David Palmer - Emergence

“You were a mess.”

“Thank you.” Blurted reply after boy’s last four words but before content registered. Experienced momentary pang of dismay lest he take it wrong; be offended. How could he know how slowly own thoughts functioning; how far behind utterance comprehension lagged.

But mattered not. Hadn’t heard. Probably not listening at all; wrapped in own thoughts. Monologue continued without pause:

“Your heart stopped twice. The first time I managed to restart you with CPR alone; the second time it took three jolts with the defibrillator paddles and an injection of adrenaline directly into your heart. That’s something the staff didn’t teach me…”

Without bidding, hand drifted to chest; fingers sought, found tiny bandage just to left of sternum, between fourth, fifth ribs.

“Between the ice — courtesy of the industrial-grade icemaker in the bar in the ballroom — and the I.V., I got your temperature back down somewhere near normal and restored your fluid level. That took most of the rest of the day.

“But still you were fading almost as I watched. For some reason your tissues apparently were consuming themselves, as happens in extreme starvation, but faster — which made no sense to me as you were in good flesh and apparently healthy otherwise. So I intubated you gastrically and started you on the Isocal. And to save time, to start nourishing your cells immediately, without waiting for you to metabolize the Isocal, I briefly piggybacked a filtered solution of it into your I.V. and changed you from straight saline to Ringer’s.

“Fortunately, I had to answer Nature’s Call myself at about that time, and that started me thinking: All that fluid had to go somewhere. You had stopped perspiring; logic offered but a single alternative: If your sphincter held, you would rupture your bladder.

“So I catheterized you. Yes, that’s something else the servants didn’t teach me. But according to the book, I probably did it correctly — you didn’t bleed and haven’t shown signs of infection.

“And you confirmed my suspicion promptly by filling the first container in a single nonstop gush. I had to mop the floor after fumbling the container change on the fly.

“You probably don’t want to hear the details of how I coped with your bowels; but I can attest that you were marvelously regular until you emptied out what you had eaten before and were down to the Isocal residue; of which — I’m glad to say — there’s almost none. But that’s why you’re in a diaper. And I’ve been transferring you back and forth between two beds as cleanup demands necessitated changing them. And you.”

Shook head, almost shuddered, but music never wavered. “Ever since I attained puberty and learned what it implies, my primary ambition regarding girls has revolved around getting their clothes off. Et cetera. That has not been the case with you; I’m not into necrophilia, and a catheter is not conducive to romance: There was no ‘et cetera.’

“And though I have acquired an exhaustively detailed, painstakingly thorough, unflinchingly intimate familiarity with your every tangible aspect — in fact I learned more about you physically than any girl in my experience — I must admit that I would have traded gladly every success I’ve enjoyed in the past in that respect at any moment during these six days for the privilege of getting you dressed. You have not been a fun date.”

Can’t say just when lost track of soliloquy; drifted off into own blissful, music-filled reverie. Didn’t have to listen; details irrelevant — had found somebody…!

Months of accumulated desperate tension drained from soul like sand spilling from ripped sack, leaving slightly limp, giddy euphoria suffusing entire being. Wouldn’t have been surprised had started glowing from head to foot. Was supremely happy.

And not without degree of justification — not leaping to conclusions; some data in already (sketchy, obviously preliminary, but [beyond mere fact of his being ] encouraging): Appears to be good prospect. Hominem beyond doubt: obviously intelligent (piano talent alone points toward genius-level intellect; and when coupled with resourcefulness displayed in keeping me alive, plus syntactic evidence apparent from first words, leaves little room to doubt quality of brains). Further, demonstrated gentlemanly instincts. Additionally, sound physical specimen, apart from wounds (apparently healing nicely); with pleasant, well-bred features.

Finally, was good to helpless birdbrain, and idiot twin likes him (Terry spends bulk of waking hours rowing with only one oar in water — but is never wrong about people).

Not perfect, of course: Will be period of adjustment; may require gentle retraining (at bare minimum, driving habits need attention!).

But issue not impending. “Ever after” is long time, and too young now myself for twosome involvement; while boy (implied conquests notwithstanding) hardly year, two years older. Question resolvable at leisure, without deadlines.

Because doesn’t matter now…! Teacher was right — really are other people out there…!

Hominems — my people! Perhaps 150,000, according to Teacher. Maybe more, maybe less — who cares! — numbers immaterial…

Are others!

And we’re going to find them.

Together…

Surprise , Posterity, here I am again…!

Gracious, who’d have thought, only months ago — still alive (knock wood) and everything.

Not crowing, mind you; must admit, have been lucky Quite lucky. Incredibly lucky.

For one thing, ultimate war’s bionuclear efficiency imparted breathtaking new scope to definition of “overkill”; for another, rigors intrinsic to existence in subsequent environment doing much the same for “unforgiving.”

In fact, until quite recently your Humble Histographer brooded over eminently defensible, ever-deepening gloomy conviction that own small self constituted Earth’s entire remaining sapient population. Under such circumstances, “mere” mere survival ranks as clearly epic achievement — whether due in any part to own feeble efforts or not.

No, certainly not crowing. Pleased. And not a little surprised.

But pleasure, surprise, now secondary to almost inexpressible relief: Have found somebody!

Finally — a real live person…! That he happens to be intelligent, able-bodied, sensitive, not unattractive, brilliant musician to boot — all immaterial.

Quite suffices is alive!

For, therefore (ipso facto, and in conjunction with dogged faith in Teacher’s opinions [as set forth in Final Letter], together with own unquenchable optimism), presence of one proves are others, too.

Must be.

Somewhere…

However, have no intention of rushing headlong into romance, even if does turn out to be only game in town. Am only 11, after all. Shall indeed “carry out duty” for species’ benefit when time comes, should ultimate necessity manifest; but much prefer relationship growing from mutual attraction, compatibility, respect.

Not that would be all that difficult (apart from initial strain intrinsic to meeting under present coercive circumstances) to become attracted to new acquaintance. Possesses many good qualities, few (at first blush) unforgivable faults. Not bad specimen, viewed objectively.

Which is not to suggest totally lacks peculiarities, fair number of which would not be missed. For instance: Don’t know his name… ! Won’t give straight answer; merely offers sidelong glance, elevates near-side brow, smirks knowingly, replies, “Think of me as ‘Adam.’ ”