40 Million Winks

Today I lay myself down to rest, before the icy waters rise and take my breath from my unmoving chest. Today I lay down and welcome the cold embrace of darkness. Today I do this, so that I may see a thousand, a million tomorrows hence. 

Today I die, so that I may live tomorrow. 

Inside the capsule the padding is smooth and fine in places and scratchy and rough in others. My head rests of a firm cushion, my neck feels a slight crick in it. The angle is wrong. I try to adjust myself. 

A flash of worry overcomes me for a moment. 

Will I wake up with a skew neck? Will the years warp my frame so that I should view at the world askance? 

Unable to stand straight and face what comes head on. The thought starts a tremor in my soul and reach for my training. I do the exercises to bring calm. 

Fear is the mind killer. 

I work to slow my heartbeat, to control my breathing. 

I want this, I have chosen this, I will look on Tomorrow. 

I have said my goodbyes. Few and short though they were. Estranged and stiff though my children were, I hugged and loved them so. They did not understand, would not understand, could not bring themselves to support me. Support what I aim to do. What I do for us all, for myself if I spoke truly. A sacrifice still.

I must see. I need to see the dawn on a new age. 

I can no longer abide by this filth encrusted dark and dreary world we have wrought. The change comes they say, the turning point has been reached they cry but still the sun's rays cannot break the smog. Still the insufferable heat bakes and boils what life remains. Time will bring a better world they promise. 

I will test the truth of their promises. 

Only I can judge the words they blare out of the loudspeakers on every archology block. The sweet and silky promises to the faceless mass of scurrying workers lost in the turns of the lowest levels of our mega cities. Children and men, women and wives, husbands and whores. Many born since losing the sun. Most never setting foot outside the walls that keep them safe and trapped. Afraid of the open.

The walls of my capsule feel too close. 

The lid will soon close in, the lights will soon go out. The final face I see, masked and unknown, will look in and wave goodbye. 

The face comes, the wave passes, the lid irises closed. A self-contained tomb, automagic in its powers of preservation.

The darkness fills with panic flooding in as the light filters out. Slowly the walls glow ever so slightly, a faint whisper of light. My eyes adjust. There's my hand. 

The walls will tighten soon, holding me in place, a return to a wonderful womb. A safe place to ride out the years. My thoughts think ahead, then jar. 

What if I think like this, awake in my mind for eternity, trapped? What if --

...

I scream forever.

Something is wrong. I'm awake. I can feel. My body is sensate. I am alone in darkness. Fear strangles my heart. I thrash and beat against the walls. 

The lights should've come on. By now I should have been helped out of this coffin. My body is cold. It's numb. My ... what are they called? They've got these five wiggling things on them. These things have tingles. 

Hypoxic. 

A part of my brain trained harder than my damaged conscious registers that besides whatever is wrong in the facility, whatever is keeping my helpers from retrieving me, there is something wrong with my brain. And my circulation. 

I've not come back whole. 

I gulp down large ragged breaths, they quicken and the panic burns through the air supply in my soon to be tomb. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

If I don't calm down.

Calm down.

Think.

Positives.

I didn't wake up dead.

Check. 

My blood is still rushing. Rushing in my ears. The darkness is absolute. The small noises in this space are loud, the fabric at the sides. My jumpsuit wrinkling. The slight echo of my breathing. Nothing outside.

Emergency release. There was an emergency release. Visualise the schematic. At my feet. Push hard with my feet. Until...

There's a faint click . 

There it is.

Good.

Now.

Step Two.

I move my hands above my chest and push upwards and outwards on the lid.

I designed it for this. Planned for this. There was always a chance.

The pressure activates an emergency power cell the constituents reacting to create energy, even after a long sleep. 

A too long sleep. 

The thought flickers across my mind.

How long did we plan?

How long?

How long?

Long, long long. 

Dammit.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Stars flash and swim in my vision instead. Nausea brings dry heaves. A small green light throbs to life. The mechanism sticks then grates, metal on metal grinds as it forces itself open.

Stale air rushes in. Wet. The atmosphere is damp. My back aches, my arms strain to shift me. I lean over, my weight tips and the floor rushes --

...

Awake.

The floor is hard. Cold. Metal. The grate is digging into my face. I roll on to my back, my heart thudding.

Why am I so weak?

What has happened?

My hands find purchase on the outer handles of my pod. On shaky legs and popping knees I stand to see in the dim dim dim light of a red emergency strip. 

The strip registers a memory. A thought tugs at me.

We use them on, on.

On...

Ships. 

I take a step forward toward the end of my pod. My movement triggers a response. 

The sudden light is blinding. The clanging of metal feet on metal grates is deafening. My senses overload and my legs buckle. 

"Easy. Easy. What are you doing up?" strong hands hold me up. 

"I don't know."

"Most peculiar," says the metal face.

"Where am I?" 

"In long term storage."

"I was in a test facility."

"Which planet?"

"What?"

My eyes adjust and the rows of pods converge in the distance like railway tracks.

Thousands.

I look behind me to see the same.

Millions. 

"What is this?"

"The Ark."