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222 lines
6.7 KiB
Text
222 lines
6.7 KiB
Text
.LP
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.ce
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.ps 16
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.CW
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EPISODE IX
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.R
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.ps 8
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.CW
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tags: 1957, margaret, paris_mold, tab1, the_chief
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.R
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I couldn't get the lid off.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I bashed the base of the jar against the corner of a nearby table
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(away from my body, so as to avoid the spray of flying smart glass)
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and kicked the resulting debris out of my path. Moved back to the
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terminal to finish transcribing. I had the bulk of the message keyed
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in by the time the big kitchen door dissolved into its frame.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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In sauntered Paris Mold.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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He smoothly traversed the tile floor, making a beeline for the
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object in my hand (and by extension, for me). He peered at my stats,
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observing my progress without bothering to explain his presence.
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Annoyed, I flashed him my teeth and continued typing. I carefully
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unlatched the bag under my table with an obscured foot.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Paris' gaze slid from my keyboard to my shoulders to my scrambled
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face in a continuous gesture. He maintained a blank expression that I
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couldn't have mustered even with the help of electronics.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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He cocked his head slightly to the left and began to speak. I
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noticed there was a huge smudge of dirt on his cheek.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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A detail such as that could be my anchor in the moments to come.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"That's one hell of a portable," Paris observed, nodding in the
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direction of my table\-top device. As if in response, the pressure
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screen's broadcast antenna extended itself and locked into place.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Without warning, the room folded back upon itself, pulling all
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sorts of visual transforms that reminded me of the programming
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exercises given to small children at school. It appeared to be
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modeling the cellular automata of snowflakes, tree branches, and the
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flocking patterns of birds. Most of the standard primitives.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I gritted my teeth. Being this close to Paris Mold was like chewing
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power cables. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep my head straight for
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long, so I leaned in towards him and smiled in feeble agreement.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Yes, boss."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Paris coughed.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Purposefully, I fastened the strap on my helmet, then clamped shut
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my eyes until my sensors reached equilibrium. I risked one last glance
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at Paris Mold, tightened my scrotum and tapped the device in my bag
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with the tip of my boot.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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There sounded a short series of digital squawks. Then the whole
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place went wobbly and the walls began to collapse.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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A look came over Paris' face. As the ceiling rushed to meet the
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floor, he realized what I'd done. His expression was no longer
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inscrutable.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Still, this was going to kill me, too.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I plopped in another pat of margarine and inhaled over the sizzling
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frying pan. Folding the wrinkled bits of paper into the eggs, a series
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of disconnected sentence fragments slowly came into view. I closed my
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eyes and surveyed the partial collage. Three signatures in all. These
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were definitely the forms I'd sought, but the fragments seemed
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incomplete. Something was missing.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Tabasco.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I thumbed the labels of three different brands (there were several
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on the shelf). Overwhelmed by the available choices, I went ahead and
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emptied them all into the mix. A brief shot of green\-smelling flame
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licked the canopy above the stove. Spam!
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I batted the fire with my spatula. Left\-handed, because I was still
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holding onto the frying pan. I had to guess about where the tongues of
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flame were going to dart next.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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In wandered Paris Mold. We didn't make eye contact; we couldn't
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really, on account of my being blind.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I assumed he had come to apologize.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Mold was no longer my boss. But still he would offer me work from
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time to time, bundled with an awkward expression of sympathy. He felt
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responsible for my blindness and therefore made every attempt to wipe
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clean his conscience by providing me with advance notice of his job
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listings. I tolerated it only because I needed the work.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Can't sleep?" he asked.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Horseshit. I'm trying to finish my taxes."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Still slaving away at that, eh? The deadline's coming up, you
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know," he chided. "Why don't you hire an accountant?"
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"These days, I've got plenty of time to waste. Besides, I was
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hungry."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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My finger hovered over the "eight" key while Paris regarded my
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handiwork. I wasn't about to enter negotiations without some sort of
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leverage\(emeven if that meant blowing his forehead into spun glass.
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Paris wrinkled his eyebrows and made a disappointed sigh. So, this was
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going to be it. With a flick of my finger, a shotgun would descend
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from the ceiling and project a hot lead sandwich through Paris' face.
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I judged from the sound of his low, even breathing that he was
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standing right on top of the the marker. Almost...
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The bandages on my face began to itch. I twitched, trying to adjust
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the strips of gauze with my nose before they slid completely off of my
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face. This must have created an awkward spectacle, given the
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situation.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"What is that? Sign language?" Paris snickered.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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A flash of rage. My eyes started to burn. I punched the "eight" key
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vigorously.
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.I
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Eat this, fuck sack!
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.R
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Then: A long, piercing beep as my keypad's buffer filled with
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"eights."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Why wasn't it working? I looked down and saw nothing.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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It transpired that my hands had slipped off of home row. I had been
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mashing the wrong key.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The realization dawned, as my wife used to say, too little, too
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late.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Paris Mold retaliated with extreme prejudice.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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By force of habit, he went straight for my eyes.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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They said I had been chewing on my left hand, apparently trying to
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get at my chronometer. I complained that I hadn't managed to kill
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Paris Mold, period, no matter what or when I'd tried. He was just
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so...
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.I
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there.
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.R
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You know? Something to do with his training, I guessed.
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It was this last remark that got me pulled from the operation.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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They wanted to know if I was through wasting their time, if I was
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ready to stop stalling. When had I planned to follow through on the
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objective? Was I really so disoriented that I couldn't maintain
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narrative continuity? And what was this nonsense I'd been ranting
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about? Had I experienced fear in the presence of the Molds?
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The words "dishonorable discharge" were bandied about over my
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restrained body\(emthe first time such words had been mentioned in
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relation to my person. It sounded to me like a threat. I could do
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nothing but foam and thrash.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Had I really failed so completely?
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The Molds still walked the Earth.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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The Chief phoned while I was still strapped to the table. He
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claimed that my wife had become pregnant.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I asked him how he knew.
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