Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (best classic books .txt) 📕

lips. Near tears, she leaned into the Waykind’s armored chest and clung to him as if he were the least comfortable teddy bear. He moved his arm further up her back, turning the carry into more of a hug. The girl was silent for a short while, which was so unusual that he glanced down at the top of her helmet, which was facing the doctors.

After some time, she spoke again. “My mom always told me they were gross. And awful. And mean.”

He glanced down again, knowing she was referring to Humans. He shrugged. “Some are.”

Her voice was quiet, almost timid. Ox wasn’t sure whether she was falling asleep or still upset. “But not these ones.”

Ox smirked as he patted her.

Sabile:Base of Operations of the Eighth, Fort 0102: Central Zone

“Blisters,” Mitch groaned as the doors opened to their newly assembled quarters. “Blisters the size of lemons.” It was the least magnificent place imaginable; military barracks of the twentieth century provided better accommodations. “Good lemons, from Earth.” Wafer-thin mattresses lay on hard metal slabs, so close to the ones above them that when Mitch finally slid into one—because collapsing dramatically was impossible in these conditions—he had to slump his head back so his nose didn’t touch the bottom of the bunk above him. “Huge fucking lemons.” He tried to get used to feeling his breath bounce back on his face. He couldn’t even relax, but he was happy his feet were finally off the ground.

Doctor Lee fell into a slump in the corner, immediately taking off his boots before sighing and leaning back against the wall. “We just had to tag along,” he complained. “Had no idea how good we had it.”

Howlette laughed in agreement as he stumbled in as well, unsuccessfully trying to squeeze into the upper bunk. “This is inhumane. Just let me starve to death back in my cozy research station.”

The operations base on Sabile was devoid of central air; it was also designed by machines that had never played host to any biological life form. The doorways were too small, and the doors themselves were increasingly difficult to open. The walls were all made of metal, which sent sounds from hundreds of feet away careening into every room imaginable. There were no showers, no toilets, and no kitchens. When Ox discovered that he couldn’t wash the blood off his uniform or fur, he simply stripped down to his loincloth and threw his large, bloody rags into a heap in the corner. Josie tossed him a rag. The Waykind tried to clean himself off as best he could, while Ula happily slid herself into one of the bunks.

Gally, Harper, and Martin were all sharing the first guest room. Harper had just finished removing his boots. He walked over to the corner, just to feel the freedom of being in socks. Gally sprawled out on the floor after finding no furniture besides the awful bunks and stretched. Harper pretended not to notice how welcoming she looked.

Martin entered the room and looked down at the girl. He didn’t look at her the same way Harper did; this was more direct. “What should I tell them tomorrow?” he asked her; it was the first time he’d addressed her as the boss of the operation. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he felt unarmed against such an adversary or because he felt an opportunity to gather some info.

Gally’s stretch came to an end as a thought landed on her face. “The truth.” She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees as she always did. There was a spark of interest in her eyes. “The only thing the Ballpoint was carrying when it was attacked was information about your weapon.” Martin’s face dropped. It seemed like every day he learned of new deaths for which he was responsible. Granted, the death of the Ballpoint’s crew had not been taken as an act of war, as she’d anticipated. But the whole ordeal was very telling. From it, she learned how she would deal with them. “We need them distracted, so keep them interested. But safety is a top priority. Got me?”

Leaning against the doorframe, Martin nodded, though he wasn’t happy about it. His personal safety meant nothing to him now. As he stared at Gally, he both envied and resented her. She had such purpose, such determination. And it was being squandered on some poorly planned quest for vengeance.

He stared at her, with the knowledge that his own plans had been laid to waste. Whatever hope he had at improving the galaxy had died with this planet. As grateful as he was for his freedom, it seemed overstimulating and underutilized. What more could he do? What more was he capable of?

It ate at him as he looked at her, but the stare only lasted a moment before Martin was prodded on the shoulder. “Hey, bartender,” Boomer stood by the door, holding a vial in an outstretched hand. “Here,” he gestured the vial at him.

Martin finally took it and examined the pills inside before reading the label. “Diazepam?”

“No, it’s a tranquilizer,” Boomer corrected him, having never actually read the long word on the label. The doctor looked back up at the mercenary, who gestured at him again. “It’ll help you sleep.”

Martin frowned before nodding and looking back at the vial. “Thank you,” he muttered, letting Boomer walk back to his room. Martin rattled the pills in his hand and dry-swallowed them, finding them much easier to take than the hydration pills in prison. Saying nothing to the others, he slid into his bunk as the sound of Gally and Harper’s conversation faded over him.

Harper remained in the corner, his body finally convincing his mind how exhausted it was. After putting his holster on the floor next to his boots, he gave Gally a look. She returned it, and waited a moment before she spoke. “So is Harper a first name or a last name?”

He smiled at her and meandered over,