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

them becoming targets for the missiles,” the ship’s drone officer said.

Alan nodded, since he knew some warships used drones for exactly that purpose, extremely capable anti-missile decoys. Capable, and expensive. Starbright relied on more conventional decoys, which were more akin to chemical rockets. Cheap and easy to replace, unlike fusion-powered drones.

He could tell the captain was frustrated by her body language. Some of it seemed instinctive with the Zuul, like it was with Humans. His kids got the same look when forced to do something they didn’t like.

“Launch four sensor drones in coast mode,” she eventually ordered. “We’ll shake the bones on this one.”

A’kef must have seen the puzzled look on Alan’s face because he spoke up. “Jaapi is a game of chance we play. Counters are cut from prey bones and have different markings. When you make a bet, you shake a handful of them and toss them on the ground, hoping the ones you bet on land atop of another.”

“Sounds a little like craps,” Alan said.

“You gamble on defecation?”

Alan laughed and shook his head. Translator fail. He explained, and A’kef gave a little laugh of his own.

“We are not too dissimilar in many ways,” the alien said. “I believe much of the differences are, we come from primary predator stock, only becoming omnivorous later in our evolution, while you were opportunist omnivores, only becoming effective predators when you had developed some technology. Similar in many ways, different in others.”

“I have no argument with that analogy,” Alan said. “The most savage merc races we’ve encountered were all vicious predator species.” He thought about the Tortantula and the Besquith in particular. He knew the Besquith and Zuul didn’t get along at all. The Besquith considered the Zuul cowards for not embracing their killer side. The Zuul thought of the Besquith as simple, mindless killers. He wondered who more often got the better of the other in conflict?

The banter between mercs was a good thing for Alan; he could feel some of the tension going out of him. A ground-pounding merc like himself never felt more helpless than when trapped in a starship in the midst of a space battle. While Silent Night could fight as marines in space on ships, they’d only done it a bare handful of times in his life. It also wasn’t part of their monthly training rotation. Rather only twice a year. Besides, lofting a couple hundred troopers and their armor to practice in the black was expensive.

“Your troopers have practice in space?” A’kef asked, seemingly following Alan’s train of thought.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Human mercs who fight in space are called marines, and they usually specialize.”

A’kef nodded in understanding. “Vo’Hosh are specialists in space combat of all types among the Zuul.”

“Are they part of Krif’hosh?” Alan asked. The name A’kef had used was similar to that of the merc company his kids had come from all those years ago.

Every head on the bridge came around at Alan’s words, and he suddenly wondered if he’d badly mispronounced the name. He hadn’t said it in many years, not since Crent, the Zuul merc who’d given him the pups, had said it. Captain I’kik and A’kef exchanged looks, then the tactical officer spoke up again.

“Anti-missile intercept underway.”

Though the Tri-V was fogged green, the locations of their anti-missiles were still clearly indicated, along with the enemy missiles, thanks to relayed data from the former. At least to Alan, it looked like there were a lot more missiles than their interceptors. Curious, he asked the captain.

“The type of anti-missile we use is actually six interceptor warheads in one missile. They break apart on terminal approach.” She gestured at the Tri-V. “Watch.”

Just as she’d described, the 10 or so anti-missiles Paku had launched began to blossom into six each, outnumbering the incoming missiles nearly three-to-one. Bright white little pops began to appear in the display as the smaller interceptors detonated near their targets.

Meanwhile, four drones had been launched. They were represented by red triangles on the Tri-V. Most races in the Union didn’t use red as a threat. Green or blue was more common; red was found more commonly for friendly identification. In space, one of the biggest limitations was sensor lag. Because radio only travelled at the speed of light, as did the drone sensors, valuable target data could take more than a minute to be relayed to the ship. Anxious time passed slowly.

“Inbound missiles have split!” the tactical officer barked in alarm.

“What?” Captain I’kik yelped. “Nobody uses those missiles!”

On the other side of the Tri-V where the inbound missiles were approaching, the previous 20 clear green incoming missiles had blossomed into nearly 100. Now their split anti-missiles were no longer sufficient, even if every single one hit its target.

“Active ECM,” I’kik said. “Bring us about, high-G skew turn.”

Just before the ECM antennae began broadcasting their powerful waves of electromagnetic radiation, Alan saw the far side of their battlespace marking several large targets—warships. The thrust increased yet again, and he concentrated on breathing as the tiny green and red missiles battled for life and death.

* * *

Sonya forced her eyes open after every blink, though she wanted nothing more than to squeeze them shut and howl her frustration. Around them an unseen battle raged, and yet again she had nowhere to direct the pent-up energy rampaging through her system.

She’d never been the sibling most inclined to violence—both Rex and Drake easily outclassed her there—but on Earth, there had never been a need. In the deep black of space, where nearly everyone had more training than she, both her inexperience and her need to prove herself chafed.

The Paku shuddered around them, and Sonya swallowed back a whine. She met Ripley’s gaze and saw her discomfort mirrored in her sister’s flattened ears and tightened muzzle. Ripley rolled her eyes in a shared understanding,