Dory had a look like she knew this day would always happen, but she still didn’t believe it was today. “It’s nothing personal, Tom,” she said as the doc prepared the syringe. “And I promised you’ll be fixed up, soon. The Mountain will clear your head.”
By which she meant, the Mountain will burn out that Dominion bitch’s hooks in your soul, hopefully without hurting you. And it wasn’t a bad plan, either. If I actually had any hooks in my soul. Or if I wasn’t on a countdown that could be measured in hours, instead of days.
“I’m not taking it personal, Dory,” I told her. “Tell you what: don’t stick that needle in me, and I’ll go quietly.” What I really wanted to do was find out where the damn AFTSE/Syndicate sit-down was, and get there in time to stop it from turning into a shambles. I didn’t know if I could do it if I had to start from Mt. Jeannie — ‘clearing my head’ there would take about three seconds — but it was for damned sure I wasn’t gonna be able to if I spent the next day drooling on a mattress. You do what you can, right?