I nodded. We went into another room, where the doctor affixed various parts of me to machines, giving me, or my new body, a thorough checkup. As he did so, I babbled away in my new voice, mostly childhood memories, listening to myself in the attempt to draw myself back together again.

“I’m through,” he said at last. Denying me the privacy of a natural-born being, he watched me clumsily put on the clothes Ralph had bought me. “Good. Good. This is incredible. It has worked.”

“Why the surprise? Haven’t you done this before?”

“Of course. But each time it seems to be a miracle. We have another success on our hands. Everything is complete now. Your mind and the body’s nervous system are in perfect coordination. You have your old mind in a new body. New life has been made.”

“Is that it?” I said. “Don’t I require more preparation?”

“I expect you do,” he said. “Mentally. There will be shocks ahead, adjustments to be made. It would be a good idea to discuss it with Ralph, your mentor. It goes without saying that you cannot talk freely about this. Otherwise you are free to go, sir. Your clock has been restarted, but it is still ticking. See you in six months. You know where we are.”

“But do I know where I am?”

“I hope you will find out. I look forward to hearing how it went.”

The nurse, in reception, handed me my wallet and the bag of things Ralph had told me I’d need for the first few hours after my “transformation.” She took a copy of my memoirs from under the desk and asked me to sign it.

“I’ve long been an admirer, sir.”

Writing my old name with my new fingers I had to bend over from a different height. For the first time in years, I did so without having to adjust my posture to avoid an expected pain. I stood back and stared at my signature, which resembled a bad forgery of my own scrawl. I took another piece of paper and scribbled my name again and again. However hard I tried, I couldn’t make it come out like the old one.

The amused nurse called a cab for me.

I waited on the couch with my new long legs stuck out in front of me, taking up a lot of room and touching my face. Watching her work in reception, it occurred to me that the desirable nurse—whose attractiveness was, really, only lack of any flaw—might be seventy or ninety years old. Like people who work at a dentist’s, and always have perfect teeth, she was bound to be a Newbody herself. But why would she be doing such a job?