Revival Room. T9, Caphill.
"Joanne Flair…," the machine announces my name into the revival chamber as my mind begins to wake up from the subconscious. "Batch number 205, from the third platoon."
I see a bright fluorescent light against my eyes–although my eyes are not physical–I perceive the light.
"Welcome Joanne." The machine greeted, "there might be a tad of dizziness in your mind. You might feel like something is missing from your memory. We will find and fix it."
That was the routine every freaking time. I felt nothing, but this had become intensely familiar. I could imagine my chamber just as it is, ominously cold and dark.
The smell of spirit and metal everything was unchanging and monotonous. All these things embedded in my memory, in my mind like my dreams and nightmares. I could lose my memories, but I could never lose the appearance and the feel of this revival chamber.
"You are now directed towards your clone body…," the automated robotic voice began the countdown, "in three… two… one."
And a prolonging beep.
I bolt up straight in the tank of preservative slime dripping down my bare body. I gasp for breath and my lungs start to burn as I desperately fill them with heavy gushes of air. I begin to feel heavy; my neck couldn't bear the weight of my head and slumps down. I can even feel my long wavy hair extending out from the pores of my skull.
I brush off the slime from my eyelids and finally open my eyes to behold the same damp room light up slowly as I open my eyes.
"Yuck…," I contort my face, looking at the slim clinging to my body. It disgusts me severely. Waking up in this tank countlessly didn't succeed to make me habitual to this gross fluid. Nothing on Caphill had made me habitual.
"You are now successfully revived." The machine said.
"Thank you." I reply passively, still disgusted at the slime on my body.
I get up and walk up to the shower, which is hardly ten paces away from my tank. Everything is AI here, which is a kind of annoying. I feel like I am being watched all the time, with the eyes of a complete stranger. Like a wolf watches over a flock of sheep. There is no personal space here in the revival chambers.
"Good morning, Joanne…," the mechanical voice greets again.
It is pretty enraging.
The machines are the only company one could get here in the chambers. If you want to talk, there is a computer which only speaks if it is asked to speak. No one cares if you are hurting or you are mad. No one here is going to sing a song for you.
If at days when you are feeling lonely there is a computer which entertains you by imitating the popular singer's voices and singing whatever you want it to sing. No element of surprise.
In my time, people wondered about how interesting the future would be? To be really genuine, nothing is interesting about the future. It is just an unrelenting pile of boredom and lonesomeness.
"Warm water please." I say to the machine.
"You got it." The machine assured.
As I step into the transparent glass chamber, the shower emerges from the artificial wall, out of nowhere. That was a bit exciting to watch at the beginning, but now I know from where it comes.
"Would you like some songs along with your shower?" the machine asks.
Of course. "You know what I like." I reply glumly.
The one best thing which feels real is my playlist that I chose very carefully. I made it sure that this playlist is a real playlist from the real days back on the earth and not reproduced, or should I say, re-arranged.
Juice Newton's just call me angel begins again in the shower. It doesn't echo. It feels as if it is playing in my head. But very vaguely and elaborately in the harmony of my thoughts. I see whatever I think. Every time I am revived, I like to check if my memories are in the right place and make sure they won't disappear or become distant.
Those are my real memories, the memories of the days before they brought me here.
I see my mom and my younger brother in the bathtub. I was roughly three years old and my brother was a toddler. How could I remember a memory so old? Well, when you have most of the time to yourself in the revival chamber, you don't really have much options. It is either talk to machines or play with them, or just contemplate about yourself. I choose the latter, and I will always prefer that.
There are no people here on Caphill, except for us. There is nothing really outside, just bullets and energy beams and showers of hi-tech weapons. The only conversation we make with an actual human is comprised of really limited words. For a lower rank like me, it is mostly "Yes, captain."
Our seniors, well, they don't get to talk much either. So, the question is why are we doing this? If I say that it is for our home, but is it really?
When I see trillionaires out in their artificial cities orbiting the big red energy core imitating the sun, from the ground where we fight at a distance. I see no such thing as home. They have money and they could afford a home there. Lavishing home, even better than the conditions were on the earth when the biggest achievement was to flying to the moon and coming back on earth in one piece. Nothing left of earth now. When I glance at my home from the telescope, I just see clouds of mists in the night and clouds of dust in the day. Our home is long gone. Only home I have are my memories from 1982.
That warmth of sun and sunshine waking me up, kissing me tenderly on the cheek. Those birds singing to welcome the first light of dawn and rejoicing every moment until they could. We humans should've been that way. Enjoying the moment without fretting about the future. Our biggest enemy was our curiosity about space. We should've been carefree.
Why did we bother ourselves thinking what lies beyond our world? My world, our world, was plenty.