Stars Gods Wolves: Book One: Carrion

by Dan Kirshtein

  Gally’s stretch came to an end as a thought landed on her face. “The truth.” She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees as she always did. There was a spark of interest in her eyes. “The only thing the Ballpoint was carrying when it was attacked was information about your weapon.” Martin’s face dropped. It seemed like every day he learned of new deaths for which he was responsible. Granted, the death of the Ballpoint’s crew had not been taken as an act of war, as she’d anticipated. But the whole ordeal was very telling. From it, she learned how she would deal with them. “We need them distracted, so keep them interested. But safety is a top priority. Got me?”

  Leaning against the doorframe, Martin nodded, though he wasn’t happy about it. His personal safety meant nothing to him now. As he stared at Gally, he both envied and resented her. She had such purpose, such determination. And it was being squandered on some poorly planned quest for vengeance.

  He stared at her, with the knowledge that his own plans had been laid to waste. Whatever hope he had at improving the galaxy had died with this planet. As grateful as he was for his freedom, it seemed overstimulating and underutilized. What more could he do? What more was he capable of?

  It ate at him as he looked at her, but the stare only lasted a moment before Martin was prodded on the shoulder. “Hey, bartender,” Boomer stood by the door, holding a vial in an outstretched hand. “Here,” he gestured the vial at him.

  Martin finally took it and examined the pills inside before reading the label. “Diazepam?”

  “No, it’s a tranquilizer,” Boomer corrected him, having never actually read the long word on the label. The doctor looked back up at the mercenary, who gestured at him again. “It’ll help you sleep.”

  Martin frowned before nodding and looking back at the vial. “Thank you,” he muttered, letting Boomer walk back to his room. Martin rattled the pills in his hand and dry-swallowed them, finding them much easier to take than the hydration pills in prison. Saying nothing to the others, he slid into his bunk as the sound of Gally and Harper’s conversation faded over him.

  Harper remained in the corner, his body finally convincing his mind how exhausted it was. After putting his holster on the floor next to his boots, he gave Gally a look. She returned it, and waited a moment before she spoke. “So is Harper a first name or a last name?”

  He smiled at her and meandered over, feeling every muscle ache as he sat next to her. “Last name, but literally nobody uses my first name.”

  “Yeah?” her eyebrows tented, a small smirk on her face.

  “Yeah,” he nodded, finally looking at her. “Why?”

  “Just curious,” she shrugged. Harper’s face read that he knew what she was going to ask next, but he didn’t yield any further information. “Alright, be that way,” she teased him. He laughed, and she pretended not to find it funny.

  He lay next to her, finding the steel floor about as comfortable as any last resort. “Declan,” he finally admitted.

  “Gross!” Gally nearly shouted, putting her head back.

  “Fuck off,” he laughed at her. And then she did quite the opposite: she actually laid on him. Still in shock, he put his arm around her.

  More might have happened had they not been walking literally all night; had they not been trudging through the snow, or plotting the demise of one very passive aggressive robot. But they were very tired and fell right to sleep.

  Nitro was not among the Company. His voice was heard through the halls, calm and collected, as he stood by the door of what looked to be a storage room. He was tired, yes, but that made him focus. And for that he was grateful, as he stood in front of Rook.

  The Eighth general was taller than his projection portrayed. Its black plates, which served as both skin and armor, were much thicker than they’d originally appeared. At its side, magnetically attached to its leg, there sat a large laser rifle. Nitro was coming up with ways to fight it, and he wasn’t thrilled with how long that took him.

  Still, his eyes never faltered, nor did his body. He knew that, to an automaton’s careful eye, the slightest twitch or the smallest hint of fear would be easily detectable. That was why he kept what he said as close to the truth as possible. “If you don’t mind, the doc is tired from the walk. Maybe you and him could talk in the morning?” He phrased his question like a statement, and his posture would have prevented an argument from anything organic.

  “Of course, captain.” A thin smile appeared across its chrome face. Despite being built by non-Humans, its facial expressions were very relatable. The smile either conveyed disbelief or disdainful pity; Nitro couldn’t tell which. “I apologize for not anticipating that. I often forget the fragility of organic material.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed in insult, his head jerked back slightly before an angry smirk crawled onto his lip. As insulted as he was for anyone to imply that he was fragile, it sounded even worse coming from something that was built on an assembly line.

  That’s when Nitro realized what had just transpired. He’d held up a shield for so long, keeping his emotions and reactions in check, and Rook had just broken that shield. His eyes snapped back to attention, but it was too late. Rook was already giving a satisfied smile.

  Nitro knew the smile well; it was the smile of something that had sized up its opponent and found a weakness. “Yeah,” he said, with the realization that he was not the only one playing a game. “Well,” he patted the hulking automaton on its shoulder and turned away. “Good luck with that.”

  Frustrated that he couldn’t find a better comeback, the captain tried to retain his composure as he walked to his room. He felt Rook’s eyes on him before he closed the door. He entered the room and didn’t spare a moment to rest or gather himself. He found Boomer asleep in one of the bunks while Ox and Josie sat on the floor with Ula. “We’re sleeping in shifts tonight,” he told them, still fuming from being outwitted. “I’ll take the first watch. You two rest up.”

  Josie’s face fell into concern, and she paused from unstrapping her armor. “You think they’re on to us?” Before stepping out of the doorway, Nitro let his eyes provide her with an answer.

  Deciding that Gally should hear of this recent confrontation, Nitro walked to the room next door and stopped short at the doorway, seeing Gally and Harper asleep on the floor, her head resting on his chest. It was the first time he’d seen her so content, so comfortable and casual. “Oh,” he said to no one in particular as he immediately felt as if he was intruding. Nodding and gesturing at them while they slept, he felt stupid, as if this was inevitable and yet unseen. “Sure,” he grumbled as he turned around and exited the room. “Fine.” The captain put his back to the wall outside his own door. “Perfect.” He kept watch right there, itching for a fight for the entirety of his shift.

  The deep, rumbling sound of Ox answering questions in the other room had woken Harper, and he wondered how long he’d been asleep. Time, within this structure, was difficult to ascertain without a clock. The dim interior lighting proved incessant and unyielding. There wasn’t even a switch to shut it off. With a grunt, he realized he’d been sleeping with an empty duffle bag over his eyes. He moved it and forced his eyes to adjust.

  He stretched and looked at his chest, realizing that Gally was no longer resting there. A slight frown appeared on his face as he glanced at the bunks to look for her. He then discovered he couldn’t find Martin either. Harper remembered the years of his wife calling him a deep sleeper. This was the first time in a long time he conceded that she had been right about something.

  His eyes narrowed for a moment before a hand slid into his pocket and felt the familiar gold ring in his pocket. He didn’t put it on, only rolled his fingers around it. Biting his lip, he leaned against a wall to put on his boots. Once they were tied, a sigh escaped him as he looked around for a moment. He felt the familiar sting of unworthiness, still wondering if he was in over his head. Perhaps delivering packages and disappointing women was his only calling. With a shrug, he
stepped away from the wall and grabbed his holster without looking.

  It snapped up, being much lighter than the weight to which he was accustomed. His head jolted with the realization, seeing the empty holster in his hand. He groaned, knowing exactly where he left it, and knowing exactly who took the weapon.

  He wasn’t angry she took it. He knew the rules they’d agreed upon: she’d take it when she was ready. In some strange way, he felt happy for her, even though it terrified him. He worried she felt too ready, too eager to wait for the opportune moment. She was in a prime position to do something stupid, and the pit in his stomach begged him to at least be there when she did it. He wasn’t sure if he could stop her, but he’d at least be able to say that he was there for her when she got herself killed.

  The pilot activated the door and bolted out of it, nearly colliding with the large Waykind standing in the hall. Harper yelped, stopping his sprint by placing a hand on Ox’s large, furry arm.

  Ox was a statue of fur: unwavering and solid. The only movement came from his eyes, which were soft and smiling. “Down the hall and turn right.”

  Harper paused for a moment, looking at the Waykind. It seemed like anyone who glanced at Harper knew him, knew what he wanted, what language he spoke, and what girl he was interested in. Normally, it seemed invasive, but this was the first time it actually seemed helpful. He urged himself to deal with it later. “Thanks.” He put a closed fist onto Ox’s arm before dashing around him, following his directions.

  The Waykind pursed his lips as he watched the pilot disappear into the long halls. “Malindrendrox: guider of souls, wielder of the elements, soldier of fortune,” he grumbled as his eyes dashed back to the doors behind him. “Babysitter.” He leaned on his staff as his head wobbled restlessly on his neck.

  Gally was realizing how much she missed the sound of her heels clicking on the floor as she walked. How could one feel important without such noises following one’s footsteps? The environmental suit felt like a combination of a work uniform and pajamas, and it perpetuated that with each boring thump of its boots.

  Her lip twisted in awkward discomfort as she looked to her left. Nitro insisted on them having an escort, but he didn’t seem to want to walk next to her. In fact, he made it a point to have Josie switch with him when it did occur. She wondered why, but not for long.

  Her focus was, primarily, on one of the Eighth that was leading them down the hall. Its steps were the loudest through the metallic structure, as if a stark reminder that they were in charge. Yes, she very much missed her heels.

  With this thought in mind, she clung to her purse. It wasn’t a large purse, just a small, black makeup bag that no longer carried any makeup. It was just unassuming enough for no one to comment on it. Gally played up the civilian damsel role rather well, and the doctors behind her, as well as their automaton escort, didn’t give it a second thought.

  She did, however, receive a curious look from Josie. The mercenary glanced at the bag and then made eye contact with her. Gally did not flinch in that moment; she did not look away or carry her usual vulnerabilities. She returned the look with a firm nod and a wry grin. Josie looked surprised, then almost impressed.

  Doctor Collier, who was walking next to Boomer, was heard from the back. “I don’t suppose you know what all this is about?” he inquired earnestly. When their escort did not respond, Gally rolled her eyes. She wondered what, exactly, was the factor that made Rook so different from the rest of the Eighth. Getting the general to speak to them wasn’t difficult; in fact, getting it to stop talking was the tricky part.

  The sound of running boots could be heard behind them, and Gally watched their escort turn around. It nearly raised its rifle, and was met by Josie and Boomer raising theirs in return. “Easy, easy,” Nitro called out tensely. “He’s with us.” Both parties lowered their rifles and reluctantly carried on.

  Gally didn’t acknowledge Harper’s arrival to the group, for her own reasons. She didn’t want the thought of him to get in the way of killing Rook. She also didn’t want anyone in the group to know she was beginning to care for him. Feeling his eyes on the back of her neck was like hearing her mother in her head, and it made her knuckles turn white.

  To her surprise, she felt conflicted. Up until recently, the only thing she saw—the only thing that mattered—was killing Rook. Why, then, were Harper’s words pinging in her mind? Whatever happened after this didn’t matter, she told herself. Nothing mattered except this. She couldn’t go back to her normal life, not after what Rook had taken from her. By the time they’d come to the end of the hall, she was burning with rage.

  The guard slid open the door to reveal a large, empty room with Rook at its center. The Eighth stood straight, hands behind its back, an eerily welcoming smile on its face. It turned to greet them.

  Gally and Josie entered first, and the others followed. Once they’d all come in, compartments within the floor opened up, and a large table equipped with chairs on each side ascended from them. “Please,” Rook motioned to the newly placed table, and the crew took their seats.

  Gally noticed Harper rush past the others and take the seat between her and Josie. Josie’s annoyed expression was ignored by the pilot as he focused his intention squarely on Gally. “Hi,” he said with a smile, as the mercenary was forced to take the seat next to him. Gally gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, before turning from him abruptly.

  While the other Eighth all had sporadic, impersonal movements, Rook’s seemed fluid and well analyzed. It also seemed incredibly emotive for an automaton, even in poise. Rook played the role of a speaker at a business meeting, and it mimicked Human movement so closely that Gally felt sick to her stomach. “Thank you all for coming,” it started. “I should begin by telling you not to be alarmed; you’re all perfectly safe.”

  Nitro’s disdain for the Eighth could be heard in his voice. “Yeah, safe from what?” Gally smirked at the mercenary’s anticipation for a fight. She, like the others, assumed Rook meant that none of the Eighth would harm them. She could not have predicted what happened next.

  Just as the table had risen from the floor, the wall at the head of the table began to rise to the ceiling. After it had risen past the table, a humanoid figure was slowly revealed, standing just on the other side of a glass wall. From the corner of her eye, Gally saw Josie leap to her feet.

  Two flashes of plasma crashed against the glass, though it did not shatter. And once the smoke cleared, Gally could see the figure clear as day: a Carrion. The steel wall finally finished disappearing into the ceiling, and all that was heard was the sizzle of the fired plasma and Josie. “Fucking Christ,” she muttered.

  Rook turned to Josie with a disappointed expression on its face. “I had thought my warning was sufficient.” It gestured to the Carrion, which was unmoving and unbothered: as docile as they’d ever seen them.

  Boomer, who had seen the creatures turn savage in an instant, shouted at the Eighth. “What the fuck is that thing doing here?” He was also out of his seat, a detonation tube clutched in his hand. His head was cocked so that he could see clearly around his frayed hair.

  “We’ve been studying them.” Rook was calm, its deep, metallic voice reverberating through the room. It motioned to the Carrion, which stood calmly on the other side. The creature’s breathing could be heard through the wall, deep and rumbling.

  Gally watched Martin, on her right, rise to his feet. “Why the hell,” he murmured. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?!”

  “He’s well fed, if that’s what you’re referring to,” Rook countered.

  Mitch interjected, sounding as if he was scolding a child. “They don’t just kill for food.”

  Rook seemed pleased. “Ah, so you’re aware of that.” There was a silence due to its casual and excited tone, as if it was watching a mouse in a maze. “That’s what piqued our interest. We initially thought it was primal, killing only for hunger or territory. But we observed them kill your scienti
sts for fun, and then come back later for the meal.”

  Gally’s eyes turned to Mitch, who went pale at the mention of Research Station 4. She watched Doctor Howlette place a hand on his shoulder before speaking. “I’m assuming all of this has a point?”

  Rook’s face fell into annoyance. “Play indicates intelligence,” it sneered. “Every sentient, scientifically advanced civilization, before they reached the stars, had a test that they’d beam into space. It was designed to both communicate with and test the intelligence of any receiving,” it paused. “What did your people call them? Extra-terrestrials?” it mused.

  Doctor Lee furrowed a brow at the realization of what was happening. “You gave it a SETI?”

  Rook pointed to the doctor with an ebony-plated hand, another gesture it had learned from watching organic life. “Several, actually.” It seemed proud. Gally looked around, and, to her horror, noticed admiration and fascination in the doctors’ faces. This seemed to make Rook gloat. It was performing for an audience. “Would you like to see one of yours?” it smiled.

  It input a code into a small number pad on a wall, and a tone was heard on the other side of the glass wall. The beastly Carrion took two steps toward the glass, close enough so that his heavy and animalistic breathing could fog it. Then he stepped back.

  The Carrion lifted a heavy and scarred hand, extending one of its fingers. The long, claw-like fingernail landed upon the fogged glass with a clink. It scraped the glass, but not aggressively. The blue claw dragged downward, at an angle: then sideways, then upward, until a full triangle had been drawn within the fogged glass. There was no satisfaction in the creature’s face, no recognition that he’d done what was asked of him. He simply stepped back with the same blank expression.