Night Song (The Guild Wars Book 9) by Mark Wandrey (best management books of all time .txt) 📗

Adrenaline and shock surged, and he freed an arm, digging claws deeply into her gut. He yanked upward, aiming for the chest wound he’d already given her, and she shoved back, both of her hands lifting the arm she still held.

“Burn,” she said, then clamped her metal teeth down on his arm. They were so sharp, he didn’t feel it, focused instead on digging his claws through her grievously injured body. Again his nervous system was delayed, until she reared back, his arm in her mouth, and slammed him in the face. With his own arm. Which was no longer attached to his body.

“DIE, YOU CURR,” he screamed, his own blood streaming into his mouth from his gouged eye socket.

“Come with,” she said, spitting out his arm. Her eyes were dulling, but she wouldn’t actually die, and he contorted desperately to get out from under her. She weighed more than she had any right to—was her entire body laced with metal? He dragged her intestines after him, and, as he scrambled away, four more shots lanced through her body, knocking her back to the bloody floor.

They lay there, separated by less than a meter. Her head moved to look at him and, by terrible entropy foul, she smiled. “Despair,” she said, almost a whisper. “Despair pitiful kitten…because…because…”

“Because what, filthy bitch?”

“Because Night Song has…re…turned…” The last was a sigh as her life left her, and still she smiled, red-stained metallic teeth gleaming in the harsh light of the bay.

Meesh growled and cursed at the dead Zuul. “Crazy old wretch,” he managed.

Finally his own people had noticed, and he was going to kill them all for taking so long. His breath shuddered through his chest, and the first burning streaks stabbed from the stump below his shoulder.

“Get me a medic.” His voice wavered, and he clenched his remaining hand, long ropes of corded organs oozing between his fingers. “Tell them to bring nanites. Someone call the entropy-cursed Engineering Guild; we need to talk about the agreement.” He saw his troopers moving to follow his orders and gritted his teeth, pain continuing to grow.

He swallowed back vomit, kicked Nillab to make sure she was dead, and bared his teeth. He would neither pass out nor vomit. He would win. Night Song? Was that some stupid Zuul battle strategy? Whatever. Burn, had Nillab said? Very well. He’d burn them all.

“Oh, and kill everything in this base. Leave no witnesses.”

* * *

Tucker picked up a couple of cards and checked his hand. There was nothing to do in the improvised prison except play cards or watch the same couple dozen videos the troopers had stored in pinplants or chips. Luckily something that hadn’t changed over centuries of combat was soldiers carrying means of simple entertainment. Among the 11 of them, they had six decks of cards, three sets of dice, and a miniature Scrabble game. The latter was from his squad sergeant, Bates, who’d always wanted to be a writer.

“You going to play or stare at the walls, Captain?” Private Hewers asked.

“They’re bloody fascinating walls, kid,” Tucker said.

“Nothing but exciting,” another man called from further back in the room.

The 11 men had made the best of their spaces in the days they’d occupied it, despite how boring it was. In fact, Hewers had been joking about painting a mural of cats fucking on one of the walls the other day.

Tucker made a play, his opponents moaned, and he smiled. A second later, the door suddenly opened, and everyone looked up. It was a pair of Vergola, and they looked…unsettled.

Tucker hadn’t spent any time around Vergola before getting stuck there. In fact, he’d only seen one, and that one from a distance. The one thing constant about them was their composure. Like aloof artists, or religious leaders, Vergola always moved about gracefully and seemed somehow immune from atmospheric effects or other things that bothered other races.

“You must assist us,” the first to enter the room said.

“What?” Tucker asked. “You have to be kidding me; we’re prisoners.”

“The Pushtal have gone insane; they’re killing everyone.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Sergeant Bates said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes, it was a complete surprise,” the second Vergola said. “We completed an agreement with the Engineers so the fighting was over.”

“Over?” Tucker asked. They’d been locked in the room with no outside communications, thus everything that had transpired was a surprise to them.

“Yes, there was a battle that ended without a decisive outcome. Then the Zuul figured out a loophole in their contract, so they were going to leave. We had no choice but to cut a deal. After the meeting, the Zuul were preparing to leave, and the Pushtal went berserk.”

“You weren’t watching them?” Tucker demanded.

“They weren’t complaining. In fact, they were quiet,” one of the Vergola explained.

“We were concerned about the Zuul because they believe they’ve been treated poorly,” the other said.

“A quiet Pushtal is planning murder,” Corporal Salerson mumbled.

Tucker nodded at the corporal’s observation. Indeed, when a Pushtal stopped blustering or threatening, it usually meant action was imminent. Somewhere outside, a booming shot echoed.

“Help us,” one of the Vergola said. Of course, it still sounded like an order.

“You have all our gear locked up,” Tucker reminded them. “What are we supposed to do, attack them with harsh language?” The Vergola stared back at him, confused, so he pointed at the heavy door at the other end of the room. “Unlock the bloody fucking door!”

The two Vergola blinked for another second, obviously unable to make up their minds. A muted, Zuul scream followed by a Pushtal roar made up at least one of their minds. A Vergola skittered, not glided, over to the door in question and slid in a data chip. It beeped and opened.

Tucker body-checked the alien out