Night Song (The Guild Wars Book 9) by Mark Wandrey (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📕

There was still no pattern, but Ripley’s point knocked understanding into place. The Pushtal were putting on something of a show, and could perform chaos quite well. He was sure he would have put it together sooner if the smell weren’t so…overwhelming.

They were hiding something. Protecting something? Shadow, who’d used others’ low expectations of him to his advantage before, should have seen it right away.

“What don’t they want us to see?” he asked, and this time his father heard him.

The colonel stiffened slightly, but didn’t reach for his carbine.

“Three down each aisle, the rest hold the entrance,” he said, voice pitched low. “Don’t start anything, but shut it down if they do. Main plan point is extraction, not victory. We don’t want to be forced to take this junk pile. See who you can get to talk.”

Shadow took a sharper look at the junk. Would they find something from the Starbright in this haphazard collection of detritus? He closed his eyes and called up Starbright’s plans and design. They’d been aboard it, but that was years ago, so he went with recorded images. Now he would see if anything popped out as familiar.

* * *

“You are visitors?”

Alan had caught the Pushtal sailing into the station’s…what, promenade? Most Union-manufactured space stations had a massive open area called a promenade. You could find the commercial sales areas there, and often top-tier private residences, as well as hotels, had overlooking views. Back in the 20th and 21st centuries on Earth, ocean-going cruise ships were constructed with massive interior open spaces that held vertical viewing areas, and even amusements. When he’d first seen Karma Station, he was reminded of those cruise ships. This station had nothing of the sort.

When they’d floated into the open area, it had looked more like an accident than a planned feature. Salvage, he thought. It looked more like the inside of a ship slowly being gutted for parts. The sinking feeling he’d felt upon spotting the station became more profound by the moment. Was his beloved Starbright part of this ragtag mess?

“Yes,” he said and held up an empty hand to the Pushtal. “Colonel Alan Porter, Silent Night Mercenary Company.”

The Pushtal caught itself on a protruding handle, which bent almost double. When the alien had come to a stop, it grunted and bent the bar back to roughly the same place.

Shit, they’re strong. He’d never fought Pushtal, and he was glad. Despite not being a registered merc race, they still turned up individually within other merc companies, in small independent units, and of course as pirates. This particular one was probably not much taller than Alan, but it probably outmassed him by 50 kilos, easy.

“Merc,” the newly arrived Pushtal said, its huge, tiger-like face unreadable.

“Yes, of course,” Alan said.

“Don’t see many Humans out here. I am Akohn, chief of station.”

Chief? Alan wondered. He caught the way his kids were looking at the Pushtal. Raising the five Zuul had taught him a lot about their instinctive facial expressions. It looked like Sonya was trying not to throw up. Rex had a disgusted expression on his face, while Drake stared at Akohn with loathing. Ripley and Shadow were both carefully looking around the open space, as if they were searching for something they’d lost.

“As most Humans who venture off Earth are mercs, we don’t spend a lot of time at…trading stations.” He couldn’t avoid letting a sense of irony sneak into his voice at the word.

“Mercs?” Akohn cast his eyes around the troopers, with extra attention at the five Zuul. “The speaker from your ship was Zuul; I was expecting you all to be Zuul.”

“We’re on a cooperative mission,” Alan explained. Akohn cocked his head curiously. “That means we’re working together.”

“I hear that about you Humans a lot. Most races only work with their own. Some, like Tortantula, only with one other race, Flatar. Humans are not always as racist.”

“It’s something we’ve struggled with,” Alan admitted. “Still do on Earth.”

“The war against you,” Akohn said and nodded.

“You heard about it?”

“Who in the Tolo arm has not heard about it? Maybe you Humans will end up like us, eh? Fallen out of favor with the Guild?”

“I hope not,” Alan said. He caught Sergeant Bana’s head movement and tracked it to see A’kef’s squad float in from a different entrance. As was their plan, the two squads had come in separately. Never underestimate the effectiveness of a good old-fashioned crossfire.

“Would you like to see some of our trade?”

“Yes,” Alan said.

“Maybe hire some of my people?”

“Our ship’s pretty full.”

“Oh, I see.” For some reason, Alan didn’t think Akohn was disappointed in the least.

Akohn pushed off, leading Alan and the squad down past the area where a large group of Pushtal were working. Some were in spacesuits; others wore only ragged coveralls. They looked like they were taking something apart, just as Alan had thought when he’d seen them upon entering the area. He really wanted to ask Akohn what they were doing, but decided against it. They were here trying to find their missing people, both Human and Zuul. Better to investigate indirectly than turn it into a Q&A.

Akohn led them to another open area that reminded Alan of a warehouse. A warehouse that had been through a hurricane. All the angles were wrong, and stuff was stored randomly almost everywhere. Alan saw everything from salvaged MinSha laser rifles to what for all the world looked like a dolphin skull.

Alan caught his team’s eyes and glanced around the room, telling them with a gesture to spread out and search. Sergeant Bana nodded and made sure everyone understood. They knew what they were looking for, and they also were probably hoping they wouldn’t find it.

While the men searched, Alan chatted with Akohn, who was a lot gabbier than he’d expected from