They made some changes in the template. Of course. They were craftsmen. And there was a good deal they wanted to learn.

* * *

Look at Cassiday: the dossier.

BORN: 1 August 2316

PLACE: Nyack, New York

PARENTS: Various

ECONOMIC LEVEL: Low

EDUCATIONAL LEVEL: Middle

OCCUPATION: Fuel technician

MARITAL STATUS: Three legal liaisons, duration eight months, sixteen months, and two months

HEIGHT: Two meters

WEIGHT: 96 kg

HAIR COLOR: Yellow

EYES: Blue

BLOOD TYPE: A+

INTELLIGENCE LEVEL: High

SEXUAL INCLINATIONS: Normal

* * *

Watch them now: changing him.

The complete man lay before them, newly minted, ready for rebirth. Now come the final adjustments. They sought the gray brain within its pink wrapper, and entered it, and traveled through the bays and inlets of the mind, pausing now at this quiet cove, dropping anchor now at the base of that slab-sided cliff. They were operating, but doing it neatly. Here were no submucous resections, no glittering blades carving through gristle and bone, no sizzling lasers at work, no clumsy hammering at the tender meninges. Cold steel did not slash the synapses. The golden ones were subtler; they turned the circuit that was Cassiday, boosted the gain, damped out the noise, and they did it very gently.

When they had finished with him, he was much more sensitive. He had several new hungers. They had granted him certain abilities.

Now they awakened him.

“You are alive, Cassiday,” a feathery voice said. “Your ship was destroyed. Your companions were killed. You alone survived.”

“Which hospital is this?”

“Not on Earth. You’ll be going back soon. Stand up, Cassiday. Move your right hand. Your left. Flex your knees. Inflate your lungs. Open and close your eyes several times. What’s your name, Cassiday?”