Quantum Flare (Gunn Files Book 3) by M.G. Herron

Author:M.G. Herron [Herron, M.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2020-05-25T16:00:00+00:00

14

The Torlik medic who hurried to us from Rashiki’s soon confirmed what I suspected—that Vinny’s panic attack was the symptom of a long-dormant post-traumatic stress disorder. He told us that it could be traced back to his horrible experiences fighting the war that fractured the Federation, and out of which the Tetrad was born. When Anna and I asked him if he wanted to share more of those stories with us, thinking it would help get it off his chest, Vinny clammed up and refused to tell us any more.

I didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell me that Dyna’s ominous messages, the subsequent pressure we put on Vinny to snoop on our behalf, and Zavis shattering his window with a sonic blaster had, taken together, been too much for him to handle. We pushed him and pushed him until he fell over an edge that none of us could see, yet which had serious repercussions for Vinny. Hell, we didn't even know there was an edge until today.

His symptoms, which had begun as fidgeting and nervousness, accelerated into paranoia, swerved toward fear, and finally veered over the precipice of madness. When he heard the sirens, something in his mind snapped back to the battlefield. The sawed-off shotgun just happened to be handy and loaded when the Daacro crossed into his line of sight at the crucial moment.

Luckily, Samael has skin like granite. It could have been me. It could have been Anna.

Presently, I sat behind the register with my back to the counter while Vinny kneaded a ball of raw pizza dough between his fingers. His eyes were closed, as were Lula’s, who was seated next to him on the floor opposite me. They were both chanting the same phrase to themselves under their breath, repeating it over and over. Seeing the two offworlders together like that reminded me of the meditative technique Dyna had taught me to help face down the Pharsei, but noisier.

The mantra they repeated sounded like a prayer of some kind, full of soft exhalations and muted sibilant whispers. It had been a tense afternoon and I was relieved to see that kneading the dough—touching something familiar—and chanting the mantra seemed to calm Vinny, to slow his breathing and quell his anxiety. It had only been fifteen minutes since the Torlik medic departed, and two hours since the attack had begun. Between the pills he’d left behind and Lula’s actions, you could hardly tell that Vinny had just shaken the grip of a violent paranoia.

As for Lula, she’d been pulled to Vinny’s suffering like a magnet to a lodestone from the moment she’d arrived at Moretti’s under Detective Gonzalez’s escort. Something about caring for him—the only other offworlder in our little group—must have helped distract her from her own distress.

When Detective Gonzalez arrived, she gave me a look that made me want to wilt beneath its heat. Nonetheless, she phoned into the station and let them know that no one was in any danger, and don’t bother sending a patrol car to check it out, the situation was under control.

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