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. Then you bounced to-
What had Gwen called it? Hey, wait!-Gwen's real name is Hazel. Or is it? Worry
about that later. Hazel called it "Third Earth," Tellus Tertius. Tammy called it
something else. Tammy? Oh, sure, "Tamara." Everybody knows Tamara.
Tammy would not let them work on my wounded leg while I was awake- How in
hell did I pick up that wound? Am I getting clumsy in my old age? Or was it
spotting Bill's face among those fake Shriners? It's not professional to let any
surprise slow you down. If your own grandmother shows up in the scrum, shoot her
and move on.
How did you know they were not Shriners? That's easy;
Shriners are middle-aged and paunchy; these studs were young
and tough. Combat ready.
Yes, but that's a rationalization, one you just now thought of. So?
Nevertheless it's true. But you didn't reason it out yesterday. Hell, no, of
course not; at the moment of truth you don't have time to think. You look at a
bloke, something about him shouts "Enemy!" and you jump to do unto him before he
does unto you. If you use scrum time routing impressions around inside your
skull, sorting by type and weighing by logic-you're dead! Instead, you move.
Yesterday you didn't move fast enough.
But we picked the right partner for a fight, didn't we?-a quick little
coral snake named Hazel. And any scrum we come out of still with a body
temperature of thirty-seven can't be
counted an utter defeat
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