Alas, you could not fit the means by which you sent your very self to moon for everyone. Through the use of punch cards, you recorded your neuron configuration from the night before you went into that fateful battle against the fiends from the future. Electrostimulation and motion-picture indoctrination resulted in your clone being no mere clone, but the [i]new you[/i].

Which is where we join [b]you[/b], the greatest scientist of your age, reborn in your base upon the far side of the moon.

The iron womb hisses as the seal upon it is broken. Amniotic fluids drain out from the tank, to be reprocessed by the difference engine's automatives. While the doors to the machine slide open, the televisor that covered you eyes and beamed flashes of memory and knowledge into your mind as you grew retracts. So too does the electric crown whose stimulation shaped your new brain into a perfect mirror of your old body. Your first breath reeks of the harvest and the fermentation of grains, as if someone had cracked open a vat of still-fermenting beer. In many ways, that is not exactly wrong.

"Eureka!" you declare to the empty room. "I have defeated the spectre of death. Now if only the Britons were so easily... so easily... what?"

You expected your voice to be lighter and more high pitched, as you were when you were a child still learning about simple things like radiation and mechanisms of clockwork. You did not expect to hear any of the feminine tones possessed by a young maiden. Yet that is what your voice sounds like. To be sure, you rush over the grated floor to find something, anything shiny enough to show your reflection. Oh, you knew of course the simplest test to make that determination, but somehow you felt like your hands going there would constitute a most terrible crime if you were right.

Eventually, you find a mirror. A full changing room, in fact. In the reflection, you see not a strapping you boy ready to sprout into a man, but instead a maiden in the spring of her youth on the verge of blooming into a fine young woman. It almost feels like a crime just looking at yourself right now, but no matter.

"Fascinating..." you say. Giving yourself permission to pat yourself down and check all of the peripherals takes more courage than you thought, but you confirm that your mind is not hallucinating. "The electrostimulation would not have worked on a clone of different blood... why did my Y chromosome not express itself? Wait, did I even have one? I never checked... could I have been the rare man with a woman's genome? This is [i]fascinating[/i]..."