Footfall

“I’ve talked to spaceborn. They don’t remember. They don’t miss it. Tulk, we’ve started the war, and that is well. But if we have to back off, we know the natives can’t follow us. We should be prepared for this. A generation hence we may be trading with them, nitrogen for refined metals—”

“Trading? With fragile, misshapen things that look like they would fall over any moment?”

“Isn’t that better than enslaving them into the Traveler Herd? We would then be living with them, Can you picture them as our equals, generations from now? That is the fate of successful slaves.”

He laughed as she flinched from that picture. “It won’t hurt to keep those now in power a little unbalanced. I want to keep their minds working. The dissidents are doing something worthwhile.”

That dangerous, destructive humor. She simply hadn’t noticed in time.

Fathisteh-tulk was not mad, exactly. Not suicidal. He would never hurt the Traveler Tribe or his family or their cause. But political interactions just didn’t mean anything to him anymore. Nor did his mate’s authority in matters of family. In the twelve years that passed between her first and second pregnancies, he had lost his sense of these nuances too.

“We are at war,” she said. “When a herd moves it must not scatter to the winds.”

“It may be a needless war. Certainly these think so.”

“Let them do their work without your support. You’re damaging the position of all sleepers. The first step is docility.”

“We have not joined a new tribe. Our tribe was captured from within. Tulk, it may be that I am wrong. I intend to find out.”

“How?”

But that he would not tell her.

Jenny led the way inside. The large conference room was filled with sound, although there weren’t more than a couple of dozen people in the room. Knots of people, mixed groups of science fiction writers, uniformed officers, and civilian defense analysts stood at blackboards, others around tables. Viewscreens had been set up to show what was displayed on the big situation-room screens. It reminded Jenny of the newsroom at JPL during the Saturn encounter.

There’s Ed. One of the officers was her brother-in-law, Ed Gillespie. She’d heard about his arrival, but she’d been too busy to see him. There’d been nothing useful in his report on the mission to deliver Congressman Dawson to Kosmograd, and Jenny had no time for social visits.

Jack Clybourne came in after Jenny. He looked nervously at the crowd in the room. “Seems all right,” he said.

But he watches everyone just the same. Jenny advanced into the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States .”

She got A reaction to that. All the military people jumped to attention. The science-fiction writers stared curiously; then those sitting down remembered their manners and stood. The babble quieted, although there was an undertone of whispered conversation.

The President came in with Admiral Carrell and General Toland. He looked blankly at the large mom with its disorderly crowd.

“Carry on,” Admiral Carell said. “Well, Major? It’s your show.”

“Yes, sir.” Jenny led the way to the blackboard where Ed Gillespie stood with the group of writers who’d been chosen as spokespeople. Anson, of course. He doesn’t look very strong. Dr. Curtis. Joe Ransom. I guess Sherry Atkinson was too shy — By the time the President arrived the writers were talking to each other, but they fell silent when he reached them, The President nodded to Ed Gillespie. “Glad to see you, General.” He turned to let Jenny introduce him to the writers.

“Mr. President, this is Robert Anson. He’s the senior man among the writers.”

“Mr. President,” Anson said formally. He introduced the others.

“David Coffey,” the President said. “Major Crichton says you’ve got something for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Anson said. “Thank you for coming. I’ll not waste more time in pleasantries. First. It now seems clear that their objective is conquest, either of the Earth or of a substantial part of it. The evidence says they want it all.”

“What evidence is that?” the President asked. He sounded curious, rather than demanding.

“They chose to attack the United States ,” Anson said. “Clearly the strongest nation on Earth.”

“But—”

Anson fell silent at the interruption, but when the President didn’t say anything else, he continued. “Clearly the strongest nation, at least as seen from space. Roads, dams, cities, cultivated lands, harbors, electronic emissions — all would indicate that the United States is the dominant nation.” Anson looked around as if for contradictions, but no one said anything. “Yet they chose to land here, and according to all the intelligence reports we have, they’re setting up a perimeter defense. As if they intend to stay.”

“We’ll see about that,” General Toland muttered.

Anson raised an eyebrow.

Toland looked around nervously. “We’re planning a big attack,” he said. “In about two hours.”

“With what?” Dr. Curtis demanded.

Toland looked at the writer with disapproval.