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I could have cheerfully smacked myself as I hustled up College Street, my book bag thrown over her shoulder. This was what I got for trying to have a nice, peaceful lunch in Fountain Square instead of eating on campus. In my defense though, I did have to go to the square to get my mother's pocket watch back from Morris Jewelry.

The watch was apparently supposed to be a gift for my 21st birthday. Here I was at age 23 and just now getting it. Apparently my father had put it up and completely forgotten about it. My grandmother found it in his chifferrobe when she was cleaned and proceeded to whack him around the head with her cane for forgetting.

That was my dad though – ask him to remember something important and he'd forget it immediately. Tell him something that didn't matter and twenty years later he'd be able to recite what you said word for word. He wasn't so good at holidays – they snuck up on him – but he was always good at remembering little things, and he always did something about it. I remembered vividly being inches away from crying one day only for my dad to show up with flowers because it was the anniversary of the first day I rode a horse.

I smiled down at the watch settled in the pocket of my blazer, the chain draping across the front of my waist. My eyes flicked from the bouncing chain and down to my bag, where the top of a brown paper bag of snickerdoodles – now probably more than a little bit squished –could be seen. I hadn't even gotten to try one, I thought mournfully. I ended up too absorbed in the book I was reading and completely forgot that Carol had made the cookies.

It paid to be friends with the home ec majors.

I could see Cherry Hall on the hill above me. Not for the first time, I cursed whoever had the bright idea to put the school on top of the highest hill in town. As I hurried I could hear the chimes start to play in the bell tower. It was the longer chime, meaning an hour mark. I winced. I was officially late for class. At this rate, I was going to be at least five minutes late. I could already see the disdainful looked I'd get when I tried to slide into the laboratory late.

I was one of only a handful of women who were part of the Ogden College. Most women on campus were looking for degrees in music, art, French, elementary education, home ec, things like that. Most of the girls looking for science degrees were in biology, learning just enough to teach a high school class. The male bio majors didn't mind us so much. They even liked us some, because we'd all proved we had strong enough stomachs to cut open and dissect dead animals.

I was pursuing a double major. Mutation was my area of expertise in biology and I was the only girl in the chem department. I was also the only girl gunning for a doctorate. The chem boys were less pleased to have me than the bio boys. They were always convinced I was going to set the place on fire with a Bunsen burner or drag my hair through some sulfuric acid.

I hurried up the couple of steps to Cherry Hall and into the building. Aside from a few people lingering in the foyer, everyone else was safely in their classrooms. I got a couple of funny looks as I came hurrying in and started down the hall towards the stairs. If I rushed, then it was dimly possible the professor would still be working on roll. I'd be counted absent for the day – my last name was Ealum – but I'd there for the lesson.

"Miss Ealum? Miss Josephine Ealum?"

I turned around in surprise. The only time I got called Josephine was when I'd done something wrong. Everyone who knew me knew that it was Josie.

"It's Josie," I corrected automatically before I'd even figured out who was speaking. A man stepped forward. He looked like one of the professors in his fedora and tweed jacket, carrying a briefcase with a file tucked under his arm. He had round glasses with brassy frame and the three-day scruff that wasn't uncommon among the science majors close to finals time.

"My name is Dr. Abraham Erskine," the man said in a thick German accent, stepping forward and offering me his free hand. I took it and shook firmly.

"It's wonderful to meet you, sir," I said quickly, glancing over my shoulder toward the stairs. "I hate to meet and run, but I need to-"

"Your chemistry class," Dr. Erskine nodded in understanding. I turned back around, looking at him uncertainly.

"How do you-?"

He pulled the file out from under his arm and held it up. Printed in neat handwriting along the edge was Ealum, Josephine Q. It was my file.

"How did you get that?" I asked blankly. "Why do you have that? Who are you?"

"All interesting questions, but perhaps not a conversation for the middle of a hallway," Dr. Erskine suggested. He stepped aside and gestured back towards the entrance. I could only assume he meant to head for the steps outside.

Chemistry class all but forgotten, I allowed Dr. Erskine to guide me back down the hall with a hand on my back. As we walked, he talked.

"I have recently become aware of some of the papers you have written," he explained. "Fascinating things really, particularly your theories on human mutation. That's your primary focus, correct?"

I nodded, flushing slightly. This was the first time someone who might actually understand me work had complimented it. My teachers mostly just called my writings 'radical' and 'unrealistic.' I couldn't blame them on that one, really.

"They're just theories," I said as we stepped outside. A pleasant, cooling breeze was blowing now, a relief after my mad sprint up the hill. I sat down on the top step and crossed my ankles, pulling my bag off my shoulder and setting it beside me.

"They are very good theories," Dr. Erskine encouraged, sitting down next to me with a soft groan, and I blushed again.

"Are you a geneticist?" I asked him curiously. He shook his head.

"A chemist by study, but I've picked up a bit of everything over the years. Enough to know from what you've written that you don't need to take that chemistry class you were so eager to get to," he said knowingly.

I couldn't fight him on that one. I had taken early every chemistry class the college offered, but they were still holding me back from getting my Ph.D., throwing more requirements at me. At this point, I probably could have taught the class I was about to walk into, but I kept my head down and my mouth shut and did my work so no one had anything to say against me.

I just shrugged and repeated a common phrase on campus. "It's a required course," I recited dully. That was the answer to a lot of questions I was asked. The home economics girls wanted to know why I was taking a class where I had to cut open frogs and rats. It's a required course. The French majors were asking why I was messing around in a class where everything was done in a test tube. It's a required course.

"It's an interesting focus you've chosen," Dr. Erskine continued. "Human mutation… Not many people are willing to touch on the subject. Most people say it's playing god." His voice was leading. He wanted my opinion on the subject. While to an extent that was true, that wasn't why I'd picked human mutation to focus on.

"That's true," I granted him. "But I don't think of it like that. I think of it like… what if someone who was born with a heart defect could be fixed without the risks of surgery? What if someone who was born with a mental condition could be fixed? And even the average person, what if they could be made stronger, more resistant to certain diseases? It's not about changing humanity just for the sake of it, it's about making it better."

Dr. Erskine observed me. I didn't look at him, just stared down the hill I'd just hurried up and wondered who this man sitting next to me was, why he was here.

"It's interesting," he mused, "that you're talking about practical applications. Most people don't even think of that sort of thing as possible."

"Anything's possible," I disagreed. "Besides, what's the point of the sciences if there's no application done with what we know?"

"I agree," Dr. Erskine said, smiling. He leaned closer to me. "What would you say if I told you that you didn't have to take that chemistry class to get your doctorate? That you didn't have to take any more classes?"

I turned to look at him in disbelief. Unable to help myself, I doubled over laughing. Dr. Erskine nodded.

"I can offer you this." His tone was dead serious. I stopped laughing abruptly, looking at him with a lot more respect.

"How?" I asked suspiciously.

"I represent the SSR. Have you heard of it?"

"The Strategic Scientific Reserve," I replied immediately.

"Exactly. I am heading up a project that could turn the tide of this horrible war. We have been combing the country looking for some of the best lab workers. I came across your papers and was intrigued. Some of what you've theorized is incorporated into our project."

"And what's your project?" I asked curiously. "And how does this get me a degree?"

"When the project is completed, you would receive your doctorate as compensation," Erskine explained. "As for the project…" He hesitated. "I cannot say much. It is being called Operation: Rebirth." This was followed by a snort, like he thought the code name was ridiculous. I agreed. I had no idea the SSR was so dramatic with their naming.

"And if I come and help you with your project," I repeated slowly, "then you can guarantee my doctorate?"

"No more attending classes that you could teach," Erskine confirmed. "Are you interested? You could help end this war," he stressed. "Help bring your father home."

My father was a lieutenant colonel. They were going to send him overseas to Greece as an attaché at the US Embassy there. Currently, he was at the Army language school learning to speak Greek. I was learning right along with him. I'd gotten all the textbooks and we wrote each other about the newest thing we'd figured out.

My father was treating it like some big bonding exercise now, but I knew things would be different once he was over there. Letters would dwindle from once a week to once a month. The stories would no longer be about some classmate of his that kept slipping from Greek into the German he was already fluent in during the middle of an oral report. They would be about politics and battles and bloodshed.

"I want to help," I said firmly. Dr. Erskine smiled.

"Excellent. No materials can be taken off site," he apologized, "so I can't give you anything to prepare." He pulled his briefcase onto his lap and flipped it open. Reaching inside, he drew out a notebook and pen, scribbling something out.

He ripped the page out and passed it to me. Camp Lehigh was scrawled out, along with an address.

"I will inform the school that the SSR is taking you," Erskine assured me. "Just be at that address in two weeks."

I nodded, staring at the paper that could very well be the key to my future. Me, a doctor, finally able to work in a real lab, to test some of the theories that I'd only been able to write about so far. My eyes blazed with determination as I tucked the paper into my bag.

"I'll be there," I promised, standing up and offering Erskine a hand. He took it gratefully and I helped him to his feet.

"Then I shall see you in two weeks, Miss Ealum."

"Josie."

"Josie," Dr. Erskine agreed warmly ,and started down the stairs.

"Oh, Dr. Erskine, before you go!" I called after him, rummaging in my bag. He paused and turned around.

"Yes?"

I offered him a brown paper bag. "Snickerdoodle?"