Footfall (32 page)

Koothfektil-rusp’s answer was predictable. “Stomp them. Show our might. We have chosen the location, Herdmaster. This time we attack a weaker herd. We must secure a foothold on Winterhome, and expand from there. Weather following Footfall will make retaliation difficult. Fate gifts us with a side effect: the weather worldwide will be wetter and mole to our liking.”

“Show me.”

Koothfektil-rusp lit the wall screen. Under his direction a globe of Winterhome rolled, and stopped. The Attackmaster’s digit indicated the body of water that Rogachev called the Indian Ocean. “Here, in the center. Look how the waves expand from the impact point. East, they roll many makasrupkithp to the island nations. North, even further. Westward, they cover the lowlands where we see city lights; the highlands are left free. Northwest, fuel sources that serve worldwide industry are drowned. These herds that cooperated against us may still not cooperate with the savage herds of the Southern Hemisphere, and wild air masses make transport impossible to them, and where would they send their forces? We might land east or west or north; the rolling sea subdues the prey in all directions. My sleeper aides tell me that the Foot has the mass and velocity to do the work we want.”

They would drown, by eight to the eighths. The Herdmaster mourned in advance. “Have you chosen our foothold?’

“Here, I think. We would find not only mines but possible allies. One problem, Herdmaster: launching facilities will be a problem, here or anywhere. We must build in continual rain. Perhaps we must launch through rain, requiring more laser power, making a launch more conspicuous…

The Herdinaster felt himself relaxing. He knew military strategy. This was easier than talking about the craziness of the prey, which made his mind hurt.

Advisor Fathisteh-tulk vented a fluttering snort. “Possible allies?” His digits swiped at thin air: We can’t know that.

The Attackmaster snapped back. “They have little transportation! We will find true herds. When they surrender—”

The Herdmaster was tired. “Enough. Do it your way, Attackmaster. I’ve heard no better suggestion. Breakers, keep me aware. We must understand the prey; we must teach them our way. To your duties.”

He waited while the rest scattered. Then, “Fathisteh-tulk, you know planet dwellers better than we.” Have we erred? Could we win withozu the Foot? A Herdmaster could not ask.

The Advisor repeated what Breaker-One had said. “They must know that they have been hurt. Whether that will be enough… Herdmaster, can you spare me now?”

“Go, Fathisteh-Wlk. Your mate nears her term.”

The Soviets moved in a series of horizontal leaps, launching themselves down the corridor in long trajectories. The gravity was very weak, so weak that it took many seconds to fall from the center of a corridor to its wall. Nikolai found the conditions perfect. He had no trouble keeping up with the others even though they used their legs for propulsion and he had to launch himself with arms alone.

Sometimes he turned flips as he traveled through the corridor.

“They keep Dawson in his cell,” Dmitri said. “For five days they have done this. Why?”

Arvid shrugged. “It did not seem to me that he caused them any special trouble. Perhaps Takpusseh bears a grudge.”

“I think not.” Dmitri cursed fluently. “Dawson is a fool, and may get us all killed.”

“We could strangle him,” Arvid said.

Dmitri looked thoughtful for a moment. “No. We do not know how our captors will react. Docile, Comrade. We will continue to be cooperative. If they wish more geography lessons, you will give them. They learn nothing they have not obtained from children’s books from the United States. They wish us to join their herd. We will do so.”

They reached the entry point. Nikolai removed the grill and climbed into the air duct. Dmitri and Arvid followed.

When they had first been given the assignment, Arvid was sure that the ducts would be too small for fithp. In an emergency a young fi’ might be sent in to make repairs; but there were not even handholds for such a case. Yet, would prisoners be let loose where they could not even be monitored? Surely there would be cameras.

He had thought the cameras would be hard to identify, but they were not. Nikolai located a brush-rinined ring of just the right

size to fill a duct. It was in a recess, not moving. There were glass eyes at opposite points, and a metal tentacle coiled around the inner surface. — A cleaning robot. During the next few days they looked for others. Occasionally one would be seen far down a tube. It was comforting to know that they were watched-and how.

“Show your stamina,” Takpusseh had said. Dawson wouldn’t have the wit to hide his capabilities if they permitted him out of his cell. They had not seen him for days. Dmitri and Arvid and Nikolai stopped when they were tired, but before they were exhausted, four days in a row. Today was the fifth day, and it was time-to move.

A ring-shaped duct cleaner was far behind them, rolling on ball bearings in the outer rim. Arvid and Dmitri moved side by side, close together. They had become good at that. Nikolai was ahead of them, Perhaps the cameras would not see him. Perhaps he would be seen but not observed: in the waving of alien limbs, three humans might well seem to be two. If another duct cleaner appeared ahead, Dmitri would say, casually, “Another time.”

None did.

Nikolai spotted a side duct ahead. He speeded up. Taking his cue, Arvid and Dmitri speeded up too. The curve of the corridor had left the duct cleaner behind when Nikolai disappeared, axisbound.

Arvid stopped to clean out a dust-catch. The robot had him in view when he caught up to Dmitri.

The Rabbit topped a final rise. Pikes Peak had been visible ahead for hours; now they could see its base. The city of Colorado Springs lay spread out in the valley below them.

“We’re here,” Roger said.

“Now what?” Carol asked. “Are you sure Nat is here? Will he want to see me?”

“Yes, and I don’t know,” Roger said.

“What will we do?” Rosalee asked.

With a possessive tone. Why is it that women get that tone when they’ve been sleeping with you? And that men respond to it? But I’m glad I met her. “There are bound to be newspapers. The Washington Post still exists. It might even have a Colorado Springs headquarters. I’ll be welcome there. So will you, if I bring you in.”

“I can type,” Rosalee said. “And maybe I can help in other ways.”

She probably can. Librarians read a lot. She’s sman. Not very pretty, but there’s something about her — “Sure. We’ll work together. Reporters need research assistants.”

“Where will Nat Reynolds be?” Carol asked. “I want to see him.”

He’ll be Inside, and I’ve told you that a dozen times, so why the hell are you asking me again? “We’ll see.” He started the car down toward the city center.

“It’s all so damned-different,” Carol said.

“Yeah. That’s for sure,” Rosalee agreed. “Maybe it will always be different.”

Digit Ship Six was moored in place at Message Bearer’s stem. While fuel flowed into the digit ship, Chintithpit-mang’s eightsquared, now reduced to forty-one, moved through the airlock and forward along the mating tube.

The prisoners had suffered on the trip out. Hours after takeoff, warriors checking their cell had found the air stinking with the smelt of half-digested food. They must have been breathing the stuff until the air flow pulled it out. In free-fall they were like fish out of water, they acted like they were dying. Chintithpit-mang’s warriors had to tow them like baggage. They towed other baggage: food stocks, maps, books full of pictures, tape cassettes, and projection machines.

Chintithpit-mang himself moved clumsily. One leg was braced straight, and it interfered with his every motion. A thermonuclear device had exploded near the ship just before takeoff. Chintithpitmang and six prisoners had slammed against a wall. The prisoners, with their negligible mass, were barely bruised, but Chintithpitmang’s right hind leg had snapped under him.

Two octuples of warriors met them at the end of a makasrupk of tunnel. They all looked irritatingly clean and healthy. Chintithpit-mang was glad to mm his prisoners over to them. If any died, he preferred that another have them in charge.

He took the shortest route toward Shreshleemang. His mate would be waiting.

Humans in a corridor startled him. He was reaching for his gun before he realized that they must be prisoners. They seemed to want something… He glared at them and kept moving. The next corner brought him face to face with Fathisteh-tulk.

Had the Herdmaster’s Advisor noticed? “May your time stretch long, Advisor,” he said, and would have passed.

“Stay,” said Fathisteh-tulk. “I need you.”

Chintithpit-mang suppressed a fluttering snort of displeasure, but the Advisor sensed it anyway. “This is of massive importance, and none other will do,” be persisted. “You are of the Year Zero Fithp, and a dissident. So is your mate. She will assume that yow duties kept you at the ship until you can explain to her. Come.”

Dmitri and Arvid climbed wearily from the air duct.

Two female fithp looked at the Soviets and passed on. A passing fi’ warrior trumpeted anger at them; they flinched back. Dmitri frowned. “Why did he do that? I thought they had their instructions—”

“He may have had other instructions,” Arvid said.

“No. He was injured. A ship must have arrived from Earth — that series of thuds this morning—”

“Da. Injured warriors will not like humans.”

The next Ii’ warrior seemed friendly enough. Perhaps he was glad of a touch of strange in his life. He made conversation, and the Soviets answered in kind. He dawdled for the benefit of the tired duct-cleaners, who moved a little more slowly than necessary. Hide your strength!

The Herdmaster looked up from his viewscreen and snorted angrily. His digits pounded a baseball-sized button. “Communications, get me Fathisteh-tulk. Find out why he isn’t on duty.”

“Will you talk to him yourself?”

“No. Send him here. Has Digit Ship Six arrived?”

“It arrived while you slept, Herdmaster.”

“After you have the Advisor, get me Breaker-One.”

“The Advisor doesn’t answer, Herdmaster.”

“What? Never mind. Get me Breaker-One,”

The screen showed Raztupisp-minz looking as if his youth had returned. Power could do that for an aging fi’. He had had power while breaking the sleepers to their new role. Now his human charges had given him his authority back.

“We will put the new prisoners to distributing the dietary supplements,” he said, “and let them talk with the Soviets, with Tashayamp present. First, however, I intend to house them with Dawson. Dawson has been alone for several days now. We hoped that, like a newborn meatflyer, he would fixate on me if he had no other companionship.”

“Did it work?”

“It is too soon to tell, but I think not. Dawson is not newborn. He talks to me, but not as a new slave talks to one who has taken his surrender. There is anger if not impudence, Herdmaster, I wonder if there is a surrender symbol among humans that we have not discovered.”

“He surrendered. He must be made to know the implications.”

“At your orders—”

“Drown you, your task is not within my thuktun! I advise only. You will do what you can, in whatever way you feel is good, and you will accept full responsibility for failure!”

“Lead me, Herdmaster. Companions from Dawson’s herd may give him back his rationality.”

“Your scarlet-tufted female was considered a curable rogue. Will her presence in Dawson’s cell affect Dawson’s sense of reality?”

“Mice accepted surrender. She obeys orders. Eight-cubed leader Siplisteph says she seems saner than most.”

“Keep me informed. Are the air ducts clean?”

Raztupisp-minz bridled at his sarcastic tone. “The prisoners have covered perhaps six sixty-fourths of the network. They’re doing well. Herdmaster, you are aware that a battle might destroy the duct sweepers or rip the ducts open. The humans are gaining practice against real need.”

“Your meaning wets my mind. I take it that they are indeed being broken to the Traveler Herd.”

Breaker-One hesitated. Then, “They do not interpret orders rigorously. One has explored regions to which he was not assigned. This may demonstrate the curiosity native to a climbing species, or they may hope to gain knowledge that will make them of more benefit to us—”

“Still they do not obey. Carry on.” The Herdmaster broke contact. “Get me Chowpeentulk.” If he knew Chowpeentulk, she would know where her mate was under almost any circumstances.

Communications tracked her to the infirmary, where Chowpeentulk was in the act of delivering an infant. Even a Herdmaster had to wait sometimes.

The cell door was ajar; it opened to Wes Dawson’s touch. He pushed it shut with his feet, and heard the lock click. Thoughts and memories boiled in his head. He pushed them deep into his mind, concentrating on the pain in his leg, and on not appearing injured. The fithp are not telepathic, he thought. But why take chances?

The cell was large and lonely. He had lived there for five days now. He liked the elbow room and he hadn’t liked dealing with the Soviets. Nonetheless—

They’re punishing me. But for what? it must be punishment. To a herd beast, being left in solitary must be agony.

They want to break me. I won’t let them. Think of something. What? There’s nothing to read…

Thuktun Flishithy’s main drive was a universal subliminal hum in Dawson’s mind. Its source was a gnawing ache.

It must be pushing against an enormous mass, for the acceleration to be so low. The fillip must have a hell of a big reserve of deuteriwn-tritium mix. That’s an ominous thought. It’s a big ship, and it can fight.

It has to be D-T mix. Any other assumption is worse. A fusion motor using simple hydrogen would have to be far more sophisticated, halfway from science fiction to fantasy. Wes Dawson preferred a more optimistic assumption.

Endlessly he waged the Fithp-Human War in his mind.

The door opened.

The intruder wailed as she entered. She had bright red hair and a pale face that would have been pretty if she hadn’t looked so sick. She was slender as a pipe cleaner, fragile-looking. Free-fall was making her terribly unhappy.

Wes caught her arm. The newcomer wailed at him without seeing him.

Others came into the cell. A blond girl, no more than ten years old, floated gracefully to remove his hand from the slender woman’s arm. “It’s all right, Alice,” the girl said.

“Makes me sick, oh God, I’m faaaluinggg.

New prisoners. Not astronauts. My God, they’ve invaded Earth)

The thin-faced redhead screamed again, and the blond girl said something soothing. Wes pushed woman and girl toward a wail, recoiled from the opposite wall, and was with them before they could bounce away. He pushed the woman’s hands into the rug surface until she got the idea: her fists closed tight and she clung. The blond girl stayed with her.

Now he could look at the others.

There were four more. One was a boy of nine or so, blackhaired, darkly tanned. Two were in their fifties, weathered like farm people, umnistakably man and wife from the way they clung to each other.

The final one was probably the blond girl’s mother. She had the same shade of blond hair and the same finely chiseled nose. She floated at arm’s length, like an acrobat.

The blond woman looked at him hard. “Wes Dawson? Senator?”

Did she expect him to recognize her? He didn’t. He smiled at her. “Congressman. Which way did you vote?”

“Jeri Wilson. We met at JPL, fifteen years ago, when the Voyager was passing Saturn… Uh, Republican.”

A long time ago. She couldn’t have been more than twenty then. Maybe not that old. And he’d met a lot of people since.

“Right. The Saturn encounter seems almost prehistoric now. How did you get here?”

“We were captured—”

“Sure, but where?”

“You don’t know?” Jeri asked. “Oh. I guess you wouldn’t. We were captured in Kansas. The aliens invaded.”

“Kansas-where in Kansas?”

“Not far from your wife’s home,” Jeri said. “About forty miles from there—”

“How the devil do you know where my wife is staying?” Dawson demanded.

“We were on our way there,” Jeri said. “Do you believe in synchronicity? I don’t, not really, but-well, actually it’s not too big a surprise. Nothing is, now.”

Wes shook his head in confusion. Aliens in Kansas. “Why were you going to find Carlotta?”

“It’s a long story,” Jeri said. “Look, we were going west, getting out of Los Angeles, when we ran out of gas. I was afraid to stop anyone until I saw Harry Reddington—”

“Hairy Red? You know him?”

“Yes. He tried to help us, and when-when that didn’t do any good, he was trying to go help your wife, and he took us with him, only the aliens landed—”

“All right,” Wes said. “I can get the details later. Is Carlotta all right?’

“I don’t know. Something happened in Kansas. Something bad for the snouts, because first they were happy, and then all of a sudden our guards turned mean.”

“Snouts?”

“That’s what everyone calls them now.”

“Good name.”

He turned to the others. “Didn’t mean to ignore you. You must have a lot of questions?”

“Some,” the man said.

“Reckon the Lord will tell us what we have to know,” the woman added. She put a protective arm around the boy.

“John and Carrie Woodward,” Jeri Wilson said. “From Kansas, but they didn’t see any more of the war than I did. And Gary Capehart. They left his parents behind. We don’t know why. And that’s my daughter Melissa, and her friend there is Alice. What’s going to happen to us?”

“Good question. I wish I knew. What’s wrong with Alice?”

The redhead’s face was pressed tight into the wall padding, and her back was stiff. Jeri said, “She wouldn’t tell us her last name. She said a bomb hit Menninger’s and they all ran. You know Menninger’s? She must have been a patient.”

Carrie Woodward sniffed, loudly.

The voice came muffled. “Free wing.”

Wes said, “I beg your pardon?”

The small face turned halfway. “I was on the free wing. No locked doors. You know what that means? I wasn’t one of the really sick ones, okay?”

Wes said, “Pleased to meet you all. I was getting lonely.” He didn’t try to shake hands. None could have spared hand; they were all clinging to the dubious security of the wall rug. “Aren’t there others?”

“We thought so,” Jeri said. “But we haven’t seen any. Are you the only one alive from Kosmograd?”

“No, there are some Russians. The fithp-that’s what they call themselves, and you’ll have to learn their language-the fithp sometimes keep us together and sometimes separate us. There are a pair of them in charge of teaching us.”

“Teachin’ what?” Carrie Woodward asked. Her voice was filled with suspicion.

“Language. Customs. People, they will expect you to suiTender. Formally. Sooner or later Takpusseh or Raztupisp-Minz — one of our fi’ teachers will come here and expect you to roll over on your back, and he’ll put his foot on your chest. Don’t fight. He won’t crush you.”

“They already did that,” Melissa said.

Jeri laughed. “We were scared silly. But really, why would they wait till now? We’d just float away.”

“Once that’s done, they expect you to cooperate. Not just passively.”

“You mean they think we’re one of them now?” Melissa asked.

“Something like that,” Dawson agreed. He pointed casually to the large camera in one corner of the room. “They have no sense of privacy,” he said. “They watch us when they please.”

Jeri Wilson frowned.

John Woodward looked at the camera, then seemed to hunch into himself.

He doesn’t look good. Like Giorge did.

“It isn’t right,” Woodward said. His wife nodded agreement.

“Maybe, but that’s how it is,” Dawson said.

“Okay,” Jeri said. “So we learn to act like snouts—”

“And learn their language. Are you hungry?”

Melissa shook her head. Jeri said, “Hah! No.”

Alice said, “Oh,” and reached into her blouse and pulled out a big vitamin bottle. The pills were big too, and the label was a book’s worth of tiny print, listing thirty-odd vital nutrients and their sources: bee pollen, comfrey, dandelion, fennel, hawthorne berry, ginger, garlic… Fo-Ti, Dong Quai… Siberian ginseng, rose hips…

“You raided a health food store?”

Alice said, “Yeah. They took me through a grocery and a health food store and made me point at things I thought we’d need. Any objections?”

“Not bloody likely.” He swallowed a fat pill with greenish flecks in it, dry. “There’s some food from the-Soviet station, and the fithp grow some things we can eat if you close your eyes first, but I’ve been worrying about vitamins.”