Mecha Samurai Empire_A United States of Japan Novel by Peter Tieryas

Author:Peter Tieryas [Tieryas, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-09-18T04:00:00+00:00

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• • •

The dinner is wonderful. I stuff myself and get back to my room thirty minutes before lights out. The bed seems very welcoming, so I take off my uniform and lie down. I think about Griselda. I’ve tried calling her several times, but haven’t been able to get any messages through. The political situation with the Nazis has gotten markedly worse since the incident at the Quiet Border, and I’m not surprised that my communications haven’t reached her.

I want to tell her about all that’s happened, how I have finally achieved my dream. I want to tell her that I’m here, really here at BEMA.

What gnaws at me is that instead of joy, there’s a gaping hollow that’s tearing me up inside. I can’t separate the idea that all those who passed away paid the price so I could get this opportunity. That’s too high a cost just so I could get a chance to pilot mechas. I play the logic game with myself, tell myself, You’re here to avenge them. Then another part asks, How are you going to get revenge? Attack the NARA again? But I already got the FDR. Find the biomech who did this? Don’t be ridiculous and dishonor their memories by trying to play “hero” when you’re anything but.

Guilt and anger always start out specific before spreading like a voracious contagion through every part of me.

I move my additional pillow from my left flank to the right one. I think about mecha piloting minutiae, rearrange the schematics I studied during my break to come up with new designs. It usually helps me sleep. But not always. In my recent travels, I met veterans who alleviated their woes with games, alcohol, and companionship. While I understood them, I’m conflicted about trying to dull the pain like that. What I’m suffering doesn’t compare to those who died. I juggle random accusations at myself, wrestle pointlessly with a remorse that never abates, and eventually nod off to the hum of exhausted self-loathing.

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