The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [149]
Blaine rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We’re fighting a plague. Maybe killing MacArthur stopped it. We can hope. Listen, we’re a little busy now. What’s your message?”
“Yes, of course. Captain, the three small craft which escaped from MacArthur have attempted reentry to Mote Prime. I am sorry, but none survived.”
Lenin’s bridge seemed to fog. “Reentry with lifeboats? But that’s plain silly. They wouldn’t—”
“No, no, they tried to land. We tracked them part way— Captain, we have recordings of them, They burned up, completely—”
“God damn it to hell! They were safe!”
“We’re terribly sorry.”
Kutuzov’s face was a mask. He mouthed: “Recordings.”
Rod nodded. He felt very tired. He told the Motie, “We would like those recordings. Are you certain that none of my young officers survived?”
“Quite certain, Captain. We are very distressed by this. Naturally, we had no idea they would attempt such a thing, and there was absolutely nothing we could do under the circumstances.”
“Of course not. Thank you.” Rod turned off the screen and looked back at the battle display in front of him.
Kutuzov muttered, “So there are no bodies and no wreckage. Very convenient.” He touched a button on the arm of his command couch and said, “Captain Mikhailov, please send cutter to look for the midshipmen.” He turned back to Rod. “There will be nothing, of course.”
“You don’t believe the Moties, do you, sir?” Rod asked.
“Do you, Captain?”
“I—I don’t know, sir. I don’t see what we can do about it.”
“Nor I, Captain. The cutter will search, and will find nothing. We do not know where they attempted reentry. The planet is large. Even if they survive and are free, we could search for days and not find them. And if they are captives—they will never be found.” He grunted again and spoke into his command circuit. “Mikhailov, see that the cutter searches well. And use torpedoes to destroy that vessel, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.” Lenin’s captain spoke quietly at his post on the opposite side of the big bridge. A score of torpedoes arced out toward MacArthur. They couldn’t go through the Field; the stored energy there would fuse them instantly. But they exploded all at once, a perfect time-on-target salvo, and a great ripple of multicolored light swept around MacArthur’s violet-glowing surface. Bright white spots appeared and vanished.
“Burn-through in nine places,” the gunnery officer announced.
“Burn-through into what?” Rod asked innocently. She was still his ship, and she was fighting valiantly for her life...
The Admiral snarled. The ship was five hundred meters inward from that hellish violet surface—the bright flashes might never have reached her, or might have missed entirely.
“Guns will continue to fire. Launch another torpedo attack,” Kutuzov ordered.
Another fleet of glowing darts arced out. They exploded all across the violet shimmering surface. More white spots rippled across, and there was an expanding ripple of violet flame.
And then MacArthur was as she was. A violet fire balloon a full kilometer in diameter, tethered by threads of green light.
A mess steward handed Rod a cup of coffee. Absently he sipped. It tasted terrible.
“Shoot!” Kutuzov commanded. He glared at the screens in hatred. “Shoot!”
And suddenly it happened. MacArthur’s Field expanded enormously, turned blue, yellow—and vanished. Automatic scanners whirred and the magnification of the screens increased. The ship was there.
She glowed red, and parts had melted. She should not have been there at all. When a Field collapses, everything inside it vaporizes...
“They must have fried in there,” Rod said mechanically.
“Da. Shoot!”
The green lights stabbed out. MacArthur changed, bubbled, expanded, fuming air into space. A torpedo moved almost slowly to her and exploded. Still the laser batteries fired. When Kutuzov finally ordered them off, there was nothing left but vapor.
Rod and the Admiral watched the empty screen for a long time. Finally the Admiral turned away. “Call in the boats, Captain Mikhailov. We are going home.”
33 Planetfall
Three smallish cones,