Point of Impact (Backyard Starship Book 20) by J.N. Chaney & Terry Maggert

Author:J.N. Chaney & Terry Maggert [Chaney, J.N.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Variant Publications
Published: 2024-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

15

“Missiles inbound, my ship,” Netty-P said, and immediately started gyrating the Fafnir through a torturous series of skids, jinks, and rolls. At the same time, the point defenses opened up in silent fury.

Netty-P had been right to assume control. It took us mere mortals a couple of seconds to take in the situation before we could even begin reacting. A fat, plodding class 15 freighter had popped open a cargo hold, revealing a missile battery that immediately spewed out ordnance. The ship’s transponder data had matched her hull type and other data, so Netty-P hadn’t flagged her—which meant that until the instant she bared her fangs, we had no reason to believe she was anything other than what she appeared to be.

It meant the missiles had been launched from a damned short range, giving us little time to react. Netty-P’s swift decision had probably just saved the Fafnir and all of us aboard her.

The point-defenses knocked down four of the eight missiles that had been launched. Torina, who’d prudently brought the Fafnir’s other weapons online and put them in standby mode, was able to shoot down two more. That still left two missiles boring in, both of them looking as though they were going to fly right into my face. I gritted my teeth and tensed, anticipating the detonations⁠—

Which never came. Instead, one of the missiles abruptly veered and flashed past the Fafnir, heading for points unknown. The other simply cut out its drive and coasted. Netty-P pitched the ship’s nose up and the thing sailed majestically past, missing us by maybe a hundred meters.

I stared in wonder. Hell, we all did—for a second. We didn’t have time to marvel, because more of the ambush was unfolding.

A ship appeared from behind the missile-laden freighter, having apparently been tucked in on its far side from us, in our blind spot. It was the Edge of Night. At the same time, an unremarkable class 9 cargo courier accelerated toward us, lighting us up with fire control scanners.

“Van, I’m assuming we’re shoot to kill,” Torina said, not waiting for my answer. She was already firing, pouring laser and plasma-burst cannon fire into the freighter. Funboy had taken over the mass-drivers and the particle cannon and flung their fire into the mix.

I shot her a quick, wry glance. “Little late for me to say no, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer and just kept up her deadly work. Icky was on her feet, grabbing at her helmet.

“The ship’s depressurizing. Put on your fancy hats, everyone!” she said, then hurried aft, heading for her damage-control station. “Swing to kill, everyone!”

I turned to Perry. “Have we got any allies handy?”

“Well, there was a burst of modulated, high-intensity emissions from out thataway”—he flung out a wing—“that jammed the hell out of the missiles. I’m assuming that was the Prowler. But since she’s got the scanner cross section of a bagel, I can’t confirm and don’t know if she’s even still there—Droox told me Groshenko’s SOP was, if she ever took an active part in a battle, she’d immediately scram.

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