Stars Gods Wolves

by Dan Kirshtein

  His working days were full of the easiest, most mindless tasks that he completed simply. All the while, he listened to broadcasts that helped him learn another language. When he arrived at his final station, he popped the audio devices out of his blue ears and moved his narrow, pleasant face into the tiny window of his administrator, and greeted her in Wackan. “Spaddip, Eila!” He meant it as hello, but he’d actually told her he was hungry. Either way, he would find the people of the Wackano immensely hospitable.

  Eila happily placated him. “Spadduhp, Kackla,” she replied, not quite getting the hang of something she learned from someone who hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it either.

  She handed him his day’s checklist, and he bounced as he filled it out. Before he could finally stamp it, however, an explosion rocked the building. It was not the type of explosion one hears in military scenarios: a nice clean boom, some debris falls, and everything’s over quickly. This was the kind of messy and noisy explosion that was made by a passionate, albeit slightly unstable, independent contractor.

  Eila screamed and jumped off her chair to go fill out her emergency procedure paperwork. Kackla’s audio device fell to the floor as he retrieved his gun from his back, racing toward the sound of the explosion before an alarm bellowed through the halls.

  When he arrived at the site of the explosion, there was shrapnel and debris everywhere. Heru’s sandy and windy atmosphere surged into the man-made hole, making it difficult to see. Purple bolts of plasma dashed through the red winds and gray smoke. Had this been any experienced invader, it would not have been a fair fight. Kackla’s co-workers—the other underpaid guards turned militia-grade soldiers—fired blindly and almost aimlessly into what Kackla surmised to be a dozen armed men on the other side of the gaping wall. Next to the guards, huddled on one end of the hole, two Herulean bodies lay on the floor, wounded from the explosion. When Kackla looked up, he noticed that the purple bolts were not really hitting anything; they were random and aimless. The shots were either not fired by anyone intending to hit a target, or they were not fired by anyone at all. Something beyond the smoke caught his eye: had he more experience in the military, he would have identified it as an unmanned turret.

  “Kackla!” A shout from his commanding officer drew his attention to the far side of the gap. “Take those men. Secure your prisoner. Right now.” Kackla had never heard his commanding officer shout in this way before. This was not the usual ‘prisoner-facing’ voice to which Kackla had grown accustomed. This sounded almost frightened. Kackla quickly patted three of the guards on the back, which was enough to get the attention of the rest of the guards on his side to depart with him.

  They ran as fast as they could. Kackla’s long, never-seen-a-fight-in-his-life legs quaked as he approached the only cell in this entire compound worth a damn.

  Little did he know, the prisoner on the opposite side of the cell door was equally frightened. Martin Collier watched through his massive window with terror and disbelief as a sturdy, albeit small vessel descended into view. As the side hatch slid open, Martin identified the large brown creature leaping out as a Waykind. Considering how unlikely that was, he wondered if he was hallucinating all of this.

  The large brown creature wore an oxygen mask and carried a staff, which was placed against the glass wall that Martin was standing behind. The glass hummed and vibrated. Had Martin not been in such shock, he would have stepped back as it shattered in front of him. Martin had suddenly been exposed to Heru’s harsh environment. The sands tore at his skin, the oxygen was ripped from his lungs, and his eyes were filled with the familiar red winds he had watched for so long. Though he could barely see, breathe, or flee, he embraced the atmosphere wreaking havoc upon his body, raising his arms to shoulder height and smiling.

  It was the best feeling he’d ever known.

  His ecstasy was interrupted when he felt a bungie-like cord being tied around his waist. He opened his eyes as best he could, given the environment, to see a salt-and-pepper-haired Human male wearing a captain’s insignia, tying the cord tightly around him. The captain also wore an oxygen mask, and he seemed to be in quite a hurry. Martin decided it was for good reason, as he heard his cell door slide open. Before he could turn to look, his head jostled as someone quickly slid an oxygen mask and goggles over his face. The doctor’s lungs rushed to fill themselves with air as his eyes blinked away the sand. He glanced at the person who’d put the mask on him: a bald female Human.

  Her hands moved faster than anyone he’d ever seen, and the purple light flashing from her plasma pistols, striking every guard that stood behind him, reminded him of a renaissance painting. A peaceful smile arrived on his face, only to be replaced by panic as the bungee cord around his waist went taut.

  The man he was before would have understood these things happening to him. He would have understood what a prison break was, and he would have been calmer as he watched himself be reeled in to a strange ship like a fish on a line. But five years in a Herulean isolation camp had made him a very different man.

  He did not recognize the animalistic voice that screamed as he clawed at nothing before reaching the ship. Through his mask, he watched the prison shrink into the distance. And while some part of him was certain it was all he ever wanted, the rest of him felt he was going to his death.

  Upon landing within the ship’s open bay door, Martin squirmed and hollered. The bungee cord finally lowered him to the floor, and he found a corner to crawl into and tear at the mask. When he had finally removed it, he felt what was left of his muscles constrict. He was still panting and trying to assess his new environment. He remembered his days in college, observing an experiment regarding sensory overload and what it does to the brain. Some part of him insisted that he stay calm, that he focus.

  So he made an attempt. He glanced past the bald woman providing cover fire, and he watched intently as the captain, who had also been reeled back onto the ship, knelt on the edge of the bay door and attempted to aid something’s re-entry. Whatever it was that the captain was attempting to help board the ship, it was huge and heavy. Large, brown, furry fingers clutched the end of the floor, and Martin recognized the Waykind from earlier. The realization that he was not hallucinating was overshadowed by the resumption of a sensory overload.

  Gally walked past Nitro while he panted and slapped Ox on the back, after finally getting him aboard. “You dense—” he panted. “You gargantuan—” he sat down, still panting. “You fuck—.” She couldn’t help but smile.

  She straightened her skirt and wiggled her nose as she approached the newly freed doctor who was still in the corner of the ship. Ignoring the panicked look on his face, she approached the man who hadn’t heard his own name, let alone someone acknowledging his PhDs in Biology and Nuclear Physics, in five years. “Doctor Collier.” She gave him a polite smile as she extended her hand.

  He screamed.

  It was a very tired, very dehydrated scream: primal and unrelenting. Gally tried once more. “Doctor,” she attempted with eyes and tone that indicated she was out of her element. The screaming continued. Gally put her hands at her side, looking around in frustration. She glanced at the rest of Purple Company, who all wore similar faces of “what the hell is wrong with him” aside from Boomer, who seemed to think it was funny.

  Finally, Gally could hear Harper shouting from the cockpit. “Here!” he exclaimed, waving a canteen with an outstretched arm in the doorway between the cockpit and the bay. She took it and quickly unscrewed the lid before handing it to the screaming man.

  Martin took the canteen and drank nearly the entire contents in the first swig. When he choked, he finally sputtered the word “Food” before his second swig, which did finish it.

  Seemingly eager to help, Nitro leaned over and grabbed one of the canned MREs that were neatly stacked in a magnetized pile nearby. He handed it to Gally, and she cautiously offered it to the former prisoner.

  Martin quickly swiped the can, peeled back the lid, a
nd tore into it: using only his fingers to dig into the can and shovel the food into his mouth No one in the company had seen anyone enjoy one of those things so much. Boomer leaned in, noting which kind the doctor had grabbed, wondering if he’d simply picked the wrong flavor every time.

  Sabile:

  Thirty thousand feet and falling

  The winds of Sabile weighed heavily upon the Atticus almost instantly upon entering the atmosphere. After the first few violent bursts of turbulence, the “fasten your seatbelt” sign, which, aboard any other ship, would have been turned on before the hustle of entering the planet’s atmosphere, was finally displayed above the door to the cabin. The independent contractors seemed oddly comfortable in this ruckus; it was just another bumpy ride to them. Despite this, Josie amusedly watched Gally’s tiny frame bounce around on her bench like an infant in an oversized car seat.

  “Please fasten your seatbelts and remain in your seats. We have arrived on Sabile.” The ship’s AI would have been heard throughout the ship had her rowdy passengers not shot the speaker. Still, it could be heard just past the door to the cockpit, where Martin was seated. His eyes widened, somehow madder than usual, and he immediately stirred to remove his seatbelt. Once he’d done that, he found standing quite difficult.

  “Doc,” Nitro cautioned from afar, uncertain the man even spoke enough English to understand him. “You might want to take a seat.”

  “I have to see it!” he muttered to himself as he struggled to stand, his muscles too weak to properly hold him upright in the chaos. Stumbling, he was thrown just within arm’s reach of the door, and he opened it.

  Harper heard the door slide open, and didn’t bother to turn his head, though some part of him insisted on confirming the sign for the seatbelts was, indeed, on. He’d heard the commotion in the back and knew who was at the door. “Nothing to see, I’m afraid!” Harper shouted over the jostling and noise. He was right: Smoky clouds, gray snow, and blue flashes of lightning covered the entire windshield.

  Still, Martin found it fascinating. He clung to the side of the doorway, eyes wide, both in reverence for science’s fury and in guilt for the horror he had wrought upon this world. “God forgive me,” he whispered, as if it was all one word. He stumbled in, finding a seat in the co-pilot’s chair.

  As if watching a child carrying glass, Harper eyed the doctor. “That’s—that’s fine, just don’t touch anything.” Martin nodded, not looking at him.

  Harper was flying on scopes alone, which he didn’t mind as much as the horrible weather. Still, he was an experienced pilot, and managed to find the radar ping from the research base expecting them, not far from where they were. He pushed down on the controls and watched as the sonar pings coming back indicated a rocky terrain below all that snow. The jagged surface made it difficult to find a decent spot to land. Under normal conditions, the pilot would have taken his time, circled once or twice, and descended carefully. Unfortunately, the lightning and fierce winds did not allow for such considerations, forcing Harper to bring her down very quickly.

  Within the confines of her screens and speakers, Sydney would have panicked if it could. Its programming excluded any way to put a tone into its voice, but that didn’t stop it from trying. “Warning, altitude decreasing.” The feminine voice from the speakers was clear and begrudgingly calm amid the chaos. “Deployment of landing gear advised.” Within what could have been the same breath, it continued. “Landing gear unadvised, given current terrain.”

  Harper gave a tight nod and a response he knew she wouldn’t recognize. “Yeah, but what can you do!” His white knuckles shook as the steering controls rattled.

  “Warning,” it started again. “Altitude decreasing.”

  “Sydney, stop!” Martin shouted, spitting. His own knuckles were white upon the arms of the co-pilot’s seat. During the silence, Harper gave the man a surprised look as they rocked.

  Sabile:

  Research Station 2

  Doctor Christopher Howlette was a patient man who felt he was being tested. His usually gentle eyes were tired and strained. It had been two weeks since they called for help, and they hadn’t left the station since. That plan was proving to be a temporary one; Research Station 3 had done the same and had just recently run out of food. They kept in constant contact with each other—mostly out of fear that one station might no longer be able to do so—and Howlette had found doing so quite trying on his nerves while he knew they’d soon be starving.

  Mitch, his assistant, refused to go back out there since his last trip, and begged all of them to do the same. He had made it a point to grow a beard since his hazardous journey, and Lee had mentioned how quiet he’d been since he returned. Howlette and Lee, as well as the doctors in Station 3, obeyed his wishes, though it pained them. When they’d finally received a response to their distress call, the scientists assumed it was a rescue, or a delivery of emergency supplies, or even extra security to protect them while they worked. When Howlette relayed the message to his colleagues, they pointed out that the response had promised none of those things. That’s when the panic came.

  Doctor Howlette was in the middle of a book when he heard Lee shouting at the sight of a proximity alert. He stood up and bolted to the terminal, nearly colliding with Mitch who was doing the same. They watched Lee pull open the report, and all smiles turned to skepticism. After a pause, Mitch commented. “Well, that can’t be it.” He furrowed a brow. “It’s only one ship.”

  Lee leaned closer to the terminal, reading the specs of the incoming ship. “Looks like an old model.”

  Howlette voiced his concerns. “Are we sure that’s even our ship? At that speed, it may pass us.”

  That’s when he noticed a sound that was gradually refusing to be considered background noise. The rumbling made all the white-coated men perk their ears. It was occasionally interrupted by soft crashes. It seemed to be coming from the right side of the building, to which all of them turned.

  Through the windows, the scientists watched a sturdy, albeit small vessel slide over mound after mound of snow. Sitting atop its inflatable water-landing gear, it burst through the gray snow and crashed over peak after peak. It was slowing, but it cleared the building, going just shy of twenty miles an hour. All three heads within Research Station 2 watched it slide past them. They began to lower their expectations.

  Sabile:

  The Atticus, two miles past Research Station 2

  Nitro watched as Gally’s pink and green vomit slid down the walkway, though he didn’t bother to lift his boots when it got to him. He could hear her groaning as the others prepped their all-terrain gear. After a second or two of fumbling around in a nearby backpack, Nitro finally took out a packet of Salt-Sticks and handed one to the girl to soothe her stomach.

  She looked up at him, after blotting her running eyes with her wrists, and took the packet. And while she didn’t thank him, she never looked away from him, even as he walked away and joined his company.

  Boomer was quite ready to leave; he’d grown bored of sitting and was excited to see what all this fuss was about. After stripping down to his underwear, revealing his shrapnel-scarred, bony figure, he stepped into the all-terrain suit. He’d always found these things quite cozy, as once the button was pressed they became skin-tight and air-tight. A small built-in backpack generated a body-safe environment, no matter what extreme weather it faced. They detached the masks and opted for helmets that were equipped with coms and a heads-up-display visor.

  Josie pulled a sidearm from her pack and, without looking, held it for Gally to retrieve from her. When Gally hadn’t taken it, the whole cabin went silent. It was a strange thing, as something so silent and subtle would not have been noticed by most. But when someone within the Purple Company felt something was wrong—in this case, Josie—it drew the attention of the others.

  “Leave it. She’s no fighter,” Ox’s booming voice surmised: the first one to break the silence.

  Nitro stormed back up the walkw
ay, only half-equipped for the trip out. “Oh, yes, she is,” he insisted. He swiped the sidearm from Josie’s hand and urged it toward Gally. The girl didn’t take it; she just stood there, looking at the captain as if he’d walk away soon. He didn’t. “You are my employer.” He spoke quietly, firmly. “And if you insist on coming with us—” he thrust the sidearm in front of her again, “—I insist on you living long enough to pay us.”

  She didn’t look scared of the pistol; she simply had no intention of shooting anyone. Gally had experience with such equipment, but it was against targets or digital skeets, never anything living. The thought of taking a life chilled her to her core, and it showed in the way she stared at the firearm.

  “It’s fine.” Harper interrupted the tension, grabbing the gun from Nitro’s hands. “She’ll be fine.” When Nitro didn’t seem convinced, still staring straight through the delicate girl, Harper patted the captain on the chest to draw his attention. “She’ll be fine.” He loaded it himself and looked at Gally as she stood up. “You take it from me when you’re ready, okay?” She nodded, thankful to no longer be the center of attention as the others finished suiting up.

  Atop the environmental suits, they also donned bluebane armor. It was a separated plate armor that protected from old-fashioned bullets and knives, as well as plasma. It was clearly designed by Humans to defend themselves against other Humans. Sure, the universe was more creative than just those things. And, yes, Purple Company had come across a few instances where the armor wouldn’t help. But they depended on the white, blocky armor for most situations.

  When he was finished, Harper grinned proudly at himself, looking down at the paraphernalia. He knocked on the large plate on his chest and looked around, making Josie roll her eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, newbie.” He’d nearly forgotten. Harper turned and pressed the button for the bay doors.