Destroyer of Worlds by Larry Niven Page A

rules. Every so often it would get into a heated argument with Jeeves, speaking through Sigmund’s comm, about fine points of translation. Within minutes Er’o had been teaching Jeeves more than the other way around.
    â€œWe can begin,” Er’o said abruptly.
    Sigmund had just been thinking that. “All right. Why did you contact us?”
    â€œFor most of our history, the roof of the world was ice. Then we discovered that the universe is a much bigger place. Ever since, the sky has fascinated us, and we have put considerable effort and resources into”—quick consultation with Jeeves in Tn’hoth—“astronomy. Perhaps we would watch less if, like you, we could travel faster than light.”
    Eric blinked. Sigmund hoped with little conviction that Er’o would be slower to master body language than the spoken variety.
    â€œHow do they know?” Baedeker yelled from the safety of his cabin. “We must find out!”
    The howl went straight to Sigmund’s earplug speaker. He put a finger up to his ear, pretending to scratch. The pressure cranked down the amplification.
    How
was a good question, and Sigmund would follow up. First, though, he wanted an answer to his own question. “And what have your astronomers seen?”
    â€œSomething unusual moving through space, more or less toward us. At sublight speeds, but fast.”
    â€œThe Fleet?” Baedeker asked, loud despite the lowered setting of Sigmund’s earplug.
    Maybe, Sigmund thought. Five worlds accelerating through space looked scary enough to him. “Can you describe it, Er’o? Better, are there images we can see?”
    â€œImages would be best,” Er’o said. It unclipped one of the devices that dangled from its harness. “This is at the limits of resolution of our instruments.” A hologram appeared, ghostly faint. “My apologies. This projector is designed for use under water, not in air.”
    Sigmund dimmed the relax-room lights nearly to off. His eyes adapted and details emerged. Stars, all in shades of red. Lurid dust clouds. Here and there, momentary sparkles. The projection was some sort of time-lapse graphic, because the clouds seemed to change.
    Whatever this was, it wasn’t the Fleet. It wasn’t New Terra.
    â€œI don’t recognize the starscape.” Eric rapped once on a leg of his chair, addressing his comment to Jeeves, then twice more in quick succession.
    The double tap signified Kirsten, sitting unhappily on the bridge at the launch controls. And at the weapons console. Sigmund didn’t trust Baedekerto use the laser if a reason arose—or not to run for home without reason.
    â€œMe, either,” Kirsten said, sounding embarrassed by the admission.
    â€œI’ll see if I can match it,” Jeeves said into Sigmund’s earplugs. “It may take a while.”
    Meanwhile, Sigmund thought, there were other things to clarify. “Er’o, you said, fast. How fast?”
    The Gw’o had flattened itself on the table, and Sigmund guessed it must miss the effective weightlessness of the ocean. It raised a limb tip and wiggled it about. “There is no single answer, Sigmund. Local variations span the range from rest to four-fifths light speed.”
    â€œWhat about overall?” Baedeker asked in Sigmund’s earplugs.
    Sigmund repeated the question.
    The Gw’o waved the tentacle tip again. “In the short time we have been watching, the overall phenomenon has been propagating at about two-fifths light speed. Modeling of the turbulence is inconclusive.”
    Sigmund was feeling dim-witted again, like Dr. Watson to an alien Sherlock Holmes, when Jeeves interrupted.
    â€œI’ve matched stellar configurations,” Jeeves announced via earplug. “As for why the image looks so odd, Gw’oth appear to be blind across most of what humans consider the visible spectrum. I’ll send an adjusted