Footfall (57 page)

“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 flthp 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 succesion.

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.”

“No. Dawson, we came knowing that you might be more powerful than the Traveler Fithp. We came to conquer or to surrender. If we came to surrender, we had the siskyissputh to offer our new fithp. We let the siskyissputh hurl itself at the stars so that you cannot examine it.”

“I had it wrong. That never, never crossed my mind. But you have tapes of thuktunthp—”

“We have the Podo Thuktun itself, rogue! That is the siskyissputh, and the Podo Thuktun’s supports are explosive. But if we are to leave your star, we must have another siskyissputh, and you must build it with us. When we leave, you will know how to make another. Dawson, I know that you want more than the planets. Take our negotiated loss of status or you will never leave your star.”

“Wes, he’s crazy! We’ll have it in ten years! Wes, once we know something is possible — like the atomic bomb, as soon as they knew it was possible, everyone started working on how to build one.”

The screens flickered. Dmitri jerked backward. One foot was missing. There were holes in the walls. The humans moved to one corner. Jeri Wilson continued to shout soundlessly at the cameras.

Irrelevant. We’re all irrelevant. The Herdmaster said, “The Predecessors developed the siskyissputh. It took more than eight-cubed years. Dawson, humans are a herd under siege by their own rogues! You will not survive sixty-four years! And we might yet win this battle.”

Alice was strangling his arm. “Wes, it’s the same thing all over again! They’ll come back!”

I wanted to be President! Why? “Alice, if they win — can they win?”

Her grip slowly relaxed. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t either.” I can’t decide this. “Give me your microphone. I’ll speak to the President.”

The screens had not changed for more than an hour.

General Toland set down his coffee cup. “How many snouts does it take to change a light bulb?”

The President wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. “None. They’ve invented torches.”

“No—”

“I have something,” Jenny said.

“Gimlet, this is Michael.”

They’re alive!

Down below all the crews were cheering.

“Michael, this is Gimlet. No new orders. Report if you can.”

“Gimlet, this is Michael. Reporting. We have inflicted heavy damage on the invader mother ship. We have taken severe damage. We have fifty percent casualties. They are definitely running away. We continue in pursuit. Stand by for digital data.”

A picture emerged on the screen below: Michael with his whole portside kicked in. One spurt bomb rack had vanished, and the portside propulsion tower was dented and holed.

“Holy shit,” General Toland muttered. No wonder Ed sounds tired.

More data. A blurred image of the enemy ship. It looked scarred. “Estimate one hour to interception,” Gillespie said. “Jenny, is that you?”

“Michael, this is Gimlet, Colonel Crichton here.”

“Jenny, tell Linda I love her.”

Jenny looked quickly to the screens below. They flowed and changed as Michael’s computer dumped in data. They don’t have enough bombs left to kill their velocity. They can’t come home unless they win.

“Admiral, is there anything I ought to say?” President Coffey asked.

“You’re the politician, Mr. President.”

“Meaning that it’s more important to me than to General Gillespie. Colonel, tell him — dammit. Cut me in.”

“Sir. Michael, stand by for Executive One.”

“General, this is David Coffey. I’ll give your message to your wife. Anything else?”

“For the record: posthumous awards for civilians. I recommend the Medal of Freedom. Dr. Arthur Grace Pelz. Mr. Samuel Cohen. Mr. Harry Reddington. Military personnel — Excuse me. I’ll switch on automatic digital reporting. Mr. President, it’s getting a bit thick—”

“Godspeed, General.”

“Michael out.”

The screens below shifted: a composite picture of Michael, dented and torn. Bombs exploded aft as the big ship accelerated.

Another screen showed a tiny Earth surrounded by colored dots with arrows protruding. Velocity vectors. The Navy would need to learn a whole new way of reading maps if this kind of thing ever became common. The alien invader was a large red spear; Michael, in blue, pursued relentlessly; both vectors pointed away from Earth. Michael’s vector was longer. The dots would be touching within the hour.

Digit ships were orange dots. They swarmed close around the Earth. A few were farther out and tens of thousands of miles away, their orange arrows pointing toward the battle.

Admiral Carrell studied the screen. “The digit ships are no threat. It’ll be all over by the time they get there.”

“Is he going to ram?” General Toland asked.

“He can’t come home,” Admiral Carrell said carefully. “Under the circumstances, what would you do?”

“Damn straight,” Toland said. “Can he do it?”

Carrell shrugged. “General, I expect the engineering people will be working on that question. It would be interesting to know what they think.”

“Sir.” Jenny touched more buttons. Jenny Crichton knew: that was Ed Gillespie, her sister’s husband, with no more than two hours to live and nothing anyone could do about it. Colonel Jennifer Crichton called the engineers.

“Dreamer Fithp here.”

“Engineering.”

“They’re all busy,” Reynolds’ voice said. “So they have me answering the phone.”

“Your projection?”

“I’ll give you Colonel Matthews. Al, they want a projection.”

“Matthews here. We don’t have a projection.”

Admiral Carrell broke in. “Colonel, would you care to explain that?”

“Sir. Given the damage Michael has sustained, and the defense capabilities demonstrated by the enemy, a majority of my analysts believe the most likely event is mutual destruction of Michael and the enemy mother ship. We can’t assign a probability to that. A large minority of our people believe the enemy will be severely damaged but Michael will be destroyed.

“The Threat Team is nearly unanimous: the enemy will do almost anything to prevent severe damage to the mother ship.”

“What does that mean, almost anything?” Carrell demanded.

“Certainly an offer of surrender.”

“Sincere?”

“Sir?”

“My apologies. You can’t know.”

“They’ll also go all out to protect the mother ship. Their warriors aren’t likely to be less courageous than ours. They’ll throw everything they have.”

“No surprise there,” General Toland said.

“Thank you, Colonel. I’ll ask you to use screen five to display your projections.”

“Yes, sir.”

On the screen below, Michael’s blue crept toward the enemy red.

“Sir. We’re getting something.”

“Gimlet, this is Harpoon. We’re getting a tightbeam message on the same frequency the aliens used when they sent that message to the President. It’s for the President.”

“They want to talk!” General Toland said.

“Put them on!” David Coffey ordered.

“Alert the Threat Team to listen to this,” Admiral Carrell said.

“Harpoon, put them on. Stand by to transmit replies.”

“Roger. Stand by.”

“Mr. President, Mr. President. This is Wes Dawson. Come in, Mr. President. President Coffey, this Wes Dawson.”

“Am I on?” Coffey demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

President Coffey spoke into the microphone. “Congressman Dawson, this is President David Coffey. Can you hear me?”

“Mr. President, this is Dawson. I hear you. I have an offer of conditional surrender from the Herdmaster.”

Jenny knew his voice. It was Wes, and he was all right. She could see Carlotta Dawson down on the floor below. Carlotta was grinning like an idiot.

“Surrender,” Toland muttered. “We must have hurt them.”

Admiral Carrell waved impatiently.

The President said, “What terms?”

Wes Dawson’s laugh sounded half mad. It could have been simply static. “That’s the stumbling point, all right. Here are the terms. We call off the attack. The enemy, the Traveler Herd, will vacate Earth immediately. They’ll vacate the solar system as soon as possible. What we’ll have to do to bring that about involves building them a—” Dawson stopped, then seemed to sputter. “A siskyissputh. They threw their own siskyissputh away while rounding the Sun, so that we couldn’t examine it. It’s a modified Bussard ramjet. Get a technical expert to explain that to you. It’s the key to the stars, and when we’ve built theirs we’ll know how to build one for ourselves.

“The Herdmaster has offered these terms, not the formal surrender of his herd. I am not to have my foot on any fi’s chest. This was made clear. Do you understand?”

“I understand. Have you a time period for the evacuation of Earth?”

“No. I’m not sure they can enforce it anyway. The fithp can split into smaller herds, and it’s possible the ones in Africa won’t leave…”

“Dawson! Dawson, come in, Dawson!”

“Africa can take care of itself,” General Toland said. “Hell, the snouts can’t fight with nobody to drop meteors for them. Let the Zulus have ’em.”

“No threat to us, agreed,” Admiral Carrell said. “Did they cut Dawson off?”

“Dawson here. They didn’t want me to say that. They should have let me finish. The ones in Africa won’t matter! They’ll be glad to call a truce. They don’t want Kansas. Mr. President, I cannot tell you what’s happening outside. Do you know?”

“Wes, we’re in communication with the Archangel. The commander is General Gillespie. They expect to destroy the enemy mother ship within two hours. Certainly we know what’s happening.”

“The Herdmaster wants me to repeat the offer. You call off — what did you call it? Archangel? Good name! You call off Ed Gillespie, and they’ll use the digit ships to rescue Michael and the smaller ships. Everyone who wants to leave Africa will get a chance. Any that stay won’t be a problem. They’ll tell us how to build an interstellar drive. Mr. President, they’re prepared to destroy all the plans for that drive. They’ve been planning this for years, since before they ever reached the solar system. They planned to surrender the interstellar drive if they couldn’t defeat us.”

“Should we take this offer?” the President asked.

“I’m sorry, President Coffey. I don’t know enough and it’s not my choice. They made a previous offer I decided not to transmit. Mr. President, they’ll give you — it’s about ten minutes. They say they’re mobilizing to fight Archangel, I don’t know what with. They say that once they start doing that they will have no reason to surrender.”

“Are they listening to me? Can they understand?”

“They’re listening. Some understand.”

“Tell them they will have to wait while I get advice.”

“They understand that, sir.”

“All right. Hang on …”

“They want you to have Archangel stop shooting while you decide. The reason they want to negotiate is to keep you from damaging Thuktun Flishithy, because it’s carrying all their females and childr—”

“Wes. Wes, what’s happened?”

A strange voice, cold, sibilant, spoke. “This is Teacher Takpusseh-yamp. Go seek your advice. We will listen.”

“Get Michael,” Admiral Carrell ordered.

“Can he tell us enough?” President Coffey wondered aloud.

“Whatever he knows, we’ll need to talk with him,” Carrell

“Michael, this is Gimlet. Michael, this is Gimlet.”

“Go ahead, Gimlet.”

Jenny motioned to Admiral Carrell.

“General, we’re pretty certain our codes are good, but you’ll excuse me if I use circumlocutions.”

“Understood.”

Mama wants to kiss and make up. We live in separate houses, only you have to stop projecting dinnerware at her right now. Great White Father needs a lawyer. You’re it.”

“Ah-Roger. Tell Big Daddy we don’t have lockjaw yet, but you never know.”

“Michael, have you enough dinnerware?”

“We are running short of dinnerware. The family car needs repair too. Can win the case, but cannot stop to discuss alimony.”

“Thank you, Michael. Carry on. Gimlet out.” Admiral Carrell nodded, speaking mostly to himself. “As I thought. If he stops now, they’ll outrun him. Michael fights on while we decide this.”

“Send for Hap Aylesworth, and get me the Threat Team,” the President said.

Nat had been waiting for the phone to ring. “Dreamer Fithp, Nat Reynolds here. We’ve been listening.”

“Mr. Reynolds, your opinion: what do we do about this offer? Accept or let Archangel go for the throat? Bearing in mind that Archangel might not make it.”

The others were crowded close around him, with Harpanet’s huge head protruding between sets of shoulders. They all looked like they were ready to jump down his throat.

Nat said, “Give us five minutes.”

“Take four.”

Nat hung up. “I’ll take a poll. Keep it short. Sherry?”

“They’ll honor a surrender. Take the offer.”

“Bob?”

Bob Burnham shook his massive white head. “It’s not a physics problem. Oh, if we let them go, they can go straight for the Moon; then they own us. But whether they’ll do it … Nat, you never liked my aliens.”

“Right. Curtis?”

“Nuke ’em till they glow, then shoot ’em in the dark. Sherry you can—”

“Cool it! Joe?”

Joe Ransom hesitated, spoke in a rush. “I abstain. It’s too even I wish Bob Anson were here.”

“We all do. So we don’t know. Discussion. One minute each. Sherry?”

“It’s not complicated. When they surrender, they stay surrendered.”

“Yeah, but — okay. Wade?”

“No. They’ll go back to Saturn, repair their ship, and come back with a fucking moon. We win now or we never do. As for surrender, bullshit, Sherry. The surrender a fi’ honors is a foot on the chest and join the herd as a slave. They haven’t offered surrender.”

“Joe?”

“By damn, they haven’t, have they? But they’ve been giving conditional surrender in Africa. They understand the concept.”

“Sure,” said Curtis. “Charnel House Books understands contracts too, but they don’t honor them! Sherry, if they don’t offer a foot on the chest you can’t argue that their reflexes are involved.”

“I haven’t heard you commit yourself, Nat.”

“Right. Harpanet? This is a peculiar case. You joined the Dreamer Fithp before you ever heard of a conditional surrender.”

“Not so. I know of such a case in our history.”

“Say on, but keep it short.”

The fi’ said, “There was a war. Others had been fought with nuclear weapons, and so was this. The South Land Mass Fithp evolved a disease that would feed on the edible grasses of the East Land Mass. They demonstrated this for the East Land Mass Fithp and learned that they had evolved something similar …”

“We don’t have time, Harpanet!”

“Lead me. The planet was harmed. More harm would come. Maybe all fithp would follow the Predecessors into death. The Herdmasters met and agreed to use the knowledge in the Sky Thuktun to build a spacecraft. The high ranks of one flthp would travel to the nearest star, which was known to house intelligence. When Thuktun Flishithy was prepared, the two fithp would gamble for who must leave.”

“Was the agreement honored?”

“It was. We are here.”

“Do you know of any other such event?”

“Ffuff. Within a flthp, such adjustments are common. Between fithp, very rare.”

“Okay.” Reynolds raised the phone. “Mr. President?”

They barely heard the knock through the thick soundproof door. Jack Clybourne opened it. Hap Aylesworth, fat, bearded, his hair a mess, came in. “You wanted me, sir?”

“Right with you. Reynolds?”

“We can’t agree. It’s a good bet they’d keep their surrender. There’s even precedent. We don’t like the size of the pot.”

“I don’t either. Thank you.” The President hung up. “Hap, I need advice. Have you been listening?”