Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (good books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

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 yelled 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.

A door to Harper’s left had gone unnoticed for some time until it suddenly hurried open. It wasn’t the kind of slide that was customary for automatic doors; it was the jolted kind that happens when it suddenly detects someone about to walk directly into it. Harper watched a twig-like figure, dressed all in black, twist itself to get through the panicked door in time. The frame belonged to a woman who immediately approached the counter. She wasn’t the traditional kind of pretty, but she was just pretty enough for Harper to instantly forgive her for cutting in front of him.

The woman didn’t waste time saying hello to the clerk who was still rummaging through the paper files. She simply called out to him. “Monty, I need the black box files for a ship, please!” The clerk leaned forward and squinted to see the words on his side of the screen.

When Harper stepped to the side slightly, he heard jeers and enraged comments in languages he didn’t know. The words he did recognize were not worth translating in a lady’s presence. He glanced at Gally and then back to the crowd. “It’s, uh, it’s okay. She’s with me.” He looked as surprised to say it as she did to hear it.

She certainly was not with him; she looked like she had spent three days on a transport and come right here. He didn’t spend too much time looking at her hair, which was tied back, but he did see the last remnants of some eyeliner. Even then, he had to make it look as if he wasn’t looking.

Red letters were typed up across the translator screen on their side: Sure, Gally, be right with you. The clerk had answered her some time ago, but the letters remained on the screen.

In his travels, Harper had learned that the easiest way to make conversation was to find something about someone’s appearance that was noteworthy. When done correctly, it should be about something someone intentionally included, such as a brooch or a unique hair color. But seeing as how Gally was dressed in all black, looked exhausted, and smelled like a long transport ride with a diverse clientele, all Harper was left with was a name and a skin color. “So, Golly, huh? Is that Hispanic?”

Gally’s head turned, almost in surprise, as if she didn’t expect—or have time for—him to speak to her. Then her expression softened, and he watched her acquire patience. Once again, he pretended not to care. “It’s Gally. And no.” He did notice her face change slightly before a small, mischievous smile approached her face as she looked away from him. “I’ve been told it’s actually Elvish.” He wanted to laugh, but it didn’t sound like a joke.

The clerk came back with a manual that