Footfall

“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.