The Soul Eaters (The Thin Hex Line Book 1) by Gwyndolyn Russell (100 best novels of all time .txt) 📗

I shouldered passed her to head down to the other end of the barracks where my own puny little office was.

I threw myself down into my chair. Pushed my feet against the underside of the desk and leaned back.

This was miserable.

Confined to physical down time, I couldn't train at all. I was trapped here in this room, handling stacks of paperwork about literal nonsense bureaucracy. I never wanted this position. Leading a team was one thing. I was good with doing that. Especially when our missions ended in success. This part? Filing report after report. Confirming other reports. Confirming logistics.

This was not what I signed up for.

Maybe it was time I left?

I needed to decide before the alcohol took my life over. Right now it was my only entertainment. They limited television on the ship to Federation approved unless we were in range of more local signals. Anytime I flipped the damned thing on it was more political bullshit.

Fighting the good fight! Protecting humanity one peace treaty at a time! Will there be war again?

The worst of it was the propaganda, blatant propaganda from the Apex Corps. The Federation relied heavily on that company. It provided most, if not all, of our technology. Our weapons, ships, engines, armor, suits. They were memorialized on our ships as heavily as the Federation itself.

They were as bad as the eldiravan. Fantastic pretenders. Actors on a galaxy wide stage playing roles of good guys and heroes when all they really do is walk all over the little guy, the very people they claim to stand for.

I'm not sure if it was the standard bullshit that pissed me off the most, or hearing the incessant whining about the Black Wolves terrorizing the Order and Apex. Blowing up civilians like the universe was coming to an end.

That wasn't Spectre.

She would never do that. Unless someone else was leading them, they wouldn't resort to domestic terrorism.

I focused on the mundane work. Better than doing nothing. I kept a glass full of whiskey. Skipped dinner.

At some point that night, the glass disappeared. I drank straight from the bottle. I must have gotten pissed off.

Trashed the entire office like a wild animal. Paper everywhere. Drawers thrown around. If it wasn't bolted down, it floated haplessly around the room.

Maybe that was what the dream was about. Me falling into a pit of self-pity. Life passing me by and nothing to show for it. A soldier in a stupid war. A man with no family. Just a sewer rat from Mars trying to make something of himself. I felt stuck in place. Suffocating in my head.

I guess I always felt this way ever since the war ended. I followed Arturo to this ship with hope I could continue having a purpose. It was alright in the beginning. Yet things dragged on. Blended into one another.

I dreamed of being a hero. An example of what could be if you strived hard enough. If you wanted it bad enough. I took one step by enlisting. Then hit a brick wall.

Been stuck here ever since.

I wished we were still at war, instead of simply pretending.

I hoped the alcohol would help me forget it, but all it did was bring everything to surface.

Eventually, I fell asleep. Floated around the room aimlessly like everything I destroyed. Amazing how shitty life was when I couldn't join the combat.

TWELVE

Early one morning, Reaper went for a stroll around the ship. He enjoyed doing it. It gave him a chance to check on individuals he couldn't when everyone woke up. This was the quietest hour on board the Syndicate. A handful of people here and there hopping to their morning duties. He wanted to check on the night shift. Make sure they were set and had everything they needed. Sometimes he would even stop to help them out if they seemed to be overloaded, or frustrated.

He really wanted to find Jackal, but knew he would still be asleep. He had good news for that hard working soldier. His leg healing completely could not have been timed better.

When Reaper finished his morning routine, he got himself a second cup of coffee. Headed down to the barracks. Jackal's room was one of the first ones. He knocked on the door. Checked his watch.

Strange. Jackal should have been up an hour ago. Everyone else was bustling around. Greeting Reaper as they flew by.

He knocked again.

Still no answer. The key pad was red. He wasn't the type to lock his door. One more knock.

This time Reaper pressed his card to the keypad. It turned green. Being Captain was great. There was no such thing as locked doors on the ship!

When he walked in, he found nothing too unusual. Clean place almost like no one lived there. A couple of glasses on the kitchen counter. One on the coffee table.

A golden liquid was spilled, floating in an undulating blob through the room. He looked around until Jackal barged out of the bedroom, grumbling and holding his head. His hair was an absolute wreck. He was naked. Mostly. Tight shorts were the only thing he had on, and one sock rolled down halfway.

Reaper crossed his arms over his chest, quietly sipping on his coffee. He eyed Jackal, expecting a woman to come out right behind him. Yet no one else showed up, and Jackal didn't seem to notice him floating there in the living room.

He headed to the kitchen. Grabbed a glass from the counter to fill with water. That was when he looked up, dropped the glass so it floated away and choked back a gasp.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?!" He exclaimed.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"I've been busy."

He peeked into the bedroom. Saw exactly what he was afraid of seeing.

"Looks like you had a party with yourself and a bottle of jack last night." He huffed.

"So, what?"

"Jack…. You've been drinking more and more."

He waved Reaper off. Grabbed the other glass from its velcro hold and filled it