Footfall

Chowpeentulk knew enough to keep silent. She surged from the mud and left, dripping. Pastempeh-keph said, “Was there no another place where you and that other female could confront me?”

“Keph, she persuaded me. There are others who wondered too—”

“Don’t do that again. Now forget it, mother of my immortality The mating season flows always too fast.”

The column made slow progress across the veldt. Movement was impossible at night. The snouts had excellent IR detection equipment. On a good day the commando could travel thirty kilometers on foot.

They had learned that, and more.

Julius Carter wanted time to understand what he had learned: of the strange relationships between the Afrikaner tribe-they could only be thought of as a tribe-and the various black tribes.

Van der Stel, the thin Afrikaner who spoke of “Kaffirs” and expected blacks to call him “Baas” — but who also had genuine respect for the Zulu scouts, and always listened to their advice.

Mvubi, who seemed servile to van der Stel and treated Carter as an equal-but took his orders from Carter.

And the Russians, who understood none of this. Of the dozen who’d joined forces with Carter, only two spoke English, and none spoke any other language relevant to South Africa.

A strange country. It had been strange before the invaders came. Now—Now the whole Earth is strange.

Despite the chill wind, Carter sweated under his heavy pack load. They moved in small groups, slowly and carefully, taking advantage of every patch of cover, every depression in the ground. Up ahead Mvubi and his Zulu scouts were nearly invisible. A steady hiss sounded in Carter’s left ear, showing that his radio receiver was on. Mvubi wouldn’t activate the transmitter except in an emergency. A short, low-power transmission probably couldn’t be heard by the snouts, but why take chances?

“It is not far now,” van der Stel said. “When we reach those trees, you will see their spaceport. The missile can be fired from there.”

“Thank God,” Sergeant Harrison muttered.

Lieutenant Ivan Semeyusov looked disapproval at Harrison. Russian noncoms did not speak to their officers until invited, and good communists would hardly invoke deity. Colonel Carter hid his grin. “Give ’em a ten-minute break, Sarge.”

“Yes sir.” Harrison whistled long and low, knowing that Mvubi’s people would hear. Then he crawled back down the column to pass the word to the Americans and Russians.

Carter hunched in the lee of the best shelter he could find a wished he could smoke his pipe. How good is their sense of smell The wind blew continuously. He looked cautiously around weird landscape. After all these months, there was still the odor of death in the air. What is a black boy from Pruett-Igoe doi way down here? “At least the rain has stopped,” he said.

“It is cold for November,” van der Stel said. “Summer will late.”

If there’s a summer at all, Carter thought. November in South Africa should have roughly the same weather as May in Southern California, warm and dry, not this blustery cold. The Russian officer produced a package of cigarettes. “No,” Carter said.

The Russian officer put the pack away.

“This is a mad scheme,” van der Stel said.

“So? And why are you here?” Lt. Semeyusov asked. His mouth twisted into a deliberate grin.

Learning some manners, anyway, Carter thought.

“It is known that I am mad now,” van der Stôl said. “TI English found that all Afrikaners have the capability. Now v must show the olifants. Tell me, Lieutenant, what brings you far from home to aid me in my madness?”

Semeyusov wasn’t going to touch that one. “You are certain they will launch a large craft today?” the Russian demanded.

“Certain? How can I be certain of anything? Our friends at the spaceport, those who load the craft, say they believe it will be launched today or tonight or tomorrow. I have told you this. You think I deceive you?”

“Naw,” Lieutenant Carruthers said. “None of us think that mynheer. Ivan’s nervous. We all are.”

With good reason. Carter glanced at the sun. “Since we don’t know when they’ll launch, the sooner we’re in position, the better. Let’s get moving.”

“Looks like they’re about to button her up,” Carruthers reported He handed the binoculars back to Carter. “Last-minute loading—”

Julius Carter lay in the grass and turned his binoculars on where had been an airport, eight kilometers away.

The Sunday comics had taught him to call them “rocket ships. This was the first rocket ship he had ever seen. Shuttles didn’t look like this. Its belly was flat. It was the size of a building; made the nearby C-47 cargo transport look like a toy. Take the massive cone off the back and it would look more like an airplane, but not very. Too short, too wide, too little in the way of fins. The only windows were on a canopy the size of a 727 fuselage, and that was underneath the nose. The point of the nose glittered like a lens, but it wouldn’t provide a view. A laser cannon?