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

as his friend fell. He realized that he had very little time to make the jump, and with Ox gone, no one could grab him if he failed. He put all his energy into this next charge, and he leapt with all his remaining strength.

His legs flailed wildly while he was in the air, as if kicking would help. His outstretched hands barely clasped the landing, and his body swung below it. He screamed from the pain of hanging and yelled to Gally.

He called to her again before she glanced down at him, though her attention quickly turned back to firing at Rook.

Having taken several hits, Rook fired back, though it couldn’t land a shot due to the damage it sustained. One or two of her shots had landed, though they didn’t fell the automaton.

“Gally!” Nitro called for the third time, and she finally grabbed him—by the wrong arm. “NO! NO! NO!” And she pulled. His scream rivaled any engine roar, but it didn’t last long. Gally soon pulled an unconscious man up onto the ship.

When she recovered to fire at Rook, the cargo bay doors started to close. “No! Damn it!” she shouted, firing as many bolts as she could through the small space. “Harper! Goddamnit!” She pounded the side of the ship with a closed fist.

The doors closed with a loud thud.

The only sound that remained in the passenger bay was Ox’s panting: deep and low, vibrating the interior. Ula ran to his side and grabbed his arm. “No fear, little one.” She propped up his head as best she could. He was staring at something, though she couldn’t see what it was. “I see them,” he rumbled. He was referring to his mother and father. They were as young as the day he’d left, their appearance unchanged from his own memory. “They stayed with me.” It was nearly a question, given his tone. “After all I’ve done.”

He smiled and leaned his head back more than Ula could stand. She slipped back and let his head fall. His eyes were still open. Gally leaned over his body, finally kneeling, and ran a hand over his face to close his eyes.

9

Hey little darlin’,

Happy birthday!

I know it’s probably not how you pictured it. Hell, for all I know, this may not even reach you in time, so uh.

Sorry, I’m bad at this.

Listen, just because mom and I aren’t together doesn’t mean we love you any less, okay? That sounds cliché, but I really need to say it. I don’t know.

I know you’re angry or sad or disappointed or whatever. And I wanna tell you that those feelings are gonna go away, but they aren’t.

You’re just gonna get better at handling them.

Hell, I scream into a pillow sometimes.

Mom screams at everything else.

Bad joke. Sorry.

Anyway, I want you to know that I’ll always love you. No matter what.

And you can always call me, or send me holos while I’m gone, or whatever you need to do, because I love hearing from you.

Love you lots.

Transmission from the Terminal of 2LT. S. Ramone,

File Sent February 8th, 2299

Delivered February 9th, 2299

Able: the first planet outside of the Milky Way colonized by Humans

Marlock-Stevens Corporate Office

Six months later

Jim Dockson sat at a small desk on a summer’s day. At least, he remembered that it was summer from when he came in this morning. The air conditioning in the building made it frigid, but he was one of the few employees who never wore a coat. He’d gotten his own office due to his prosthetic arm clicking on the keyboard too loudly for the liking of his co-workers. He stretched his jaw and heard a click, still having a dull ache since it healed.

Having been moved, he could no longer see the window—or the sun—from where he was seated, but if he leaned a bit, he could glance down the hall and see a window. If Golda wasn’t at his desk, he could stare for some time. If Golda was there, it was awkward.

After checking to see if Golda was there—he was, and they met eyes for what Jim had turned into an uncomfortable hello—he went back to his desk and began to type. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of typing, but he’d come a long way from when he’d started. Still, it involved more hunting and pecking than some of the others in the office.

He had just finished drafting a letter when Orsa came in. Orsa was a tall Obbitale, a tad overweight and just barely squeezed into his white button-down shirt. He was also Jim’s supervisor. “Good Morning, James.” He rushed through the words to get them out of the way; he had no intention of being friendly. “Looks like you sent the customer the wrong file on the Wat-Utao account?” His long neck jutted out as he spoke in a polite yet accusatory tone.

“Oh,” Jim looked down at his computer, going through the files transmitted. He saw the error; it was indeed the wrong file. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll send him the right one.” Jim nodded and went to correct the mistake before he realized Orsa hadn’t left his desk.

There was silence as Jim’s head slowly turned back to his supervisor. “Why did you think that was the correct file?” he asked, his eyes pretending to drift casually onto Jim’s computer screen.

“Uh, I didn’t, I just clicked the wrong one. I’ll send it over now.” His tone fought very hard to be professional, but there was a hint of annoyance in it.

“Please do,” Orsa said, as if Jim had only just come to the conclusion. “The client needs to be informed as well so they don’t send the wrong form back.” The supervisor began to walk out. “So call him right away, please!”

Jim bit his lip, shaking his head. After collecting himself, he put on his headset and dialed the number. It rang for a bit before a gruff voice picked up. “Hello.”

“Mister Wat? Good morning. My