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. I am standing
and all of you are seated. That is protocol establishing dominance. And you can
stuff it! If I don't have a chair in ten seconds I am leaving. Your chair will
do."
That invisible robot with the brassy voice placed an upholstered easy chair
back of my knees so fast that I had no excuse to leave. I sank back into it and
put my cane across my knees. "Comfortable?" Lazarus inquired.
"Yes, thank you." "Good. The next item is protocol, too-introductions. I do
not think you will find it objectionable."
The brassy voice started in again, naming members-"Companions"-of the
Circle of Ouroboros, governing body of the omniversal Time Corps. Each time one
was named, my chair faced that companion. But I felt no movement.
"Master Mobyas Toras, for Barsoom, time line one, coded
'John Carter.'"
"Barsoom"? Poppycock! But I found myself standing up and bowing in answer
to a gentle smile and a gesture suggesting a blessing. He was ancient, and
hardly more than skin and bones. He wore a sword but I felt sure that he had not
wielded one in generations. He was huddled in a heavy silk wrap much like that
worn by Buddhist priests. His skin was polished mahogany, more strongly red than
any North American "redskin"-in short he looked exactly like the fictional
descriptions in the tales of Barsoom... a result easy to achieve with makeup, a
couple of meters of cloth, and a prop sword
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