63. Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Three

L aura

Varro and I left the cryo room to grab lunch in the facility cafeteria, but we’re back, looking through the observation window in the hallway.

“You don’t have to hang here with me, love. Just because I’m a little OCD and can’t bear to leave this hallway doesn’t mean you have to join me.”

“Just a little OCD?” He tips his head in question, a smile on his face, then he sobers. “I’m just as invested in this as you, Dulcis . We can sleep on the floor here if you want. Dr. Diaz said it will only take two days.”

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around, gladiator. We make such a good team.”

I lean against the observation window, watching the doctors and nurses bustle around Thrax’s cryogenic chamber. Varro’s steady presence beside me is a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of anticipation and nerves.

“Two days,” I murmur, more to myself than to Varro. “In two days, we might be having a conversation with a man who last drew breath two millennia ago. ”

Varro’s hand finds mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And you won’t even have to tear off your clothes and jump on top of him to keep him warm.”

I tuck myself closer to him and, my eyes never leaving the action, ask, “Hard to believe both of us survived that, isn’t it?”

“I’m so glad I didn’t strangle you.” He deadpanned that with such fervent sincerity, it takes me a moment before I break out in laughter. What an odd thing to say to the woman you love, but it’s true.

Turning to face him, I’m struck by the mix of emotions playing across his features—amusement, hope, anxiety, and a touch of wonder.

“How are you holding up?” I ask, studying his face.

He offers a wry smile. “Ask me again in two days.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Interesting news?” Varro asks, peering over my shoulder.

“It’s an email from Dara Hobson herself. The third richest person on Earth.”

“Rich as Croesus?” Varro’s voice is full of wonder.

“Richer. Way richer. She made her money in technology and is a genius. I had the balls—”

Varro snorts. He thinks it’s hysterical for a woman to say such a thing.

“I had the balls to reach out to her. She’s agreed to send a talented woman here to work with us on our Latin-to-English translation program. Her name is Skye Carter. Ms Hobson thinks that within a few months she might be able to create an AI-powered earpiece for real-time translation.”

Varro’s eyes widen. “That would be… incredible. To be able to understand and be understood immediately. I was lucky that you spoke Latin. ”

“The program will make the transition so much easier for the others,” I agree, already imagining the possibilities, studiously avoiding the idea that there may not be any others.

Dr. Diaz exits the room and approaches us, trying to keep her professional calm despite her obvious excitement.

“Everything’s progressing as expected,” she reports. “Well, progressing as we’d hoped . Thrax’s vital signs are reaching markers just as we projected. My original estimate of forty-eight hours still stands.”

As Dr. Diaz returns to her work, Varro and I find ourselves alone once more, the enormity of the situation hanging between us.

“I know hope is a dangerous thing, Varro, but I’m beginning to feel… optimistic.”

He hugs me tight and settles his forehead against mine, calming me with his presence as our breaths mingle.

“Yes, dangerous, Dulcis . But I feel it, too. I’d like you to teach me how to record myself. Can you do that? Like the people I see on my phone?”

His voice is so full of enthusiasm, how can I say no? “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“I can teach the men things about this new world. They can watch when they’re ready. From small things like how to use utensils and not our fingers, to large things, like our freedom. It will take them time to adjust… to believe.”

“Brilliant! It will speed their assimilation.”

We leave the hallway long enough to pull two comfy chairs in from an abandoned waiting room down the hall and allow ourselves to weave plans of the future. I’ll be honest, they don’t spring up out of nowhere. I’ve been dreaming of them since we caught sight of the bodies encased in ice at the site of the other half of the Fortuna. I’ve just never been hopeful enough to say them out loud .

I paint a picture of a remote piece of acreage, possibly in Missouri near my parents. After they’re revived, we can keep the men who live through the cryo process isolated until they get their bearings. In all honesty, many of them may never be able to join modern-day society. But with the money from the gold and possible speaking engagements, we can provide for them forever in a protected enclave.

As I share my ideas with Varro, he jumps in with enthusiasm, sharing his ideas of a barracks for the single men, and houses for men who might find love like we have.

I mention horses which might be therapeutic.

“To Tartarus with therapeutic. That sounds fun !”

As we continue to spin ideas, he adds, “The money from the gold is good, but we’ll want to earn our own keep. We’re no longer slaves. We can be productive.”

He loves the idea of building an arena and charging admission for people to watch mock gladiator games.

“The men will love keeping their skills up and putting on exhibitions.”

Then his eyes light up as he asks, “How large will this property be?” There’s a sparkle in his eye as I warily tell him I think it will be several times larger than this hospital campus.

“We could make garum at the far end of the property, Dulcis . It won’t offend your delicate nose.”

How can I argue with him when he’s as full of enthusiasm as a six-year-old on Christmas Eve?

“We’ll call it Fortuna’s Gold and make a fortune.”

Just for a moment, I push away the thought of Thrax lying not fifty feet away, fighting for his life in the other room. Instead, I allow my mind to fly with ideas of all fourteen men alive and well, and learning to thrive in this new world .

Although his chair is barely sturdy enough to hold him, I ease onto Varro’s lap and tuck close, my ear on his chest as I listen to the reassuring thrum of his heart.

“What if they all wake up, hale and hearty, and come to America to discover the taste of freedom? And Varro, what if they find a woman to love, just as you did? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there were thirteen more happy endings?”

“Yes, Dulcis . Although I doubt any could find a love as strong and beautiful as ours.”