“You just said it is.”
“I was upset.”
“Seems we aren’t going anywhere for a bit. So tell me. What’s this about you hurting yourself?”
I willed my heart to slow. My tongue felt heavy.
The therapist had made me tell the story, sure. But she’d already known. I needed a clear mental health report to go back to work. And what else could I do, lying in a hospital bed with my arm a wired-up stump? “You need to work on that Portal stuff.”
“Not a thing I can do without more computer.”
“Then we need to find more computer.”
“Most of all,” Gunfire said, “we need you to have a clear head. Or we might as well go in through the airlock with our hands up.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a jerk, Gunfire?”
“A few times, sure. It’s why they have me do math, so they can put me in a room all by
