Sign contract

You sign the contract with the ball point pen on the simple stained Mission style desk.

Your hands are a little shaky as you sign the contract - your new name in a noticeably masculine script.

You feel that something's changed now...like the room just changed temperature by a degree or two. A wave of dizziness washes over you, then passes.

“Don't mind the nausea,” an affable voice says from behind you.

You turn around to find a tall, heavy set man in a rumpled tweed suit standing in front of you.

“Don't mind the nausea,” he repeats, “it's just us switching your mind-body connection to its new host.” He pauses. “Okay, you're solidly connected. What you felt was your brainwave pattern getting adjusted to its new environment.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Your new body, of course. It's not quite finished yet - we still have some tweaking to do - but the brain is fully functional, and can support conscious thought - like it's doing right now, since you're still here, talking to me.”

He gives you a moment to let this sink in.

“My old body?” you ask. “I'm not - not connected to it any more?”

He smiles. “No. And every moment you spend in this environment makes your mind less compatible with it anyway. You'll be diverging.”

“But - but what happens to it?” you ask.

“You needn't concern yourself, miss. In fact, it's considered a sign of intransigence to even pose the question. You're new, you'll learn.”

“Now, Janet, my name is Mr. Goode. I'm the dean here at Rutherford. I'll let you ask a few questions before we move on and get you settled in.”