Footfall

They, they, they, Je

“Let’s hope we don’t find out, then. What is the situation? What about the Russians?”

“They’ve been hit badly, but they’re still fighting. I don’t know what forces they have left.” Admiral Carrell shook his head. “We’re having the devil of a time getting reports. We used up half our ICBM’s last night, firing them straight up and detonating in orbit. The aliens got half of what was left. They seem to have targeted dams, rail centers, harbors — and anyplace that launched a missile. I presume they did the same to the Soviets, but we can’t know.”

“We can’t talk to them?”

“I’m able to communicate with Dr. Bondarev intermittently. But he doesn’t know the status of his forces. Their internal communications are worse than ours, and ours are nearly gone.” Carrell paused a moment and leaned against a computer console.

He’s an old man! I never really saw it before. And that’s scary—

“What about casualties?” the President demanded.

“Military casualties are very light — except for F-15 pilots who launched satellite interceptors. Those were one hundred percent. We’ve lost a number of missile crews, too.

“Civilian casualties are a little like that. Very heavy for those living below dams or in harbor areas, and almost none outside such areas.”

“Total?”

Carrell shrugged. “Hard to find out. I’d guess about a hundred thousand, but it could be twice that.”

A hundred thousand. Vietnam killed only fifty thousand in ten years. Nobody’s taken losses like that since World War II.

“Why don’t you know?” the President demanded.

“We depend heavily on satellite relays for communications,” Carrell said. “Command, control, communications, intelligence, all depended on space, but we have no space assets left.”

“So we don’t know anything?”

“Know?” Admiral Carrell shook his head again. “No, sir, we don’t know anything. I do have some guesses.

“Something seems to have driven their large ship away; at least it withdrew. The Soviets attacked it heavily. According to Bondarev they probably damaged it, but if he has any evidence for that, he hasn’t told me about it.”

Je

“Nothing, sir. We all know about claims. If I were a Soviet official and I’d just expended a lot of very expensive missiles, I’m sure I’d claim it was worthwhile too.”

The President nodded grimly. “Assume it wasn’t damaged.”

“Yes, sir,” Carrell said. “It’s very hard to track anything through the goop in the upper atmosphere — and above, for that matter. The aliens have dumped many tons of metallic chaff. This gives some very strange radar reflections.

“As far as we can tell, they’ve left behind a number of warships, but the big ship withdrew. We think they headed for the Moon.” Admiral Carrell’s calm broke for a moment. “God damn them, that’s our Moon.”

“Have we heard from Moon Base?”

“Not ours, and the Soviets have lost contact with theirs. I think they’re gone.”

Fifty billion dollars. Most of our space program. Damn!

The President looked older by the minute. “What do we know about their small ships?”

Carrel shrugged. “They have several dozen of them. We say small, but the smallest is the size of the Enterprise . I mean the aircraft carrier! We shot some of them out of space. I know we got two, with a Minuteman out of Minot Air Force Base. Then they clobbered Minot . We think the Russians got a couple too.”

“None of which explains why they ran away,” the civilian said.

“Mr. President, this is Mr. Ransom, one of my Threat Team,” Admiral Carrell said, “He and his colleagues are the only experts we have.”

“Experts?”

“Yes, sir. They’re science-fiction writers.”

Who else? And the President isn’t laughing …

“Why did they run away, then, Mr. Ransom?”

“We don’t know, and we don’t like it,” Ransom said. “Back in the Red Room you can get a dozen opinions. Curtis and Anson are back there trying to get a consensus, but I don’t think they’ll do it. The aliens could have their mates and children aboard that main ship. They came a long way.”

“I see,” David Coffey said. He looked around the big control room. “Is there somewhere I can sit down?”

“You’d do better to get some rest,” Admiral Carrell said.

“So should you.”

“After you, sir. Someone has to be on duty. We might get through to the Russians again.”

This time Je

Carrell’s smile was forced. “Yes. It is ironic. However—”

He broke off as red lights flashed and a siren wailed through the enormous room. The Admiral took a headset from one of the sergeants. After a moment he said, “They haven’t all left. They just hit a major highway junction.”

“Highway junctions. Railroad yards. Dams.” the President muttered.

“Yes,” Admiral Carrell agreed. “But not cities or population centers. San Diego but not New York harbor. Cities along major riven are flooded, some severely. Some parts of the country are undamaged but have no electricity. Others are without power, and effectively isolated. Some places have electric power and are utterly untouched. It’s an odd way to fight a war.”

Message Bearer hummed. The vibration from the main fusion drive was far higher than any normal range of hearing; but it shook the bones, and it was always there. Sleepers and spaceborn alike had learned to ignore it during the long days of deceleration into Winterhome system. It could not be sensed until it was gone.

… It was gone. Thrust period was over. The floor eased from under the Herdmaster and he floated. Six eights of digit ships had been left behind to implement the invasion, while Message Bearer fell outward toward the Foot. The acceleration, the pulses of fusion light and gamma rays, had been blocked by the mass of Winterhome’s moon. Let Winterhome’s masters try to detect her, an inert speck against the universe.

The Herdmaster blew a fluttering sigh. Several hours of maneuvers had left him exhausted. It was good to be back in free-fall, even for a few minutes.

“That’s over,” he said. “Now we’ll trample the natives a little and see what they do.”

“It’s their terrain. We will lose some warriors,” Fathisteh-tulk’s lids drooped in sleepy relaxation, and the Herdmaster spared him a glare. The Herdmaster’s Advisor had himself been Herdmaster; he could have saved the Herdmaster this chore, spared him for other work … except that spaceborn warriors might not take his orders. He was a sleeper; his accent marked him.

So he was being unjust. But Fathisteh-tulk enjoyed the situation. The Herdmaster sighed again and turned to the intercom. “Get me Breaker-Two.”

Takpusseh too spoke with the archaic sleeper accent, He stood at a desk littered with alien artifacts.

“You have spoken with the prey,” the Herdmaster asked.

“I have spoken with one of them, Herdmaster. This one is of the Land Mass Two herd that babbled to us as we approached. Some of the others speak that language, but they are not part of that herd.”

“What have you learned?”

“Herdmaster, I do not know what we learned from that interview. Certainly that herdless one did not submit.”

The Herdmaster was silent for a moment. “It was helpless?”

“Herdmaster, I sent an armed octuple to fetch it. I left it naked, and required it to stand before my table. It demanded explanations. It was abusive!”

“Yet it lives? You show remarkable restraint.”

Takpusseh vented a fluttering snort. “I did not understand all it said at the time. It was only after it was sent back to the restraining pen that we listened carefully to the recordings. Herdmaster, these are alien beasts. They do not obey properly. It will take time to make them a part of the Traveler Herd.”