Footfall

by Larry Niven

  —REVELATION 12:7-8

  Sometimes Jeri Wilson thought she heard — or felt — shocks, but mostly there was the steadily increasing acceleration that had topped out at around one Earth gravity. No one — or no fi' — had been interested in the storeroom. She'd lost all track of time.

  "Arvid, we can't just sit here doing nothing!"

  "What would you have us do?"

  Jeri glared at him. "You're the damned expert! But we ought to be doing something."

  Dmitri spoke sharply in Russian.

  "Our commander says you should make less noise," Arvid said.

  "That's another thing. Why is he in charge? You're smarter than he is. You know spaceships. He doesn't."

  She felt Arvid's hand on her shoulder. His fingers gripped tightly. "You wanted to come with us."

  And you'll send me away?

  But he wasn't threatening. Worse than threats. Reminds me of promises. "We could — we could open air shafts. Find a way to vacuum. Threaten the women and children." "You are bloodthirsty," Arvid said.

  "No. I hate it. This isn't my game at all. But we have to do something! We wouldn't have to kill them, just show we could. Between that attacking ship and whatever we can do, maybe they'll surrender."

  Dmitri spoke in Russian.

  "Tell her yourself," Arvid said.

  "It won't work," Dmitri said.

  "Why?"

  "We cannot threaten all of the women and children," Dmitri said. "Without atomic weapons we cannot threaten all those aboard this ship. Thus, why would they surrender?"

  "But—"

  "We would not surrender," Dmitri said. "Not even Comrade Rogachev. So why should the Invaders?" Jeri huddled in the corner.

  "We wait," Dmitri said. "We will have one chance. We must not throw that away."

  "What if it never comes?" she asked listlessly.

  The ship rang like a great brass bell. The wall slammed against them.

  * * *

  Thuktun Flishithy

  shuddered with the impact. Alice picked herself off the duct floor. Her whole body was bruised. There were spots before her eyes. A whistling shriek echoed through the ducts. The gravity fell to near zero, then began to build again.

  What the hell was that?

  The scream was dying, or else she was going deaf. She moved to the nearest grill.

  A horror was out there. An armed snout, floating in the hall, turning. Stunned. Alice didn't stop to think. She twisted the wing nuts loose and wriggled through. The horror still hadn't made a move to anchor himself. Alice kicked toward him.

  The tiny impact of a human body didn't wake him.

  She pulled the gun from its holster. The stock was short and very wide. Trigger in the middle. . . safety? Did it have to be cocked?

  Tentacles wrapped around her and pulled.

  Alice shrieked and pushed the barrel against flesh and pulled the trigger.

  The gun went whipping down the hall. The snout moved the other way, turning slowly, spraying a cloud of dark red blood. Alice leapt after the gun. Damn thing would have killed me if I'd had it against my shoulder! Brace it against a wall or something next time. Have to fire with my left hand, too. Her right arm flopped limp. It was just starting to hurt.

  She didn't notice the slanting duct until the second snout came out. The snout emerged like a bomb, caught itself — herself: the harness was a female's — against the wall. She saw the spinning gun coming at her, and Alice behind.

  Alice couldn't even flee. The walls weren't in reach yet. Paykurtank caught the gun, tossed it behind her, and reached forward in plenty of time to catch Alice. The constricting tentacles sent new agony through her arm and hand. Alice screamed and fainted.

  * * *

  The impact had knocked Jeri dizzy. It wasn't just dizziness. She was almost floating. Jeri clutched wildly and found a handful of wall rug. Air was escaping somewhere: Thuktun Flishithy screamed like a dying dinosaur.

  Arvid had already anchored himself. He gripped Jeri's hand. Nikolai shouted something in Russian. Dmitri answered. "The Americans are coming!" Jeri said.

  "I agree," Dmitri said. "Something has damaged this ship. It can only be the American ship that Comrade Rogachev was permitted to see." Nikolai spoke rapidly again.

  "He is right!" Arvid said. "Dmitri, he is correct."

  "Da."

  "Correct about what?" Jeri demanded.

  "The ship's drive has been damaged," Arvid said. "You can feel it. The gravity is much lower now, it fell, then builded, but it has not come back to its original strength.

  "Let us suppose the drive damaged, and the Americans in pursuit. The Invaders will wish to repair their drive."

  "Rogachev!" Dmitri brandished his captured pistol and shouted what must have been orders.

  "Da, tovarishch. Jeri, we must prevent those repairs. Nikolai will lead us to the engine room control center. We will attempt to destroy that." Rogachev took out his own pistol and inspected it. Satisfied, he thrust it into his belt.

  Nikolai was already in the air duct. Dmitri waved frantically. Arvid moved to the shaft.

  "Jeri, you will follow me," Arvid said. "Let us go."

  Right. Jeri Wilson, famous Amazon, all hundred and twenty pounds of her

  . The Russians had pressure suits. She did not. Maybe I ought to think this over?

  * * *

  Fithp soldiers reeled across the bridge. Wes Dawson flailed to save himself, and wound up clutching a fi's harness.

  The fi' responded by wrapping digits around him. The grip constricted. The fi' said, "You saw the weapon. Was it an automatic device?"

  Wes had seen it on half the screens and through the window too, in that last minute before impact. "My fithp have come knocking," he said.

  "I am Defensemaster Tantarent-fid and I assert my right to know! Are your automatics so agile? It escaped our guns!"

  Dawson grinned into eyes the size of oranges. "It was an ordinary Space Shuttle. Men! We've rammed you."

  "Man, they died! Are you all rogues?"

  "Why ask me? Ask your Breaker."

  The fi' hurled him away. He picked himself up and moved toward a wall, reeling in the dwindling gravity, seeking a handhold. No warning this time! We actually did them some damage!

  The hive was broken and the bees were in turmoil.

  * * *

  One warrior had rolled shrieking across the room, denting a monitor console with his body, damaging himself more. He was getting medical attention. The other had Dawson back in restraint.

  "Herdmaster, I have our thrust up to five eighths gravity, but a 512-breath of this will ruin the drive. We must make repairs."

  "We have no more time than that?"

  Tantarent-fid spoke into his microphone and listened to replies. "Herdmaster, I can guarantee no more time."

  After crossing from the Homeworld it has come to this.

  The alien vessel was aimed directly at them. It flared continuously, and with each flare gamma-ray lasers shone through hull and walls and flesh and bone. Tiny spacecraft had spread from the enemy, and now they hurled missiles to trample him. Tinier missiles leaped from Message Bearer to intercept. That ship comes closer. "Dawson! Will they trample us as the Shuttle did?"

  "Herdmaster, my people will do what they can to make you extinct. This is the cost of the Foot."

  That is no surprise. He would say that in any case, for strength in negotiation

  . "Defensemaster." "Lead me."

  "Maintain maximum thrust."

  For a moment Tantarent-fid hesitated. "As you will."

  "Takpusseh-yamp."

  "Lead me."

  "You will assist. We must send messages to . . ." he struggled with the alien name, "to the United States. Dawson will assist."

  Humans in Africa had given them six possible loci for 1 surviving government of that fithp. They would all be the target of tight-beams. Now I must know what to say.

  The Herdmaster changed channels. He could have leaned
out the corridor and spoken to Takpusseh-yamp, but he didn't want Dawson to hear. The rogue human's thoughts had begun to matter.

  "Breaker-Two, do you now have a. . . what you called—"

  "I have prepared two versions of a negotiated loss of status Herdmaster, though I'm sorry to hear you ask. Here, channel 4."

  The Herdmaster read. I must. That thing will catch us. We might destroy it when it comes near, but it will send fire and gamma rays regardless. Our mates and our children are at ransom here and what Breaker-Two suggests is acceptable. The dissidents should be joyful . . . "Maintain this channel." He motioned to the warn who led the human forward.

  "Wes Dawson, I wish to negotiate a loss of status."

  "I don't understand."

  "Takpusseh-yamp?"

  "The Herdmaster wishes to offer conditional surrender—"

  The air went out of Dawson. In full thrust he might have collapsed. He said, "Speak more."

  "You shall have Winterhome — Earth. We shall have the solar system."

  "Why do you offer this now?"

  "You see the screens. Your ship approaches. It can harm us. I would avoid that harm — but, Dawson, your fithp have no other ship, for if they had, they would have sent it. That ship can't destroy us. It can only harm us, kill females and children. I want to avoid that."

  "I wish to think of this."

  Dawson's eyes strayed to the screens. Message Bearer had been ripped; the edges of the hole still glowed red and orange. Sun-hot plasma must have roared down the corridors. Against the dark back of Winterhome, a light pulsed. Smaller flames came near, and flared green.

  The ship rang to the tune of another explosion. Missiles exploding against the hull made a muffled thump you could hardly hear. But when a missile went off in the scar the Shuttle had left, it was different. Vibrations came from everywhere, with a sound like — that of a smashed banjo.

  "Dawson, you act now or not at all."

  "I won't send your message."

  A communications console buzzed. Pastempeh-keph gestured to the Breaker to answer. Not now! "Dawson, this is what you offered Fathisteh-tulk! We will depart Africa, all of the Traveler Fithp and the humans who wish to join us. We will follow the paths we both know, reaping the riches of space, trading your soil grown products for metals and—"

  Dawson dared to interrupt. "Fathisteh-tulk knew me. I see that now. I want the solar system. If I'm crazy, that's partly your doing."

  "You are mad indeed. When we have destroyed the intruder, we will visit Winterhome with destruction. That ship was built under the sign of peace. Never again will we honor that. We will trample every place, large or small, that ever displayed that sign."

  Dawson said nothing.

  As I thought.

  Takpusseh-yamp was finished with his call. He looked smug. It is his thuktun. He deserves one last play. "Breaker-Two. Speak to this rogue."

  Takpusseh-yamp turned. "Dawson! We have captured your mate. Paykurtank, the priest's acolyte, found her after she left an air duct."

  "My mate is on earth," Dawson said.

  "Untrue. We know she is your mate because we watched you mating in the ducts."

  Dawson flushed. "So? We watched you mating in your rooms."

  "We do not speak to amuse ourselves, Dawson! You pretend to be a rogue, but you have a mate. A fi's mate is clearly responsible for him! Your pretense is done."

  "Hell. If we'd known. . . wait a minute. You captured Alice?"

  The Herdmaster was in a towering fury. "I would kill you this instant, Dawson, did you not represent your fithp in council. Will you transmit our terms and let your . . . Breaker-Two?"

  "Your President. Dawson, your President surely has the rig to hear such an offer."

  Dawson said nothing.

  I have him!

  "You have a point," Dawson said. "But . . . you had to capture Alice? She was loose! They're all loose, aren't they? Where?"

  "We will leave your world to heal," the Herdmaster pressed. He had not really believed this would work. Negotiated loss status, indeed! "There will be none of us on Earth, but there will be humans among our fithp. Surely your fithp and ours can survive alongside one another," he said, not believing a word of it. "Humans will travel as passengers in our ships. From us you will eventually learn to build your own." But the losing fithp become part of the winner's. It had never been different.

  Dawson's objection fell very wide of tradition. "Let you leave, huh? And go to Saturn, and repair your ship? And what then?"

  "Then. . . I don't understand. Breaker-Two?" Takpusseh-yamp said, "We fail to taste your problem."

  "What's to stop you from coming back with another Foot?"

  "Our surrender, you brain-damaged rogue!"

  "Are you telling me that a negotiated . . ." Dawson fell silent.

  Now what stops him? Ah.

  The red-haired female had reached the bridge. The frail human was nested in Paykurtank's digits. She'd been hurt; she was hugging her right foreleg. She writhed at the sight of her mate. "Wes! The Russians are loose. I killed a snout!"

  "Good! Alice, we're hurting them, we really are. The Herdmaster wants me to transmit a conditional surrender. Trouble is we can't trust it."

  Alice looked from Dawson to the array of screens.

  A female. We know too little. Will she be able to hold him calm? What counsel will she give? Was it an error to bring her here?

  The Herdmaster listened as Dawson explained to Alice. Her alien face was unreadable, but the Herdmaster could guess at the bloodthirsty joy as she watched the sparkling intruder come near. When Dawson finished speaking, she said, "They'll come back."

  "Yeah. Herdmaster, Takpusseh, have you been trying to tell me that a 'negotiated loss of status' is the same as a surrender?"

  The Herdmaster couldn't speak. Takpusseh-yamp said, "We give our surrender forever. You know us that well."

  "I have not been offered a surrender," Dawson said.

  "What is it you want?" But the Herdmaster knew, and he was trumpeting in agony now. "Wish you my chest under your foot? You shall not have that!"

  And every fi' in earshot was staring at him. "Fight your ship!" he trumpeted. "This battle is not concluded! We waste time. Kill that enemy. Signal the moon base. Trample that planet until its leaders roll on their backs. Dawson, we do not kill without reason. You have given us reason enough!"

  "Hey, wait—"

  "If we wait, that ship will harm us. When it is close enough, we kill it. Then there will be nothing to discuss. Speak to your President, or return to your cell."

  "Your offer isn't good enough!"

  "I have made my last offer. Choose."

  If man and fi' had anything in common, then Dawson was in agony. The muscles of his face looked like digits in knots. His teeth were bared; they ground together.

  The female ruined it. "Wes! Look!"

  "My God!"

  "Your—" Predecessor? But Dawson and Alice were gaping past the Herdmaster's shoulder. The Herdmaster turned. Four screens showed four views of the engine room. The floor was awash in blood. The air itself was pink with spray. Nine corpses lay chewed as if by predators: eight fithp warriors and the legless Soviet in his curious legless suit. The remaining three humans were tearing the place apart.

  * * *

  Wes was in agony.

  It was Coffey's department — Coffey's thuktun, and the Stud Bull had him dead to rights there. But Coffey would take the offer. Coffey would give away the solar system!

  Or Dawson was about to give away the Earth. Could that weird device smash Message Bearer? Or was it only coming close enough to die? Would the fithp honor a conditional surrender? We taught them conditional surrender. Have we also taught them to break their parole?

  "Wes, look!"

  Not now, dammit

  died in his throat. He'd never seen this room before, but it had that look. Machinery took its orders from here. Screens, dials, keyboards with keys the size of a child's fist; and fit
hp corpses, and blood, amazingly red, hemoglobin for sure, like some madman had bombed a Red Cross blood bank. Nikolai was dead, suit and man shredded by the huge fithp bullets.

  Arvid was in a pressure suit. His faceplate was open, showing a Cossack's grin that would have frightened children. He had braced a fithp rifle against a console and was firing bullets into randi controls.

  Dmitri wandered about, examining the paraphernalia that made the ship go, shying minimally when Arvid blasted something, as if Arvid were a child at play, and Dmitri, the adult, were trying to learn something. He stopped, examined a console; pried the cover off with a piece of steel bar. He began tearing at wiring.

  Arvid's rifle ran empty. Arvid grimaced, then smiled toothily into the camera.

  Jeri Wilson studied the scene judiciously. Wes wondered if she was in shock. She climbed onto a console to bring her face close to a camera. She shouted soundlessly.

  "Put the sound on," the Defensemaster commanded.

  "Negative," said the Herdmaster. "Dawson, your response?"

  What was the Herdmaster afraid of hearing?. . . Afraid that Dawson might hear? It didn't matter. Wes grinned at the fi'. "They were in the ducts, weren't they? And they'll be there again, wandering through your air supply. There's a great gaping hole in Thuktun Flishithy, isn't there? Maybe they can open more locks. Random death in the life support system!"

  The ship hummed like a smashed banjo, twice in quick succession.

  The Herdmaster said, "Dawson. We will leave Africa, we will leave your Earth. You will have your solar system. We will go another star."

  "You can't."

  "With time and your aid, of course we can. We will repair Message Bearer and build a new siskyissputh. You will assist. When we depart your system, you will have your own."

  "That word . . .?"

  "The siskyissputh is the device we used to cross from Homeworld to Saturn. It takes energy from the main drive and uses that energy to push against interstellar matter. The siskyissputh is the door, not to your own planets, but to the worlds of other stars. Dawson, why did you think we discarded it?"

  Dawson, staring, got his lips working. "Too massive. You could not have reached Saturn."