Chapter Seventy – A Perfect Time for a Picnic

Chapter Seventy – A Perfect Time for a Picnic

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–Nutrimin-os ad, before the 2048 lawsuit that resulted in the company’s bankruptcy.

***

I turned left and right, looking for any aliens.

Well, living aliens. There were literal piles of dead ones all around, some still crackling and burning merrily away and lighting up the mineshaft.

I imagined that the mining company would have to patch the mine up a little. We’d left a few holes on the floor. And the walls. And the ceiling.

Mostly that was me, but I’d share the blame around with Gomorrah too.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“Looks like it,” Gomorrah replied. She looked around as well, then casually hosed one pile of dead Antithesis. One of them flopped around, not entirely dead yet. “There will be more, I’ll bet, but I think we took out whatever the hive has acting as a mobile guard.”

“So the next batch will be… what, the immobile guard?”

“No, probably the Antithesis that guard the hive itself. Bigger, meaner bastards. But I don’t think they tend to move as much. Kind of like a last line of defence.”

“To protect the queen or whatever?”

Gomorrah looked my way. “You need to pick up a damned textbook. Antithesis don’t have queens. They’re plants. They have root networks and flowers and seeds.”

“Right, right,” I said. Standing a bit taller, I stretched my back out until it popped. “Can I have five to reload things?”

Gomorrah nodded. “That’s probably for the best. I think we could both use a small break. I skipped breakfast.”

I’d eaten breakfast with Lucy and the kittens that morning, a messy affair with cereal and burnt pancakes and some actual eggs, but that had been… I glanced at my aug’s time readout. It was nearing four in the afternoon. Not as long as it felt, but still a while ago. “Yeah, I could use a bite,” I admitted.

Gomorrah stared at the ceiling for a bit, then tugged off a glove and held her hand up for a bit. “That way.”

“Uh, why?” I asked as I looked down the way we’d come from.

“The air’s flowing from that direction and pushing deeper into the mines. We’ll be upwind of all the smoke.”

“Upwind, right… which one’s that?”

Gomorrah shrugged. “Up is where the smell’s coming from, down is where it’s going. More or less.”

“Guess snacking with smoke in the air’s going to make it taste bad.”

“Oh, the smell isn’t the problem,” Gomorrah said. “I like the smell of burning Antithesis. It’s earthy. It’s the chemicals I use in Archangel’s Kiss. They’re all sorts of cancerous, and toxic, and generally liable to leave you dead from inhaling them.”

“You named your flamethrower Archangel’s Kiss?” I asked. “Is that… like, some of your repressed nature trying to come out?”

Gomorrah started walking off. “I was thinking of a more biblical angel.”

“A hot dude with wings? Kinda disappointed, I thought you batted for the winning team.”

She sniffed. “I bat for the winning team—God’s team.” She was quiet for a moment, and I didn’t say anything. “That was far cornier than I thought it would be.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

“Also, biblical angels are more… wings and wheels and eyes. Here, I’ll send you a document about it.”

“I’m sure it’s a fascinating read.”

“It has pictures.”

I snorted.

We reached a point some hundred metres away from the carnage, and I saw Gomorrah raise a hand just before she caught something out of the air. A blanket? She unfolded it and set it on the ground, then sat down atop it.

I didn’t even bother questioning it and just sat down next to her. It was nice to get some weight off my feet, even if my boots were stupid-comfortable. “Have you tried Protector food?”

“Uh, just the juice boxes,” I said.

“You’re going to love this then. Anything you won’t eat?”

“I’m a malnourished orphan, my list of foods I’m picky about is real small. Though I’m not fond of mushrooms, they’re just rich people mold.”

“Right,” she said as two boxes appeared between us. Both were roughly rectangular, and made of a familiar plastic-ish material, though the hinges on the back were a bit different than the cases I was used to.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Gomorrah slid her mask off and took a deep breath. “That’s better. The mask is comfortable, but it’s a bit stuffy.”