John Ringo: Claws That Catch

“Sort of,” Miriam said, staring into the distance. “Avatars.”

“And that means… ?” Weaver said.

“An avatar is, in Hindu mythology, the descent of a deity in carnate form,” Carpenter said. “In computer terms — ”

“I know what an avatar is, PO,” Bill said. “I meant, what does it mean in this context?”

“It means I have to have an image of something to form,” Miriam said, still staring into the distance. “Songs with avatars. ‘Dragonfly’… I’m blanking.”

“ ‘Black Unicorn’?” Carpenter said then shrugged at their expressions. “Sue me. I’m a Heather Alexander fan. I can set this thing to bodran.”

“Got some music?”

Analysis of gaseous phenomenon.

‹Phenomenon generated by combination of gravitational beams and coherent energy beams interacting with gaseous particles. Phenomenon nonhazardous. Intersection of combat units with coherent energy beams transfers six hundred exajoules of energy to combat unit resulting in termination. Secondary effect of gravitational beams irrelevant.›

Defense?

‹None. Power levels are equivalent to multiple main sequence stars. Only defense is capture of station.›

There was a pause as the Dreen fleet-mind considered this new weapon the hell-spawned thing Species 27264 had created.

Why is it black ? And why is it just… hovering?

“If you ever meet me standing there, you’ll wish that you were never born,” Miriam sang. “ I’ll seize your soul and strip it bare, I am the Black Unicorn .”

“Come on,” Weaver whispered, mostly to himself. “You’ve formed it, now use it!”

A black unicorn with bat-wings out of nightmare was crossing the system, galloping through glowing clouds of mist. Just as insubstantial as mist, it was, nonetheless, impressive. Especially given that it was bigger than all four of the Jovians put together and using about ten percent of the output of the blue-white star to generate.

It had formed slowly, most of the way across the system from the Dreen fleet. Now it closed on the Dreen, seemingly moving in slow motion. The actual speed was very close to that of light, but from their position it seemed ominously slow.

If the Dreen had anything similar to emotions, it was going to seem agonizingly slow.

As the music crescendoed, the monster from the deeps of space lowered its horn and drove it into the Dreen fleet.

The fleet was gathered in an egg-shaped formation around the brain-ship. As the horn hit the lead ships, dozens flared and died under the enormous power of the Tree. The entire vanguard of the fleet was ripped asunder.

Miriam gasped in response, but maintained the image and continued to sing. The unicorn, though, only circled the fleet as the music continued. It only seemed to attack on the instrumental portions, diving in again to slash its horn through the fleet, ripping dreadnoughts, superdreadnoughts and destroyers apart as if they were the insubstantial mist.

As the song drew to a close, the unicorn turned and began trotting away, fading into the stars as the last chord died, the only sign of it a flash as from a silver hoof.

“Damn,” Bill muttered, looking at the Dreen fleet. It was redeploying, fast, and seemed to be putting most of its combat power forward, as if to shield the brain-ship.

“And I will stand here at the gates,” Miriam sang, “ and face the onslaught, fighting …”

Again, the avatar had formed slowly, fading into view from the mist that now filled the system. A Greek hoplite in full armor, spear extended, shield up and helmet down. Smaller than the unicorn, he drifted into reality between the station and the approaching fleet, then began striding forward.

All units, engage the anomaly.

‹Anomaly gaseous in nature. Engagement futile.›

Obey.

Beams of plasma, massive chunks of heavy metal driven to relativistic speeds, the full output of the remaining fleet flashed out at the warrior. He paused and raised his shield, shedding the fire as if it were so many Persian arrows. As strikes got through to his armor, though, it was penetrated, red blood running unheeded down his chest.

A stab of the planet-sized spear and a destroyer flared into nothingness. Another and a superdreadnought was cut in half. A cut of the spearhead and a dreadnought exploded in actinic fire.

But as the song reached its end, the avatar faded away, raising his spear in a final tribute.

“No stopping this time,” Weaver said. “ ‘Fight For Freedom’ …”

“Now that there is something to see,” the CO said, watching the screen. The major interior holes in the ship had been patched and while the atmosphere in CIC wasn’t exactly thick, it was at least breathable.

“Sir, with respect,” the TACO said, “I’m glad Captain Weaver talked you into letting him go back to try to get the system working.”

“Duly noted, TACO,” Prael said. “Duly noted.”

All combat units, shield retreat. Maximum deceleration. Exit by nearest warp point.

“Where The Eagles Fly I Will Soon Be There,” Miriam sang.

A bald eagle, its wings as wide as planetary orbits, stooped through the fleet. Where its wings passed, dreadnoughts shuddered and faltered, destroyers flared white-hot and exploded, frigates ceased to exist. The fighters trying to provide cover lasted no longer than gnats caught in an oxyacetylene torch. Where its talons closed, superdreadnoughts burst apart, their refractory armor as insubstantial as tissue paper.

The Dreen fleet had changed vector, heading off for points unknown. The brain-ship was in the lead of the retreat, showing an unexpected turn-of-speed for such a large vessel. The eagle disdained to engage the enemy commander, as if letting it flee to tell of the power of the rulers of this patch of space. Ships had fallen out of the retreat, untouched by the power of the station they simply ceased to accelerate. Some of them, those that were fully Dreen, exploded or came apart like overripe fruit. Converts simply coasted, leaking air and water for reasons unknown. The eagle disdained these carrion of the battle as well, concentrating on the ships that tried to avoid the battle.

As the song closed the eagle didn’t fade. It simply took up a proprietary position between the fleet and the station, a bundle of arrows appearing out of the mist for it to perch upon.

“Can you hold that?” Weaver asked.

“Easily,” Miriam said, her eyes closed. “Now that I know what I’m doing. In fact… There,” she continued, opening her eyes. “It’s set, now. Until I tell it to go away or we shut down the station. Easy, really.”

“For you,” Weaver said. “You sure you can’t get the brain-ship?”

“There seems to be a range limiter,” Miriam admitted. “I can’t get out much beyond the gas cloud. They’re already past that.”

“We really shouldn’t let them get away,” Weaver said with a frown. “We’re going to have to fight them again some time.”

“Like, right now, sir,” Captain Zanella said. “The Dreen boarding force just entered the docking bay.”

“Damn,” Weaver said. “I knew I’d forgotten something important.”

“Interesting,” Berg said, watching the new monitors in the docking bay. “It’s not landing.”

“Would you , sir?” Gunny Juda said.

The docking platform was covered in space spiders, to the point where it was solidly purple in spots. The spiders had also sensed the approach of the Dreen and were up and awake, scurrying around in groups trying to get to the hovering ship.