Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (39 page)

“Planets seemed to like it,” PO Carpenter said. “But you could tell it was written for a drum machine.”

“Well,” Miriam said, sighing. “I think that there's a band that you and Captain Weaver would prefer. I suppose we could try Manowar.”

“Mano . . . who?”

“Their blood is upon my steel!” Weaver screamed, head bobbing as he slammed the guitar, “Their blood is upon my steel . . .”

“That wasn't entirely awful,” Miriam said, taking her earplugs out. “You should consider getting into death-metal. You've actually got the voice for it.”

“Was that a compliment on my singing voice?” Weaver asked, amazed.

“Not really,” Miriam said. “I was thinking of something like Rob Zombie. You just sort of growl the lyrics. I'll point out that the lead singer of this band has a rendition of 'Nessun Dorma' on one of their albums that's good enough for the Met. But you didn't do too badly.”

“Like the drum part,” PO Carpenter said, tapping the snare drum. “Really got the argon planet flashing in the middle there.”

“I wonder how much mass we've blown off,” Weaver said, looking at the system. Even with the pause in the music, the tendrils of gas between the planets were still fluorescing from unexpended energy. They'd been playing, off and on, for long enough that there was now a solid band of gasses joining the Jovians.

Ke-cha had returned to his duties as a dragonfly pilot. They'd tried to work in the flute playing, but it really didn't work. The Cheerick was just as glad. After the first session he'd taken to wearing his flight-armor since it cut down on the decibels.

“I wonder what would blow the most off,” Carpenter said.

“Dragonforce,” Miriam admitted. “But we don't have four guitar players who can also sing. Or one for that matter . . .”

“So what do we have down so far?” Weaver asked, ignoring the jibe.

“I don't think we have any of it down,” Miriam pointed out. “Unless you consider a band playing at a high-school prom as having the music down. I suppose we could just play 'Cocaine' over and over again and it would be fine by you.”

“Perfectionist.”

“Neophyte . . .”

“Creative differences again?”

“We were just getting the sound right, you know . . . ?” Weaver felt more relaxed than he had in months.

“Okay, no arguing this time,” Weaver said, holding his hand up and lifting his chin. “We have six songs we all agree upon, more or less. We'll just practice those. That's enough for one set. Then we'll see what we can get this system to do. Miriam, just one question. Are there any of the '80s stadium band songs you can stand? Because that's big sound and we need big sound.”

“ 'Final Countdown,' ” Miriam muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Weaver asked.

“ 'Final Countdown,' ” Miriam muttered, somewhat louder.

“Spectre's Anthem?” Carpenter said, laughing. The former CO of the Blade, back when it was a submarine that snuck off planet by outrunning Akulas, would use the song, blasting at full power of the sonar system, to warn the Russian submarines he was coming through and they needed to get out of the way. Or whales for that matter.

“I like it,” Miriam said angrily. “Okay? Is that enough? I admit it! I've got the sound effects programmed already. I've also got a Whitesnake's Greatest Hits CD! Satisfied?”

“Just when you think you know somebody,” Weaver said. “Okay, let's try that . . .”

“Whoa . . .” Weaver muttered, watching the Jovians rippling in after-effect. “It really likes 'Fight For Freedom.' ”

“And it's got a great guitar riff,” Miriam pointed out.

“And piano,” Carpenter said.

“Lots of drum.”

“It's a winner.”

“No more creative differences?” Captain Zanella asked, looking over the patrol reports.

“I've got to admit, some of this newer stuff isn't bad,” Weaver said.

“Manowar's been around since the early '80s,” the Marine said, not looking up. “I had one of their albums in high school.”

“Really?” Weaver said. “Go figure. Thought there was a reason they were good . . .”

“This is boring,” Cha-shah said, looking at the starscape.

“Be glad you're out here and not listening to what humans call music,” Ke-cha replied. “It is awful stuff, the worst caterwauling you've ever heard.”

“I heard some of it. It is very bad,” the Cheerick acknowledged. “How can they listen to that horrible stuff.”

“I don't think they have ears like we do,” Ke-cha said. “In fact . . .”

“Why is this light blinking so hard all of a sudden?” Cha-shah asked.

“I do . . . not know,” Ke-cha said, slowly. “It is a red light. That is bad. You have one as well?”

“Yes . . .” the Cheerick male said, puzzling out the words under the flashing light. “Dreen . . . emissions . . . indicator . . .”

“Captain Weaver! We have Dreen emergence in-system!”

“Damn,” Weaver muttered, leaning his guitar on a crystal pillar. “I thought we were getting that last riff together, too . . .”

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.”