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Raivh
Old dog
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2011
Gasping for air, he awoke in a dimly lit room, hands fumbling along the glass of the chamber he’d been trapped in for a way out. Outside, in the room, he caught sight of a slight movement. Then there was a voice, a deep one—male—followed by that of a female, and he squinted through the condensation that had formed on the pane separating him from the outside world. The individuals out there had to be his hosts. That was what Harvey had called them—hosts, people who would know of his coming, of his past life, but he would know nothing of them. Even without knowledge of the individuals he would be staying with, Harvey had promised that they would be good people, whom he would begin to recognize slowly over time as descendants of his nephew Phillip, a boy who had grown into a man who had dove into science, into technology and had advanced it.
“Jake? Are you alright?” The voice was muffled on the other side of the capsule. Jacob nodded, though he knew the man on the other side couldn’t see him. Pounding on the steel walls, he shouted a yes, and soon the air compressed state he’d been sleeping in for the past hundred years opened, hissing as the door swung out slowly on its hinges. “No, no, no!” Stumbling forward, Jacob landed on the floor with a grunt, palms flat against the carpet, his nose jammed into the fibers. A pained groan parted his lips and he furrowed his brow. His legs felt limp, useless, as though the muscle had melted away over time, and essentially it had. There were pills he would have to take and a special training schedule he would have to endure. It would be a grueling week for the man, but he would make it through.
Holding his hand out, Braxton helped the man to his feet, his great-great-uncle, and brushed him off. Brows pulling together, he turned to his wife and waved her out to fetch a glass of water. She returned soon, passing the cup to her husband, who then held it out to the unstable Jacob. Taking it, Jake brought the fluid to his lips and drank. Suddenly, his level of dehydration became apparent, and his stomach knotted as the single gulp he managed to get down settled in the pit with a sickening twist. It tasted fresh, fresher even than he remembered his time’s water tasting—pristine. Chest rising and falling heavily as the pain engulfed him and swept through every nerve, he dropped the glass, apologizing as it shattered on the ground. Losing his footing, Jacob began to fall back, but Braxton reached out, gripping his wrist, and turned him so that he could have a seat in one of the soft, levitating chairs made of a fine material, smoother than silk but with the look of leather. It was peculiar to Jacob, and he thought it strange that the fabric was as warm as it was without having absorbed his body heat. The room was cold, chilled so that the time capsule didn’t overheat.
“What year is it?” Jacob asked, his voice hoarse, cracking like a young boy’s. He swallowed, repeating his question, and received a nod and an answer of 2127. His features blanched, and he felt woozy. Immediately, his thoughts went back to his family, wondering if any of them had survived other than the man standing before him. When he asked this question, he was answered with a no. Other than Braxton and his family, Jacob had no living relatives, but was more than welcome to stay with them as long as he liked, even encouraged to do so. Times were better than they had been in 2027. The economy had improved, and the large greenhouses scattered about the twelve lands defined as nations unified provided an ample supply of food, enough to feed the entire world population, plus that of the individuals who had chosen to move away from earth, off to places like Pluto, where the temperature had been regulated and water found. It was a lot to take in.
A week later, he was roaming about the walks, or, rather, standing and being pulled along by the track belt. Always, he grew irritated with it, and walked though advised by his nephew not to. The man, though younger than him by a great deal, in this time, was older than himself, twenty four, whereas Braxton was thirty eight, nearing thirty nine. His children were already in junior high, both his daughter and his two sons, twins. There were still many questions he had to ask of his nephew, like what had happened during the war, who had survived and who had passed, whether of natural causes or untimely fate. Stepping past a set of sliding glass doors, he was greeted by an officer in an orange jumpsuit-looking outfit with what appeared to be a square piece of plexiglass, but was in fact a highly advanced computer.
“Hello, Mr. Briggs. Braxton informed us that you would be arriving.” Upon a closer examination, Jacob noted that the man was an android, an artificial of what likely once was. There were many of these robotic beings roaming the streets, mingling with humans as though they belonged, and they did, in this futuristic world. Not futuristic, Jacob told himself. This is the present, the now. With a slight smile, he allowed the officer to take him back to get a scan, a computerized memorization of his entire person—DNA, prints, birthdate, and to be assigned a tag, something similar to his past social security number, but with an updated format and a chip placed into his left forearm.
“Jake? Are you alright?” The voice was muffled on the other side of the capsule. Jacob nodded, though he knew the man on the other side couldn’t see him. Pounding on the steel walls, he shouted a yes, and soon the air compressed state he’d been sleeping in for the past hundred years opened, hissing as the door swung out slowly on its hinges. “No, no, no!” Stumbling forward, Jacob landed on the floor with a grunt, palms flat against the carpet, his nose jammed into the fibers. A pained groan parted his lips and he furrowed his brow. His legs felt limp, useless, as though the muscle had melted away over time, and essentially it had. There were pills he would have to take and a special training schedule he would have to endure. It would be a grueling week for the man, but he would make it through.
Holding his hand out, Braxton helped the man to his feet, his great-great-uncle, and brushed him off. Brows pulling together, he turned to his wife and waved her out to fetch a glass of water. She returned soon, passing the cup to her husband, who then held it out to the unstable Jacob. Taking it, Jake brought the fluid to his lips and drank. Suddenly, his level of dehydration became apparent, and his stomach knotted as the single gulp he managed to get down settled in the pit with a sickening twist. It tasted fresh, fresher even than he remembered his time’s water tasting—pristine. Chest rising and falling heavily as the pain engulfed him and swept through every nerve, he dropped the glass, apologizing as it shattered on the ground. Losing his footing, Jacob began to fall back, but Braxton reached out, gripping his wrist, and turned him so that he could have a seat in one of the soft, levitating chairs made of a fine material, smoother than silk but with the look of leather. It was peculiar to Jacob, and he thought it strange that the fabric was as warm as it was without having absorbed his body heat. The room was cold, chilled so that the time capsule didn’t overheat.
“What year is it?” Jacob asked, his voice hoarse, cracking like a young boy’s. He swallowed, repeating his question, and received a nod and an answer of 2127. His features blanched, and he felt woozy. Immediately, his thoughts went back to his family, wondering if any of them had survived other than the man standing before him. When he asked this question, he was answered with a no. Other than Braxton and his family, Jacob had no living relatives, but was more than welcome to stay with them as long as he liked, even encouraged to do so. Times were better than they had been in 2027. The economy had improved, and the large greenhouses scattered about the twelve lands defined as nations unified provided an ample supply of food, enough to feed the entire world population, plus that of the individuals who had chosen to move away from earth, off to places like Pluto, where the temperature had been regulated and water found. It was a lot to take in.
A week later, he was roaming about the walks, or, rather, standing and being pulled along by the track belt. Always, he grew irritated with it, and walked though advised by his nephew not to. The man, though younger than him by a great deal, in this time, was older than himself, twenty four, whereas Braxton was thirty eight, nearing thirty nine. His children were already in junior high, both his daughter and his two sons, twins. There were still many questions he had to ask of his nephew, like what had happened during the war, who had survived and who had passed, whether of natural causes or untimely fate. Stepping past a set of sliding glass doors, he was greeted by an officer in an orange jumpsuit-looking outfit with what appeared to be a square piece of plexiglass, but was in fact a highly advanced computer.
“Hello, Mr. Briggs. Braxton informed us that you would be arriving.” Upon a closer examination, Jacob noted that the man was an android, an artificial of what likely once was. There were many of these robotic beings roaming the streets, mingling with humans as though they belonged, and they did, in this futuristic world. Not futuristic, Jacob told himself. This is the present, the now. With a slight smile, he allowed the officer to take him back to get a scan, a computerized memorization of his entire person—DNA, prints, birthdate, and to be assigned a tag, something similar to his past social security number, but with an updated format and a chip placed into his left forearm.
