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morning in early May of my twelfth
year...
Oblivion.
Sometime later, I surrendered to reality -- something I'm very
practiced at -- and stirred.
The damned machine was prompting me.
>
"No. Terminate."
>
A moment of disorientation, to reorient me, and then the Sensor
Wrap unpeeled itself. I removed the LexSpun mask. My face was damp.
I ached when I moved. Standing was a chore. I walked to the door of
my special room. "Lights out." The living room was still dark. How long?
The clock said it had been less than an hour. I poured another splash of
the brandy, gulped it, felt the heat of it in my belly, then poured
another.
Why had I indulged the Alternate? I shook my head, a bit foggy. I'd
taken the replay a few times, savoring the kittenish little-girl
uncertainty and fear. Of course, I'd tried several of the Cimarron chips
-- liked a few of them a bit too much, if you know what I mean -- but
only used my own four times. And this was the first time I'd chosen the
Alternate.
"Well, it happens," I told the windows.
"No, it didn't happen," my reflection replied.
"If only..."
What would have changed? For the next two years, I'd been un
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