by Larry Niven
"Move."
* * *
ChunkChunk
. Roy Culzer, in Shuttle Four, named Atlantis in a more peaceful era, felt the prongs unlock at the nose. The main tank was moored to Michael by the same matings that in gentler times would have gripped solid fuel boosters. Now only the aft matings were still attached, and Atlantis's nose pointed beyond the overhang of Michael's roof. Jay Hadley had the motors going. Blue flame played down the flank of the Brick. The aft prongs released, and Atlantis was free.
The sky was a hot green.
"Turning. Stand by." The Shuttle turned as it pulled away. Earth and Michael were behind, the violet-white flame of the prime target ahead. Four, five green spotlights sank below window view. "Okay," Jay Hadley said, "now they're only heating the main tank. We'll burn that fuel before the tank blows up."
For nearly eight hours Michael had been in direct sunlight. The pressure in the main tanks was already too high, and rising. Have to live with it.
Shuttle Three, Challenger, was already lost to sight. Roy caught sight of a gunship's yellower flame just before it disappeared into a missile explosion.
"Maneuvering. Stand by."
Roy's sense of balance protested as Jay turned the Shuttle. "What have we got?"
"Missiles. We've got five miles per second on those snout ships. The missiles only get one pass. They can't hit us if we keep veering."
"You hope."
"Semper fi, mac. Let me know when you think you have a shot at something."
"Yeah, sure." The missiles were in the main compartment, and the big bay doors weren't open.
The ring of green lights dropped away aft. "Go, baby, go," Roy prayed. Talking to the ship. Why not? What else can I do? "Maybe we should open the bay."
"No point." The dreadful green lights were fading. "Our missiles can't reach them either. Save 'em for Mommy Dearest. How long before we're in range?"
"Maybe an hour, if we don't get hurt, and they don't get more acceleration." Roy poked numbers into Atlantis's computer. "Looks to me like they're pouring on all they have."
"So are we. Roy—"
"Yeah?"
"General Gillespie said Michael might not make it."
"Yeah. I heard."
"That leaves it up to us."
"Well, there's Challenger."
"Heard from Big Jim lately?"
"No." Big Jim Farr. Six four, only he managed to lose two inches in the official records. Laurie Culzer and Jane Farr and five kids were sharing a house in Port Angeles. "Think he's had it, Joe?"
"I think we act like he's out."
"Which leaves us."
"Which leaves us. Maneuvering. Stand by."
* * *
The whole portside structure was hot.
"X-rays," Tiny Pelz said. "What they don't go through, they heat up. Efficient at it."
Harry trailed air lines behind. The tanks in his backpack held an hour of air, but without cooling he wouldn't live an hour. It was already uncomfortable. His trailing air lines were picking up heat.
Sweat pooled. When he jumped it ran down his face, his arms, his legs; when he was still it couldn't run.
"I've closed seventeen-tango," Harry reported. "Moving forward. I don't see any breaks in this section."
"Stand by. I'll send over steam for a test."
"Roger." Harry put his helmet next to Jeff Franklin's and turned off the intercom. "All we need. More heat."
"Sure hope it holds — naw. Look."
A thin plume poured out ahead: live steam, absolutely clear up to two feet from the break. "Kill the shunt," Harry said. "We're losing pressure—"
"Belay that," Gillespie said. "Reddington, you're a wonder. I'm getting some control."
"You're also losing steam."
"Can you fix it?"
"Sure, if you take the pressure off!"
"Give me ten minutes."
"Harry," Rohrs said.
"Yeah, I knew he didn't mean it."
"Harry, scout ahead. What's it like on forward?"
"Hot!"
"Sure be useful to know—"
"Max, has anybody ever suggested you change deodorants? I'm moving forward."
It wasn't easy getting past the plume of leaking steam. Harry took it fast, then waited for Jeff.
The ship surged, then surged again. Gillespie sounded excited, "Goddam! We're turning. Head for Big Mama. Coming around. Almost there . . . Jason—"
"Ready!"
"Acceleration. Stand by." Harry grabbed for a ladder.
WHAM
WHAM
Harry slapped on a patch and braced against the bulkhead while Jeff Franklin ran the torch. Metal glowed where Franklin worked. He was almost done.
"Maneuvering. Stand by."
"Shit, give us a minute!" Harry shouted.
"Stand by."
Steam leaked from the side that Franklin hadn't finished. Michael turned. Harry's head swam.
"Maneuver done. Acceleration. Stand by. Jason."
"Locked on and tracking. Take that, Mommy Dearest."
"Acceleration."
WHAM
WHAM
"Maneuvering."
"How do you get a transfer out of this chicken-shit outfit?" Harry demanded.
"Well, you have to fuck up."
"Fuck up. That's my problem. All this time I tried to fuck off."
"Maneuvering. Acceleration. Stand by."
"Target acquired."
WHAM
The gauge on his wrist said 40.1. Shit fire, why couldn't they give me a normal thermometer? "Jeff, what's 40 degrees?"
"About 105° Fahrenheit."
"No wonder I'm hot. That's what my suit shows."
"Harry."
"Hmm?"
"That's not your suit temperature. That's you. Inside."
"That thing they rammed up my ass? One-oh-five? Jeff . . ."
"It's dangerous but not fatal. What we have to do is cool off."
"Sure. Where?"
"Acceleration. Stand by."
WHAM
"Incoming."
"Missiles dead ahead."
"Target acquired."
"Acceleration. Stand by."
WHAM
"This is Turret Five. We have a target. Permission to fire."
"Let her fly."
WHAM
"Maneuvering. Stand by."
Steam poured out through the leak. Harry braced a pry bar against one bulkhead and wedged the other end against the patch plate. "Hammer." He felt it in his right hand. He grabbed a handhold with his left, then pounded on the pry bar. "I got that one. Hit it with the welder. I'm going forward."
The next compartment held a storage area for welding equipment, and cooling air outlets. Harry tested the air pressure. "Goddam, Jeff, cool air!"
"Be right with you."
Harry gratefully found a corner to wedge himself into. Presently Jeff Franklin joined him. The ship continued to accelerate.
Franklin talked to the control room. "We need some time. We're getting goofy with the heat."
"Take ten minutes."
"It'll have to do."
Had Franklin been acting goofy? Harry hadn't noticed. But the cool felt wonderful, as if his skin were drinking a good brand of beer. The air jetted through his suit, and he waved his arms and legs to let it through.
* * *
There were no digit ships now. Atlantis's screen showed only the prime target — unmistakably the Mother Ship now, short and wide, as in the last transmissions from Kosmograd, and riding a spear of violet-white light. The drive flame was swinging around.
"Trying to lose us," Jay Hadley gloated.
The Shuttle's thrust dropped suddenly. Roy started violently. "Relax," Jay said. ChunkChunk: the empty main tank was free. Attitude jets popped, and Atlantis eased back until the Mother Ship was behind the main tank.
"They can't get loose now. They can't turn fast enough. We're on intercept and in missile range. Let's see what happens. Ar
e you going to open the bay?"
"Not just yet. We're too fragile with the bay open. You know damn well what they'll do when we're in range."
"They're doing it now. I saw missiles before I turned us."
"Yeah?" Intercept. Roy couldn't make himself feel surprised. He's going to ram. He didn't even ask me.
The Shuttle main tank was a green-edged black shadow, growing brighter. Big Mama had its own defenses. The main tank must be boiling. And suddenly the main tank's black shadow vanished in half a dozen simultaneous flares. Missiles were homing on the explosions of other missiles. The Shuttle turned, and Roy felt the solid thumps of fragments impacting the tile shielding. There would be no reentry for Atlantis.
Jay reached down to move lever arms that protruded through the floor. These were new: they connected to petcocks in the lower level. Water that had been ice at takeoff was jetting from vents in the Shuttle's nose. The cloud of debris ahead thickened with water vapor.
It might hide Atlantis . . . but there was no hiding Big Mama. Her drive flame must be visible across half the world. Jay was firing the EMU motors, the smaller jets that connected to the Shuttle's onboard tank.
"Still on intercept?"
"Yeah."
"Opening the bay. Let's get closer before we loose the birds. If you did everything right—"
"They'll think we're dead." Jay laughed.
* * *
The gauge showed Harry's internal temperature at 39 degrees. I've gained some. Not enough.
"Incoming. Hang on."
Oh, shit.
Michael
shuddered. "We took something, portside forward," Gillespie said.
"Losing steam pressure."
"She's getting sluggish. Doesn't want to maneuver."
"Something's wrong portside forward."
"Harry!"
"Yeah, Max, I'm on the way. "Jeff, let's do it." Progress was slow. As they moved forward, the ship was hotter, and there was more damage. Handholds were missing. New holes punched through.
Some punch.
Michael's armor was in layers: steel armor, fiberglass matting, more steel armor, layer after layer of hard and non-resilient soft. Anything coming through that had been moving fast — and hadn't melted. Harry felt a tug. He looked behind. His air lines were stretched taut. "End of the line."
"Max, we can't get further," Jeff Franklin reported.
"You have to. We're losing pressure just forward of you."
"Losing pressure."
"Yeah, the most powerful spacecraft ever built by man is going to fail for lack of steam."
"Okay," Harry said. "I'll go have a look." He disconnected the line, and now he was on canned air.
* * *
Big Mama was close, close. The drive flame, the dark cylinder at its tip — the sudden green flare, the firefly lights of missiles pouring from four points along her flank. "Firing," said Roy.
"I'll wait."
"Good. Missiles one through five away. Getting target acquisition for the next group. We've actually got a few minutes don't we?"
"Say two minutes before the missiles get here . . ."
"Missiles six through ten, away." The green light had dimmed. Big Mama's lasers had found more interesting targets: Atlantis's own missiles.
"—But we're heating up. Oh, fuck it. We won't be taking it long. How you doing?"
"Target acquired, missiles eleven through fifteen away; that's all of them. Turn us! Now!"
Motors popped on. Atlantis turned, belly toward Big Mama. Roy opened the petcocks again. A cloud of water vapor might slow a missile or confuse its poor brain. Something slammed them against their seats. Again. "Reentry is going to be a problem," Jay said, and laughed. "It isn't atmosphere you're—"
The Shuttle twisted: an explosion against one wing. Jay brought them back with attitude jets.
"— thinking of entering. I wish I had a view."
Nothing showed beyond the window save stars and a hail of green. The reentry shield was boiling under Big Mama's lasers. "Are we still on target? I'd hate to miss after all this."
"Big Mama's a big target," Jay said. There didn't seem to be a hell of a lot more to say.
* * *
The portside bow was chaos. Steam poured from broken pipe and streamed through the ripped hull.
"Shut the damn steam off!" Harry shouted.
"Maneuvering. Stand by. Harry, if we cut the steam on port side, I won't be able to maneuver."
"Incoming. Stand by."
Michael
shuddered again. Max Rohrs was holding his calm, but it sounded like he was fighting to do it. "Steam pressure falling. We'll try to shunt to secondary water sources."
What good will that do if we can't get the leak shut off.
Harry studied the situation. The compartment ahead was filled with steam and wreckage. He could feel its heat radiating through his faceplate. If I move real fast, I can just— "Jeff, I'm going forward and close that valve. Nine-alfa for the record." Rohrs overrode Franklin's answer. "Don't, unless you can open nine-bravo. We need that steam path."
Oh, holy shit!
"Roger. Here I go." He dove forward. The handholds were hot through his gloves. The ship maneuvered, so that he wasn't quite in free-fall, but there wasn't real gravity either. Ragged metal ends reached out to scrape against the hard upper torso of his suit.
He reached the valve wheel. "Max?"
Nothing. "I don't think he can hear you," Jeff Franklin said. "Harry, do you need help?"
"Not enough room in here for two. Tell Max I'm opening nine-bravo now."
The big valve wheel didn't want to turn. There was nothing to brace his feet against, and the valve wouldn't respond to one-handed operation. Got to move slow. Careful. Think it through. He placed his feet as carefully as an Alpiner on a granite wall. Finally he had both braced, his left foot wedged into a wide crack in one bulkhead.
"Turn, you mother! Got it! Now to close nine-alfa."
He didn't dare look at the temperature gauge on his wrist. The valve wheel was all the way forward. Beyond it was a smooth-edged hole four feet around. Stars shone through that.
Between him and the valve was a jet of steam.
"Jeff, make them stop acceleration for a moment. I have to jump."
"Okay. Command, this is Franklin. Reddington needs things stable for a minute."
Static in Harry's intercom. Then Franklin. "You can have two minutes, exactly four minutes from now."
"Roger." If I can live four more minutes. He could hear each heartbeat as a base drum in his head. Slow down. Calm. Relax . . . Relaxation made the pounding sound worse.
There were flashes out there, outside. Shadows flickered through the hole in the hull.
Jeri. Melissa. They never found the bodies. Hell, here I come!
"Stand by, Harry. Ten seconds. Okay—now."
Harry leaped across the gap. Steam played over him.
It was cooler on the other side. The black outside seemed to suck heat away. "Got the valve. Turning it. It's turning — shit! Have to brace my feet."
"Harry, can they maneuver now?"
He sensed urgency in Franklin's voice. "All right."
"I'll relay warnings. Acceleration. Stand by."
WHAM
Left foot here. Right foot. Okay. Grip. Turn. Turn
. His left foot slipped. Sharp pain ran up his shin. A small plume of steam came out at the ankle. Steam? That hot in my suit? He tried to brace his foot again. The universe shrank to a sticking valve wheel— Behind him the steam plume was tiny, nearly as small as the plume from his suit.
"You got it, Harry, get the hell out of there!"
"Coming." Turn, you bastard. Turn. His foot hurt like hell. Forward was the black of space, cool. If I wedge in that hole I can get leverage. He moved forward. One quick look outside.
The Mother Ship was far ahead, still too far for details; but the drive flame was a spear, not a dot. She had turned sideways. Trying to dodge. To dodge o
ne of the Shuttles. Harry could see the familiar triangular silhouette limned against the flame, easing forward, past the flame . . .
Flame burst from near the center of the cylinder. They rammed, Harry thought, and they did it right. Big Mama's drive flame veered, and suddenly there was a brighter streak in the violet-white. Yellow and orange, and the wavering flame was veering back into line, but down the violet-white spear ran a stream of bonfire-colored flame.
"Jeff—"
"Yeah? Harry, get out of there!"
"In a minute. Jeff, tell the boss. Shuttle Four. Atlantis. They rammed. They hurt that mother, they hurt her. I can see it did something to the drive. They hurt her—"
"Harry, are you all right? Get out of there!"
"Yeah, they rammed! They damaged her! They damaged the drive! Now we'll catch her. Something inside the drive is boiling away, you can see it in the flame. And the impact point, it's a pit, and I bet I can see — four layers deep. Big Mama must be built like a Heinlein Universe ship, for spin, you know? Layers wrapped around a free-fall axis. We hurt her."
"Yeah—"
"Tell Gillespie, damn it!"
"You tell him! Come on, Harry!"
Harry shined his light down. The small jet from his left ankle was pink. The gauges showed that he had five minutes of air. It was cool out here, most of him outside the hull. His legs were inside. It was hot in there. Go back in there?
Five minutes. It takes three or four to get through there. And it's hot . . .
"Maneuvering. Acceleration. Stand by."
WHAM
In there? With acceleration?
"Incoming. Harry, move!"
"Can't move, Jeff. Anyway, I'm leaking."
"Harry! I'll come get you—"
"Bullshit! Get your goddam hero medal rescuing somebody else."
"Harry—"
"Incoming. Missiles."
"Harry — oh, shit! Maneuvering. Stand by."
"More missiles coming. I think they'll hit," Harry said. "Tell Gillespie. We hurt them. Tell him."
44
IMPACT
And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels. And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.