The amoeba life.In the stories of people she admired, there was always a defining moment,a dramatic event that summed up their lives to a critical point andprovided the pivot for a new life to come. Marcia would like to have had asimilar "defining moment" in her life, but it struck her that her life notonly lacked a defining moment, but that it really didn't have anydefinition at all.It was a more amorphous thing, her life; if it advanced, and that wasoften in doubt, it did so like one of those one-cell animals oozing itsway across a glass slide, parts of it going forward even as other partswere moving backwards, parts of it going up at the same time that otherparts were going down, until there was really no forward and back, up ordown, until you couldn't even say if the thing had any intentionwhatsoever, if her life, of which this one-cell animal was a model, wasactually going anywhere at all.Well, that wasn't quite right either, was it? Because her life had gonesomewhere, that was. ”“Uh huh,” she adjusted her aim very slightly, and re settled her grip. “Shot three.”“Three to five metres right, about ten high, you hit the berm by the stream.”“That was wind. No way it should have moved twenty meters.”“Wind on second or third?”Millie paused, considering, looking at the ground between her and the target. “Both probably.” Again she fractionally adjusted herself. She waited, one eye peering through the sight, the other around it, at the ground between her and her target. “Shot four,” she called after another two minutes.“On the money,” called Neil a few seconds later. “Four and a half second flight time.”Millie carefully checked her scope, noting where the individual reticules were in relation to her imaginary target, then carefully rested the rifle down, moved back and ejected the magazine.In silence Neil handed her a full replacement, taking the almost empty one to refill. Once he had done so, he handed her a water bottle. Millie took a couple of sips and then.
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