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said, “Actually, Robert, that’s about all we intended to do today. You have a lot to do over the next few weeks, but it will be less chaotic if we take things one step at a time. We’ll be keeping watch for any problems.”
    Robert pretended to see something in the air. “Right. See you around.”
He heard friendly laughter. “Quite right! Reed can help you with that.”
    Reed Weber nodded, and now Robert had the feeling that he and Weber were truly alone in the room. The physician’s assistant packed away the glasses, and various other pieces of loose equipment. Most were plain plastic boxes, prosaic throwaways except for the miracles they had made. Weber noticed his look, and smiled. “Just tools of the trade, the humdrum ones. It’s the meds and machines that are floating around inside you that are really interesting.” He stowed the last of the bricklike objects and looked up. “You’re a very lucky guy, do you know that?”
I am in daylight now, where before it was night since forever. I wonder where Lena is ? Then he thought about the other’s question. “How do you mean?”
    “You picked all the right diseases!” He laughed. “Modern medicine is kind of like a minefield made in heaven. We can cure a lot of things: Alzheimer’s, even though you almost missed the boat there. You and I both had Alzheimer’s; I had the normal kind, cured at earliest onset. Lots of other things are just as fatal or crippling as ever. We still can’t do much with strokes. Some cancers can’t be cured. There are forms of osteoporosis that are as gruesome as ever. But all your major infirmities are things we have slam-dunk fixes for. Your bones are as good as a fifty-year-old’s now. Today we did your eyes. In a week or so we’ll start reinforcing your peripheral nervous system.” Reed laughed. “You know, you’ve even got the skin and fat biochemistry that responds to Venn-Kurasawa treatments. It’s not one person in a thousand who steps on that heavenly landmine; you’re even going to look a lot younger.”
“Next you’ll be having me playing video games.”
     
“Ah!” Weber reached into his equipment bag and pulled out a slip of paper. “We can’t forget that.”
    Robert took the paper and unfolded it all the way. It was really quite large, almost the size of foolscap. This appeared to be letterhead stationery. At the top was a logo, and in a fancy font the words “Crick’s Clinic, Geriatrics Division.” The rest was some kind of outline, the main categories being: “Microsoft Family,”
“Great Wall Linux,” and “Epiphany Lite.” “Eventually you’ll want to use ‘Epiphany Lite,’ but in the meantime, just touch the computer type you’re most familiar with.”
     
The items listed under “Microsoft Family” were the brand names of Microsoft systems all the way back to the 1980s. Robert stared uncertainly.
     
“Robert? You — you do know about computers, right?”
    “Yes.” The memory was there, now that he thought about it. He grinned. “But I was always the last to get on board. I got my first PC in 2000.” And that was because the rest of the English Department was brutalizing him for not reading his email.
    “Whew. Okay, you can imitate any of those old styles with that. Just lay it out flat on the arm of your chair. Your son has this room set to play the audio, but most places you’ll have to keep your fingers touching the page if you want to hear output.” Robert leaned forward to get a close view of the paper. It didn’t glow; it didn’t even have the glassy appearance of a computer display. It was just plain, high-quality paper. Reed pointed at the outline items. “Now press the menu option that corresponds to your favorite system.”
    Robert shrugged. Over the years, the department had upgraded through a number of systems, but — he pressed his finger to the line of text that said “WinME.” There was no pause, none of the boot-up delays he recalled. But suddenly a