“If you say so.” Roman’s silhouette looked washed out under the single amber light outside the library. His old features looked even grayer—closer to two centuries than one. “You give me a call when you figure out where you’ll go after you get in,” Roman said. “You know you’ve still got a life after they photocopy you, right? Said it yourself… most people who do this do it as part of their career. This isn’t ancient history—you’re not joining NASA.” 