Chapter Twenty-Nine - A Crying Shame

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*All information and recordings of therapy sessions belong to Theracore. On entering a Theracore clinique you waive the rights to any information you disclose to our expert psychologists, staff, and interns.

--Theracore ad, 2055

***

I’d felt shame before. Embarrassment.

I can vividly remember some of the brats catching Lucy and I in a closet then running off to go tell everyone. I’d spent an entire week feeling as if my face was aflame.

As for shame, I’d done some pretty stupid shit sometimes.

But right then, standing next to a row of four bodies laid out next to the entrance to the stairwell... I didn’t know how to describe the churning in the pit of my stomach. I kept going over all the shit I could have done to keep them from dying, and the stupid crap I’d thought about them.

They were slow and fat. They were dumb. They were annoying.

And now they were dead and it was my fault.

A hand touched my shoulder.

Turning, I looked into Elisa’s deep eyes. She was teary, but there was determination over that. “It’s okay,” she said.

I worked my jaw. A glance to the side showed one of the women crying into another’s shoulder. Some of the guys didn’t look much better. One or two were glaring at the alien corpses we’d kicked to the side. Others were glaring at me.

“Is it really?” I asked. “I should have--”

She shook her head. “It’s not on you. It’s on the aliens. You’re... what, sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” I said. A few months from getting booted out of the orphanage. Maybe a bit less. My documents got mishandled at some point, and my date of birth was lost somewhere along with everything else. It didn’t matter.

“Right. These folks, they’d have died when the aliens continued to swarm us below. Hell, I would be dead by now if it wasn’t for you,” she said.

“And I could have kept them alive for longer,” I said.

She shook her head. “It’s not on you. Did you know there was an ambush?”

I swallowed. “No. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“If you know it, then you know it’s not your fault either.”

I snorted. “You’re a real optimist,” I said.

She smiled back. “I’ve been accused of worse. Now come on, we need our Samurai.”

I nodded, wiped my hand over my eyes to clear them of dust, then stepped back towards the rest of the group. “Do we have everything?” I asked.

Storm was staring at the ground, but at the sound of my voice he looked up and nodded. “Yeah, we do,” he said. He tossed something my way and I almost fumbled as I caught it out of the air.

It was a gun, the one Myalis had given me in a hurry at the start of the fight. It was big and bulky, with a cylindrical magazine built under the barrel that had a light in its middle. “This one’s empty,” I said. I shook my head. “I’m going to scout ahead. You guys follow in a minute, alright?”

“Yeah, no problem. Only one more floor, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

I moved away from them and towards the stairwell again, pausing as I got closer. Something nasty coiled in my stomach as I looked at the door, but I pushed past that and stepped past the damned threshold.

Are you feeling better?

Myalis’ tone was softer than I was used to, more concerned. “I’m fine,” I said. ”What are my points like?”

You’re down to seventy-two.

I held back a wince. That was a chunk gone. I couldn’t really complain though. Most of those had gone into medicine and the like to keep the others alive. As good a use as any.

“How much for a fresh magazine for this glorified flashlight?” I asked.

The Sparrow is more than just a flashlight. It fires .22 copper-coated iridium rounds at 1,200 rounds per minute. Unfortunately the magazine only holds 60 rounds.

“It’s noisy and heavy,” I said. “But it has a light.”

I can’t dispute that. A fresh magazine for your flashlight would cost you two points.

I had my Trench Maker tucked into the back of my pants already, but a second gun wouldn’t hurt. “Yeah, might as well.”

A minute passed as I finagled and cursed my lack of a second hand, but I did eventually get the gun ready to fire.

The anxiety was fading, just a little, replaced moment by moment by a growing, festering anger. Elisa was right. All of this shit was the Antithesis’ fault.

The only way to really protect anyone was to make damned sure that every last one of the bugs were dead.

And if I could get a few points for my efforts, then that was for the best.

I took the steps two at a time, eyes fixing on every shadow and corner, and breathing coming quick even through my disposable mask. Getting caught off-guard again was just unacceptable.

“I’m going to need something that shows me where the bastards are,” I said. “Something like a... radar.”

There are systems like that available. I’m afraid that most are beyond your current budget.

“Let’s hope that budget grows a little, then,” I said.

I got to the top of the stairs, looked through the window, then flicked the light on my new gun off. I didn’t know how good the vision most Antithesis models had, but I didn’t want to announce my presence quite that brightly.

“Let’s find some aliens.”