Footfall

“Missiles. We’ve got five miles per second on those snout ships. The missiles only get one pass. They can’t hit us if we keep veering.”

“You hope.”

“Semper fi, mac. Let me know when you think you have a shot at something.”

“Yeah, sure.” The missiles were in the main compartment, and the big bay doors weren’t open.

The ring of green lights dropped away aft. “Go, baby, go,” Roy prayed. Talking to the ship. Why not? What else can I do? “Maybe we should open the bay.”

“No point.” The dreadful green lights were fading. “Our missiles can’t reach them either. Save ’em for Mommy Dearest. How long before we’re in range?”

“Maybe an hour, if we don’t get hurt, and they don’t get more acceleration.” Roy poked numbers into Atlantis’s computer. “Looks to me like they’re pouring on all they have.”

“So are we. Roy—”

“Yeah?”

“General Gillespie said Michael might not make it.”

“Yeah. I heard.”

“That leaves it up to us.”

“Well, there’s Challenger.”

“Heard from Big Jim lately?”

“No.” Big Jim Farr. Six four, only he managed to lose two inches in the official records. Laurie Culzer and Jane Farr and five kids were sharing a house in Port Angeles. “Think he’s had it, Joe?”

“I think we act like he’s out.”

“Which leaves us.”

“Which leaves us. Maneuvering. Stand by.”

The whole portside structure was hot.

“X-rays,” Tiny Pelz said. “What they don’t go through, they heat up. Efficient at it.”

Harry trailed air lines behind. The tanks in his backpack held an hour of air, but without cooling he wouldn’t live an hour. It was already uncomfortable. His trailing air lines were picking up heat.

Sweat pooled. When he jumped it ran down his face, his arms, his legs; when he was still it couldn’t run.

“I’ve closed seventeen-tango,” Harry reported. “Moving forward. I don’t see any breaks in this section.”

“Stand by. I’ll send over steam for a test.”

“Roger.” Harry put his helmet next to Jeff Franklin’s and turned off the intercom. “All we need. More heat.”

“Sure hope it holds — naw. Look.”

A thin plume poured out ahead: live steam, absolutely clear up to two feet from the break. “Kill the shunt,” Harry said. “We’re losing pressure—”

“Belay that,” Gillespie said. “Reddington, you’re a wonder. I’m getting some control.”

“You’re also losing steam.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Sure, if you take the pressure off!”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Harry,” Rohrs said.

“Yeah, I knew he didn’t mean it.”

“Harry, scout ahead. What’s it like on forward?”

“Hot!”

“Sure be useful to know—”

“Max, has anybody ever suggested you change deodorants? I’m moving forward.”

It wasn’t easy getting past the plume of leaking steam. Harry took it fast, then waited for Jeff.

The ship surged, then surged again. Gillespie sounded excited, “Goddam! We’re turning. Head for Big Mama. Coming around. Almost there… Jason?”

“Ready!”

“Acceleration. Stand by.” Harry grabbed for a ladder.

WHAM

WHAM

Harry slapped on a patch and braced against the bulkhead while Jeff Franklin ran the torch. Metal glowed where Franklin worked. He was almost done.

“Maneuvering. Stand by.”

“Shit, give us a minute!” Harry shouted.

“Stand by.”

Steam leaked from the side that Franklin hadn’t finished. Michael turned. Harry’s head swam.

“Maneuver done. Acceleration. Stand by. Jason.”

“Locked on and tracking. Take that, Mommy Dearest.”

“Acceleration.”

WHAM

WHAM

“Maneuvering.”

“How do you get a transfer out of this chicken-shit outfit?” Harry demanded.

“Well, you have to fuck up.”

“Fuck up. That’s my problem. All this time I tried to fuck off.”

“Maneuvering. Acceleration. Stand by.”

“Target acquired.”

WHAM

The gauge on his wrist said 40.1. Shit fire, why couldn’t they give me a normal thermometer? “Jeff, what’s 40 degrees?”

“About 105° Fahrenheit.”

“No wonder I’m hot. That’s what my suit shows.”

“Harry.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s not your suit temperature. That’s you. Inside.”

“That thing they rammed up my ass? One-oh-five? Jeff …”

“It’s dangerous but not fatal. What we have to do is cool off.”

“Sure. Where?”

“Acceleration. Stand by.”

WHAM

“Incoming.”

“Missiles dead ahead.”

“Target acquired.”

“Acceleration. Stand by.”

WHAM

“This is Turret Five. We have a target. Permission to fire.”

“Let her fly.”

WHAM

“Maneuvering. Stand by.”

Steam poured out through the leak. Harry braced a pry bar against one bulkhead and wedged the other end against the patch plate. “Hammer.” He felt it in his right hand. He grabbed a handhold with his left, then pounded on the pry bar. “I got that one. Hit it with the welder. I’m going forward.”

The next compartment held a storage area for welding equipment, and cooling air outlets. Harry tested the air pressure. “Goddam, Jeff, cool air!”

“Be right with you.”

Harry gratefully found a corner to wedge himself into. Presently Jeff Franklin joined him. The ship continued to accelerate.

Franklin talked to the control room. “We need some time. We’re getting goofy with the heat.”

“Take ten minutes.”

“It’ll have to do.”

Had Franklin been acting goofy? Harry hadn’t noticed. But the cool felt wonderful, as if his skin were drinking a good brand of beer. The air jetted through his suit, and he waved his arms and legs to let it through.

There were no digit ships now. Atlantis’s screen showed only the prime target — unmistakably the Mother Ship now, short and wide, as in the last transmissions from Kosmograd, and riding a spear of violet-white light. The drive flame was swinging around.

“Trying to lose us,” Jay Hadley gloated.

The Shuttle’s thrust dropped suddenly. Roy started violently. “Relax,” Jay said. ChunkChunk: the empty main tank was free. Attitude jets popped, and Atlantis eased back until the Mother Ship was behind the main tank.

“They can’t get loose now. They can’t turn fast enough. We’re on intercept and in missile range. Let’s see what happens. Are you going to open the bay?”

“Not just yet. We’re too fragile with the bay open. You know damn well what they’ll do when we’re in range.”

“They’re doing it now. I saw missiles before I turned us.”

“Yeah?” Intercept. Roy couldn’t make himself feel surprised. He’s going to ram. He didn’t even ask me.

The Shuttle main tank was a green-edged black shadow, growing brighter. Big Mama had its own defenses. The main tank must be boiling. And suddenly the main tank’s black shadow vanished in half a dozen simultaneous flares. Missiles were homing on the explosions of other missiles. The Shuttle turned, and Roy felt the solid thumps of fragments impacting the tile shielding. There would be no reentry for Atlantis.

Jay reached down to move lever arms that protruded through the floor. These were new: they co

It might hide Atlantis… but there was no hiding Big Mama. Her drive flame must be visible across half the world. Jay was firing the EMU motors, the smaller jets that co

“Still on intercept?”

“Yeah.”

“Opening the bay. Let’s get closer before we loose the birds. If you did everything right—”

“They’ll think we’re dead.” Jay laughed.

The gauge showed Harry’s internal temperature at 39 degrees. I’ve gained some. Not enough.

“Incoming. Hang on.” Oh, shit. Michael shuddered.

“We took something, portside forward,” Gillespie said.