John Ringo - Claws That Catch

What the Dreen apparently didn’t realize, was that there were spiders on the upper levels as well. Berg could see them cascading off the upper platforms in a broken river. Many of them were killed by the impact on the hull of the Dreen ship, others missed and plummeted into the depths. But quite a few were landing on it.

The Dreen ship, unheeding of the parasites, opened up a hatch on the underside and dropped out seven of the oddest things Berg had ever seen. They seemed to be sea anemones, with thousands of tentacle legs.

As they hit the platform, the legs flashed out, scooping up the spiders. Nearly as many orifices opened on the side and the spiders were flipped in to be crushed by what looked like large molars.

The cleaner systems probably would have worked if there hadn’t been so many of the space spiders. Unfortunately, as fast as they ate spiders, more and more came on. The cleaners were actually increasing in size from all the sustenance, bulging from the mass of the spiders they were consuming. But the spiders were getting through the flickering tentacles, climbing up onto the bodies of the things, cutting with their claws and looking for a way in that didn’t have teeth.

The ship dropped two more of the cleaners but it was fruitless; the station had become packed with the Dreen-eating spiders. And just as the hatch was opening, the ship suddenly gave a massive twitch as if it were a dog bitten on a nerve by a flea. It spun in place and headed for the airlock. It was already beginning to shudder as it exited the Tree.

“ God , I love those things,” Eric said, grinning. “Captain Zanella… ?”

“Okay, we’ve got about seven destroyers by the door,” Bill said. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get rid of them; the system won’t shoot under the station. Maybe the Blade can drive them off. But as long as they stay inside the field… I don’t think the Blade can get them. And there’s a few hundred fighters left. We can’t even see them with this system, so they’re going to be a pest until they run out of fuel…”

“Or into a space spider,” Miriam said. “I told you they were cute.”

“Very,” Weaver said. “And we’ve got the brain-ship headed out of the system. But we’re sort of stuck here.”

“We are, aren’t we,” Miriam said, frowning. “It’s the destroyers by the door that are the problem.”

“I wonder how they’d react to an airlock opening,” Berg said.

“Why?” Weaver asked.

“Well, sir, in space once momentum is imparted to something it maintains it,” the lieutenant said. “And we’ve got all these damned spiders just sitting here…”

“I can’t believe we’re down to throwing rocks,” Day said.

“Just get ready to hand me spiders,” Lurch replied. “Opening airlock.”

When there was no immediate reaction he stepped right up to the edge and looked out.

Two Dreen destroyers were “down” from his perch. He couldn’t tell how far away but it didn’t really matter. Once velocity was imparted to an object in zero gravity…

“Take that you interstellar menaces,” Sergeant Lyle shouted, throwing one of the baseball-sized ovoids. “Eat space spiders you… you…”

“People-eating morons?” Day suggested.

“Jerks,” Lyle said, continuing to throw the spiders. “I think one just… Yep, we have spiders on-board.”

“Why are you throwing, anyway?” Day asked.

“Were you the pitcher of your school’s baseball team?” Lurch asked. “No? Then hand me some more balls. I wonder if they’d fire if we did a space walk? The others have to be inside the shield somewhere…”

‹Organism 8139 infestation in quadrant three.›

Source?

‹Unknown. With degree of gravitational disturbance in system and reported numbers of infected units, random source high probability.›

Degradation?

‹Five percent failure in forward armaments and shielding. And increasing.›

Divert all available resources to Cleaner Unit generation.

“What’s our status, Eng?”

“Sickbay is overflowing,” Commander Oldfield said. “We’ve got Laser Two back up and three of the damaged ball guns on the port side. Starboard is trashed, through. We’ve used up all our molycirc getting the port back up and we’ll have to find some more osmium before we can do anything on the starboard. And, frankly, sir, most of the guns are beyond local repair. The fabber isn’t big enough to make some of the components.”

“That gives us, what? Seven guns on port and two on starboard?” the CO asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Prael said. “That’s enough. Conn, set course for the brain-ship.”

“Sir, are you insane?” the Eng snarled. “We’re going to get our ass handed to us! We’ve done enough!”

“TACO?” the CO said. “What was that about all the times I’ve busted up my ship?”

“ ‘If I had been censured every time I have run my ship, or fleets under my command, into great danger, I should have long ago been out of the Service and never in the House of Peers,’ ” the TACO said automatically.

“With your shield or on it, Eng,” Prael said. “With your shield or on it.”

“CIC, Conn. Two minutes to intercept.”

“I miss the music,” the CO said. “What do we have in the way of tunes?”

“About a billion MP3s, sir,” the TACO replied.

“What to play, what to play?” the CO said, accessing the entertainment server. “I’m getting a bit tired of rock, heavy metal and Goth. Hmmm… Ah. There we go…”

The TACO looked up as orchestral music started to pour from the 1MC and tapped his foot.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard this before, sir,” the TACO said. “Catchy tune, though.”

“That’s because you were forced to attend that wimpy liberal school in Annapolis, Lieutenant,” the CO said. “If you were an Aggie, you’d have learned the words by heart.

“Yes, sir, very nice,” the TACO said, wincing. Like the XO, the CO really should let others sing. “But we’ve got an emergence at the warp-point.”

“What?” the CO asked, standing up and walking over to the sensor operator. “What class?”

“It looks like a Dreen convert,” the sensor tech said. “Dreadnought class. Pretty much like that one we captured in the Orion battle. But the readings are off enough I’m not sure. Accel is way up, total energy output is up about ten percent. So… I’m not sure, sir.”

“Just one more Dreen to engage,” the CO said, sighing. “Sound the battlecry, men, we’re going — ”

“CIC, Communications. Incoming transmission, SpacCom codes. Visual and audio.”

“Put it on,” the CO said, resuming his seat.

“Captain Prael, Admiral Blankemeier, Alliance Flagship Thermopylae ,” Spectre said, grinning evilly. “I see you’ve managed to make hash of my ship. Again. Congratulations, glad to see the tradition has been upheld. But we’ve got this one, you can back off.”

“That is a bold statement, Captain Spectre,” Ship Master Korcan said. “However, a Dreen brain-ship outclasses this vessel by nearly ten to one. Our odds of survival…”

The two were viewing the battle from the Thermopylae ’s CIC, a massive room that looked like an auditorium with a two-story screen on the far wall.