Night Song (The Guild Wars Book 9) Mark Wandrey (christmas read aloud txt) 📖

a Pushtal. Everything he knew about the aliens suggested they were violent and not prone to thinking things through. Akohn seemed almost pensive in his attitude, and this worried Alan. They’d only been a few minutes when Ripley let out a little yelp to get his attention.

* * *

Her nose couldn’t register much beyond the overwhelming smell of Pushtal, but Ripley tried to pull anything—anything—of use off the all-too-familiar shape she’d found in one of the salvage piles.

Drake was at her side in a bound, eyes unerringly fixing on her find. Of course he saw it as quickly as she had, given how long he’d spent studying their own newer models.

With an exchanged glance, they cleared some of the lighter junk away, revealing a nearly intact CASPer.

One of the visible arms had been wrenched into uselessness, and the cockpit door…Cold twisted down Ripley’s spine, a low growl building in her chest. Any scent it might have had was long faded, but she wasn’t blind. It was one of theirs, and it had been through hell.

Drake muttered a curse in flawless Zuul, and she didn’t even twitch an ear.

Their father joined them, and belatedly Ripley realized the Pushtal chief had been protesting the entire time, a caterwauling of noise she’d reflexively tuned out.

“If you have interest in an item, we will move it, you do not interfere—do not ruin our order—”

The idea that the Pushtal had order in this disaster of a station would have been laughable in other circumstances, but even with her father next to her, Sonya couldn’t tear her eyes from the CASPer. The Silent Night CASPer. Who had been in it? Had the Pushtal…Her growl intensified, audible even to Human ears, and Drake matched her pitch for pitch.

A’kef didn’t have the angle to see what they’d found, but Ripley could tell the moment their growls registered—the older Zuul snapped his weapon into place, followed a breath later by his squad.

The Humans shifted, eyes locked on Bana or their colonel. Ripley preferred the Zuul’s reaction.

“Where did you acquire this?” her father asked, his tone so level Ripley knew they were about two moves from bloodshed.

It eased some tension in her, knowing her father was prepared to bring the station down around their striped ears, and her growl dropped into a lower register with readiness.

“You wish to trade for it?” The Pushtal’s eyes brightened, but Ripley had no illusion it was the thrill of a sale. This reeking being had claws and perhaps longed to use them.

That she could understand. Her jaw tightened in anticipation of ripping his throat out, which wouldn’t have been her usual reaction. Ripley usually left the violence to Rex and Drake, preferring flight and rapid aerial maneuvers, but in this place, surrounded by uncertainty and the oppressive smell of this so-called station, with a damaged CASPer that belonged to her people, her pack, her clan—

“Easy,” Shadow said, too quietly for any but Zuul ears. She hadn’t noticed his approach, and the combination of his presence and her surprise brought her back to herself. Her growl lessened, but didn’t disappear, and after a moment, Drake matched her again.

“I don’t want to trade for it,” Alan said, as level as before. “It belongs to me. I want to know why you have it.”

A’kef had moved closer, and other Pushtal noticed. Ripley felt her lip lifting and forced it down with effort. She glanced down the aisle to her left, reassuring herself of Rex and Sonya’s positions. She knew her father would shoot the chief first, and she would likely have to get one of the two crowding closer—Drake would go for the bigger one, so she’d aim for the smaller.

“It belongs to me,” the Pushtal corrected, exposing long, curving teeth. “You just got here. I’ve had this for much longer than ‘just got here.’”

“How long, then, Akohn?” Her father didn’t twitch his hand toward his pistol, but something in his demeanor snapped Bana into subtle action.

The Pushtal let the moment hold, his muzzle wrinkling in something like regret the moment before he spoke.

“A ship came through some rotations back. Damaged, needing trade.” Akohn drawled the last word, cutting his eyes to Ripley and Drake. “We traded.”

“They traded you a CASPer?” Alan’s neutrality slipped, only for a moment, doubt shading his voice.

“Their ship was damaged. We have parts.” He made a wide-armed gesture, his face somewhere between a smile and a snarl. For all Ripley knew, that was how they smiled. Or how they snarled.

With the scent of Pushtal thick against the roof of her mouth, she could hardly be expected to decipher the intricacies of some pirate’s face. It took effort to focus on anything other than the urge to attack until they produced the Starbright or gave some actual answers.

Alan held up a hand, and A’kef paused in his approach. He did nothing more than stare steadily at the Pushtal chief, until the tiger-like being flattened his ears and shook his head.

“They needed repairs to continue their flight. We were here, and they were lucky to find us as they didn’t have much left. Despite what you and your Zuul think, we do appreciate trade. This,” Akohn regarded the CASPer with evident pride, “made for a decent return.”

* * *

Alan didn’t want to believe Akohn. However, as the Pushtal detailed the story, it all made sense. Captain Anderle, if she’d run into trouble, like it sounded, would probably have sold off wrecked hardware. What the cat didn’t know was the CASPer was now only hardware. Further evidence of the truth was, the CASPer’s computer and radio were missing.

“I need as much information about Starbright, the ship, as you can give me,” Alan told Akohn.

“What do you have to offer me?” the Pushtal asked, his eyes twinkling with sensed profit.

“How about your life?”

The