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

them. They spoke to the others and looked around. Boomer leapt off and over the ladder, as quietly as he could, hiding at the top and looking around for an exit.

He curled himself into a corner; there was no place to hide on the top of the spire. It was just the ladder, a huge dome of a room, and a contraption that aimed the guns. His finger twitched as a thought occurred to him.

The demolitions expert pulled one of the charges from the wall, and began to reprogram it to a separate detonator. It blinked as it attempted to pair, and Boomer danced nervously, the first detonator still in his teeth.

That’s when he heard it: the clamoring of something metallic climbing the ladder. He squirmed, his eyebrows tightening together as he whined in panic. The clanging continued, louder and louder. He knew the ones below hadn’t left, and he quickly snapped his arms behind him to draw his rifle.

The second detonator sat between his hand and the rifle. He stood with his heart in his throat while he impatiently waited for it to pair. The red, flashing light was incessant and uncooperative.

When the Eighth popped its head over the ladder, Boomer blew it right off. The headless carcass fell to the bottom of the tower with a loud clang. Boomer dropped the rifle and began to re-pair his only hope for escape. He dialed the buttons on the charge again and stared at the red, blinking light once again. He watched it refuse to turn green, breathing heavily as he awaited more noise from the ladder. No noise came. The brief silence was broken by red laser bolts tearing through the metal floor.

He somehow managed to dodge a few blasts, and he was quite proud of that as he fumbled for his original detonator. It fell from his mouth, and he dove for it, landing on the floor with a thump. A red bolt pierced the floor and caught him through the stomach. He hollered through clenched teeth, grappling the detonator.

It occurred to him then that he wouldn’t be leaving the tower. It had to fall, but he couldn’t detonate it if he was dead. Given their random firing, death seemed inevitable. With a sigh, Boomer realized that the beauty of the explosion would have to be felt, not seen: the last great work of any true artist. Still, in his heart, he considered the piece a dedication. As time slowed for him, as his thumb drifted to the red button, he grinned from ear to ear. “Josie.” The whisper of her name was the last thing to fill the room before the fiery bursts.

Sabile:Base of Operations of the Eighth: West Landing Pad Entrance

“What’s taking so long?” Gally rushed him, looking behind her for any incoming automatons.

“It’s not so easy!” Harper snapped, having discovered a nest of wires for coms, video display, sound, card readers, and finally locking mechanisms. That should be four wires maximum; this was a labyrinth of nest upon nest that was certainly made to deter this exact scenario. Hotwiring was not a universal craft, as Harper was discovering. He missed the old days of knobs and key fobs. Not that he’d ever picked a lock before, but that must have been easier than this. That’s when he realized that this wasn’t a ship. It didn’t have to fly or work properly afterwards. All Harper had to do was get it to break enough to open. Red wires were crossed to orange wires, blue wires were connected to yellow, and all the black wires were rearranged. Finally, one combination sparked, and the door flew open. “HAH!” Harper cheered before a slight zap flew at his fingers. “Ow!”

Ula cheered as they ran through the door. Gally looked up to see several of the Eighth standing in their way. Ox swiped his staff from left to right, and a large wind carried several crates in front of his crew, providing cover. Harper ducked down, though his bag stuck out. He felt a push with each shot the bag took. He glanced up at it, annoyed, as he tried ducking down further, to no avail.

Gally’s eyes scanned the landing bay and found a ship the perfect size for a crew of seven: a black vessel that seemed just small enough to get out of here quickly. She fired at some of the Eighth, and Harper gave her a surprised look. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he called to her.

Without looking at him, she replied. “Dad’s in the military. Tell me you’re better at hotwiring a ship.”

He glanced up as he counted both times he’d actually done it. “Yeah!” he squeaked, just a bit confident in his abilities.

Ox raised the end of his staff up vertically, and the stone beneath the structure roared through the steel, creating a large wall between him and the Eighth. From there, he calmly grasped the staff and whispered to it once again. “Lend me your hands.” Within a split second, he felt his consciousness rip from his body and fly into the staff. From there, it whipped around the stone barrier. He cracked around in a serpentine motion, no longer as slow as his corporeal form, but as powerful and fast as a bolt of lightning. He spun around a corner and leapt into the face of one of the Eighth, downing it instantly. And just as quickly, Ox was back in his own body. He repeated this twice more.

Harper pretended he wasn’t watching Ox take out most of the hostiles, but it was just so fascinating. The Waykind nearly went limp as the lightning left his staff. Not to be outdone, Harper popped out from cover to take out a few as well. He grinned to himself, realizing he was starting to enjoy this job.

When the last guard had been taken out, they rushed into the small ship, and Harper was relieved to finally drop the large bag