Some things, you leave out of books. This is one of them.
Day after Prof died, I went down to where he was meant to be lying in state. We'd kept door guarded, had spread rumors about threats. Part of promise I'd made, last one to Prof I'd be able to keep. Tomorrow, he would be someone else's duty.
Prof was already sitting up. He greeted me with good grace for a dead man.
I had slipped him back his contacts and cosmetics while he was out of it. Prof had already put contacts back in and looked younger by a hundred years, or five thousand years, if you believed stories they told at conclave meetings. Wondered if reviving always did that to him, or if this were just after-effects of faking his heart attack. Probably would never know. Certainly would never ask.
He stood and gripped me by the arm. His fingers wrapped around where my tattoo used to be.
"Where you heading off to now, old man?" I asked him.
"It's the asteroids for me," he said, sounding more like stilyagi than revolutionary. Surprisingly suited him. "Look me up in a hundred years. I'll roll you for drinks."