Stars Gods Wolves

by Dan Kirshtein

  She looked back to him to see a gray color washing over his face as he met her eyes and put an index finger to his lips. Josie nodded and froze in place. A softer expression appeared on the pilot’s face as his middle finger slowly rose as well. His lips pushed out, and Josie gave him a soft nod.

  She fumbled in her pockets and pulled out two cigarette cartridges, tossing one on his lap. With shaking hands, he slowly took out his auto-pipe and loaded it as Josie sat in the seat next to him and loaded her own.

  Their cigarette cartridges were very similar to Earth’s electronic cigarettes of the twentieth century, but, aside from the nicotine, most of the toxins had been replaced by vitamins. Tobacco companies had found that people were more creatures of habit than of self-destruction. Josie found herself to be an equal mix of both.

  After a quiet moment, Zerich coughed and frowned. “The hell is this?” he grimaced, examining the cartridge underneath his pipe.

  Josie smirked, putting her feet up on the console. She exhaled a trail of smoke before speaking. “Apple.”

  Zerich’s frown lessened. “Apple?” he murmured as if hearing the word for the first time. He grumbled, his head bouncing in resentment of kids these days.

  Josie’s eyes followed the trail of smoke as it was slowly pulled into the vent, but she was distracted by the patch of gum on the glass. She then looked to him, with a quiet realization of how he’d put the safety of the crew above his own health. Her eyes softened, but she tried not to look at him, not wanting to watch the red color slowly dissipating from his skin. They smoked for a long time, neither of them saying a word.

  Josie noticed fewer and fewer puffs of smoke from the pilot’s side. His exhales, which came at longer intervals, were occasionally punctuated by a cough or two. But even they grew softer as his breathing slowed. After not hearing a cough for a long time, Josie looked over to see that the now gray-skinned Obbitale was no longer holding the auto-pipe. It rested on his lap, just outside of an open hand. She sighed and stayed there for a moment before getting up.

  She took the pipe from his lap, turned it off, and then put it back. She closed his eyes before silently leaving the cockpit.

  Bridos-1:

  Main Street

  What people called cars hadn’t come that far, aesthetically; this was especially true on planets like Bridos, where newly founded Human civilization had strived so hard to replicate old civilization. Some functional updates, however, did occur: they were devoid of wheels (replaced by a hovering magnetic system) and completely autonomous (a navigation screen was all that was needed, and the cars drove themselves, with a networked program that was universally followed). Passengers—meaning literally everyone now—would sit behind a large screen, dial in their destination, and leave the sanctity of their schedules to the mercy of the machines.

  Gally and her mother sat behind such a screen in silence as the humming of the magnet system filled the cabin. Ariel sat with her hands folded, anxiously watching her daughter try to type with tears in her eyes, [which just looked like a frustrated, amateur pianist]. From her seat, she could see the search bar of what her daughter was looking for, despite the many typos. After building up the courage to do so, Ariel moved to take the tablet away. “Honey, it’s not important.”

  Gally wanted to snap at her, to tell her that she had no idea what was important to her and what wasn’t. How could she know? She was hardly around, only deciding to come back into her life, emotionally, once the hard part of raising a child was long over. She hadn’t earned the right to deny her this, and, as far as Gally was concerned, she never would.

  She wanted to say all of those things, but couldn’t find the time. Instead, she flung an index finger into the air, which was enough to make Ariel back away. The text appeared full of typos at first, as Gally typed and re-typed the words. Finally, an audio file began to play. Gally leaned in, wanting to hear the words in the recording rather than her own burning prejudice.

  “People of the Human Government,” it began in a monotone, as if reading from a script, but not bothering to sound convincing. “Your leader has submitted a request for an apology regarding the sacking of a ship you named The Ballpoint.”

  Gally’s lip twitched, her patience running thin as she scrutinized every word.

  “I did not live up to the high standards my people have set for ourselves.” It did not sound sad or remorseful, just blank. “And we have, for the moment, failed in our purpose. And for that, I accept full accountability.”

  She blinked in disbelief as the words ran through her head.

  “I will do better next time.” An ominous tone took over, as if smiling on the other end. “I will do more.”

  The clip ended, and a list of recommended clips appeared on the tablet as Gally processed what she’d heard. Ariel stammered. “Now, honey, I’m, I’m sure he meant–”

  Gally’s lips pursed as she looked up and stared out the windshield the way one does before a good scream.

  “Honey,” Ariel persisted.

  Instead of screaming, Gally slapped the tablet with the base of her palm, looking up at the car’s ceiling. After three good slaps, she leaned over the navigation screen in front of her and dialed into it with forceful and impatient fingers. The navigation system dinged in confirmation of the change. Jamming on the brakes and cutting everyone off to change course was impossible in these cars. Their vehicle slowly changed lanes to make a U-turn when it was deemed safe enough to do so. Gally’s eye twitched in impatience.

  Despite the lack of urgency from the car’s navigation system, Ariel’s voice still carried a tinge of panic. “Honey, where, uh, where are we going?” She tried not to sound scared, so she added a ‘sweetie’ that sounded rather unconvincing.

  “Work.” Gally’s tone was dry and cold. “I want to see something.” Unsatisfied, she sat back in her seat, arms crossed.

  Jupiter Proximity Station: a self-sustaining space station orbiting Jupiter in the Milky Way galaxy

  Docking Bay 2

  The Wendigo looked hollow and skeletal: an empty soda can that hadn’t yet reached the garbage. Its bulky frame sat solemnly atop the busy star-port that bustled all around it. The only people who paid any attention to the lonely vessel was the Purple Company. They stood on the dock and stared at the transport that they’d called home for years.

  “Shitty way to go,” Boomer grunted, kicking the metallic floor. “Slow and painful.” A detonation tube danced between his fingers like a pen.

  Nitro watched the tube thoughtfully. On most days, he would have stopped him from doing it, but he knew that fidgeting was how Boomer dealt with many things, grief being one of them.

  The captain looked to Josie, who was quietly and stubbornly staring at nothing. He’d recognized that look in soldiers who were unsuccessfully trying to compartmentalize the death of a friend. “You two were close?”

  Boomer snorted a laugh, and Josie snapped her eyes to him in disgust. “What?” Nitro nearly rolled his eyes as the demolitions expert defended himself. “You’re not close to anyone.”

  Expecting Josie to throw a punch at Boomer, the captain stepped back. But no punch came. Josie just stood straighter and swayed her shoulders, leaning on her rifle. “No one worth bein’ close to,” she muttered.

  Nitro and Boomer both looked surprised. When the captain looked back at the scraggly-haired man, he noticed the detonation tube had stopped spinning. Boomer looked hurt, as if he would have preferred just getting hit.

  Nitro glanced at Ox, who had been silent the whole time. The Waykind stood with his head bowed, holding his staff with purpose. With a softened expression, Nitro approached him. “You did your, uh–” the captain waved his hand in the air, as if he wasn’t searching for a word but an action.

  Ox patiently nodded as his head rose once again. “I did.” His deep voice was calm and peaceful as he looked up to the ship. His large yellow eyes drifted to Nitro, and a gentle smile appeared on his wide face. “He has crossed.”
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  The captain smiled through a frown as he patted Ox on the back. “Good shit.” He looked to the others, noticing Boomer still trying to recover from Josie’s harsh words. “Come on.” He walked by the pair of them, clapping each one on the shoulder. “We’ll pour one out.”

  They slowly broke off, one by one, until only Ox was left. He took a moment, then turned and followed the others, walking with the aid of his knuckles and staff.

  Bridos-1:

  The Corner of 218th and Main

  The car carrying Gally and her mother arrived at its destination and slowed to a halt in front of the large bronze government building. Gally was pulling on the door handle as urgently as polite society would allow. The automated locks, it seemed, would not unlock for Car-Jesus himself, until it came to a complete stop. Once it finally had stopped, Gally no longer had the patience to be polite. “Thanks for the ride, Ma.” The door handle snapped back with a thud and the door slowly unsealed as Gally tried to slide a leg through the small and slowly growing gap.

  “Honey–” her mother began.

  “Yep, see you later,” Gally nodded with the last remnants of her manners, while she leaned against the door with all her might, trying to move it along.

  “Gally,” Ariel insisted.

  “Ma, I gotta go.” The door would need more than all one hundred and thirty five pounds of her in order to move any faster.

  “I know you do! You always do!” The words leapt from her mother’s mouth, as if she was paraphrasing a talk she’d been meaning to have for a long time. “You keep moving at that pace, and you’ll outrun everybody you ever meet!”

  Gally finally stopped trying to force the door, not that it noticed. She froze and glanced at her mother, [her bottom lip hanging off before replying]. “The hell does that mean?” she asked, harshly.

  A thick silence hung in the car as Ariel took a deep breath and chose her words carefully. “I mean,” she began, her hands rising before plopping on her lap, “when was the last time you did something for yourself?”

  Gally closely resembled her father, and she was reminded of that often, especially by her mother when they argued. So, when her face fell the way it did, she expected the snide reminder, even waited for it. When it didn’t come, Gally responded. “I’m doing that right now,” she said before a flat, sarcastic tone took over. “Thanks for the ride.” She stepped out of the car and fumed toward the building. She’d made it the entire way up the steps before she heard the car door fully close again.

  Gliding through the front door, Gally was forced to pause and swipe her ID at two security screens. She took the stairs to the third floor, wrongly thinking it would help her burn off some of the anger. After yet another security screen, she arrived at a labyrinth of dark blue cubicles. Without stopping, she weaved in and out of the quiet set of desks before arriving at a man in jeans and a T-shirt.

  Leaning back in his chair, a takeout box on his lap, the man looked up from the sandwich in his hands to see Gally arrive at his cubicle in a huff. She came to a halt when she realized his monitors were black and locked. A late smile appeared on her face, making it obvious that being polite was an afterthought. She watched the man slowly lower his sandwich. “Hi,” he said, as one would when an attractive stranger runs into one’s workplace. He talked as if he hadn’t even noticed her barging in. “Can I help you?”

  “Stewart, right?” she asked. He nodded expectantly. “I’m Gally.” This was met with a blank stare and an open mouth, so Gally reintroduced herself with the name on her email signature. Impatience slipped into her tone, as she remembered how her name appeared on her work email. “Galadriel Ramone?”

  The man’s face lit up with the realization that she was one of his many bosses. “Ah!” he said, mildly. “Nice to finally put a face to the name.” He leaned forward and extended a hand, which was immediately retracted and wiped on his shirt. Gally lost count of how many times he’d wiped before finally shaking her outstretched hand. As slight as she was, her handshake was firm and well practiced. His shake lacked commitment, giving up halfway. “Didn’t think you worked on Saturdays.”

  There was a slight pause in her reply, the kind that comes before a white lie. “Normally, I don’t. But I need a favor.”

  “Sure, sure,” Stewart nodded, obligingly, as his hand was brought back. He glanced at his other hand and looked slightly befuddled that he was still holding the sandwich. He placed it back in the box on his desk with a thump, and sat up, brushing crumbs off his shirt. The monitor lit up as he sighed, contently. “Okay, what can I do for ya?”

  “I need a transmission traced.” She slid a small data drive in front of him.

  Stewart leaned forward and took it. Gally felt her eyes involuntarily widen as he examined it and then looked back at her. She knew he’d never been handed a drive for this type of information before. So while she stood there, burning in her skin, she tried to embody standard procedure as much as possible. After a shrug, he plugged the drive into his computer and typed with the handicap of someone looking over his shoulder.

  Gally put an elbow on her wrist and resisted the urge to bite at her fingers.

  After a long silence, Stewart finally said something. “Huh,” he mused.

  She couldn’t make sense of the screen, so she was hoping he’d translate. When he didn’t immediately do so, she inquired. “What?”

  “It’s from one of your sectors.” His next words came out like a slow groan, as he was still pinpointing while he spoke. “Close to Sabile.”

  Gally blinked in confusion. “What the hell would they be doing all the way out there?”

  “I don’t ask questions; I just read what I see.” Stewart leaned closer to the screen and squinted before popping back. “There’s an unopened transmission from that planet, if you want that too.”

  She furrowed a brow, trying to think of who could be sending messages from a dead planet. Finally, it occurred to her. “From the research stations?”

  He nodded as he scanned the screen. “P-Code: Alpha. From…” He paused and looked at a small novelty calendar on his desk. “…two days ago?!” His lips curled as he leaned back. They both knew the code was only used for life-threatening situations, and it going unread for two days was a hard discovery to make in front of one’s boss. “Ah, you know what it is?” He lightly slapped his desk. “That used to be Patrick’s division. We haven’t found his replacement yet.” He spun in his chair to face her. And while he wasn’t responsible for that region, he expected her to be disappointed.

  Gally’s neck straightened as her body pretended to be as upset as her position warranted. Her mind, however, was elsewhere. While it was rather unusual for a secretary to visit the region they oversaw, it wasn’t unheard of. And with an Alpha transmission to leverage, no one, morally, could say no. She fought the urge to smile while trying not to sound too excited about someone probably dying. “Can you put both transmissions on my tablet?”

  He furrowed a brow in surprise as he turned slightly away from her, pointing behind him with his thumb. “I normally send P-Code Alphas to Mid-Command.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, I’ll handle it.” Her voice faltered, but only enough for her to notice. She wondered if she was still capable of sounding convincing, if the thoughts of grief and anger had made her face any easier to read. She wondered if she could pull this off.

  Jupiter Proximity Station:

  Star-Dock

  The Star-Dock Administrative desk had become a catch-all for anything relating to a ship that was docked on station. Originally, its intended purpose was to serve the Human Government Navy with all of their needs. Since it had been privatized, however, the new owners realized they could make more money by opening it to the public and serving their needs as well. This was, of course, to the detriment of the customer service representatives. Those behind the counter, despite their varying races and species, all had the same droop in their eyelids: the kind of droop one develops after being y
elled at, day after day, for things well beyond one’s control.

  Harper noticed his line had been moving much faster than the line next to him; he attributed that to his line having a lot less yelling. After being thankful his line seemed more civilized, the blond pilot crossed his arms and waited. He wasn’t used to standing straight, and it was a struggle to remember such things; the years in voyage, sitting in his cockpit, had taken its toll on his posture. It had also given him a slight paunch, which was well hidden by his arm crossing.

  Finally, he was called up to the front of the counter. A blue humanoid sat on the other end and muttered something in a deep voice before the screen printed the words in English: Hello, how can I help you today?

  Harper never knew how these screens always got his language correct on the first try. Did he look so utterly American? As convenient as it was, he couldn’t help but feel stereotyped. Still, he tried to be as pleasant as possible, despite not having had any social interactions for some time. “Hi, I wanted to see if you have the owner’s manual for a B-class transporter? Model 7X.” He smiled politely.

  The blue man’s eyes scanned across the words that appeared on his side before he looked up at Harper for a moment, who tried to widen his smile. Some more words were mumbled, and the text appeared in front of the pilot: We wouldn’t have that on digital file.

  Harper’s eyes faded from polite to apologetic, knowing that the employee was doing his best to not have to go to the back. “That’s fine.”

  The clerk’s gaze fell back down to read the words before he sighed and stood up from his desk. He walked over to a large row of filing cabinets and rummaged through them.