Footfall

Harry was shoved back against his couch. In the moment before thrust resumed, the screens showed lines of spurt bombs leaving their rails on all sides. The spurt bombs looked like fasces, bundles of tubes around an axis made up of attitude jets and cameras and a computer. They moved in straight lines past the rim of the Shell, turning as they went …”

WHAM

Harry waited. Nothing. Then Gillespie’s voice in the intercom.

WHAM

WHAM

The nearer of the blinking lights had gone out. The view in one screen expanded once and again. Something showed dim against the stars. How far?

“Object in view, nine o’clock low.” Franklin had his voice under control now. He sounded like Chuck Yeager in The Right Stuff. “Might be Big Mama.”

“Roger. acceleration.”

Gillespie sounds tired already. Maybe he’s just bored?

WHAM

WHAM

Spurt bombs rained into the blast. The forward view jittered but that distant object was too blunt to be a digit ship. Other cameras swung in arcs… and that glare-green star was a digit ship, and it had found them with its lasers.

Harry switched the intercom to local. “Max, when do we turn the Shuttles loose?”

“Not for a while.”

“But—”

“Just now we can shoot anything that moves.”

“But if we wait too long—”

“Harry, we all have work to do. Ed flies the ship, we watch for bandits.”

“Yeah.” And when the ship gets holes in it, we go fix it. That’s democracy.

WHAM

WHAM

Harry lost count of the explosions.

“Blue fire around primary target,” Ensign Franklin said. He was shouting again. “Sir, I think they’re accelerating.”

“Roger.”

WHAM

WHAM

Harry’s universe was a madness of noise and jolts, as if a giant had put him in a garbage can and used the can for a field hockey puck.

Quiet.

“Looks quiet for a while. Keep your straps on, and take a break.”

Harry opened his faceplate. So did the others in the damage control section.

“I think we took out that first digit ship. The second is receding; it can’t slow down in time to hurt us, and the third is around back of the Earth. Odds are we won’t see another digit ship for the next hour.

“We’re moving toward the prime target. It’s running away. We’ll give the computers a chance to gather data so we can tell which way to run. God knows, big as that thing is, once it gets started it won’t turn fast! When we launch the Shuttles, we’ll have to switch over from automatic aiming for the laser weapons. We’ll hang on to the Shuttles and gunships as long as we can.”

“Enjoy,” Max Rohrs said. He took out a pack of cigarettes. “Anybody really mind?” He offered them around. Harry reached out eagerly.

Ensign Franklin said pointedly, “There are studies that prove smoking takes ten years off your life. Harry, you really ought to give that up.”

“Well, I don’t believe in statistics. What about Max?”

“He’s smoked so long it will probably kill him about—” Franklin looked at the wall chronometer “-now, and I’ll be in command of damage control.”

Nobody wanted a second cigarette. Harry tried to relax; half close his eyes, to look like Franklin and his two Navy boatswain’s mates. His three personal TV sets showed unchanging views down access ducts within the Brick. Harry began playing with the view. Steam pipes; more steam pipes; outside, looking past the attitude jets into the overhang of the nose shield…

“Bandits,” Franklin said. “Half a dozen pulsing lights, west and a little south… more of them… start just above the arc of the Earth, you can follow them up to the primary target. They’re all accelerating.”

“Got them,” said Gillespie.

Harry slammed his faceplate shut. So did the others, but more slowly, deliberately. The lights were far apart, and they changed with relation to each other. Don’t panic. Calmly and deliberately as he could, Harry adjusted his straps. No one was watching. Pity.

Michael’s nose was a thick shield, and the butt plate ought to stand up to anything. Turn either of those toward danger and you couldn’t be harmed. But if danger came from half a dozen directions …

WHAM

WHAM

WHAM

Michael was pulsing too, and the spurt bombs were throwing gamma-ray lasers. Death rays! Eat hot gamma rays, foolish Centaurans!

WHAM

WHAM

One of the pulsing lights went out.

“Another one… Bandit, south, just above Europe.”

“Stand by. Maneuvering.”

Harry heard the faint hiss of steam jets. The drive explosions stopped, and Michael was turning, before Harry spotted the other lights.

“Bandits to starboard. I think those are missiles.” Tiny flames, wavering against the stars.

“Roger.”

Blam. Blam. After the shocks of the drive bombs, the big antimissile guns were almost gentle.

“Stand by. Maneuvering. Acceleration.”

WHAM

They attack at night. They know us that well. For us it is night. For them it is day. I should have expected this. Do the prey have other surprises for me?

Already the Herdmaster knew that he had been tricked. He had been strapped to his acceleration pad for an hour now, on duty to handle further emergencies; but this was not what he had expected.