Footfall

It pulsed like a digit ship, but more slowly. Half a breath passed between explosions. We taught them that, the Herdmaster thought. It looked bigger than a digit ship, smaller than Message Bearer.

Four digit ships, the lowest in their various orbits about Winterhome, converged on the intruder. The Herdmaster saw the pulse drive fail on one of them. He watched, and another died.

How did they do that? They’re killing my fithp! “Defensemaster, you lead Message Bearer now.”

“I obey.”

There were sounds. The screens showed sixteen mounted digit ships released from their ring around Message Bearer’s stern. They formed an expanding ring about the mother.ship.

“Prepare. No spin. Prepare.” The Defensemaster’s voice was sent through the ship.

Spin decreasing. Digit ships launched, to form a defense screen. And where are the others?

He had lost several himself, an hour ago.

There had been eight digit ships in twelve-hour polar orbits, passing repeatedly over various parts of Winterhome. Two of those had been attacked by missiles from the sea. Attackmaster Koothfektil-rusp had agreed with his assessment: the missiles were a diversion like the attack that preceded the bombing of the Kansas foothold. The prey had already aimed one missile at the fithp base in Johannesburg. Surely there would be more. Pastempeh-keph had set several digit ships to converge on Africa, ready to fire on missiles aimed at the African foothold.

Wrong! Five, perhaps six could not reach the intruder in time to fight.

He tapped rapidly, summoning knowledge. Four digit ships were already rising from the Moon. Those carried material to wherever the war effort needed meteors. But, though two were empty, though they had risen as soon as the enemy ship was sighted, they would not arrive in time. Still, meteors would be needed. The enemy ship had to come from somewhere.

The ships patrolling Africa: could he use them? Sixteen were in eccentric geosynchronous orbits: dropping low while they moved east, falling outward, drifting west while they arced around and fell back; but always over Africa. Ten of those were in the upper arcs of their orbit, above Message Bearer. Lower above Africa, the remaining six were low enough to engage the enemy. The Defensemaster was doing his frenetic best to coordinate their efforts… and three were not responding.

He eavesdropped … The fi’ talking to the Defensemaster sounded sick, or mentally deficient. He had something like hiccups. “… like a laser attacked us, but not like. Heat all through the ship, fuel pressure very high, as if light we cannot see was shining all through the hull. Gamma ray, it may be, but where do they find their power? We were eight-cubed of makasrupkithp distant!”

“Can you fight your ship?”

“No. We cannot breath, can you hear? Shookerint-buth has stopped. I can’t control my digits or my legs. Controls burnt out too.”

Enough of this. Mourn in daylight. “Defensemaster.” Tantarent-fid broke contact with the sick fi’. “You will be certain Attackmaster Koothfektil-rusp is aware of the situation.”

“Herdmaster, I’m doing all I can. What could he tell us?”

“Possibly nothing. This is your thuktun. I will see that he is told.” He gestured to one of his aides. “It is important that you and the Attackmaster coordinate digit ships for simultaneous attack.”

“It will be done, Herdmaster.”

“Talker, get me Takpusseh-yamp.” Be glad even of small benefits: the mating season was over. “Breaker-two, is Tashayamp available too? Good. Send Tashayamp to fetch Rogachev from the human restraint cell and bring him to the bridge. You come straight here.”

Night. Jeri lay curled against his chest. It was a frustrating experience, sleeping with a woman in a public place, a woman who did not care that her daughter knew what she did with Arvid Rogachev, but who would not let anyone see her behave improperly. Alien speech sounded. The room tilted sideways. Arvid felt Jeri’s nails dig into his arm.

The others stirred. “What is it?” Jeri demanded.

She believes that I know everything.

Dmitri shouted in Russian.

So does he. “Wait. What else can we do?”

Presently the door warning light came on. Tashayamp stood at the entrance. “Rogachev. You will come.”

Takpusseh-yamp moved at a slant. It wasn’t exactly a run, yet it was fast. His body tilted against Message Bearer’s awkward acceleration. Message Bearer was losing its spin. The Herdmaster must be preparing for acceleration.

The bridge was frantically busy. The Herdmaster summoned him with a wave, and pointed. “I want to know what to expect from that.”

Takpusseh-yamp looked at three displays of the sky. Black, star-sprinkled, with a crescent of Winterhome showing large — and a black dot that flashed light around its edge. There were sparkles in the flash.

“I am not a technician.”