Claws That Catch

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Weaver looked at the combined sensor data from the dragonflies and tried not to flinch.

The good news was that the unreality node the Dreen were using was well out from the star and the Tree. Given Dreen known accelerations, it was going to be at least eighteen hours before the main body of the unit arrived.

The bad news was, he now knew what a Dreen fleet looked like in sensor data.

Useful information, but there was no way in hell they were going to be able to show it to anyone. Not with over sixty Dreen warships in the system. Seven of the emissions were higher than any previous recorded; one of them was so immense he had to wonder if the Dreen used planetoids. It wasn’t a patch on the output of the Tree even when quiescent, but it was a huge grapping emission for a ship. And it was definitely moving, albeit slowly. Change that estimate to about an Earth day. But about thirty minutes after they arrived, every human on the space station would be dead.

One megagrapper ship. Six uberdreadnoughts. Nine Dreen production dreadnoughts. Three capital ships, emission type unknown, probably converts. Seven grapping carriers. Seven. That meant upwards of four hundred Dreen fighters. The rest were what were identified by humans and Hexosehr as cruisers, destroyers and frigates. Of course, a half dozen destroyers were considered a fair match for the Blade II. This was…

“Well, that’s a hell of a thing,” he said, nodding calmly. “Captain Zanella, kindly ask Colonel Che-chee to join us in our quarters.”

System change over seven percent. Analysis.

‹Energy has been transferred to gas giants creating out-gassing. Method and reason unknown. Emissions from small units detected. Tentatively identified as space fighters or shuttles. Species unknown. Anomaly has changed configuration. Correlation?›

Correlation data preliminary. Analysis of energy spectra indicates inability of species to have effected change. More data must be gathered. Establish communications with Sentient 754-839-847-239. Send small-unit task group to anomaly. Possibility anomaly has fallen into new species’ hands. Attach ground combat task-group.

‹We are loyal.›

“A smaller unit has broken off the main fleet,” Captain Zanella said. “Smaller being a relative term. Six destroyers and three fast units about the same size whose signature we’ve never seen before. And they’re headed here. Estimate one day away.”

“Not much else in the system to head to,” Weaver pointed out. “Are you getting that puckering feeling in your bottom that I am?”

“Fast personnel carriers?” Captain Zanella said. “A boarding party?”

“They’re probably detecting the dragonflies and the changes in the system are going to be really evident,” Weaver said, shaking his head. “Maybe playing the music was a bad idea, but it’s too late to worry about that. Colonel Che-chee.”

“Yes, Captain,” the Cheerick said. “We are prepared to fight in space or on the ground.”

“Yeah,” Weaver said. “But are you prepared to run away?”

“Where are we to run to?” the colonel asked.

“Back side of the sun from them,” Weaver said. “By the Jovian on that side. The Blade’s estimated to return in no more than four days. Could be as little as two, God help them. Your mission is to load up on consumables, pick up your drop tanks and get out into the deep system and hide. Make contact with the Blade when she returns and tell her what this thing is.”

“I would remain by your side, Captain Bill,” the Cheerick said, using the only name they could say before having the Hexosehr translators.

“That’s nice and all that,” Bill said. “But there’s really no reason for you to die, too. We don’t have a way to escape and somebody’s got to be around to explain how this all went wrong. You just drew the short straw, Colonel.”

“Rotator guns here and here,” Captain Zanella said, pointing to two of the intersections. “That closes off the last two approaches to the control cavern. First and Third Platoon will engage the enemy forward, degrading their action capability and determining their action plan. Second Platoon will remain in positional defense, holding the control cavern. Smart mines set to rhino output along all the corridors. Thirty percent on the final two corridors. If the rest bypass them, it means we’ll be able to take out up to thirty rhino-tanks at the cost of not engaging any of the dogs or throwers. Commander’s intent is to hold this position long enough for the Blade to arrive. If it gets here before the main fleet, it may be able to extract noncombat personnel and wounded. Are these orders clear?”

“Clear, sir,” Berg said. The other two lieutenants just nodded.

“Camerone, sir,” First Sergeant Powell said, grinning. “Guess you got me the wrong sign, Two-Gun.”

“I’m planning on seeing the fields, First Sergeant,” Berg said. “We’ve been in worse predicaments before.”

“Name one.”

“That has to be a Dreen brain-ship,” Bill said, looking at the sensor data.

Three of the Cheerick pilots had remained, rotating out from the docking cavern to give the units inside information on the approaching Dreen. Bill sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just not know.

But he was getting a better and better look at the approaching storm. What had to be a Dreen brain-ship was an immense organic construction, nearly as long as the Tum-Tum Tree and actually massing more. It wasn’t a planetoid, but something made entirely of organic materials. The firepower was going to be immense. Enough to destroy the Tree? Well, it probably wouldn’t have to.

They’d taken a look at Dreen destroyers, or the leftover bits anyway, after the battle at Orion. If you stripped out the weapons systems and just left the engines and life-support, you’d be able to pack quite a few Dreen combat units in one. How many? Well, a lot more than the Marines were going to be able to stop, that was for sure. And the whole task-force, which was less than twelve hours away, would be able to enter the space dock. That meant cover fire from the destroyers for the landing phase.

“The Blade’s not going to be able to engage that force, sir,” Lieutenant Ross said. He’d been acting as the away mission XO and was examining the sensor data trying to find any way out of the trap the team found itself in. “Even if they arrive while it’s still in system. Just the fighters are enough to keep them back.”

The Blade attacked by slashing in at superluminal speeds, dropping out of warp for a brief moment and firing its broadside. Based on the results from Orion, when they’d only had one of the chaos guns, it should work well on a Dreen destroyer and even on the cruisers. It would require a large number of attacks to take out one of the dreadnoughts. It might be impossible to destroy the brain-ship. And each time it dropped out of warp, it was vulnerable to fire. It was only vulnerable for a brief window, but that was generally enough time for the Dreen targeting systems to get some licks in.

But its real weakness was the fighters. They could rarely hit the Blade, but by the same token the Blade’s targeting was designed for getting in close and hitting a big target. Coming in at plus the speed of light meant it had, actually, pretty poor targeting. Sticking around to get a better shot usually meant getting holes blown all the way through it. It was a PT boat up against battleships; stick and move was the only way to survive.

Dreen fighters were too small and too nimble for the Blade to effectively target. And there were going to be a lot of fighters. By itself, there was no way that the Blade was going to be able to do a damned thing about this fleet.

“We need to figure out a way to stop them,” Bill said. “Destroy at least some of them.”

“Well, sir,” Ross said slowly, “I don’t see us being able to slip any Marines on the brain-ship this time.”

“Neither do I,” Bill replied. “But there’s got to be something we can do…”

He looked at the sensor data, then pulled up the solar system map, plugging the information into a navigational program.

“Hmmm…”

“The thing is, we can either engage the main fleet or the approaching boarders,” Weaver said, bringing up the scenarios. “Both are going to cross the beam going to the xenon gas giant. If we engage the main fleet, we’re probably only going to get part of it; most of it is going to be off the elliptic. Ditto the boarders. But we can at least cut either one down.”

“We’re playing for time,” Captain Zanella said. “I recommend taking out the approaching boarders. Of course, that means some of my Marines might actually survive.”

“There would be a time window when we could all survive,” Bill said. “If we get most of the boarding group and the Blade gets here before the main fleet… Okay, that’s what we’ll do. Time to get the band together.”

“This is flipping nuts, sir, you know that,” Carpenter said, tapping his drum set.

“Yep,” Bill said, looking at the laptop propped in front of him. It had the estimated approach vector of the boarding task force on it and a projection of the beam that would fluoresce the xenon gas giant. The trick was going to be to get the beam to intersect the task force, before it realized it was in trouble. “But that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“ ‘Warriors of the World’?” Carpenter asked.

“ ‘Winterborn’?” Miriam suggested.

“My calculations, based on spectral data from the fluorescing planets, is that the optimum tonality is soprano vocals in the key of C,” Bill said. “Damnit.”

“And that would be…” Miriam said, grinning.

Change in emission from artifact. Change in shape of artifact. Change in solar output.

Send warning to boarding force, prepare for attack.

“I can see when you stay low nothing happens does it feel right?” Miriam sang, soft and slow to a quiet piano and muted drums.

Long enough for the system to warm up. Long enough for the shield to stretch out, covering the star and absorbing its full energy. Then the power increased…

Bill looked at the readouts then over his shoulder.

“Two… three… four!”

“STAND MY GROUND, I WON’T GIVE IN!”

she sang, putting every ounce of vocal energy she could into the powerful chorus as guitar screamed and drums thundered.

“NO MORE DENYING, I GOT TO FACE IT.

WON’T CLOSE MY EYES AND HIDE THE TRUTH INSIDE.

IF I DON’T MAKE IT, SOMEONE ELSE WILL…

stand my ground…”

The window had opened up as usual but something else was happening. All of the ships in the system were now highlighted and as the beam shot out from the powerful system, one by one outlines of the oncoming fast-movers blinked and blazed, then vanished. The defenders were watching the effect of the station on the ships even as Miriam shifted back to verse:

“We got four of the destroyers, one of the possible troop-carriers and a piece of one of the other destroyers,” Bill said jubilantly. “And all through the power of music!”

“If anybody says anything about Muadib, I’m going to strangle them,” Miriam said.

“What?”

“Sorry, obscure sci-fi reference.”

“Okay, sir,” Captain Zanella said. “I appreciate you making my job a little easier. But I’ve got a question.”

“Go.”

“What are you going to do for an encore?”

“Oh,” Bill groaned. “Captain, put yourself up for punishment.”

“That was just weak, sir. You shouldn’t try to get into a pun fight a cappella.”

“Speaking of weak! At least I’m in harmony with the group.”

“I think you’re sounding a discordant note, sir.”

“Stop! Stop!” Miriam screamed. “You’re making me want to pitch you both off the station… Oh my God. Now I’m doing it…”

‹Power beams used to cause excitation of gasses in the gas-giants. Task Group encountered one of the beams, either through probability error or intent, causality unclear at this time. Purpose of excitation phenomenon not understood. Unknown species probable cause of structural change and excitation phenomenon. Sentient 475-829-467-821 destroyed. Orders?›

Order fleet to maneuver out of elliptic to avoid beam. Order non-sentients to assault station and destroy enemy infestation. Sonic anomaly analysis?

‹Gravitational waves induced sonic response in hulls of ships. Reason unknown.›

Danger?

‹Nominal. Gravitational level too low to effect damage.›

“Everything has a harmonic,” Bill said, gesturing at the station. “Even this thing does. If you get just the right harmonic, you can shake it apart.”

“And this means what?” Carpenter asked, tapping his cymbal.

“So do ships,” Bill said, gesturing at the opaque wall of the cavern. “One of Che-chee’s pilots reported that he heard sounds when they were in space. I don’t see this thing being only for the people inside. The best view is going to be from in space. But you’re going to want to hear the concert. Space doesn’t propagate sound.”

“The gravitational beams you were talking about,” Miriam said. “You think we can use those to shake the ships apart?”

“It’s worth a try,” Bill said. “And, at the very least, I don’t think they probably have our taste in music. Maybe if we annoy them enough they’ll go away.”

“ ‘Those damned kids…’ ”

“Exactly. It worked on a neighbor when I was in high school…”

“Captain Weaver has something he thinks may take out some of the other ships,” Captain Zanella said. “But that’s not our problem for now.”

“Our problem is an unknown quantity of Dreen that are about to board this station,” Lieutenant Ross said.

“Exactly,” Zanella continued with a chuckle. “But with the captain taking out some of their ships, I figure we’ve got a fighting chance. They’re maneuvering to dock at the moment. Last minute suggestions are accepted.”

“Where’d we put those hibernating spiders?” Berg said, after none of the other officers spoke up.

“Like that one. Just like that one.”

“These things give me the creeps,” Lance Corporal Moorehead said.

The Marines had gathered up the hundreds of thousands of mostly quiescent space spiders in every available container and First and Third Platoons had carried them forward, scattering them along the approach corridors. Nobody knew if they’d attack live Dreen or not, but it was worth a shot. And they were great for cleaning up the battlefield.

“Just keep scattering,” Staff Sergeant Robbins growled. “And be glad it’s not with your hands.”

Alpha First was the most forward team, scattering the spiders along the corridors that had been first explored, right down by the landing platform the Blade had used. Most of the teams were much farther back, in the corridors that were certain to be used to approach the control cavern. But enough gear had been left scattered on the platform that the Dreen might use it for entry so it was decided to leave a few presents behind.

“I’m just saying,” Moorehead replied, tossing spiders as he walked along. “These things are creepy.”

“And I’m just saying scatter them and shut your gob,” Robbins said. He was about fifty meters from the platform, in view of it in other words, when a shadow swept over the crystalline structure. “Scatter faster! Scatter faster!”

“Alpha First reports Dreen landing on the same platform we used,” Captain Zanella reported. “Numbers unknown. I’ve left sensor pods behind to try to get a count, but none on the platform.”

“Go to it, Captain,” Weaver said, looking up from his equations. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to anticipate the harmonics; we’re just going to have to jam. I hope your troops can fight and listen to music at the same time.”

“You’d be surprised how often they do just that, sir,” Zanella said with a sigh.

“Now that Captain Weaver’s given up singing, it’s really not all that bad,” Lance Corporal Strait said. He was crouched at an intersection, peeking around the corner looking for the foe.

“Kinda strange hearing ‘Winterborn’ sung by a girl, though,” Corporal Hamilton pointed out.

“I miss the violin,” Sergeant Lyle said. “The synthetic just isn’t the same.”

“Face it, nobody does ‘Winterborn’ like — DREEN.”

“I didn’t think the Dreen played music,” Lyle said, triggering a burst of fire into an oncoming dog-demon. “I’ve never heard them play at all…”

“Third Platoon falling to secondary positions,” Captain Zanella said. “Prepare to pass them through your lines, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Berg replied. “I will not run, this is my place to stand…” he whispered. “Platoon, prepare to pass Third through the lines! And in the fury of this darkest hour…”

‹Report from non-sentient boarders. Moving forward in face of resistance from units identified as Species 27264. Ten percent casualties in boarding units. Ground Combat Level Four units entering combat. Organism 8139 detected on station. Per standard procedure, ten percent of combat units deployed to prevent infestation of ships. At least ten k units of 8139 detected. Organism has begun replication processes in unrecovered combat units. Organism infesting active combat units.›

Dreen sentient units did not get angry. They were created without true emotions. They could, however, get frustrated. The presence of Organism 8139 would mean that the entire station would have to be laboriously swept to eliminate them before any analysis of the station could be performed. Even leaving one of the little rat-bastards on-board meant the possibility of the entire station force becoming infested. And as for Species 27264, they had caused more damage to Dreen main worlds than any four species that had been assimilated over the last ten thousand years. Finding their home planets and wiping the pestiferous race from the face of the galaxy was a Dreen priority right up there with finding the last space spider in the galaxy and crunching it underfoot.

Sonic anomalies?

Even a dispassionate Dreen intelligence could place first priority on something annoying rather than vital.

‹Projections from station. Unable to intercept short of capturing station and halting projection.›

Order all ground combat units to assault positions of Species 27264. Ship units return and rendezvous with fleet to load ground combat units. Primary mission: Eliminate sonic anomaly.

And make a mistake when it got too annoyed by those damned kids and their caterwauling.

The space spider, Organism 8139, a biological combat unit crafted by the long defeated Nitch specifically to attack and eliminate Dreen, had been happy enough to just find the body of a dead dog-demon. The metal suit locked in final throes with the Dreen was less appealing. Only with Dreen did the space spider live to eat, only with Dreen metabolics did it get the space spider equivalent of a sugar rush. Everything else, even from Biology Four, was just survival sustenance and the organism was genetically programmed to avoid consuming anything but Dreen organics in all but starvation environments. However, when its young burst out of the creature, they found a veritable smorgasbord.

The dog-demon, per standard procedure, had been carried back to the troop carrier for processing. Its organics would eventually be used to create still more of the living combat robots.

Which meant that over a thousand units of Organism 8139 had just infected the Dreen troop carrier, a semi-sentient Dreen organism itself, from the point-of-view of a baby space spider just chock full of juicy goodness.

“Rotator gun nine down,” Gunnery Sergeant Juda reported. “Dreen at final junction two. First Platoon falling back to third positions. Multiple casualties.”

The problem with the corridors was that they had exactly no cover. The Marines had been soaking up fire in direct line of sight to the Dreen. Without the ability to stack and overwelm the aliens in the corridors, they’d also been soaking up casualties. Total Dreen numbers were unclear; they’d been destroying the sensor boxes as soon as they found them. But it was upwards of three hundred and that was just too many for the Marines to hold.

“This is where we draw the line,” Berg said over the platoon frequency. “They do not pass us, Second.”

“Dreen!” Sergeant Bae called. And then all hell broke loose.

Second, unlike the other platoons, did have cover. They had the low wall the platoon had sheltered behind on the assault on this same room. So they could pour fire into the mass of Dreen with minimal risk.

Minimal did not mean none. The Dreen were leading with thorn-throwers, dispensing with the dog-demons who had no long-ranged weapon. They also were throwing themselves into the Marine fire profligately, but that was working. Mass has a quality of its own, and the Dreen were using that quality to simply overwelm the fire of the Marines.

Berg’s indicators showed Wyverns dropping off the screen one by one, each one a soldier it was his duty to love, cherish and in the end use as a human shield if necessary.

“Gunny, bring up Alpha team,” Berg said calmly. The threesome had been held in reserve. It was often said that the last person to use his reserve won the battle. Berg knew damned well that he’d just lost this one. “Captain Zanella, I have three KIA, two suit-kills. I have sent in my reserve.”

“I’m on the line,” First Sergeant Powell said. “They’re not going anywhere, Two-Gun.”

As if in answer, there was a bellowing roar from down the corridor.

“These guys again,” Berg muttered.

The bellow could only have come from a rhino-tank — a rhinoceros sized and generally shaped organic tank capable of firing a plasma blast that could destroy a main battle tank. Its frontal armor was proof against any portable weapon the Marines had at their disposal and there were very few ways to get around that.

“Lieutenant,” the first sergeant said, “if you’d like a suggestion on how to take one out…”

“Been there, done that, First Sergeant,” Berg snarled. “This is not the time!”

Rhino-tanks were invulnerable on their front; even their eyes were deep-set in armored sockets smaller than the diameter of most bullets. But just after they fired their plasma balls, they tended to roar in what sounded to human ears like triumph.

If a suit could survive the plasma, a rare situation, a Marine could get one shot at the rhino. If he could recover fast enough from being in the near blast radius of the plasma. If he could effectively target a still small spot with all the damage his armor was going to have taken, including overload of all systems from EMP at the very least. If he wasn’t baked to a crisp.

Berg had done it. Once. But it had taken using pistols, since his machine-gun ammunition had chain-exploded from the heat of the plasma. And it had very nearly killed him. And he didn’t have his pistols.

But there were a couple of other ways to kill one. None of them particularly safe, mind you, but…

“Slap a limpet on?” Berg asked.

The rhino’s primary armoring was to the front. If a Marine could get a sufficiently powerful explosive onto the rear of its abdomen, it would take one out.

The problem was getting to the rear of its abdomen.

“Can we get somebody up to the door?” Powell asked seriously. Clearly the junior officer was not in the mood for humor. “Get it as it comes through?”

“Maybe,” Berg said, looking at the layout of the remaining platoon. As he watched, Dupras’s suit went offline. “If I’ve got anybody left!”

“Lurch, Corwin, on me,” the first sergeant said. “You keep their heads down, Lieutenant. I’ll take care of that rhino. My turn, Two-Gun.”

“Good luck, Top.”

The fire from the thorn-throwers had started to slack off. That wasn’t a good sign. It meant they were getting out of the way for the rhino-tank.

“For what we are about to receive,” Berg muttered over the platoon freq.

“Say again, sir?” Staff Sergeant Carr asked.

“An old prayer, Staff Sergeant,” the lieutenant replied as the snout of the tank came around the last corner. It wasn’t moving fast. The term that came to mind was “ominous.” “An old prayer, the Marine’s Prayer. You’ve never heard it?”

“No, sir,” the senior NCO said. He had many more years than Bergstresser in the Corps, despite Berg being prior service, so he was a little surprised the most junior lieutenant knew a Marine prayer he didn’t.

“It’s pretty simple, really,” Berg said, staying on the platoon frequency as the rhino-tank got lined up, spotted the enemy and started to charge its plasma horns. “It goes: For what we are about to receive, may we truly be thankful. Platoon, DOWN!”

The plasma blast filled the compartment with overwelming sound and heat. The wall had an opening, the same width as the corridor leading to it, directly in front of the corridor. The rhino-tank had targeted the starboard corner of the wall, where it had detected enemies sheltering.

Normally, the powerful plasma bolt would have blasted a wall to smithereens and destroyed anything behind it or around it.

In this case, the plasma released its titanic energy mostly in the immediate area, the wall effortlessly resisting its immense thermal and quantum power and shrugging off the blast.

That didn’t mean the Marines were safe. The plasma bolt was simply too powerful for that. Staff Sergeant Carr and Sergeant Bae were holding down the two corners of the wall. The plasma opened up Staff Sergeant Carr’s armor like a firecracker in a tin can, vaporizing the Marine senior NCO’s body. The blast only penetrated Bae’s armor, but the rush of stripped atoms turned him to a blackened hulk in a bare nanosecond.

Even Marines farther away weren’t safe. Ducksworth’s interior temperature rose to an astonishing two thousand degrees, giving the lance corporal just enough time to howl in agony before he began burning to death in his own personal crematorium. Lance Corporal Antti-Juhani Kaijanaho, Dancer, Prancer, Donder or Vixen, take your pick, was struck by the machine-gun from Sergeant Bae’s suit, which punched through his armor, fortunately killing him before the heat could really register.

Lieutenant Bergstresser shook his head to clear it and immediately checked his readouts. His suit was functional, incredibly enough.

But he no longer had a platoon.

The only suits reading as functional were Eakins’s and Gunnery Sergeant Juda’s. Eakins’s vitals indicated that he was out; unconscious, in a coma, it wasn’t clear.

“Gunny?” Berg croaked.

“Here,” Juda replied. “Here, sir. Grapp.”

“Well, you know the Blade motto,” Berg said. “ ‘It’s just us.’ ”

“Yes, sir,” Gunny Juda said, more forcefully. “Two items: Third Platoon now reports a rhino on the other corridor. And ours is advancing. Orders?”

“Yeah,” Berg croaked. “Keep your head down and hope Top can take it out.”

First Sergeant Powell had positioned his team well clear of the door. They’d been outside the blast radius of the plasma ball, but their armor was still hot as Hades.

“When it emerges, we’re going to have to move like lightning,” Powell said. “You can stop these things from moving with a couple of Wyverns if you give it your all. You two make sure it can’t turn this way. I’ll slap on the limpet.”

He waited for the beast to emerge, sure in his heart that they were all going to die. But the noncombat personnel were sheltering at the far end of the compartment, the same place the Nitch commander had made his last stand. If the rhino-tanks got through, there was no way in hell that they’d survive. And the entire battle would be for nothing.

He waited, patiently, then impatiently, then in annoyance.

“Top?” Lurch asked. “You’d usually hear them by now.”

“I know,” the first sergeant said. “Damnit. Where is the damned thing?”

“Third Platoon reports their’s has stopped,” Corwin said. “It just sat down.”

“That doesn’t sound right…”

Eric was tired of waiting, too. He didn’t want to give the rhino-tank another target, but he also was wondering what the Dreen were up to.

He finally popped up a sensor to get a look. Hopefully the rhino wouldn’t even notice the hair-thin wand.

The tank was stopped halfway between the last fork and compartment. It was trying to drag itself forward with its front claws, but since its rear was down it wasn’t getting very far. It tried to fire its plasma-horns again but the green glow faded and then popped out of existence.

As Berg watched, wondering what could have happened to it, it lay down completely and rolled over on its side.

Then he could see the malfunction; the rear of the rhino was a mass of purple spiders.

The spiders had found an opening where humans hadn’t, one that virtually every major organism possessed, and infested the body of the tank. Berg shook his head as the massive fighting-machine shuddered in agony and blood began pouring out of its beaklike maw. Finally, the thing gave a heaving sigh and was still. Mostly still. The body continued to ripple as the space-spiders fought over every last edible scrap.

In the end, a wave of spiders spilled out, hunting back down the passage and leaving only the less palatable armor draped over a skeleton.

“Turns out there were more than two rhino-tanks,” Captain Zanella reported. “The smart mines killed some, or at least wounded them enough that they were easy meat for the spiders. We don’t have a hard count, but there were over forty.”

“That’s an ugly number,” Bill said. He’d fought rhino-tanks before.

“Yes, sir,” Zanella replied. “But corridors are clear all the way back to the dock at this point. Well, they will be once we clear up the skeletons and all the new spiders. You can’t walk for stepping on them. Places you can’t walk for stepping on Dreen skeletons, either. And some of them are places we didn’t even hit them.”

“The Dreen ships?” Weaver asked.

“Gone,” the Marine reported. “Don’t know if they were fleeing us or the spiders or heading back for reinforcements. But they’re gone.”

“Casualties?” Bill asked, wincing.

“Eighteen KIA, four WIA,” the captain said tonelessly. “And thank you for not saying something like ‘butcher’s bill,’ sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Bill replied. “But that’s not many Marines left to hold off the Dreen.”

“The increase in spiders may make that moot, sir,” Captain Zanella pointed out. “As I reported, they’re now packing most of the corridors from bulkhead to bulkhead.”

“We have to assume that the Dreen fleet has a way of eliminating them,” Bill said. “They might have been surprised by this incident, but when the main fleet arrives, they’re going to clear the corridors. And with your handful of Marines, I don’t see a way to stop them.”

“Then the fleet has to be stopped, sir,” Zanella said. “And that would be up to you.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” Weaver replied. “Now everybody likes my guitar playing! Damnit, where in the hell is the Blade?”

“Damnit, we could have been back there two days ago,” Captain Prael swore. “I want to know what’s happening back at the anomaly!”

“The Hexosehr were adamant that we wait, sir,” the TACO pointed out unnecessarily.

“We could have picked up a group of scientists and been there by now,” the CO said. “Another six hours. The hell with this. Head for the Tree. Who knows what could be happening with Weaver in charge…”