Footfall
Larry Niven
Jerry Pournelle
A Del Rey Book
Ballantine Books • New York
To Robert Gleason
* * *
Acknowledgments
The song "The Battle of Garfield," given as "by David Pfeiffer and Tim Lewis" is copyrighted by Frank Gasperik, and is used with his permission.
Bonnie Dizell helped us design the aliens, and contributed pencil sketches inclluding harness and gun.
The fithp language, and the thuktunthp, emerged during conversations with Bill Weldon and Laurie Reinecke (now Weldon).
Invading the Earth was Bob Gleason’s idea. He persuaded Pournelle; Pournelle persuaded Niven. (And Niven said, "I hope you broke it to him gently that it’s been done!")
A Del Rey Book
Published by Ballantine Books
Copyright © 1985 by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States of America by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New york, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 84-24205
ISBN 0-345-32344-0
Manufactured in the United States of America First Hardcover Edition: May 1985
First Mass-Market Edition: May 1986
Cover Art by Michael Whelan
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE DISCOVERERS
Linda Crichton Gillespie • a Washington debutante
Jeanette Crichton • her sister
Dr. Richard Owen • astronomer
Dr. Mary Alie Mouton • astronomer
Major General Edmund Gillespie • USAF astronaut
WASHINGTON
David Coffey • President of the United States
Mrs. Jeanne Coffey • First Lady
The Honorable Wesley T. Dawson • a Congressman from California
Mrs. Carlotta Trujillo Dawson • his wife
Roger Brooks • Special Assignments Reporter, Washington Post
James Frantza • White House Chief of Staff
Henry Morton • Vice President
Dr. Arthur Hart • Secretary of State
Hap Aylesworth • Special Assistant to the President for Political Affairs
Ted Griffin • Secretary of Defense
Admiral Thorwald Carrell • National Security Advisor
Peter McCleve • Attorney General
Tim Rosenthal • Secretary of the Treasury
Connie Fuller • Secretary of Commerce
Arnold Riggs • Secretary of Agriculture
Jack Clybourne • Presidential Protection Unit, Secret Service
THE SOVIETS
Academician Pavel Aleksandrovich Bondarev • Director, Lenin Institute
Lorena Polinova • his secretary and mistress
Marina Nikolayevna Bondarev • his wife
Boris Ogarkov • Party Secretary at the Institute
Andrei Pyatigorskiy • Assistant Director, Lenin Institute
Chairman Anatoliy Vladimirovich Petrovskiy • Chairman of the Supreme Soviet
Ilya Trusova • Chairman of the KGB
Dmitri Parfenovich Grushin • KGB officer
Marshal Leonid Edmundovich Shavyrin • Marshal of the Long Range Strategic Rocket Forces
SURVIVORS AND OTHERS
Harry Reddington • unemployed minstrel
Jeri Wilson • Senior Editor, Harris Wickes Press
Melissa Wilson • her daughter
William Adolphos Shakes
Kevin Shakes
Miranda Shakes
Isadore and Clara Leiber
George and Vicki Tate-Evans
Jack and Harriet McCauley
Martin Carnell • Show-dog breeder
Ken Dutton • Bookstore manager
Cora Donaldson • friend of Ken Dutton
Sarge Harris • friend of Ken Dutton
Patsy Clevenger • friend of Ken Dutton
Anthony Graves • friend of Ken Dutton
Maximilian Rohrs • general contractor, Bellingham
Evelyn Rohrs • former Washington socialite
Ben Lafferty • Sheriff Whatcom County, Washington
Leigh Young • Deputy Sheriff
Whitey Lowenthal • welder
Carol North • citizen of Lauren, Kansas
Rosalee Neill • citizen of Lauren, Kansas
KOSMOGRAD
Colonel Arvid Pavlovich Rogachev • Commander of Kosmograd
Nikolai • onetime Sergeant, Red Air Force
Allana Aleksandrovna Tutsikova • Deputy Commander
Dr. Giselle Beaumont • French scientist
The Honorable Giorge N’Bruhna • Nigerian politician
Captain John Greeley • USAFU astronaut
THE FITHP
Herdmaster Pastempeh-keph
Advisor Fathisteh-tulk
K’turfookeph • the Herdmaster’s mate
Chowpeentulk • Advisor’s mate
Fookerteh • the Herdmaster’s son
Attackmaster Koothfektil-rusp
Defensemaster Tantarent-fid
Breaker-Two Takpusseh (later Takpusseh-yamp)
Breaker-One Raztupisp-minz
Fistareth-thuktun • priest and historian
Koolpooleh • male assistant to Fistarteh-thuktun
Paykurtank • female assistant to Fistarteh-thuktun
Octuple leader Pretheeteh-damh
Tashayamp • female assistant to Takpusseh (later his mate)
Octuple Leader Chintithpit-mang • sleeper
Shreshleemang • Chintithpit-mang’s mate
Eight-cubed Leader Harpanet
Eight-cubed Leader Siplistepth
Rashinggith • warrior (Year Zero Fithp)
Birithart-yamp • warrior in Africa
Pheegorun • warrior in Africa, died by spear
Thiparteth-fuft • guard officer
COLORADO SPRINGS
Sergeant Ben Mailey • U.S. Army
Sherry Atkinson • Threat Team Member
Robert and Virginia Anson • Threat Team Members
Nat Reynolds • Threat Team Member
Joe Ransom • Threat Team Member
Wade and Jane Curtis • Threat Team Members
Bob Burnham • Threat Team Member
Lieutenant General Harvey Toland • U.S. Army
The Honorable Joe Dayton • Speaker of the House
Senator Alexander Haswell • President Pro Temps of the Senate
Senator Raymond Carr • Senator from Kansas
JAYHAWKS
Juana Trujillo Morgan • wife of Major Morgan
Lieutenant Colonel Joe Halverson • Kansas National Guard
Major David Morgan • Kansas National Guard
Captain Evan Lewis • Kansas National Guard
Corporal Jimmy Lewis • Kansas National Guard
Captain George Mason • Kansas National Guard
WARRIORS AND PRISONERS
John Woodward • Prisoner
Carrie Woodward • Prisoner
Alice MeLennon • Prisoner
Gary Capehart • Prisoner
Ensign Jeff Franklin • Crewman, "Michael"
Hamilton Gamble • Crewman, "Michael"
Dr. Arthur Grace "Tiny" Pelz • Crewman, "Michael"
Michael Jason Daniels • Crewman, "Michael"
Samuel Cohen • Crewman, "Michael"
Roy Cuber • Shuttle Pilot
Jay Hadley • Shuttle Pilot
Commander Anton Villars
• Captain, USNS Ethan Allen
Colonel Julius Carter • U.S. Special Forces
Lieutenant Jack Carruthers • U.S. Special Forces
Lieutenant Ivan Semeyusov • Soviet Expeditionary Force
Brant Chisholm • South African farmer
Katje Chisholm • his wife
Mvubi • Zulu warrior
Niklaus Van Der Stel • Afrikaner Commando
PROLOGUE
Where are they?
—Enrico Fermi
The Fifth Part of the Year Three
Within its broad array of nested rings, the planet was a seething storm. It had always been so. Patterns chased themselves across its brown-on-brown face in bands and curlicues. The space around it churned with activity: billions of icy particles in a broad array of nested rings; eights of moons; streamers of dust whipped by powerful magnetic fields; all whirling around at terrific velocities, at several makasrupkithp per breath. Message Bearer maneuvered within that storm.
The Herdmaster’s Advisor, gazing raptly through the thick double window, seemed to notice only the beauty of the scene.
The Herdmaster found that irritating. His own domain included collisions, industrial operations, internal quarrels, and the peaceful integration of sleepers with spaceborn. He had quite enough problems without . . . that.
Message Bearer’s main telescope was the equal of any astronomical installation on the world they had left behind. The alien probe was close now, by astronomical standards, and the screen showed it in fine detail. A circular antenna. A pod at the tip of a long boom radiated infrared warmth. That would be the power supply. Two more booms thrust instruments outward. Clasp digits with me, that I may know your herd! One extension held what had to be cameras, the other some kind of electronic sensing device.
Sixty-four sleepers, the Breaker’s team, were working now to infer what they could about the creatures who had built that machine. They hadn’t told the Herdmaster anything useful. When the camera platform began to turn, the Herdmaster’s digits flexed restlessly.
"You made your decision half a year ago," Advisor Fathistehtulk said placidly. "You did not destroy it then. How can you destroy it now?"
"Here is where their fragile spy probe must pass through endless orbiting debris, It must survive collisions, radiation, orbital fluctuations, and any unreal danger the prey may imagine. Here is where some mischance is most likely to smash it!"
"We agreed that the probe will find no trace of us. Message Bearer is tiny on this scale. Surely the probe is not seeking us: it was launched long before we arrived. But if there were something to see, yonder camera might have seen it by now. Some evidence of our presence, vivid in their receivers . . . and now comes a flash of light, then silence from the probe, ever after. Would that tickle your suspicions?"
"If you were Herdmaster, would you continue to worry?"
That was cruel. At the beginning of things, Fathisteh-tulk had been Herdmaster. He had entered his death-sleep expecting to be Herdmaster again. In his present subservient position the concerns of a Herdmaster seemed not to bother him at all. Sometimes Herdmaster Pastempeh-keph wondered if he was being mocked.
"Were I Herdmaster," the Advisor said placidly, "I would do as you have done. Rest quiet while the probe passes through. Make no attempt to move the ship, send no message to our work force on the Foot. Let the probe pass. When the second probe comes, we will be established on the Foot. Let them try to distinguish us against an unknown background."
And he turned from the telescope screen, perhaps pointedly, to gaze on the great brown-patterned world and its vast rings.
The Herdmaster said, "I worry. For much of their history the prey must have studied this . . . great gaudy ornament in their sky. They would know what to expect better than we do after less than a year. What have we missed?"
Outside the broad main ring system, a narrower ring still roiled from the wake of Message Bearer’s drive.
November 1980
As she closed the gate and automatically picked up a scrap of paper that had blown into the yard, Linda Gillespie realized that she was beginning to think of this house—a typical California development split-level—as home. That would mike the second home since she was married. There had been three other places they hadn’t stayed in long enough to think about as homelike at all. Five moves in four years. The Air Force was a mobile service, especially for hot fighter pilots. The best place had been in Texas, when Edmund had been with the astronaut office, and they’d lived in El Lago.
But this couldn’t really be home. It was just a rented house, a place to stay during Edmund’s tour at the Space and Missiles Systems Organization in Los
Angeles. Now that he’d been assigned as a shuttle pilot, they’d move again. Back to Houston! That would be nice. Houston treated astronauts and their families very well indeed.
It was a gloomy Los Angeles November morning, chilly even through her cashmere sweater, with low clouds and fog. The air smelled damp, with a trace of the odor of smog. There was no sunshine, although by noon there would be. It wasn’t pleasant outside.
Inside was better. She poured coffee and sat at the kitchen table. Too early for Ed to call. He wouldn’t anyway. He never did when he was out of town. It’s all very well to be married to an astronaut hero, but it would be nice to have a husband at home once in a while. The Los Angeles Times lay on the table, and she thumbed through it.
She didn’t like to be alone at home, but she didn’t want to go anywhere, either. Ed could assure her she was perfectly safe, much safer than in
Washington, where she’d grown up, and she could believe him—but she knew Washington, and Los Angeles was a mystery. One San Francisco columnist kept teasing Los Angeles about being invisible.
There was also the Hollywood Strangler, and a man alleged to be the Freeway Killer was on trial for the torture sex murders of a dozen young boys. Great place to raise children. She folded the paper. Time to wax the kitchen floor, she decided. Ed didn’t care much, but his colonel would come to dinner next week, and Colonel McReady’s wife was inclined to snoop. Besides, it wasn’t that hard to do floors.
Ed wouldn’t approve. Not now. She grinned and looked down at her stomach. Didn’t show a bit. She wasn’t sick, either, and if it hadn’t been for the missed periods and medical reports there’d be no reason to suspect she was pregnant. Even so, Ed treated her like she was made of Dresden china. He carried out the garbage, did all the lifting, and worried about hurting her during sex.
That thought made her frown. Ed went all gooey over her pregnancy, but it turned him off! Maybe I’ll lose interest in a month or so. I sure hope so, the way he acts.
Linda poured more coffee. The telephone rang, startling her so that she dropped the cup. It was Corningware and didn’t break, but it clattered loudly on the floor, spilling coffee everywhere.
"Hello?"
"Linda?"
"Yes?"
"By golly, it is you! It’s Roger."
"Oh. How are you, Roger?"
"Great. Glad you haven’t forgotten me."
"No, I haven’t forgotten." You don’t forget your first, she thought. First love, first sex experience, first—a lot of firsts with Roger, back in high school and just after. And what should I say? That he hasn’t called in a long time, but that’s all right because I didn’t want him to? "Roger, how did you get our number?"
"We reporters have our ways. Hey, I’d like to see you. What about a really unusual experience?"
She giggled. "Roger, I’m a married woman."
"Sure. Happily?"
"Yes, of course!"
"Good. Good for you and Edmund, anyway. What I have in mind is in Edmund’s line. JPL. The Saturn encounter. Voyager is out there getting pictures nobody understands, and we can see them firsthand." He paused a moment. "It’s this way. I’m here in Los Angeles covering the Saturn story. Not exactly Pulitzer Prize material, but I took the assignment to get away from Washington for a while. So I’m
out at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory where the pictures come in. We get briefings from the scientists, and there’s science-fiction writers, and it’s a hell of a show. Let me pick you up on my way out, you’re almost on the way. I’ll have you home by dinnertime, and I won’t try to seduce you."
And Ed was gone for a week. "It’s tempting. It really is, but I can’t."
"Sure you can."
"Roger, my sister is staying here!"
"So what? I’ll have you home before dinner."
Linda thought about that. Jenny was off somewhere for the day. Saturn pictures. Reporters. It might be fun. "You said science fiction writers. Is Nat Reynolds there?"
"Yeah, I think so. Just a second, there’s a list—yeah, he’s there. Know him?"
"No, but Edmund likes his books. I bought one for his birthday. Think I could get it autographed?"
"An astronaut’s wife? Hell, those sci-fi types will turn flips to meet you."
Nat Reynolds was hung over, and it was far too early to be up. It was a miracle he’d made it up the arroyo to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory parking lot and got the Porsche into the tiny slot the JPL guard had showed him.
There were cars parked for half a mile along the road leading to where JPL nestled in what had once been a lonely arroyo. The sweet immediately outside the press center was nearly blocked by TV vans, and a thick web of cables spanned the sidewalk to vanish through open loading doors. The press corps had turned out in force, bringing almost as many cameras and crews as they’d send to the site of a bank robbery in progress.
The von Karman Auditorium was a madhouse. Nearly every square foot of floor space was covered by someone: scientist, public relations, press corps, most holding coffee cups or carrying bulky objects.
The press corps was divided. There were the working press and there were the science-fiction writers, and no doubt about who was who. The press was there to work. Some had fun, but all had deadlines. The SF types were there to gawk, and be part of the scene, and absorb the atmosphere, and maybe someday it would get into a story and maybe not. Their world was being created and they were here to see it happen.
This is Saturn!