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

time to react as it toppled over the railing of the walkway. It hit two landings on the way down, and finally landed on the floor. Instead of reacting as Martin had expected—taking a bit to recover and then firing at the doctor—the general leapt up nearly instantly and darted forward, toward Nitro.

“Oh, shit,” Martin sneered, realizing his mistake. “Look out, Captain!” he shouted before running for the steps.

Nitro followed the sound of his voice and found Martin on the platform above him. “Doc?!” He was relieved, though that was short-lived. Rook had intercepted him at a ninety-degree angle, landing a fist into his chest. The captain fell to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. He gasped as he struggled to stand.

Rook gave him no time to recover and fired at his chest. Had Nitro not leapt to the side when he did, it would have killed him. Instead, the hard laser put a large hole in his right shoulder.

The captain screamed, but kept moving. Quickly on his feet, he put his back to the outside wall of one of the transport vessels. He looked behind him at the large, square container that housed the Carrion within their incapacitating liquid. While he didn’t know what the container held, he was smart enough to notice his pursuers had stopped firing so recklessly when he entered this room. And they certainly weren’t firing at him now. Nitro wobbled, smearing blood against the vessel as his tired, daring smile shifted to his foe. “Whatcha got in there?” He pointed behind him with his thumb. “Goodies? Explosives?”

Rook approached, furious. The several Eighth, standing behind it, held their fire as their general approached the man. “You give me no alternative, captain.” Rook attached its rifle to its leg, and it stepped forward. “Though I must admit, this will be satisfying.”

Nitro, with a hole in one shoulder and a severe burn on the other, looked up to see Martin running down the ramps of the walkway as quickly as he could. His attention turned to Rook, who stepped toward him. The captain barely put up a fight, swinging a wounded arm at the automaton best he could. Rook’s first swing was directly into the captain’s midsection. Nitro took the hit, and attempted to swing again. Rook dodged it easily. “I don’t know what you hope to gain from this,” it said, before landing a well-placed punch against Nitro’s jaw.

The blow made him stumble, but Nitro immediately threw himself backward again, keeping his back against the vessel. “Never fought a can opener before. Thought it’d be fun.” He spat blood in Rook’s face, and the machine barely noticed.

“That’s an insult, I imagine,” Rook sneered, exposing the speaker behind his lips. “But you have no idea what I am.” Another swing, this one headed for Nitro’s ribs. The captain blocked it with his one, dangling arm. The skin in his shoulder, the bone, the cartilage, was all stretched from the blow. Nitro let out a short, pained holler.

“Your people imagine me to be some idiotic, straightforward mad robot, but I am remarkable. If I’d told you my real name during the transmission, you would not have come.” Nitro swung again, but Rook countered and kicked the captain in the leg, nearly dropping him. The captain recovered, bouncing, still keeping his back to the vessel. Nitro was beginning to notice that Rook nearly stopped trying to get the man away. His blows were less calculated by angle, and more by degree of pain. “I averted a civil war of my own people. I made a silent coup and overthrew the mainframe within weeks! All without firing a single shot!”

Nitro somehow dodged a few blows in a row, his face swollen. “What the hell are you talking about, you Eighth Asshole?” Nitro didn’t mean to make a racial statement; he was speaking chronologically, meaning that seven assholes had preceded the general.

Rook dropped its hands. “That’s just it, captain. I am the first of the Ninth.” Nitro dropped his hands as well, giving a defeated look to the machine. “And all of this, it’s just one of my many stockpiles of weapons. When the war comes, I will arrive at your doorstep and turn your people to ash.”

Bloodied, exhausted, battered, Nitro gave his adversary a puzzled look. “What war?”

The Ninth grinned. “The only war that will matter, captain.” It stepped toward him once more. “Retribution.”

Martin finally approached the ground level, waving his half-arm. The other arm dug into his pocket and took out a small container filled with a green liquid. He ripped it open with his teeth before shouting to the captain. “Nitro! The substance is Mono-Clardite-based!”

The captain didn’t have time to react. While not taking his eyes off his opponent, he shouted to the doctor. “Am I supposed to know—” Another blow landed against Nitro’s jaw, and he heard another snap.

“It’s dissolvable with any amount of acidic substance!” Martin continued, ecstatic; the need to tell absolutely anybody radiated off of him. His smile turned to a cringe when he saw Nitro take yet another hit, this time to the stomach. “Uh, never mind, you’ll see.” Martin hurled the container.

Two of the Eighth standing behind Rook fired. One of them fired at Martin’s stomach, dropping him instantly. The other laser ripped clean through Martin’s open, spinning container. It punctured the chemical vial and spilled all of the contents directly into the open vat atop the transport vessel.

The Ninth’s eyes widened.

Martin dropped to the ground with a smile on his face. Upon landing on his knees, he coughed up blood. But that didn’t stop him from craning his head to watch the vessel begin to rumble. “Nitro,” the captain looked to him, trusting him to be the only one who knew what was about to happen. The doctor’s white whiskers were spattered with blood, and his eyes were glassy yet warm. Nitro knew the doctor had to be in incredible pain, but his face didn’t reflect it. He looked