Three days passed in that torture chamber.
They fed us twice a day through a slot in the door–nutrient paste in disposable pouches, tasteless and barely filling. I ate because I had to, not because I wanted to.
I also tried to keep track of time, using small pieces of my food to count up from minutes to hours, but with nothing to tell whether my minute was truly a minute or more. I couldn't keep up with this challenge of mine. The second I stopped trying to hold time to my standards, the seconds, minutes, and hours all blended together.
The sounds from the other cells tore into me. The murmuring grew louder, more frantic. The head-banging stopped on day two, replaced with only a low sob. I wanted to call out to them, ask if they were ok, but more than anything, I was afraid of what they might say back. Or worse, afraid they wouldn't say anything at all.
On day three, the screen flickered to life again.
This time, it wasn't the automated face or the useless attorney. It was someone new, a government official. He had a crisp military uniform and calculating eyes, every inch of him radiating authority.
"Prisoner 8A5-4912," he said. "You've been given a special opportunity."
I don't move from the bed. "What kind of opportunity?"
"Our military has recently discovered a new planet designated Tiamut. Based on our scans, it is highly resource rich, but we need intelligence before we can commit to full-scale colonization. We're recruiting explorers to gather data on the planet's environment, resources, and any potential threats."
I sat up on the cot, wary, staring at the screen. "You want me to explore an alien planet?"
"Yes."
"And if I do this, what happens to my sentence?"
"Complete the mission successfully, and your sentence will be reduced to the time you've already served. You'll be a free man the second you touch Earth soil."
It sounded too good to be true. Which meant it was.
"What's the catch?"
The official's expression didn't change. "Tiamut is largely unexplored. There are risks."
"Risks? That's kind of vague."
"That's all that will be disclosed for now, the rest you'll need to find out for us."
I leaned forward. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you'll serve your full sentence. Sixty long years." He paused. "Your choice, Mr. Mercer. But don't make me wait long.
The screen went dark.
I sat there in the dim light of my cell. I could either spend the next sixty years of my life in this metal box, slowly losing the remaining humanity. Or upon an unknown planet, unexplored and potentially dangerous, with no guarantee I'd survive to redeem my freedom.
Some choices I have.
I bided my time, trying to think over my choices as much as I could. Two more days of listening to the sounds of despair, feeling the walls close in around me. Two more days of eating more tasteless nutrient paste, somehow worse than the one I usually eat. Two more days and I couldn't last any longer.
I pressed the call button on the screen.
The official's face appeared immediately, as if he'd been waiting.
"I'll do it."
He nodded once. "Smart choice. You'll be transferred within the hour."
The screen went dark, and I lay back on the cot, closing my eyes.
I thought about my apartment with its spinning ceiling fan. I thought about cubicle 7-J and Gerald, my old companion, the plant. I thought about my old life–boring, meaningless, but safe.
I'd wanted more than that. I'd wanted there to be something fulfilling in my life, a greater purpose, an adventure I could speak for days about, something that mattered.
Though in this case, wanting it is better than having it. As I've learned.
Within the hour, the door to my cell slid open. The same man I had seen on the camera before stood waiting, flanked by two guards. He gestured for me to follow.
They led me through the maze of corridors, past rows of identical metal doors, each one containing another desperate soul. We passed through the three security checkpoints, each one scanning my biometrics, before finally stepping outside.
The brightness made my eyes sting, and I instinctively squinted them to a near shut. After five days in artificial light. Everything looked strange now under natural light, overwhelming in a sense. I raised my hand to shield my eyes as they loaded me into another vehicle–this one nicer, with cushioned seats and windows that weren't tinted.
We drove through the city, heading toward the skyline where the massive beacon towers rose above everything else. I'd seen them before, of course–everyone had–but I'd never been inside one. They were reserved for wealthy, powerful, and vastly important people. Not people like me.
This beacon tower in Sector 7 had been called the Spire. It was a marvel of engineering–a column of steel and glass that stretched over two kilometers into the sky, piercing the smog layer and reaching into the clear air above. It housed everything from corporate offices to luxury residences to military installations. At the very top, launch facilities for spacecraft.
We entered through a secure garage and took a high-speed elevator up. Looking out the window, every building in the city slowly became smaller and smaller, making the world that I had lived in before seem incomparably small to this new life I was experiencing. As the buildings disappeared beneath the clouds, I couldn't shake off my doubts about whether this new life was leading me in the right direction at all.
Ding.
We arrived on floor 183. When the doors opened, I was led down a pristine hallway with polished floors and walls made of some kind of luminescent material that emits a small light like a firefly.
They took me to a small room–not a cell this time, but actual living quarters. There was a real bed with clean sheets, a private bathroom, even a small window that looked out over the clouds. It was barely bigger than my cell at the detention center, but it felt like a godsend in comparison.
"Get some rest. You'll need it. The briefing is tomorrow at 0800. Don't be late."
He left, the door sliding shut behind him. I stood there for a moment, half-expecting it to lock, to trap me again. But when I tapped my finger on the panel, it opened.
I wasn't a prisoner anymore.
At least, not in the horrible way I was before.
I walked to the window and looked out at the clouds. From up here, all I could see were the beautiful white clouds, everything else that had ever troubled me was past it, it all seems so insignificant now. Looking further, the detention center was somewhere past the clouds, I'd been there for just less than a week.
Now I am here.
Tomorrow, I'll be on my way to an alien planet.
I couldn't even think of what I should feel.
I lay down on the bed–the real, soft, quiet bed–and closed my eyes. Sleeping for what feels like the first time in weeks, sleeping without the deranging sounds of other people's despair haunting me.
But in my dreams, I saw the porthole. I saw the sky falling. I saw the ocean rising to swallow me whole.
And I heard myself screaming.