“The local news kicked in just as I was crooning an omertà ballad. “Hey, for all you school kids…” Da’s friend Teddy announced, “The Derra City’s militia’s having a bake sale to raise currency for more bombers!” “Again?” I clapped off the feed and patted Junior. “More breakfast?” Your son kicked in my belly, Sam. Like he understood. Know yourself: That was what the therapy program kept telling me, before I disconnected it and threw the module away. You know, Sam, recently I’ve gotten to know myself in ways that most folks can’t even fathom. And let me tell you, knowing yourself? It’s a stinking crock. You think you do, but when it comes down to it, you’re just as stupid and soft as everyone—and just as ill-equipped to deal with the end of the world. Think about other things, Ma kept saying. Ma was always more polite than you, and your: if-you-don’t-stop-talking-about-Starfire-I-want-a-divorce, but her words amounted to the same thing. Think about other things? Why should I? No one else was. I’m not gonna lie, Sam. I know you’ve had to forgive a lot, but it’s still hard for me to forgive you. Because I was right, wasn’t I?” Space Opera Science FictionNavvyversePolla Book:Navvies' Flight: Another Space Opera: Tales From a Stinking, Star-Crossed Milky Way Source: Navvies' Flight: Another Space Opera: Tales From a Stinking, Star-Crossed Milky Way