Rollback

And that was it! That was precisely it! His energy seemed almost boundless, and he was elated to have it back. "Zest," another word only ever employed on the Scrabble board, came to mind, too. The datacom’s synonyms for it — keen relish, hearty enjoyment, gusto — were all applicable, but the cliche "feeling like a million bucks" seemed woefully inadequate; he felt like every one of the billions of dollars that had been spent on him; he felt totally, joyously, happily alive. He didn’t shuffle anymore; he strode. Just walking along felt like the way he used to feel on those motorized walkways at airports — like he was bionic, moving so fast that it’d all be a blur to onlookers. He could lift heavy boxes, jump over puddles, practically fly up staircases — it wasn’t quite leaping tall buildings in a single bound, but it felt damn near as good.

And there was icing on this delicious cake: the constant background of pain that had been with him for so long was gone ; it was as though he’d been sitting next to a roaring jet engine for years on end, always trying to shut out the sound, to ignore it, and now it had been turned off; the silence was intoxicating. Youth, the old song said, was wasted on the young. So true — because they didn’t know what it would feel like once it was gone. But now he had it again!

Dr. Petra Jones confirmed that his rollback was complete. His cell-division rate, she said, had slowed to normal and his telomeres had gone back to shortening with each division, a new set of growth rings was starting to appear in his bones, and so on.

And the follow-up work had been completed, too. He had new lenses, a new kidney, and a new prostate, all grown from his own cells; his nose was restored to the merely honkeresque proportions it’d had in his youth; his ears had been reduced; his teeth had been whitened and his two remaining amalgam fillings replaced; and a few nips and tucks had tidied up other things. For all intents and purposes, he was physically twenty-five once more, and aging forward normally from that point.

Don was still getting used to all the wonderful improvements. His hearing was top-notch again, as was his vision. But he’d had to buy a whole new wardrobe. After the recalcification treatments and gene therapies, he’d regained the two inches he’d lost over the years, and his limbs, which had been reduced to not much more than skin and bones, had beefed up nicely. Ah, well; his collection of cardigans and shirts with buttons would have looked silly on a guy apparently in his twenties.

He’d had to stop wearing his wedding ring, too. A decade ago, he’d had it reduced in size, since his fingers had gotten thinner with age; now, it pinched painfully. He’d been waiting until the rollback was over to get it sized back up, and he’d get it done as soon as he found a good jeweler; he didn’t want to trust it to just anyone.

Ontario had mandatory driver retesting every two years starting at one’s eightieth birthday. Don had failed the last time. He hadn’t missed it, and, besides, Sarah was still able to drive when they really needed to go somewhere. Now, though, he probably should take the test again; he had no doubt he’d pass this time.

At some point, he’d also have to get a new passport, with his new face, and new credit cards, also with his new face. Technically, he’d still be entitled to seniors’ discounts in restaurants and at movies, but there’d be no way to claim them without convincing incredulous waiters and clerks. Too bad, really. Unlike, he was sure, every other person who had undergone a rollback, he really could use the break.

Despite all the good things, there were a few downsides to being young again. Sarah and Don were spending double on groceries now. And Don slept more. For at least ten years, he and Sarah had been doing just fine with six hours’ sleep each night, but he found he needed a full eight again. It was a small price to pay: losing two hours a day, but gaining an extra sixty years. And, besides, presumably as he aged the second time, his sleep and food requirements would lessen again.

It was now a little after 11:00 p.m., and Don was getting ready for bed. Usually, he was quick in the bathroom, but he’d gone out today, and it had been hot and muggy.

Toronto in August had been unpleasant when he’d been a kid; these days, the heat and humidity were brutal. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep well if he didn’t first have a quick shower. Carl had installed one of those diagonal support bars for them several years ago. Sarah still needed it, but Don now found it got in the way.

He shampooed, quite enjoying the sensation. He now had a full head of inch-long sandy-brown hair, and he just loved the feel of it. His chest hair was no longer white, either, and his other body hair had lost its grayness.