Matt Sandoval looked much older than a man in his sixties. Gray and sallow, propped up on several pillows, he wheezed and labored to shift around on the bed. He appeared to be alert and coherent. His wife sat on the edge of the bed next to him.
“Honey, this is Mara and Mr. Ping,” she said. “Mara is a progenitor.”
Mara blushed. Mr. Sandoval’s eyes widened. He lifted a shaky hand and pointed. “You can send me home?”
“Is that what you want, to go home?” Mara asked.
His eyes watered and looked up at his wife. “Green skies.”
“Soon, honey. You’ll have green skies as far as you can see.” Tears rolled down her cheek.
He looked concerned and touched her cheek. “Okay?”
“Yes, sweetheart. It is okay for you to go. I want you to live and breathe again.”
The sick man tried to heave himself off t
