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.

The shower was sensuous, and he luxuriated in it. And, as he cleaned himself down there, he felt his penis growing a little stiff. As the water ran over him, he idly stroked himself. He was thinking of finishing himself off — that seemed the most expedient course — when Sarah entered the bathroom. He could see her through the translucent shower curtain; she was doing something over by the sink. He rinsed the soap off, his erection fading as he did so. Then he turned off the water, pulled back the shower curtain, and stepped out of the tub. By now, he was used to being able to swing his legs one after the other over the side without it being painful, and without — as he’d been doing in the preceding few years — sitting on the edge of the tub while doing so.

Her back was to him. She was already dressed for bed, wearing, as she always did in summers, a long, loose red T-shirt. He grabbed a towel from the rack and vigorously dried himself off, then headed down the short corridor to the bedroom.

He’d always been a pajama man, but he lay naked on top of the green sheets, looking up at the ceiling. After a moment, though, he felt cold — their house had central air conditioning, and an outlet vent was directly above the bed — and so he scurried under the sheets.

A moment later, Sarah entered. She turned off the light as she did so, but there was enough illumination seeping in from outside that he could see her moving slowly to her side of the bed, and he felt the mattress compressing as she climbed in. "Good night, sweetheart," she said.

He rolled over on his side, and touched her shoulder. Sarah seemed surprised by the contact — for the last decade or so, they’d had to plan sex in advance, since Don had needed to take a pill beforehand to kick-start his lower regions — but soon he felt her hand gently on his hip. He moved closer to her and brought his head down to kiss her. She responded after a moment, and they kissed for about ten seconds. When he pulled away, she was lying on her back, and he was looking down at her while leaning on one elbow.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft.

"Hey, yourself," he said, smiling.

He wanted to bounce off the walls, to have wild, athletic sex — but she wouldn’t be able to stand that, and so he touched her gently, softly, and—

"Ouch!" she said.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but he said, "Sorry." He made his touch even lighter, more feathery. He heard her make a sharp intake of breath, but he couldn’t tell if it was in pain or pleasure. He shifted positions again, and she moved slightly, and he actually heard her bones creak.

The activity was so slow, and her touch so weak, that he felt himself going soft.

While looking into her eyes he vigorously stroked himself, trying to get his erection back. She looked so vulnerable; he didn’t want her to think he was rejecting her.

"Tell me if this hurts," he said as he climbed on top of her, making sure that his own arms and legs were bearing almost all his weight; he wasn’t the least bit fat, but he was still much heavier than he’d been before the rollback. He maneuvered carefully, gently, looking for a sweet compromise between what his body was now capable of and what hers could endure. But after only a single thrust, one that seemed oh-so-gentle to him, he could see the pain on her face, and he quickly withdrew, rolling onto his back on her side of the bed.

’’I’m so sorry," she said, softly.

"No, no," he said. "It’s fine." He turned onto his side, facing her, and very gently held her in his arms.

Sarah had leapt from her chair in the basement on that fateful night all those years ago, and Don had hugged her, and lifted her up so that her feet weren’t touching the ground, and he’d swung her around, and he kissed her hard, right there, in front of the kids.

"My wife the genius!" Don declared, grinning from ear to ear.

"More like your wife the plodding researcher," replied Sarah, but she was laughing as she said it.

"No, no, no," he said. "You figured it out — before anyone else did, you figured out the meat of the message."

"I’ve got to post something about this," she said. "I mean, it’s no damn good if I keep it a secret. Whoever announces this publicly first is the one who…"

"Whose name will be in the history books," he said. "I am so proud of you."

"Thanks, darling."

"But you’re right," he said. "You should post something, right now." He let her go, and she started to move back to the computer.

"No, Mom," said Carl. "Let me." Sarah was a hunt-and-peck typist, and not a very fast one. Her father, back in Edmonton, had never understood her wanting to be a scientist, and had encouraged her to take all the typing she could so she’d be ready for a secretarial career. A single typing course had been mandatory. It was the one class in her whole life that Sarah had failed.

She looked at her teenage son, who clearly, in his own way, wanted to share in this moment. "Dictate what you want to say," Carl said. "I’ll type it in."

She smiled at him, and began pacing the length of the rec room. "All right, here goes.

The meat of the message is…"

As she was talking, Don ran upstairs and called an overnight news producer at the CBC. By the time he returned to the basement, Sarah was just finishing dictating her report. He watched as Carl posted it to the SETI Institute newsgroup, then Don said, "Okay, hon, I’ve got you booked for a TV interview in one hour, and you’ll be on both The Current and Sounds Like Canada in the morning."

She looked at her watch. "God, it’s almost midnight. Emily, Carl, you should be in bed. And, Don, I don’t want to go downtown this late—"

"You don’t have to. A camera crew is on its way here."

"Really? My God!"

"It pays to know the right people," he said with a grin.