself if that was the only way to get it out."

  They were bending over, Fox's weight pushing him down, face down into water. Roger got his hands on a cool, hard surface and pushed up. The porcelain rim of a toilet. He was drowning in a toilet . . . and he couldn't get his face high enough . . . and the strength was leaking out of him while the urge to breathe grew to agony. I hadn't decided! I hadn't decided!

  38

  PRAYERS

  Hear now this, O foolish people, and without understanding; which have eyes, and see not; which have ears, and hear not.

  —JEREMIAH 5:21

  COUNTDOWN: TEN MONTHS AFTER FOOTFALL

  Digit Ship Forty-nine carried vitamins for the human fithp, stock of plants and frozen meat for analysis, seeds and small animal and an infant elephant, and three spaceborn warriors returning for the mating season. Chintithpit-mang arrived to find himself summoned to the funeral pit.

  Who had died? The airlock guard who gave him his order hadn't known. He had aborted his time with Shreshlee-mang, he had gone down to the War of Winterhome ahead of mating season. He had been out of contact . . . and the scent of mating was in the air, but Chintithpit-mang felt only fear. Who had died while he was gone?

  A small delay could hardly matter. Chintithpit-mang passed through the Garden on his way to the funeral pit.

  It was not as he had expected.

  The Garden was small. Cramped. The single thriving pillar plant seemed a pitiful reminder that once the Traveler Fithp had known jungles. Chintithpit-mang had fought in jungles bigger than Message Bearer! His own reactions shocked him. He hastened through the Garden and into the leave-taking room that half circled the funeral pit. It smelled of Winterhome . . .

  A crowd was waiting, or so it seemed; and one of the crowd was Shreshleemang. He said, "Mang . . ."

  His mate did not respond. There were eyes on him: Herdmaster Pastempeh-keph, K'turfookeph, Fookerteh, a female he didn't know, Breaker Raztupisp-minz, and a human Chintithpit-mang recognized. He asked, "Who is dead?"

  "Fathisteh-tulk," said the Herdmaster. "I have taken the task of learning how he died. Chintithpit-mang, you returned from the first battle on Winterhome with Digit Ship Six."

  "I did."

  "What did you do then?"

  "I turned my cargo and prisoners over to another octuple. Then I went to see my mate."

  "Shreshleemang, when did your mate reach you?"

  "Two-eighths of a day after Digit Ship Six coupled aft," said Shreshleemang. Above the smell of the funeral pit he found her special scent — she was in season — but her voice was cold as winter.

  The Herdmaster asked, "What delayed you, Chintithpit-mang?"

  "I was interrupted."

  "In what fashion?"

  Chintithpit-mang was afraid to speak. The Herdmaster blew softly, vexed. "On your way to see your mate for the first time in eight-squareds of days, what could have interrupted you? A fi' high in status? Or with an urgent mission? Or allied with your own dissident movement? You were intercepted by Advisor Fathisteh-tulk!"

  This was going to be very bad. Chintithpit-mang saw nothing for it but to tell as much of the truth as he must. "We met in the corridors. He demanded that I go with him."

  "Where? Why?"

  "Why, he did not say. We went to the mudroom. It had been thawed. He said, 'Cold, it would be uncomfortable for us. It might freeze my guest. Chintithpit-mang, I insisted that my contact come alone, and he demanded that I do the same, though he is a slave.'

  "I said, 'What is he then, a rogue?' And then I knew. He was to meet a human.

  "He said, 'I want to question him. I think he has much to tell me about the uses of space. He surely has motive to be convincing. When I speak of this meeting to the Year Zero Fithp I don't want to depend on my unsupported word. You must witness, unseen.'

  "I stayed near the far end of the mudroom, hidden from the grill by the curve of the ceiling. The human was behind the grill. I listened. Herdmaster, I hate and fear humans, but this one said things I have always believed. He knew more of the wealth of the spaces between worlds than we have guessed! He spoke of marvelous dreams, of asteroid mines, of towers that would take loot from world to beyond orbit."

  "He told the Advisor that the dissidents were right. I am not amazed," said the Herdmaster.

  "Suddenly the grill came flying out and struck Fathisteh-tulk a stunning blow. The human came after it, kicked at Fathisteh-tulk, and leaped back into the duct."

  "What did the Advisor say?"

  "He said nothing. He leapt after the human, to punish—"

  "Pause. What upset the human? It had what it wanted. You were there to witness. Exactly what did the Advisor say that so enraged a surrendered human?"

  Trapped. After what he had done, lying to the Herdmaster would be a trivial crime; but what did the Herdmaster already know?

  The Herdmaster's accusation rolled forth. "You confronted me in the Garden to tell me that humans are a terrible enemy, that we should turn our backs on them. After one day aboard Message Bearer you volunteered to return to Winterhome. You fought well. Chintithpit-mang, what was here that you feared more than the war? What were you afraid that a fi' might ask? What did Fathisteh-tulk say to the human?"

  It was impossible. "Fathisteh-tulk said that descendants of the human prisoners would serve the Traveler Herd in space, with their smaller food requirements and dexterous digits and their greater knowledge of the worlds of Winterhome-light."

  "Was this what enraged the human?"

  "It was."

  "Would you recognize this human again?"

  "It was him! That one!"

  The Herdmaster turned. "Wes Dawson, did you speak to my Advisor a second time?"

  The man said, "Wesley Dawson. Congressman. 514-55-2316."

  "Chintithpit-mang saw you. Did you see him?" The man was silent. "The line you were given for cleaning the ducts, we found its mark deep in Fathisteh-tulk's snnfp." Still he was silent. The Herdmaster said, "You must speak."

  "I don't think so."

  "Chintithpit-mang, why didn't you help the Advisor?"

  "I was stunned."

  "Did it cross your thoughts that the Advisor would say things you didn't want heard?"

  "No! My mind had not moved at all. I knew so little of humans then. A surrendered prisoner a
ttacked a fi' of the herd!"

  "Stunned. Speak further."

  "Fathisteh-tulk went after him. I thought he was reaching for the human, to scoop him out and kill him. But it went on too long, and I tried to think what to do, and then Fathisteh-tulk was pushed out into the mudroom. He was dead."

  "And you?"

  "I looked into the duct. I pulled the grill out and looked again. There wasn't anything. I . . . put the grill back . . . I couldn't find the twist fasteners . . . I . . . took the line off Fathisteh-tulk's snnfp and pushed him into the mud until he was completely covered. Then I left. I went to the emergency control room and set the mudroom to freeze again."

  "Why?"

  "What the human said, he might say again if we caught him."

  "Pfoo. You were stunned. From the way the Advisor reacted, don't you think even a human might learn a lesson? You've been on Winterhome, you know they're bright. Next time he would say, we've certainly wondered if there might be things in space worth having, the meteors lead us to think that there are all-metal asteroids and ice strata and air bound loosely in rock, but we have not looked. Well?"

  "I didn't think of it."

  "I think you have lied. You shall be isolated. None shall speak to you henceforth. If you have more to tell me, tell a guard."

  The females' eyes were fixed on Chintithpit-mang, and he cringed. He tried, "Mang . . .?" and then Shreshleemang turned away.

  The Herdmaster had already forgotten him. "Dawson. We kill rogues."

  The rogue human said, "We kill murderers ourselves, or else we imprison them."

  "When a fithp conspires to murder, we may kill them all, or not. It depends on their grievance. Did you act alone in this?"

  "Alone? Of course I was alone. You had kept me isolated for a week."

  "And did you tell others afterward?"

  "Wesley Dawson. Congressman. 514-55-2316."

  "You shall be imprisoned alone. None shall speak to you. If you have more to say, tell a guard."

  The Herdmaster watched them being led away. He had toyed with the notion of imprisoning them together — but Chintithpit-mang would surely kill the man. Pastempeh-keph wanted more than that. Why had Dawson done what he did? Was there no strategy that would hold a human's surrender?

  To exterminate an intelligent race really would make the Traveler Fithp equal to the Predecessors. Godlike criminals. For all history the priests had taught the fithp children the words of the Squuff Thuktun. It told the tale of the Homeworld's ruin. Many mistakes are mapped here, that you may walk around them . . .

  Isolation would break Dawson soon enough. It would take longer with humans. No matter. There was time . . . and he must be studied. Let him be only a rogue, a rarity! Otherwise . . .

  Chowpeentulk stood proud, victorious; but the victory here was Pastempeh-keph's. Her mate had died because he rejected the dissident cause. She would talk. The dissidents were broken now. They would never again stand between Winterhome and the Traveler Fithp.

  * * *

  Something had changed in Tashayamp. She visited the human cell less and less frequently. She rarely talked to them. The morning after John Woodward died, she appeared in the spin hatch and looked down without curiosity, and was already backing out when Jeri called up to her.

  "Tashayamp! John Woodward is dead; he died in the night. Tashayamp?"

  The teacher's mate peered down at the little group clustered around Carrie Woodward, and John's body all alone. "I thought he sleeps. He looks like he sleeps. Wait." Tashayamp disappeared.

  Tashayamp was quite wrong. John's face was slack; his eye were open; he wasn't breathing. How could anyone have missed the presence of death?

  Fithp soldiers descended via the lift platform. Carrie was huddled with her face between her knees. The children hung back. They didn't know how to help. When the warriors wrapped digits around John's shoulder and ankles, Carrie surged to her feet . . . and stood, rigid, while they put him on the platform and sent him up.

  The warriors rose after him. Tashayamp looked down. "How did he die?"

  There was venom in Carrie's answer. "Slowly. Weeks, now, he's been getting sicker and sicker. He couldn't handle the gravity changes. He couldn't sleep right. You weren't giving him the right vitamins. We don't have a doctor. Being penned like an animal, knowing you're smashing our world, he couldn't take it. Now he's dead."

  "You come," Tashayamp said. "All."

  Tashayamp led them toward the axis via spiral ramps.

  By the time they reached the funeral room they were nearly weightless. Above their heads, beyond a glass ceiling, a dark slush was in queasy churning motion. The stink of it permeated the air.

  Two fithp awaited them: the Bull and the Priest.

  The Russians were quiet; they appeared resigned. Jeri knew that was how they wanted to appear. But what else can we do anyway? We will not escape without outside help, and no one is going to help us.

  Here were all of humanity for twenty thousand miles around, save for Wes Dawson. Alice was edgy; her eyes kept straying to the entrances, as if she expected him to appear.

  Wes had disappeared over a week ago. None of the fithp would speak of him to the humans. Seeing him absent, Jeri at last believed that he was dead.

  She moved to rest a hand on Carrie's shoulder. "How're you holding up?"

  "I'll manage." Carrie laughed: a cracked, joyless sound. "None of us dares go crazy. They'd leave us all together, wouldn't they? We'd all go off our heads one by one. Don't look at me like that, Alice. I'm all right."

  Fistarteh-thuktun said something to the Herdmaster, too fast to catch. The Herdmaster nodded at Tashayamp, who said, "Query: does Fistarteh-thuktun speak last words for John Woodward? Query: does one of you speak?"

  "There's no preacher," Melissa said. "Mom—"

  "I don't know . . ." Jeri began.

  Carrie stepped forward jerkily. "I'll do it. I've been to enough funerals to know the words. He was my husband."

  Jeri was close enough to catch the Herdmaster's words to Tashayamp. "Do not translate, but remember."

  Through the glass she watched two fithp emerge on the lip of the funeral pit, carrying John Woodward like a sack of grain between them.

  "'I am the resurrection and the life,' saith the Lord. 'He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'

  "I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand the latter day upon the earth, and though after my skin won destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another."

  The fithp soldiers launched Woodward toward the center of the vortex of brown muck. He moved slowly, tumbling, stiff with rigor mortis. Carrie stopped. The look on her face was dreadful.

  "Remember this good man, Lord. Remember him and bring him to Your peace. Bring him to rest in Your arms. Let him go to Jesus."

  An empty-eyed skull showed through the slowly churning compost heap. It was almost conical, an animal's skull, with knots where the tendons of the trunk had been anchored. Jeri ground her teeth with the need to get out of here before John Woodward brushed against the glass! Carrie must be hanging on to her sanity by her teeth! Yet she looked and sounded as calm as any early Christian about to face Nero's lions.

  "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

  "He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of rightousness for his name's sake.

  "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy stall they comfort me.

  "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

  "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

  She turned toward the fithp, aging but ageless,
a woman of farms and fields. "You can't hurt him now. He's in the arms of Jesus." She raised her hands high. "Deliver me from mine enemies, O God. Defend me from them that rise up against me. Deliver me from the wicked doers. Stand up, arise, awake, O Holy One of Israel, and be not merciful unto them that offend these little ones!

  "I say it were better that a millstone were tied about their necks, and they were cast into the sea! Thou, Lord, shall have them in scorn. Consume them in thy wrath, consume them that they may perish, and know that it is God that ruleth unto the ends of the world!"

  She fell silent.

  What will they do? They can't be afraid of curses. God, my God, have you forsaken all of us? Are you there? Are you listening? Can you listen?

  Tashayamp waited.

  God, let us out of here!

  "Return to your place," Tashayamp told them. "Follow the guards." She herself departed with the Bull and the Priest.

  * * *

  "Eat them. Rage and eat them, that they will die and know that God leads everywhere. That's as near as I can translate," Tashayamp finished.

  "You see!" Fistarteh-thuktun trumpeted. "Of course we might have learned something by dissecting the creature, but this we would have lost! We have never before witnessed such a ceremony."

  "And what do you think you have learned?"

  "I was wrong," said the priest. "Despite their shape, they are not totally alien. We can lead them. Herdmaster, do you see it? They have no Predecessors. None lead them, they must lead themselves. They have made for themselves the fiction of a Predecessor!"

  Pastempeh-keph signaled assent. "It must be a fiction. This God would hardly have tolerated our incursions. I wonder how they see him? Does their God have thumbs? And they give him male gender . . ."

  "I cannot make myself care. They seek a leader greater than themselves! Tashayamp, did you render that phrase accurately? 'Fear God?'"

  "I think so. We have a book of words from Kansas. I will examine fear."

  They had reached the bridge. The warrior on duty covered his head. "Herdmaster, a message. Chintithpit-mang wishes to speak to you."