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When she judged that I was ready, she planned for us to carry out Task Adam
Selene of Operation Galactic Overlord.
If we lived through it, we could retire from the Time Corps, live out our
days on an ample pension on the planet of our choice-fat and happy.
Or we could stay in the Corps together just by my reenlisting for a hitch
of fifty years-then rejuvenations each hitch and a chance for us eventually to
become Time bosses ourselves. That was supposed to be the grand prize-more fun
than baby kittens, more exciting than roller coasters, more satisfying than
being seventeen and in love.
Live or die, we would do it together-until at last one of us waited for the
other at the end of that tunnel.
But this program aborted because Lazarus butted in and tried to twist my
arm (my foot?) to accept it.
My darling had planned a pianissimo approach: Live for a time on Tertius (a
heavenly place), get me hooked on multiverse history and time travel theory, et
cetera. Not crowd me about signing up, but depend on the fact that she and
Gretchen and Ezra and others (Uncle Jock, e.g.) were in the Corps... until I
asked to be allowed to be sworn in.
The cost of my new foot would not have bothered me: a) if Hazel had had
time to convince me that the cost would be charged off to my increased
efficiency in helping her with "Adam Selene" and the foot would thereby pay for
itself (the simple truth!-and Lazarus knew it); b) if Lazarus had not dunned me
about it, used it to pressure me; c) if Lazarus had stayed away from me (as he
was supposed to) and thereby had never offered me any chance of spotting that he
was my anonymous donor-bare feet or no bare feet
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