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

Josie, not seeing the guards, raised her rifle at Rook’s head. She didn’t hesitate, and would have instantly pulled the trigger once the rifle met its desired height. A blast of hard laser burst through her before it could do so. Her armor was pierced and she was obliterated at the chest, dead before she even began to fall to the ground.

“No!” Martin yelled out as he turned, watching her drop like a ragdoll. He wanted to run to her, comfort her in her final moments. But before he could arrive to her, Martin felt Rook’s hand grapple his arm. He watched her lie there, eyes still open, as he was dragged backward.

“Now, doctor,” Rook said as it walked him toward a cell. “If you’ll kindly wait here, I’ve got some matters to deal with. Then I’d like to talk about your masterpiece.” Martin resisted, trying to pull his arm away. When that didn’t work, he raised his legs and fell to the floor. But one of the guards came over and lifted him in as he screamed.

“Not again!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Please!” he howled.

The doctor was thrown into the cell, and a beam of light came down in the doorway, sealing it. He fell onto the floor, but did not stay there. Quickly getting to his feet, Martin stumbled forward, stopping just short of the light barrier that blocked his path.

Tears streamed down his face as he lumbered forward and placed a hand on the hard light. It burned him like a hot stove, and he jolted back in surprise. Rook gave a satisfied smile from beyond the light. “I will be back to collect you shortly.”

Martin shook his head. He could see Josie’s body in the distance, could feel the metal of the prison walls around him. But he was no longer there. He was back on Maxia. He saw it all repeating itself. And he felt the damning pressure of an interminable future of isolation crush his chest once again.

And though no one else heard it, a voice slipped into his head and whispered to him. It had lost its warmth, however. He no longer felt the hand on his back, the breath of a merciful whisper in his ear. This time, he felt agony: slow and torturous. “Poison.” Martin let out a frustrated scream before he slammed his fist against the light-wall once again, his knuckles sizzling against it. But it didn’t burn the way he thought it would. The pain didn’t convey torture or confinement, but a release; it was a promise, a way to ensure that he would not be used to harm anyone ever again. It was with this mad hope that he looked up at Rook, and pressed his hand further into the light.

Rook finally realized the horror of the situation. “Do not attempt to come closer,” it instructed firmly. But Martin paid no heed. He pushed on, watching his fingers slowly disintegrate against the light. The pain was freeing and vindicating in his madness. His screams, indistinguishable between pain and insanity, flowed through him as the bones in his hands burned away.

“Stop that!” Rook helplessly tried to yell over the doctor’s cries. The doctor pushed further, well past his hand by this point; he leaned closer with all his might, the light now consuming half of his forearm. As he inched closer, his head neared the wall of light as well. The smell of burning hair and flesh filled the cell. He leaned even closer, feeling his forehead sizzle upon contact with the light. The doctor’s screams turned to a growl as he closed his mouth, gritting his teeth. Soon, it would be over: all of it. And he was glad for it.

“STOP!” Rook shouted before it slammed one hand into the cell’s console. The light dissipated and Martin fell forward, rolling on the floor after his collapse. With most of his right forearm well cauterized, and his forehead lobster-red, he looked up at his captor.

“Forgive me; I assumed we understood each other. Perhaps I should have asked your terms,” Rook uttered coldly over the doctor’s smoking and writhing body. “If you desire freedom in exchange for the information, then I can grant it.” It stepped closer to him. “Are we in agreement?”

Through tears and gritted teeth, Martin grunted a response. “Stop killing my friends.”

Rook let a raised eyebrow drop in disappointment. “Your friends have fired on my soldiers in the past, and are no doubt planning something underhanded. I also believe they already have too much information about our operation to leave here alive.”

“Bullshit!” Martin spat as he turned, still holding his throbbing arm; the bone was still hot.

“They know of the Carrion, they saw my operation here. That would be enough for any intelligent government to be concerned.” Its voice was uncaring and monotone. “I’m sorry, but this is non-negotiable.”

Martin’s mind raced, letting a silence pass. He glanced up at the automaton, though only for a moment. “I need my equipment.” His tone expressed defeat as he looked back at the floor. “My tablet, my notes. I can show you anything you need to see.”

Rook looked down at him, and Martin wondered if it was trying to see through him; he wondered it was capable of calculating the odds of a ruse. The investigative look on its face lasted too long for the doctor’s comfort. But finally, it grinned. “I accept.”

Ox had lost count of the number of questions he was asked. The girl had finally lost interest in him and began to examine his staff. That was fine; it wasn’t dangerous unless it was in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. After questioning the long line of poor decisions that had placed him where he currently sat, Ox found himself missing the company of Nitro and Boomer, who had gone off to disable the turret. He