Footfall

by Larry Niven

  "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 Arvid 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.

  Tashayamp shrieked. Her first impulse wasn't to crush Arvid Rogachev; it was to tether herself. Her hampered digits wrapped around the edge of the hatch. Dmitri leapt from below. He crashed into her like a fullback. Then Arvid and Dmitri were pulling her trunk in two directions, pulling her through the hatch. And the hatch was still open.

  Tashayamp recovered. Arvid found himself flying. He curled himself into a ball; struck padding; struck again with less force; uncoiled and leapt again. The others had got the idea. Mrs. Woodward and the children huddled in a corner. Jeri, Dmitri, Nikolai looked to be tangled in Tashayamp's digits. Arvid snatched at her harness as he passed, climbed around onto her back. He found the buckle and loosed the harness.

  Straps and a pack. Arvid opened the pack and swung. The contents flew wide. Tashayamp was screaming, thrashing, drifting much too near a wall. If she could anchor her feet in the padding

  He swung around her belly, caught the wall with his feet, and kicked away, toward the middle of the cell.

  The fi' seemed to be tiring. Arvid joined the others at her head. "Push them in here," he shouted, and grasped a digit that writhed like a fire hose . . .

  Five minutes later, a furious fi' female glared at them over the edge of a bag. Straps were tight around her ears. Dmitri moored other straps behind her forelegs and tightened them. He cast loose and studied the situation thoughtfully. "Is there a reason to betray our true motives now?"

  "Thuktun Flishithy is under attack," Arvid replied. He heard Jeri gasp.

  "Right on!" Alice shouted.

  "By whom?"

  "American. One carrier with missiles and smaller spacecraft. Our last chance, Dmitri. The fithp cannot follow us into the ducts. We fight there!"

  "I see. Agreed." Dmitri spoke rapidly in Russian.

  "No," Arvid said.

  "No, what?" Jeri demanded.

  "It is State Security!" Dmitri shouted in Russian.

  "He wishes to kill this fi'," Arvid said.

  Jeri said, "Hey!"

  Mrs. Woodward said, "You wouldn't."

  "Do you think those straps will hold her helpless?" Dmitri shouted. "And so do I, but what do we know? Kill her. Think of India and kill her."

  "Over my dead body," Jeri said. She moved closer to Tashayamp.

  Dmitri shouted in Russian.

  Arvid replied. "I will think with what organs I choose. I grant you command, but not in this. Think, Dmitri. Thuktun Flishithy is under attack."

  "By the time they find the Teacher's mate, we will be beyond their reach. There is no need whatever to kill her."

  "You let women think for you."

  "He doesn't need women to tell him what's right," Carrie Woodward said.

  "I like Tashayamp!" Alice said emphatically.

  Dmitri looked about him. Arvid, Alice, Jen, and Mrs. Woodward were between him and the fi' . . . who had stopped thrashing because of an understandable interest in the topic of conversation.

  "Arvid, you may regret this, but it is done. Now let us be gone! Mrs. Woodward, take the children to the Garden. It is never locked, and you should be safe there, if anyone is safe anywhere. Nikolai, Arvid . . . with me. Jeri? Alice?"

  "Both of you to the Garden," Arvid ordered.

  "Wes! What about him?" Alice cried.

  Dmitri snorted contempt. "Have you any idea where he is? Forget Congressman Dawson. He is untrustworthy, he has proved it again and again."

  Alice shrugged angrily. "I don't like you very much."

  "Imagine my concern. You are unreliable. Go to the Garden with the others."

  "Damn right."

  "I'm coming with you," Jeri told Arvid.

  "Mother—"

  "You go with Carrie. Arvid!"

  Arvid studied her face, and nodded.

  "Do as Carrie says," Jeri said. She slapped Melissa on the rump. "Now get moving."

  They set Tashayamp spinning in the middle of the cell and left her that way. They set off forward along the corridor. The first grill they passed, Arvid unscrewed the wing nuts and led half the party inside. The rest continued.

  42

  THE MEN IN THE WALLS

  I don't shoot a man for being incompetent in the Devil's work. I shoot him for being competent in the Devil's work. Admiration for his technique is part of the process.

  —LAURENCE VAN CORR

  Four digit ships were coming near. They were half a thousand miles away, not close enough to use missiles, but close enough to show as brilliant, wavering green suns. That laser light must be boiling away Michael's hull. Refrigerators chugged, pumping unwanted heat into Michael's heat sink: the water tanks that had been two huge icebergs at takeoff.

  The bombs were still going, WHAM WHAM WHAM, the spurt bombs were still raining into the blast, but Gillespie was on the radio link. "Shuttle One, I'm cutting you loose. Gunships one through six, I'm cutting you loose. See if you can damage some bandits for me."

  WHAM

  WHAM

  WHAM

  quiet

  Vibrating through the hull came chunk-chunk sounds: mooring prongs releasing their passengers. Flames lit and pulled away. The exhausts of the gunboats were bright and yellow: solid fuel rockets. The single Shuttle flame showed faint and blue: oxygen and hydrogen. They swept away to do battle. Watch for bandits. Watch for damage. Watch temperature gauges. Listen, watch, and hang on. Constant chatter in the intercomm. "Too many digit ships," Gillespie said. "If I can kill a few, I can outrun the rest. Jason?"

  "Targets acquired. Fire when ready."

  "Acceleration. Stand by."

  "Get on the horn and tell the fly-boys to leave that nearest ship to me. Get 'em away from it. Fire."

  WHAM

  "Bandits, eight o'clock high."

  "We're getting an overheat amidships starboard."

  WHAM

&
nbsp; "Request salvo—"

  "Time problems."

  "I need it."

  "Roger. Say when."

  "Stand by. Targets acquired. Ready."

  The bomb placement cannon chugged almost inaudibly. "Acceleration. Stand by."

  WHAM

  "Bandit, eleven o'clock low."

  WHAM

  Harry's teeth were clenched. The temperature starboard amidships was falling again. No major hits on Michael. A gunship flared brilliant green, held, died . . .

  "Stovepipe Five; this is Big Daddy."

  "Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Four, scratch Stovepipe Five. I say again, scratch Five."

  "Bandit, eight o'clock low."

  "Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Three, I'll take the new target."

  WHAM

  "Request salvo."

  "Roger. Acceleration. Stand by."

  WHAM

  WHAM

  Three digit ships showed behind them as brilliant green suns.

  "Temperature rising, ventral aft four."

  "Steam forming, ventral aft six."

  WHAM

  "Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Three, scratch one bogey."

  Two brilliant suns aft.

  "Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Four, scratch Stovepipe Three."

  WHAM

  WHAM

  Temperatures fell toward normal. Two lights showed aft. The gunships were invisible, beyond the battle now, living or dead.

  "Short break," Gillespie said. "They're trying to clump. They want to hit us in clusters. We won't reach the next cluster for couple of hours."

  Thank God!

  Harry eagerly reached up to open his faceplate. "Sounds like a good time for an inspection tour," Max Rohrs said. "Get used to moving around in free-fall."

  "Hey, give us a break," Harry said.

  "I'll suggest it to the snouts." Harry fastened the faceplate again.

  The ducts were roomy enough. They were square in cross section so that patch plates could be all the same size. What had been ladders, padded rungs welded into the sides, had been left for handholds.

  Harry knew the ducts like the roof of his mouth. The trouble was that he kept bumping into the sides. Ensign Franklin stayed ahead of him. Franklin hadn't helped build these ducts, but he had astronaut training in a weighted pressure suit in a swimrnii pool.

  "Acceleration. Stand by."

  The ship surged. Gillespie was throwing the thrust bombs far back, using them less for thrust than to power the spurt bombs

  Still, Harry snatched a rung only just in time.

  "Where are we?" Franklin asked.

  "About the middle of the Brick. That was the midpoint later tunnel we just passed. Port water tank below us. Here, this is top of the equipment bins." He looked in, and Franklin peered past him. "Nothing shook loose. Welding and cutting equipment, patch plates — same size as the walls, you have to tilt them to get through the ducts—"

  "I know."

  "Patches for steam pipes, the valve wheels, lines and cable nooses of the finest hemp."

  "'There was a girl who never laid me, but she made me scream', The Five Thousand Fingers of Doctor T," Franklin said.

  "I like her already."

  "Yeah." They continued forward. Harry tried launching himself from the rungs, bouncing slantwise from the opposite wall. Didn't work. Best move was to parallel the rungs and keep the within reach. "It's harder to move around than I thought it would be. Tires you out faster, too."

  "Yeah. That's always a surprise," Franklin said.

  The duct expanded into a maze of pipes. Pipes five feet wide flared into cones eighteen feet across. The cones ran through the hull and outside: twelve cones facing in three directions in rows of four each. "The attitude jets. We're at the upper port corner of the Brick," Harry said. "It's all so clean. I'm going to hate seeing it messed up in a battle."

  "When they told me about the steam pipes, I wondered if they'd want me shoveling coal too."

  Harry laughed. "Shall we take the cross duct and come down the other side?"

  "Lead on. I'm lost already."

  "Acceleration. Stand by."

  WHAM

  * * *

  Nikolai led. The gravity was still low enough to let them move in great leaps.

  If it gets strong enough, he won't be able to move fast

  , Jeri thought. What will they do then? She wanted to ask, but the last time she'd spoken it had upset Dmitri. Arvid lets that commissar tell him what to do. Why? We aren't in Russia, and he isn't smarter than Arvid.

  It was difficult to keep up. It was also obvious that the Russians weren't going to slow for her. They moved on through the air shafts. Each time they passed one of the ring-shaped robots Jeri felt terror. Suppose the thing came after them, tentacles flailing? They moved deeper into the ship. Where are we going? Wherever it was, Nikolai never hesitated as they went through twists and turns. Jeri caught glimpses of marks by some of the tunnel forks. Cyrillic letters. Of course!

  "We are here, Comrade Commander."

  Dmitri might be in command, but Nikolai spoke and listened only to Arvid Rogachev. He must not like Dmitri any more than I do, Jeri thought.

  The room below was filled with cabinets and boxes, but no snouts. Dmitri waited impatiently for Nikolai and Rogachev to open the accessway, then dashed ahead of them to begin opening boxes, flinging their contents out onto the deck.

  Tang? And that label says something in Russian! Where are—ah!

  Dmitri opened another box. "Ha!" He reached into the box and brought out a big pistol, then fumbled in the box again until he found ammunition.

  "That belonged to the American, Greeley," Arvid said. "Is there another? The Americans brought several and gave one to me as a gift."

  "Da. There are two." He brought out another pistol and handed it to Arvid with a box of ammunition.

  Only two. I wonder if Dmitri can shoot as well as I can? I don't suppose there's any point in asking.

  Arvid loaded the pistol and held it high. "At last my arm is whole again!" he shouted in English.

  And what did the snouts make of that picture?

  "Is there anything else? Knives? I had a Walther PPK when they captured me, is that in there?" "No." Arvid opened wall cabinets. Spacesuits hung like mannequins. "Hah. I suppose it is too much, to hope there will be filled air tanks."

  "If these can be made airtight," Dmitri said, "will they not allow us to live in vacuum even without air tanks?"

  "A few minutes longer. Not more."

  "We can kill many snouts in a few minutes," Dmitri said. "Let us see if these can be made to fit us."

  * * *

  Mrs. Woodward was dithering. "If I thought we could get to that big slab, the Podo Thuktun — they worship that, don't they? We'd be even safer."

  "They lock it," Alice said. "They lock everything but the kitchen and the garden and the funeral pit. You don't want to hide in the funeral pit!"

  "No. What are you doing?"

  Alice was unscrewing the big wing nuts on a grill. "I'm going to Wes. Get the kids to the Garden. Hide."

  "Hide? Alice, they won't harm children."

  "Carrie, you don't want to be caught after Arvid and the Russians start their moves!"

  "Oh." Carrie put an arm around each of the children. "Alice—"

  "I'll be fine. Wes needs me."

  Carrie Woodward nodded agreement. "I'd have gone for my John. God be with you, Alice."

  "Thanks."

  A recorded voice trumpeted in the alien language. "Take footholds against thrust!"

  Alice dove into the air shaft. Behind her Carrie Woodward gripped the corridor's wet carpeting, both children clinging to her.

  The pull increased until it was uncomfortable, then increased again. Like Kansas? More? I don't know. Alice moved through the air shafts. Somewhere ahead was Wes Dawson.

  * * *

  The fithp warriors gestured but didn't speak.

  All right

  , Dawson t
hought. They're still trying to drive me mad. Have they done it? How long since I had anyone to talk to? There were only two, one before and one behind. I'm strong like Superman. Exercise. I've walked all the way from New York City to Joplin, Missouri. And they're still elephants. Too damn big.

  I'm as fast as they are. Faster. Jump back, grab that one's gun! But why did they come for me?

  No spin. Acceleration, thrust after all this time. Why am I out?

  To prove I'm a rogue. Wait for me to go for a gun so they can kill me . . . no. Makes no sense. They wouldn't take the spin off just for that.

  Damn! I'm as schizzy as Alice. He stifled that thought. Alice isn't crazy. Maybe she got over it

  . Alice is sweet, and if I live through this, what will I do with her? Carlotta will kill her!

  They were in a shallow spiral curve, climbing toward the ship's bow. Thrust had risen to something like Earth normal.

  They emerged in a place with windows, a place he had never seen . . . except in his mind, perhaps. A starship's control room, an alien starship. It was dimly lit; half the light was coming from square UV monitor screens. There were no chairs, only pads and recessed holds for the claws of fithp feet. The pads would tilt for spin gravity, but they were flat now. He'd guessed from the change in gravity, and now he knew: Thuktun Flishithy was on a light footing. The warriors were holding back, out of the way.

  Four fithp stood together in the center of the bridge. Dawson recognized one. Takpusseh-yamp. A fi' saw them and beckoned. The Bull Stud? Yes, for the warriors immediately brought him forward, digits twined round his arms.

  "Dawson," the Herdmaster said. "Are you sane?"

  He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes up and bobble his finger against his lips. "Yes. No thanks to you."

  The Herdmaster pointed to a screen. The view zoomed toward a distant, fuzzy object. As Dawson watched, it flared brilliant green, then flared again. Faint blue-green threads played against it from distant digit ships.

  The Herdmaster gestured impatiently. "Look at that and tell me what it is."

  Dawson's lips curved in a smile. "That is a tape of Star Wars," he said. We're fighting! Should I have jumped that soldier? Hell no. This is where they run everything. Stall. Wait for the chance to snatch a gun and . . .