Footfall

I don’t shoot a man for being incompetent in the Devil’s work. I shoot him for being competent in the Devil’s work. Admiration for his technique is part of the process.

—LAURENCE VAN CORR

Four digit ships were coming near. They were half a thousand miles away, not close enough to use missiles, but close enough to show as brilliant, wavering green suns. That laser light must be boiling away Michael’s hull. Refrigerators chugged, pumping unwanted heat into Michael’s heat sink: the water tanks that had been two huge icebergs at takeoff.

The bombs were still going, WHAM WHAM WHAM, the spurt bombs were still raining into the blast, but Gillespie was on the radio link. “Shuttle One, I’m cutting you loose. Gunships one through six, I’m cutting you loose. See if you can damage some bandits for me.”

WHAM

WHAM

WHAM

quiet

Vibrating through the hull came chunkchunk sounds: mooring prongs releasing their passengers. Flames lit and pulled away. The exhausts of the gunboats were bright and yellow: solid fuel rockets. The single Shuttle flame showed faint and blue: oxygen and hydrogen. They swept away to do battle. Watch for bandits. Watch for damage. Watch temperature gauges. Listen, watch, and hang on. Constant chatter in the intercomm. “Too many digit ships,” Gillespie said. “If I can kill a few, I can outrun the rest. Jason?”

“Targets acquired. Fire when ready.”

“Acceleration. Stand by.”

“Get on the horn and tell the fly-boys to leave that nearest ship to me. Get ’em away from it. Fire.”

WHAM

“Bandits, eight o’clock high.”

“We’re getting an overheat amidships starboard.”

WHAM

“Request salvo—”

“Time problems.”

“I need it.”

“Roger. Say when.”

“Stand by. Targets acquired. Ready.”

The bomb placement cannon chugged almost inaudibly. “Acceleration. Stand by.”

WHAM

“Bandit, eleven o’clock low.”

WHAM

Harry’s teeth were clenched. The temperature starboard amidships was falling again. No major hits on Michael. A gunship flared brilliant green, held, died…

“Stovepipe Five; this is Big Daddy.”

“Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Four, scratch Stovepipe Five. I say again, scratch Five.”

“Bandit, eight o’clock low.”

“Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Three, I’ll take the new target.”

WHAM

“Request salvo.”

“Roger. Acceleration. Stand by.”

WHAM

WHAM

Three digit ships showed behind them as brilliant green suns.

“Temperature rising, ventral aft four.”

“Steam forming, ventral aft six.”

WHAM

“Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Three, scratch one bogey.”

Two brilliant suns aft.

“Big Daddy, this is Stovepipe Four, scratch Stovepipe Three.”

WHAM

WHAM

Temperatures fell toward normal. Two lights showed aft. The gunships were invisible, beyond the battle now, living or dead.

“Short break,” Gillespie said. “They’re trying to clump. They want to hit us in clusters. We won’t reach the next cluster for couple of hours.”

Thank God! Harry eagerly reached up to open his faceplate.

“Sounds like a good time for an inspection tour,” Max Rohrs said. “Get used to moving around in free-fall.”

“Hey, give us a break,” Harry said.

“I’ll suggest it to the snouts.” Harry fastened the faceplate again.

The ducts were roomy enough. They were square in cross section so that patch plates could be all the same size. What had been ladders, padded rungs welded into the sides, had been left for handholds.

Harry knew the ducts like the roof of his mouth. The trouble was that he kept bumping into the sides. Ensign Franklin stayed ahead of him. Franklin hadn’t helped build these ducts, but he had astronaut training in a weighted pressure suit in a swimrnii pool.

“Acceleration. Stand by.”

The ship surged. Gillespie was throwing the thrust bombs far back, using them less for thrust than to power the spurt bombs

Still, Harry snatched a rung only just in time.

“Where are we?” Franklin asked.

“About the middle of the Brick. That was the midpoint later tunnel we just passed. Port water tank below us. Here, this is top of the equipment bins.” He looked in, and Franklin peered past him. “Nothing shook loose. Welding and cutting equipment, patch plates — same size as the walls, you have to tilt them to get through the ducts—”

“I know.”

“Patches for steam pipes, the valve wheels, lines and cable nooses of the finest hemp.”

“’There was a girl who never laid me, but she made me scream’, The Five Thousand Fingers of Doctor T,” Franklin said.

“I like her already.”

“Yeah.” They continued forward. Harry tried launching himself from the rungs, bouncing slantwise from the opposite wall. Didn’t work. Best move was to parallel the rungs and keep the within reach. “It’s harder to move around than I thought it would be. Tires you out faster, too.”

“Yeah. That’s always a surprise,” Franklin said.