Stars Gods Wolves Dan Kirshtein (short novels to read txt) 📖

The representative nodded, looking down. In these moments, he’d noticed other Humans offer that one could let the other know if anything was needed. But his species had their own way of dealing with grief, and he translated as best he could for her. “Your weight is mine as well,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she nearly whispered as she wiped her eyes. Once a somber moment had passed, she went to the door. Before she opened it, she looked back at him. “Oh,” she sniffled again, looking back at him with a weak voice. “Something came up on Sabile, and I want to extract Martin Collier.”

Col’po furrowed a brow as he tapped his desk. “Why do I know that name?”

Gally’s tone grew calmer, more casual. “He developed the Carbonic Mutator. The Heruleans took him before they surrendered.”

Col’po shrugged and tried not to wave too dismissively. “Sure, sure. You have the docs?”

She nodded as she approached the desk once again. With greater care than necessary, she held out the tablet and put it over the desk. He pressed his large thumb against the device, and it gave a beep after scanning. “Thanks.” She still sounded vulnerable as she turned away.

Before she closed the door, Gally let the grief fall from her face. She looked angry, determined. She’d just been approved to take off her leash.

Jupiter Proximity Station:Refueling Station A

The Atticus was a sturdy, albeit small vessel. Her frame was sleek where it could be, and long where it needed to be. A navy green steel frame carried tight, firm wings and a large transport area for cargo, people, or anything else her clients could think of. She sat upon the tarmac at the Jupiter Proximity Space Station, watching the stars twinkle past the effervescent blue atmosphere shield that kept her pilot breathing. Her AI was currently housed in a metallic black humanoid frame that helped load empty cargo crates as refueling finished up.

The AI’s frame detected the pilot’s key coming back within vocal distance. It then detected his voice. “Sydney, run a diagnostic on the media player before we leave.”

It did not look up from moving the crates as it answered, “media player is unresponsive.”

Harper’s eyes rolled behind thick reading glasses. “Yeah, I know. I’m trying to find out why.” He wiped the remaining mustard from his mouth as he finished his approach; the giant owner’s manual was tucked under his arm. Every day, he experienced some form of buyer’s remorse regarding his ship. Sure, she was dependable where it counted, but all of her bells and whistles had fallen off, one by one, in the course of a few years. It was a wonder Sydney still functioned, although he found himself arguing with it like an old spouse.

Before helping load the containers, Harper stopped, just short of entering the vessel, and watched the AI work. Maybe he’d been in flight for too long, he considered, as he tried to focus on what needed to be done to get home. The jobs were taking a toll on him, and they were becoming more and more work for less and less pay. Not to mention the monetary cost of the career: This fuel run alone nearly took half the pay of his last job. Deciding against entering the ship just yet, he approached the fueling station, shaking his head in disbelief as it churned out a receipt.

“You fucker,” he groaned as he ripped the receipt from the station’s mouth and crumpled it into his pocket, having already felt the big bold numbers take their bite out of him.

Sydney twitched to stand upright, and Harper caught it in the corner of his eye. He walked into the cargo bay, waiting for it to notify him of an incoming message. A green light flashed on the top of what would be the frame’s scalp.

“Incoming contract,” Sydney’s metallic voice carried out from within the cargo bay.

Harper smirked before he kicked some trash out of the way, approaching the frame. He knew it was from the girl at the administrative desk, and his eyes twinkled with curiosity. He sat on a crate in front of it and leaned his elbows onto his knees. “Sydney, open contract.” He had expected her to contact him, but not this quickly. Perhaps one more job wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. At the very least, he’d get to know more about her.

“Fifty thousand currency,” the AI chirped. “Estimated time of com—“

“Sydney, stop!” Harper interrupted, realizing the volume on the frame. He quickly ran to the bay doors and closed them, though they did not close quickly. Once they did, a faint light flickered to life within the bay: one of the very few remaining bells and whistles. “Sydney, volume three.” A white light atop the frame’s scalp confirmed the change of volume, and Harper looked around to collect himself. This was a year’s haul, currency wise, to him and to many others in his line of work. Contracts were few and far between, and this one seemed too good to be read aloud to any nearby curious ears. Once Harper was satisfied, he sat back down upon the crate, this time much more interested, and asked again to open the contract.

“Fifty thousand currency. Estimated time of completion: Four weeks. Cargo: Six passengers and one hundred and fifty pounds of cargo. First destination: Heru. Second destination: Sabile. Objective: Retrieve sixth passenger and transport to second destination. Six return trip passengers anticipated. Mission contact: Secretary G. Ramone. Do you accept?”

Harper was befuddled by how simple the job seemed, considering the amount of money. His jaw hung open, and he blinked. After scratching some whiskers on his face, he leaned back on the crate. And while he was, of course, interested in knowing about the job, a very different kind of curiosity overtook him. “Sydney, run the bio on the mission contact.”

“Galadriel Ramone, Secretary of Orbital Relations. Origin: Earth. Current Residence: