A voice. That’s what it’s called.
A different voice this time, thicker, softer, occluded somehow. “Oh my God. Annie. It’s working. He’s okay. He’s okay.”
“Not yet. He’s got to take a conscious breath. Forty bpm. BP 89/60 and rising. Temp 93°F.”
I feel myself taking shape, filling out the flesh of my body.
An urge rises, undeniable, a spasm in my midsection, and I pull in a breath so sharp, so deep, pain crashes through me.
“Respiration!” The beeping doubles, one on top of another.
Someone outside of the blackness is keening. The sound twists my gut.
“Open it.” The voice is thicker, shaking, unformed.
“Not yet, Em.”
“I need to see him!” There’s pain in the voice, desperation. It tugs at some impulse deep inside me.
“Go sit down over there. My God, you’re driving me crazy.”
I close my eyes again and focus on the sensation of pulling breaths in, pushing them out. I try moving my fingers, my toes. I think about what I am—a human, a person, a man. I wonder where I am. I wonder whether this is how we’re born. Into blackness, with words and thoughts and language.
I don’t think that’s right.
I’m not born, but I’m not… whole yet, either.
“Okay, I’m opening the pod. No, Em, stay put. Just—fucking chill.”
There’s a louder beep, then a slight jerk beneath me as the surface on which I lie begins to shift.
The air cools, the sun bright overhead. It’s blinding, painful, and I groan.
“Dim the lights, Em.”
Not the sun, then.
The light dims and the relief is immediate. A woman moves into view. Which voice is she? Her eyes are red-rimmed, so I think she’s the one who’s been crying. Even with watery eyes, she’s beautiful. Her hair is dark and pinned on top of her head, a few strands escaping confinement and falling softly around her face. Her eyes are brown with a streak of copper in the right one. It makes me think of a penny at the bottom of a fountain, a slash of sunlight reflected in its shiny surface.
“Luca?”
I frown. I don’t know this word, but then I realize: It isn’t a word. It’s a name.
“Luca, can you hear me?”
“I can hear you.” I’m surprised by my own voice. It’s deep, scratchy. It rumbles through me.
Another woman moves into view, setting a blanket over me. I’m distracted by the sharp, astringent smell in the air, the sudden tightness all over my body. Stickers, everywhere. When I try to lift my hand, it’s weighted down by tubes and wires, a heaviness that seems to go straight to my bones.
“Luca, sweetie.” The beautiful one kneels beside me. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I swallow again and it’s easier this time. I wonder if it’s rude, but I need to ask. Clearing my throat, I press the words out: “Who are you?”
9LUCA
The two women exchange looks, and tears well in the red-rimmed eyes closest to me. She blinks quickly like she doesn’t want me to see.
“My name is Emery. I’ll explain everything in a minute.” Her voice is calming, almost enough to douse the spark of panic taking shape in my chest. “But I need you to answer a few questions first, okay?”
