Rollback

"So, so he’s talking about, what, rejuvenating you thirty-eight years, so you’ll still be around when the next reply is received?"

"Rejuvenating us," said Sarah, firmly — or, at least, in what he knew was supposed to be a firm tone; the quaver never quite left her voice these days. "And, really, there’s no need to stop at that. That would only take us back to being fifty or so, after all."

She paused, took a moment to gather her thoughts. "I remember reading about this.

They say they can regress you to any point after your body stopped growing. You can’t go back before puberty, and you probably shouldn’t go back much earlier than twenty-five, before wisdom teeth have erupted and the bones of the skull have totally fused."

"Twenty-five," said Don, tasting the number, imagining it. "And then you’d age forward again, at the normal rate?"

She nodded. "Which would give us enough time to receive two more replies from…"

She lowered her voice, perhaps surprised to find herself adopting McGavin’s term.

"From my pen pal."

He was about to object that Sarah would be over a hundred and sixty by the time two more replies could be received — but, then again, that would only be her chronological age; she’d be just a hundred physically. He shook his head, feeling woozy, disoriented. Just a hundred!

"You seem to know a lot about this," he said.

She tipped her head to one side. "I read a few of the articles when the procedure was announced. Idle curiosity."

He narrowed his eyes. "Was that all?"

"Sure. Of course."

"I’ve never even thought about living to be over a hundred," he said.

"Of course not. Why would you? The idea of being ancient, withered, worn out, infirm, for years on end — who would fantasize about that? But this is different."

He looked at her, studying her face in a way he hadn’t for some time. It was an old woman’s face, just as his face, he knew, was that of an old man, with wrinkles, creases, and folds.

It came to him, with a start, that their very first date all those years ago had ended in a restaurant with a fireplace, after he’d dragged her to see the premiere of Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. He recalled how beautiful her smooth features had looked, how her lustrous brown hair had shone in the dancing light, how he’d wanted to stare at her forever. Age had come up then, too, with Sarah asking how old he was. He’d told her he was twenty-six.

"Hey, me, too!" she’d said, sounding pleased. "When’s your birthday?"

"October fifteenth."

"Mine was in May."

"Ah," he’d replied, a mischievous tone in his voice, "an older woman."

That had been so very long ago. And to go back to that age! It was madness. "But… but what would you — would we — do with all that time?" he asked.

"Travel," said Sarah at once. "Garden. Read great books. Take courses."

"Hmmmph," said Don.

Sarah nodded, apparently conceding that she hadn’t enticed him. But then she rummaged in her purse and pulled out her datacom, tapped a couple of keys, and handed him the slim device. The screen was showing a picture of little Cassie, wearing a blue dress, her blond hair in pigtails. "Watch our grandchildren grow up," she said. "Get to play with our great-grandchildren, when they come along."

He blew out air. To get to attend his grandchildren’s college graduations, to be at their weddings. That was tempting. And to do all that in robust good health, but…

"But do you really want to attend the funerals of your own children?" he said.

"Because that’s what this would mean, you know. Oh, I’m sure the procedure will come down in price eventually, but not in time for Carl or Emily to afford it." He thought about adding, "We might even end up burying our grandchildren," but found he couldn’t even give voice to that notion.

"Who knows how fast the cost will come down?" Sarah said. "But the idea of having decades more with my kids and grand-kids is very appealing… no matter what happens in the end."

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe. I — I’m just…"

She reached across the dark polished wood of the table and touched his hand.

"Scared?"

It wasn’t an accusation from Sarah; it was loving concern. "Yeah, I suppose. A bit."

"Me, too," she said. "But we’ll be going through it together."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Are you sure you could stand to have me around for another few decades?"

"I wouldn’t have it any other way."

To be young again. It was a heady thought, and, yes, it was scary, too. But it was also, he had to admit, intriguing. He’d never liked taking charity, though. If the procedure had been something they could have even remotely afforded, he might have been more enthusiastic. But even if they sold their house, sold every stock and bond they owned, liquidated all their assets, they couldn’t begin to pay for the treatment for even one of them, let alone for them both. Hell, even Cody McGavin had had to think twice about spending so much money.