“Good,” said Noxon, already regretting it, yet sure there was no better way. “Now the rest of you, kindly take my hands. We’re jumping back into the future one last time. I believe we have a car parked nearby waiting to take us back to civilization.”

The decision about the mice had been entirely Noxon’s to make. But since Deborah and Anthropologist Wheaton were not crucial now to any course of action, he could leave their future up to them.

“You don’t have a place on Earth anymore,” said Noxon. “There’s a girl with eyes using your name and fingerprints, Deborah, and a charming philologist who has done rather a good job of keeping a dying discipline alive who needs no competing Dr. Wheaton.”

“Especially since there’s no record of my degrees or my publications,” said Wheaton. “It rather blocks my ability to influence what passes for thinking among this sorry crop of anthropologists.”

“I can offer you each your choice of improbable futures. You can voyage to the alien world and take part in the discussions, though not the decisions, about what we will do to prevent the destruction of Earth. Or you can voyage to Garden, my home, where I can promise you will have access to the full range of studies of—”

Deborah interrupted him. “For me, there’s no choice but the world where I can get new eyes.”

“You do understand,” said Noxon, “that you might be unable to control the facemask. It’s not a matter of what humans call ‘strength of will.’ Some of the strongest people I know have been unable to tame the mask. If you get eyes, but cease to be yourself, it would be a poor bargain.”

“Then you’ll go back in time and prevent it,” said Deborah.

“But there you’ll be in a world without replacement batteries, without charging stations.”

“They’re solar. We’re not Neanderthals.” She gave Wheaton an exaggerated wink, to prevent his objection to her pejorative use of “Neanderthal.”

“They’re solar, but not unbreakable,” said Noxon. “Garden is not a very good place to be blind.”

“I will bring spares,” said Deborah.

“And the technology of our era is available,” said Wheaton. “Each starship should have the ability to replicate her glasses.”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Noxon.

Deborah raised a hand. “Something else must be said, however. Just because I will go to Garden or nowhere, that doesn’t mean you must go with me, Father. The chance to study the evolution of two alien species—I think that not only will you enjoy that voyage more, you might actually be able to offer crucial insights as Noxon makes his decisions.”

“What insights?” said Wheaton. “I know Erectids and other anthropes, and nothing more.”