Page 4 of Taken
Rhen
So, it’s the start of week three. I found my paints, along with some paper and pens, and am finally getting around to writing things down, in case the tech shorts like it did for the other revenant. The only part of his message that was discernable was the sound of him screaming in agony after ingesting the poison capsules the safety manual encourages us early risers to take.
I know where the capsules are. Pam told me where to find them. I will probably have to take one eventually, but not until I go gray. Or until I can’t walk. Or until my brain atrophies and starts to disintegrate.
So maybe next week.
Until then, I’m going to keep painting the world outside and taking notes on the biological and geological readings. I know the Chamber does that automatically and keeps logs of all activity, but in case anything happens, in case technology fails, I want whoever wakes up after me to havemylogs in written form, too.
I also paint the surface world for that same reason, and to give myself something to do. It’s gorgeous outside. Terrible and bleak, but stunning. So stark. Everything that was once green is now a vibrant shade of burnt orange. The daytime humidity levels are reading at twenty-one percent. Twenty-one percent! I’m pretty sure the Sahara Desert was higher than that.
What’s more interesting is that the radiation levels are low. Liveably low. Not that that influences the decision I made earlier today to try the surface tomorrow. I mean, even if radiationwashigh, it’s either radiation sickness or the capsules, and I heard what happened to that other guy who listened to Pam and read the manual. What have I got to lose?
* * *
Olá sobreviventes!
I’m going out onto the surface today. I had to wait longer than I wanted to for the sun to start to set. The atmosphere is thin, so I expect the air to be a little difficult to breathe, even though it’s still plenty oxygenated according to the Sucere readings. That hasn’t changed, at least.
In case this is my last entry, I hope you find my paintings helpful. Of course, I took pictures too that you’ll be able to find in the Sucere logs. But in case the technology doesn't work, you’ll have my paintings. And hey! Maybe my paintings will end up in a Sucere Earth museum one day. I imagine it would be fascinating for people in the future to find them. But maybe my ideas are grandiose. Maybe you’ll wake up and things won’t go as planned, and you’ll have to use my paintbrushes for firewood. Linseed oil and turpentine make excellent firestarters.
Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes! Wish me luck.
And for those of you who wake up, please tell Pam thanks for everything.
And don’t try to fuck her.
xoxo, Rhen
* * *
I take a shower. Yes, the showers actually work. They’re mostly recycled urine and moisture taken from the Sucere’s limited atmosphere, but that’s fine. At least the water’s warm and tastes like water. I put on a new mechanic’s uniform—one of the six I’ve commandeered as mine. I’ve tailored them to fit my short, slim shape and sewn Velcro onto all the breast pockets, so I can wear my nametag on all of them. It makes me feel safer wearing my nametag. I’m really a person. I’m really here. I’m not a ghost.
I touch my nametag now as I look at myself in the mirror and make an executive call. My hair was nonexistent when I exited the preservation pod, my nails short, but one side effect of the strange chemicals they use to freeze us in our pods is that without those chemicals, our hair and nails undergo a rapid growth spurt. Now, both my hair and nails are disturbingly long.
I tidy my nails and take a pair of shearing scissors to my hair, which forms finger-sized curls and waves. I cut it short, to chin length, and when I’m finished, I smile at my reflection, happy to see myself. Happy with the way I look. My brown skin shines, a false reflection of the sun. The Vitamin D lamp I’ve been sitting under didn’t give me that glow—I have my parents to thank for that.
My mom was white Irish and my dad, Black Portuguese. My eyes are a dark brown except for a splash of green in the left. That was a gift from my mother. Along with my freckles. From my dad, I inherited my brown skin and my springy curls and my sense of wonder. He wasn’t an artist, but he loved it in me so much there was no other path.
I wonder what would have happened if he’d seen me here, now, sealing the drill room door behind me and taking the cold rungs of the ladder in a death grip, if he’d have chosen another career for his only daughter. Something in the science or engineering realms, perhaps?
I make my way up to that familiar viewport window, only this time, I don’t open the slider. Instead, I reach up above my head, bracing my butt on the other side of the circular tunnel in a way that feels really precarious, and twist the handle. It moves easily beneath my touch. I thought it wouldn’t, that it might be rusted shut, but its turn is smooth and requires very little effort on my part.
I have to give Pam the code from the control panel located on the “bridge” of the Chamber. I don’t know why it’s labeled that way on the map, because it’s not like this is a ship. This Chamber doesn’t move. There is no star portal, no command chair. Just a collection of rooms full of resources. A library of Earth’s wonders forgotten by the sun.
“If I survive this,” I say, grunting as I pull down on the large red release lever, “I’m going to try to start a garden topside.” I had a garden at my apartment in Lisbon. It flourished on the balcony before a bomb took it out and avó Maria and I were forced into one of the local bunkers. I was only there for a few months before I was recruited to the Sucere Project. I wasn’t the first artist they approached, but the rest died before they could make it to the Chamber. The bombs missed me. My green beans died so that I could survive.
“I’m going to plant green beans, in honor of their sacrifice,” I say aloud.
I’m breathing hard, more from nerves than exertion. Dew, not sweat, glistens along my forehead and between my boobs.
“Pam?” I say. A deafening hiss makes my eardrums pop. Flecks of light leak around the portal’s circular edge.
“Yes…Rhen?”
Nervously, I ask her, “Will you stay with me?”
“Of course…Rhen…I am always here for you.”
