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

Harper raised an eyebrow when he realized the good money was due to it being a government job, which meant the girl had to be a higher-up. He exhaled, rubbed his eyes, and thought heavily. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to accept the contract, but he hesitated due to horror stories he’d heard on his travels. From these stories, an easy contract never paid well. And a contract that paid well was never easy. This was the largest contract he’d ever heard of, let alone been offered.

“Sydney.” The AI’s frame flashed a patient white as Harper felt a weight on his chest. Four weeks, he reminded himself, would pay as well as a year’s work. “Accept contract.” And before he had a chance to fully make or regret his decision, the ping was sent back.

“Acceptance acknowledged.” The frame replied immediately. “Pickup in Loading Zone Seven. ETA: Two hours.”

The Atticus was a sturdy, albeit small vessel—on the outside, that is. On the inside, it was so cramped with garbage and empty crates, from weeks of neglect, that Harper had specifically taken jobs without passengers to avoid cleaning it. With a sigh, he looked around the cargo bay. When he looked back at Sydney’s frame, he patted it on what would be its cheek. “We got some work to do, darlin’.”

Jupiter Proximity Station:Econo-Hotel, Room 81

Downtime, to a group like the Purple Company, was torturous and plentiful. And after several mishaps throughout their established time together, a rule was made. They were not to leave whatever hotel room they were staying in, unless it was for work. Because of this, the time between jobs seemed interminable.

Boomer, somehow, found a way to occupy himself. He took up juggling: that is, he’d find things to throw and attempt to catch them again. This time, it was a tea mug. A small smile illuminated his scarred face as he walked into the living room, repeatedly throwing the mug and catching it. He thought he was doing quite well, especially for a one-eyed man who was missing a few fingers. He slowly approached the two before taking a moment to look at Ox.

The Waykind was sitting cross-legged with his massive hands resting on his tiny knees, holding his staff in open and upward-facing palms. His large eyes were closed, and his meditative breathing was loud enough to compete with the air conditioner. He faced the wall and was so deep in meditation that he paid no attention to Boomer’s escapades. Nor did he notice the random pieces of hotel accouterments that had been carefully balanced on him, one at a time, by Josie.

As she knelt next to Ox, she noticed her favorite tea mug being casually hurled into the air, only to be miraculously caught again. Her lips twitched, wanting to shout, but not being able to do so out of fear of waking Ox. Even so, when Boomer finally saw her, he knew what the look meant; she’d given it to him quite often. It didn’t have the vein-bulge that came with the “bathrooms are not a group activity” face, but still possessed the wide eyes of the “stop talking, right now” expression. And while he didn’t know exactly what she was mad about, he knew enough to stop what he was doing immediately. Catching the mug a final time, he walked over and silently knelt down on the opposite side of the Waykind.

Josie seemed to calm down and lifted the remote for the media player, carefully balancing it in the middle of the staff. She slowly removed her fingers from the remote and leaned back, giving Boomer a triumphant look as the remote remained where she’d placed it.

Boomer giggled and leaned forward; the only thing in his hand being the mug, he placed it on Ox’s forearm. He then leaned back, victoriously, and puffed up his chest.

Josie’s lip curled before she raised a tiny bottle of shampoo, carefully navigating it to land on the Waykind’s shoulder. She watched it stand on its own before she looked to Boomer again.

It was at this moment that Boomer realized he was no longer boredly passing the time with a curiosity; he was being challenged! His brows fell slightly, and he patted his body for something else to balance. Finding nothing, he lifted an index finger, asking Josie to wait a moment, while he leapt away. Upon his return, he carried a detonation tube, and displayed it to Josie as if he was clever.

Her eyes widened with, what Boomer imagined to be, impending defeat. The demolitions expert carefully placed the tube onto Ox’s right shoulder, and slowly drew his hand away.

He sat back and crossed his arms, certain that he’d won the game. A proud grin, full of yellow teeth, was flashed at the mercenary on the other side of the Waykind. Still, he couldn’t read Josie’s expression. She was either utterly defeated or very nervous. She slowly tried to rise to her feet, and Boomer soon realized she was headed for the detonation tube. He rose to block her, but the slamming of a door caught their attention.

Historically speaking, waking a Waykind from meditation isn’t a dangerous thing to do. Normally, they awake, slightly flustered, as if from a nap. Sometimes, they misfire a spell of some kind, like throwing a punch when startled from a sound sleep. Neither of those are particularly dangerous scenarios. That is, unless someone had placed a grenade on their shoulder.

After slamming the door, Nitro proudly held up a tablet. “We got a job!” he shouted, brandishing it like the ten commandments. He watched as the Waykind startled and flushed a spell from his body, a great force of wind flying through him. Every item that was placed atop his body, save for the staff, was flung in front of him: this included one fashion magazine, one media remote, one shampoo, one conditioner, one favorite tea mug, and a detonation tube.

The wall in front