Glory Lane

by Alan Dean Foster

“It doesn’t matter,” said Rail. “As for myself, I am resigning my post as espial and going into interior decorat­ing. I’ve had enough.”

  Kerwin looked across the room. “What about you, Miranda? You just saved the entire universe. You must be worn out. I don’t guess you’re free Saturday night?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sunday?”

  “Can’t make it, like.”

  “Next Saturday?” It occurred to Kerwin that he was begging, but he didn’t care.

  “Well—I’ll have to check my book, you know? Maybe.”

  Maybe. Kerwin felt better than he had at any time since he and Seeth had been watching Rail bowling back in Albuquerque. That was a long, long time ago.

  Miranda stretched out her perfect legs and smiled up at the ceiling. “I feel, like, bad for Izmir. It’s probably better for him this way, though. And it’s not like I had any choice, really. I mean, I do have a date for this weekend, and if Izmir had kept hanging around and sneezing it might have frightened him away.

  “Besides which, it would have, like, you know, ruined my hair.”

  -=*@*=-