Alec Train said over his shoulder from the bar, "I'll protect you, Brother Schmidt! Don't trust Brother McCampbell—he was the worst wolf in our chapter. Step aside, Brother Wolf—-it's my turn to stare at our new brother."

"Boys, I am not a ‘new brother,' I was pledged years before you were born. But I'm not surprised that you like to stare at me, as my donor—Jake, do they know?"

"It's not much of a secret, Johann. Judge McCampbell knows, I think Alec knows, too." (Joan, if he doesn't know, tell him. And don't forget our name!) (What do you think I'm leading up to?)

"All right. My donor, Eunice Branca, my former secretary and the sweetest, loveliest girl I've ever known, was not only a perfect secretary; she was a beauty contest winner not many years back. I know what a treasure I inherited from her. 1 don't wear her body with the charming grace she gave it—but I'm trying to learn."

(You're learning, Boss.)

"It is the opinion of this Court that you have learned."

"Shut up, Mac. Brother Schmidt, I agree with him merely because he's right."

"Thank you both—on behalf of Eunice Branca. Jake? Now that Court has adjourned do I have to wear this Mother Hubbard? It's too warm."

"That's up to you. I suppose it depends on how much you have under it."

"Mmm... perhaps I'd better not. Minimum decency under the customs of today—but it would get a burlesque queen thirty days back when I was a youngster." (Exhibitionist. You're asking to be coaxed.) (Certainly. And who taught me? At least the bra isn't just paint, like that mermaid outfit you zapped me with.)

Alec Train said, "Brother Schmidt, in identity cases it is sometimes necessary to require the challenged individual to strip completely. Birthmarks and scars and such—tell her, Judge."

"Ignore him, Brother Schmidt. I wouldn't call that lovely Grecian robe a ‘Mother Hubbard.' But I can see that it was intended for outdoors and I'll happily hang it up for you."

"Uh... oh, goodness, I'm having trouble shucking off my early-twentieth-century Puritanism. Jake has seen me in the nothing-much girls wear today, and he's seen Eunice in even less than I have on under this; Eunice wasn't shy about sharing her beauty." (You milked that, didn't you, dearie? Which one are you after?) (Shut up!) Joan ran a finger down the magnostrip, let the robe fall open; Alec Train hurried to claim it ahead of the Judge.

Then she posed. "See? This is almost the way Eunice Branca looked—except that she walked in glory, always while I am an old man who is trying to learn to wear her body." Besides Eunice's body, Joan was wearing some of Winnie's clothes—black frill skirt, translucent black Cling-On cups, six-inch Sticktite stilt sandals that left her pretty feet in view—no paint, just restrained enhancement with rouge and shadow.

She posed, they stared. Jake cleared his throat louder than usual. "Joan, had I known what you were wearing—not wearing, rather—under that robe, I would have advised you to keep it on."

"Oh, pooh, Jake, you wouldn't have scolded Eunice for dressing this way. But that brings up something I must ask. Judge, I can't go on being ‘Johann Smith.' Will you let inc change my name?"

"That's not properly put, Brother Schmidt. You can have any name you like. At most a court confirms it. You mean that you need a girl's name now. Helen, perhaps? Or Cleopatra?"

"Thank you—for Eunice." (Boss,, find out if Judge is still married.) (Go back to sleep!) "Not either of those names. I want to be known as ‘Joan'—for ‘Johann'—‘Joan Eunice...Smith.'"

Judge McCampbell lOoked surprised, then smiled in, approval. "A good choice. The flavor of your masculine name, plus, I assume, a tribute to your donor. But may I offer a word of advice? You can start calling yourself that today—"

"I already have."

"I noticed that Jake called you ‘Joan.' But let it be a family name, and keep your masculine name at other times—use it to sign letters, checks, and so forth—until your identity has been finally established—in the Supreme Court if possible. Don't cloud the issue."

"I gave her the same advice," Salomon put in.

"I'm not surprised. Miss—Brother Schmidt, what do you want me to call you? In private."

"Why, either ‘Joan' or ‘Eunice.' Both by preference, as I do not want anyone ever to forget Eunice Branca. Me least of all—I want ‘to be reminded of my benefactor. Benefactrix. But don't call me ‘Miss' in private. Look, brothers, as ‘Brother Schmidt' I am half a century older than you two... but as ‘Joan Eunice' I am only a few weeks old. However, Eunice's body is that of a young woman, and that is what I am learning—must learn!—to be. You could have daughters my age. So please call me ‘Joan Eunice' and save ‘Miss Smith' for court appearances." She smiled. "Or ‘Brother Schmidt if you wish—although ‘Yonny' was what I was called by our brothers in my chapter."

Alec said, "Joan Eunice Brother Yonny Schmidt, I'm pleased to call you whatever you like, and I don't have daughters your age and you make me feel younger just to look at you. But I'm not speaking for my roommate and I'd hate to tell you how old some of his offspring are; he was the scourge of P.S. 238—stay away from him and let me protect you. And did I mention how happy I am that Mrs. Seward fired me? Brother Joan Eunice, I would never have been in this case other than as a favor to Parkinson's mother-in-law. But at first it did look like a straightforward case of protecting the interests of an invalid too ill to protect himself. Believe me."

"Don't listen to him," advised the Judge. "He's an ambulance chaser. I throw legitimate business his way just to protect the good name of our Brothers. But back to this matter of identity. Joan Eunice, I don't know how much law you know—"

"Just what has rubbed off in the course of a long and evil life. I depend on experts. Such as Jake."

"I see. Well, your granddaughters probably think it is wrong of me to help you establish your identity. It is not. True, in a civil suit or a criminal action a judge must be impartial. But such a matter as establishing identity is neither one, and there is no rule of law or equity which prohibits a court from being helpful. The situation is like that of a citizen who has lost his passport and appeals to his consul. The consul doesn't sit as a judge; he tries to get the mixup straightened out. So— Jake, you've been in the Law much longer than I have; do you want my opinions?"

"I am always most happy to have Judge McCampbell's opinions on any matter."

"I think I'll reconvene court and slam you for contempt. After I've finished this drink. All right, you're going to get ‘em anyhow. Do you anticipate any difficulty in proving that the brain of Brother Schmidt was moved into the body of Eunice Branca?"

"None. A nuisance but no difficulty."

"Or in showing that this body—this lovely body—was once that of Eunice Branca?"

"Same answer."

"What evidence?"

"Police reports, photographs, hospital personnel, and so forth."

"Let's say it's my court. I'm going to make you go back and touch second at every opportunity. I intentionally got into the record today that ruling based on ‘Parsons' estate v. Rhode Island'; I think it's important—"

"So do I."

"Thank you. In following the principle that identity lies in the brain and nowhere else"—(We could tell him something, couldn't we, Boss?) (Yes, beloved—but we aren't going to!)—"I am going to be as tough as possible. No depositions when it is possible to bring the witness into court. Photographs and other records not only allowed but required—but the originals must be brought into court, not copies, and photographers or record keepers must appear and identify same, and the surgeons or others whose work appears in those films, photographs, or records must appear and confirm each record. Do you know if each body was fingerprinted just prior to surgery?"