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

his intention squarely on Gally. “Hi,” he said with a smile, as the mercenary was forced to take the seat next to him. Gally gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, before turning from him abruptly.

While the other Eighth all had sporadic, impersonal movements, Rook’s seemed fluid and well analyzed. It also seemed incredibly emotive for an automaton, even in poise. Rook played the role of a speaker at a business meeting, and it mimicked Human movement so closely that Gally felt sick to her stomach. “Thank you all for coming,” it started. “I should begin by telling you not to be alarmed; you’re all perfectly safe.”

Nitro’s disdain for the Eighth could be heard in his voice. “Yeah, safe from what?” Gally smirked at the mercenary’s anticipation for a fight. She, like the others, assumed Rook meant that none of the Eighth would harm them. She could not have predicted what happened next.

Just as the table had risen from the floor, the wall at the head of the table began to rise to the ceiling. After it had risen past the table, a humanoid figure was slowly revealed, standing just on the other side of a glass wall. From the corner of her eye, Gally saw Josie leap to her feet.

Two flashes of plasma crashed against the glass, though it did not shatter. And once the smoke cleared, Gally could see the figure clear as day: a Carrion. The steel wall finally finished disappearing into the ceiling, and all that was heard was the sizzle of the fired plasma and Josie. “Fucking Christ,” she muttered.

Rook turned to Josie with a disappointed expression on its face. “I had thought my warning was sufficient.” It gestured to the Carrion, which was unmoving and unbothered: as docile as they’d ever seen them.

Boomer, who had seen the creatures turn savage in an instant, shouted at the Eighth. “What the fuck is that thing doing here?” He was also out of his seat, a detonation tube clutched in his hand. His head was cocked so that he could see clearly around his frayed hair.

“We’ve been studying them.” Rook was calm, its deep, metallic voice reverberating through the room. It motioned to the Carrion, which stood calmly on the other side. The creature’s breathing could be heard through the wall, deep and rumbling.

Gally watched Martin, on her right, rise to his feet. “Why the hell,” he murmured. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?!”

“He’s well fed, if that’s what you’re referring to,” Rook countered.

Mitch interjected, sounding as if he was scolding a child. “They don’t just kill for food.”

Rook seemed pleased. “Ah, so you’re aware of that.” There was a silence due to its casual and excited tone, as if it was watching a mouse in a maze. “That’s what piqued our interest. We initially thought it was primal, killing only for hunger or territory. But we observed them kill your scientists for fun, and then come back later for the meal.”

Gally’s eyes turned to Mitch, who went pale at the mention of Research Station 4. She watched Doctor Howlette place a hand on his shoulder before speaking. “I’m assuming all of this has a point?”

Rook’s face fell into annoyance. “Play indicates intelligence,” it sneered. “Every sentient, scientifically advanced civilization, before they reached the stars, had a test that they’d beam into space. It was designed to both communicate with and test the intelligence of any receiving,” it paused. “What did your people call them? Extra-terrestrials?” it mused.

Doctor Lee furrowed a brow at the realization of what was happening. “You gave it a SETI?”

Rook pointed to the doctor with an ebony-plated hand, another gesture it had learned from watching organic life. “Several, actually.” It seemed proud. Gally looked around, and, to her horror, noticed admiration and fascination in the doctors’ faces. This seemed to make Rook gloat. It was performing for an audience. “Would you like to see one of yours?” it smiled.

It input a code into a small number pad on a wall, and a tone was heard on the other side of the glass wall. The beastly Carrion took two steps toward the glass, close enough so that his heavy and animalistic breathing could fog it. Then he stepped back.

The Carrion lifted a heavy and scarred hand, extending one of its fingers. The long, claw-like fingernail landed upon the fogged glass with a clink. It scraped the glass, but not aggressively. The blue claw dragged downward, at an angle: then sideways, then upward, until a full triangle had been drawn within the fogged glass. There was no satisfaction in the creature’s face, no recognition that he’d done what was asked of him. He simply stepped back with the same blank expression.

“My god,” Doctor Howlette whispered, covering his lips with his index finger.

Gally was the only one in the room not watching the Carrion. Her eyes were fixed on Rook, who stood as if it was proudly displaying something it had discovered. What’s worse, the doctors were eating it up. She felt her blood boiling. She knew the Eighth was a sociopath, and it seemed to be convincing the doctors it was some kind of savior.

Rook took a moment to bask in its accomplishments. It glanced at the Humans as if they should be grateful, as if it had done them a service. But it hadn’t; it was incapable of doing so. It was a monster, and it had to be stopped.

Gally stealthily reached into her makeup bag and clutched the plasma pistol within it. She thought of her father. And the black box footage. Rook didn’t give her father any warning; it simply fired. And that’s what she would do.

She snapped her wrist up, attempting to pull the pistol from the bag, but something stopped her: a firm hand, placed on her wrist. Looking down, over her tears, Gally expected to see the hand come from her left. After Harper’s preaching, she was fully prepared to wrestle her hand away,