Critical Mass (Expeditionary Force, #10)

by Craig Alanson

“Joe, trust your own awesomeness.” He had never said that before. It was inspiring. Or maybe that was a side-effect of the brain damage I had suffered.

Everyone has a response to traumatic events, whether the event is seeing buddies blown up by an IED, or getting into a car accident, or losing your job, or any of a million things that can be traumatic. Having a response that eats at you, makes you less combat-effective, is not a disorder, it’s called being human.

“Can I get a hug?” Without arguing, I scooped up his dusty can, which smelled like burnt ash, and pressed him to my chest. “I love you, too, buddy.” He babbled nonsense until his sobs faded, and I set him back down in his special holder. “Thanks, Joe.” “Any time, buddy.” “Um, hey,” he giggled nervously “We shall never speak of this again, huh?” “It never happened.” “Good.” His voice suddenly became gruff. “Hey, did you see that Bears game?” “Helluva game,” I agreed. “Helluva game.”

Cauliflower is a Gateway Vegetable. You eat this, and next thing you know, you’re wearing orange robes and living in a yurt.”

“Joe, I don’t want to say your homeworld is doomed, but the dolphins just said ‘Thanks for all the fish’.”