by Travis Borne
Many facts clicked, and their newly repaired minds began to remember what had once been hidden by the black and white shroud which was now, completely removed. They correlated what Marlo knew with what seemed living memories of their own, memories springing to life like vegetables in a garden that hadn’t felt the sun in twenty years.
Herald’s journey back to Colorado. It had been long and slow—with even Ana lending in spurts; Q had been affected by the cleansing so couldn’t. They hastily departed to retrieve Amy, and, to reunite with Rafael. And they said they’d send help. Soon after they did, and did they ever. Along with Rafael arrived the builders and plans were implemented—plans were unleashed, like a genesis bomb! Pueblo Viejo, Old Town, became Jewel City in a very short time. So, Lia and Ted had never fully learned about Herald or the others, and were forever and purposefully kept in the dark about many things. That, and using the earlier maps caused memory problems, something that had been fixed with later versions.
All of this was an aha for Ted, but now he realized he already knew, had always known. It was just, he could see things better now, more comprehensively, and puzzles weren’t chapters of code; he could read the entire book and grasp the larger picture. Yes, Ted eventually had come to suspect, surmising atop mountains and mountains of data, that the maps were purposefully adjusted to be devious in just this manner, and now he realized he was right.
Because, Marlo explained, Herald had decided to keep secrets, for reasons only he knew and understood—but likely because being secretive attributed to success in surviving the initial attacks; the immense bunker in Colorado that had not been found out; and they were able to avoid the cleansing and formulate a counter defense in the form of Rafael’s hacked signal.
And Marlo continued spilling bean after bean…as if he was falling asleep right there in his chair.
“Before Herald departed, he put Felix in charge. But, Pueblo Viejo was Felix’s town. He knew his people and they he, and they took to him quickly, and listened—unlike before when he’d had his visions. They listened with undivided attention, especially after seeing Felix step out with a new attitude of earnestness, holding the body of Rosita, his wife of more than twenty years, limp in his arms. And the few remaining citizens gaped at the immense builders, and Hal and Jay and the tormented yet still amazing hover-jet. So, you see, Felix quickly became Old Town’s leader, along with Rafael, but not entirely because Herald had declared him so. He did, however abide by Herald’s demand that technology and specific details be kept a secret henceforth, that knowledge and the potential to create or use technology be severely limited. Oh yes, Herald and Felix had a long talk before they had left so quickly to find Amy.” Marlo’s head fell, as if the memories were making him torpid, as if pushing him from exhaustion, into a dream…
“Then, Rafael got sick. His mind was a pit of despair and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Jewel. As the town grew before their eyes, currently as it was, with very few citizens, Felix and Rafael marveled at it. I watched from the cameras. Felix stood outside, hands on hips, Rafael stood beside him, arms hung loose at his sides. Felix knew well of Rafael’s pain, and it was getting worse every day. So, Felix suggested renaming Old Town, to Jewel City, in memory of Rafael’s love—and Rafael only nodded, solemnly. He patted Felix on the shoulder, then went inside. Rafael was heard from no longer, after that night.”
The group felt the dismay, not only from their own memories returning, but of the big picture and the tribulations and difficult times of others, Rafael’s sadness and despair—everything that had led them to being right where they were, here, right now. Then, Marlo, almost asleep now, or so it seemed, continued…
“As you know, Herald and Ana and his remaining team had not been able to locate Amy. Rafael, before he, well—he told me the hover-jet’s navigation had been on the fritz again, according to Herald’s report, and other factors had attributed to their failure. Things had taken an unexpected turn for the worse, again, while returning to the bunker in Vallecito, Colorado—also, he admitted, that something had forced Jerry and Valerie, Jon and Jodi, and Amy, to move, that and their blockers had made them—unfindable.
“But they did make it back, without Amy. And then Rafael departed. He arrived here very shortly after. And now you know, where you live, what went on to become Jewel City.”
And that, was the end of Marlo’s knowledge—only what Rafael and Felix had leaked out. And Marlo fell asleep in his chair and the HAT faded to dark. The group in the broadcast room seemed perplexed, not by the new information and returning memories, but, and Jim said it, “The wizard in the machine, needs to sleep?”
13. Blood Brothers
They took some time off, as suggested by Marlo; he advised Jim, Rico, Jon, and Lia to rest before logging in with him. And, Marlo needed time to prep his world so it could interface with the broadcast room and its hardware, and, a human mind. It would be the first unconstrained, highly modified map they would be experiencing, a world of Marlo’s making: as he put it, near infinite and grand, possibly overwhelming. So, a few idle days were not only deserved but would prime their imaginations, improving the ability to take in the piles of information they had agreed on exchanging.
Leaving the facility for the first time since the incident, Jim, along with Jon, headed out. They’d spent several days in the lender facility, cleaning, helping to get things back on track, and had slept in the cafeteria—freezer sealed shut; many purposed various areas of the facility as temporary housing. But things were running smoothly now so they ventured out and into town.
Standing before the ten-story structure, in a wasteland of a city that was getting better, they looked up at it before going inside. Lender housing. Most of the windows were shattered—oddly, more so those of the lower levels—and the outside looked as if had been used as target practice by someone who couldn’t aim for shit. It was mottled with its same old newness, and laser blasts that’d turned entire rooms and corners into dented black pits.
They managed to work their way up to Jim’s room on the top floor. The elevator didn’t work, and after the helper bots and builders had cleaned out the lower sections and the stairwell, the upper levels became accessible; many had come through largely unscathed. Some rooms were in decent shape, not torched or completely decimated on the inside. Jim’s looked as if a dust devil had spewed hot BBs for about twenty minutes. There, the two of them found themselves doing some minor cleaning, getting it ready for the coming night and all subsequent ones; others were already in the building, making their own strides of progress—alongside the extremely helpful maintenance drones.
Most homes outside were piles of ash, and knowing all lenders had remained in the town, the apartments would probably end up full throughout after repairs were completed. So, Jim told Jon he could have Amy’s apartment below him on the ninth floor. As a team, they worked to clean it up next.
Jim entered first, slowly. It still smelled like her, like she’d burnt something while trying to cook, like all types of food really. He looked around. No BB scars. It looked as though a drone had meticulously overturned every single item, as if, looking for something. But Amy’s room had survived even better than his had fared, and he stopped his gaze at her small coffee table. It was right before the drab-green couch Bertha had given her. There was the board game too, still checked out from the library; they’d played it only a few weeks ago, bellies stuffed with macaroni and bacon, pizza wraps jammed with potatoes and cheese, and Bertha’s amazing gravy-infused bread sticks. Good times, the best. Jim tipped a few things back on end, moved some stuff into its place, and found himself by her closet, an old wall locker purposed as one.
A bizarre feeling came over him. He smelled her clothes as he slid the few articles of clothing she’d possessed to the side; and there was her new lender uniform. Some were redolent of Bertha’s country cooking, most smelled like pizza—and he pictured her eating one, with him, at Julio’s pizza stand with a coffee, the warm sun grazing their
faces.
It was too odd knowing she’d been, in effect, a dream character. Jim tried not to think about it since he knew he’d explode into tears—or worse, start punching the wall. Knowing the real Amy was safe, flying about the universe, well, that didn’t make things any easier; Jim eventually broke down. Jon attempted to console him but Jim stood up straight and got a handle on his thoughts—and he started toward the door; he would let it out when the time came. War ahead, kill every damn last one of them, Jim told himself. Make a show of it—stop! Don’t take it there, Jim. Not now—not yet.
“Thanks, Jon, for being there for…for us all.” Jim said. He stopped before going through the door. “I think you’ll be at home here. I’m going to head out, alone time. See you tomorrow.”
“New friends,” Jon said. “I’m here for you if you need anything, or just want to talk.” Jim nodded, sincerely, and sent a gesture of appreciation as if they were slicing their hands to become blood brothers, and his gaze was a heavy, heartfelt stare into Jon’s eyes, and then he left.
Heading down the hall toward the stairwell, Jim thought of Amy again. After rounding the corner, he mumbled to himself. “Every time. I think of her. Her, her, her. Amy, I am so sorry—can’t I just remember the good times? I’ll just have to stay busy, busy fucking busy, to keep my mind off what happened. And there is a hell of a lot to do. A shit ton of work—but for now I better rest. Marlo knows best, and I don’t want to screw up the login. Tomorrow, maybe an easy jog around the inner perimeter of the wall. He did suggest some easy cardio, to keep the brain healthy. To help keep the possibility of depression or bad thoughts at bay, so he’d said. I think that would be a good idea.”
14. The Short Hour Walk
Abell assisted Lia along the way. She adamantly told him to ditch the chair for good; she never wanted to see it again for the rest of her life! And she did her best to form words, words for expressions that had previously been conveyed using her eyes. Abell tossed the chair as if skipping a pebble across a lake. It made one bounce, courtesy of a spin that’d make a neutron star envious, and up onto a massive pile of detritus; one of many, the piles were a result of the builders’ clean-up efforts.
Lia smiled up at him, the sun grazing the scarred side of her face, and laconically he spoke his few words for the day, “Burn bridge, forward, strong.” Lia smiled twice as bright. And Abell aided her all the way across town—not carrying her. Toward the descending sun they walked around burnt rubble, through the torched and smoldering park, aside the now empty but slowly refilling lake with piles of catfish flopping in larger puddles, and toward their ultimate destination. Lender housing. She fought for every inch.
Balancing atop what seemed prosthetics made in the 70s, Abell assisted like a tree to lean on, catching Lia’s occasional stumble. She fell several times but the hiccups only made her try harder. It took an hour to make the short walk at her pace and upon arriving he did help her up the stairs; she fell asleep in his arms.
Their eighth-floor room, across from Jessie’s apartment that’d been turned into a crater, was in relatively decent shape, considering: a barrel-sized hole punched its way through each of the bedroom walls, there was charring as though a flaming demon had made dinner in the kitchen, and some odd colorization on the east wall—as if a nuke had flashed outside, through the now wide open, shattered glass slider.
Really, though, it surprised Abell as he looked around, still cradling Lia. He proceeded to lay her on the couch, fixed up her bed that’d been flipped onto the northern wall, brought her into her room, laid her down carefully, then began cleaning after closing her door slowly. Using his smarts, he sealed the broken glass slider, resourcefully with whatever he could purpose; the putrid smell of smoke was still lingering in from outside. Regarding Marlo’s advice, he allowed Lia as much sleep as she could manage (with such an overanxious attitude) while he worked, quietly, throughout the rest of the evening. Betty, Lia’s live-in caretaker had left with Herald, so now it would be just the two of them. And Abell thought, as he scrubbed the kitchen, about Lia. He knew she was going to walk, she was going to do a lot more than that. He hoped she would still need him, want him to help her do at least some petty things.
Although they were the same age, she reminded Abell of his daughter, his daughter who perished at two years old, who’d been lost in the war in a manner he couldn’t bring himself to recollect even if a million purple-status beams had made the pith of his brain a hadron-collider’s sweet spot. And he wondered where he’d be now, had he not been able to care for Lia over the years. She gave him purpose. He loved her like a daughter, or a sister; she was family and he would do anything for her.
15. Rico's Room
Rico remained in the control room.
Perhaps it was the guilt about what happened: had he never left the dimly lit, technology-adorned space; had not entrusted others to handle things; or had just been able to see through David’s deceitful eyes—dammit! Then none of this would’ve happened.
Or, he’d been in the dark box of a space so long it just felt like home. He decided. Rather than reoccupy his first-floor room at lender housing, which was probably ash anyway, he’d move into the control room. He’d adopt the supply room as his personal quarters—just like Ted, who had his quarters within the broadcast room. Also, he decided that it was time to get the cafeteria inside the facility up and running again—he’d use that as his kitchen. One problem, though. He contemplated having to clean that stinky fridge; maybe…he’d ask Jim for help—and he laughed at the thought: Jim getting pissed, and how Nelman had reacted to the smell, too, after they’d brought him to the surface. Nelman’s face went from birthday boy with 32 gifts and a tire-sized German-chocolate cake, to that of a toad getting slowly squished by a foot, a toad that didn’t know what foots were. Too bad Nelman didn’t make it, Rico thought. A shame.
For the rest of the day, following the same advice from Marlo, he also took it easy; supposedly they’d be able to log in with him in just three days. Rico’s mind drifted while he relaxed in the aftermath of the hell that was abating: slow in his mind, like tar being cleaned from the strands of his gray noodles; but fast really, as the builders were pumping out work like Bertha to a set of 380-pound squats—and he thought of his father, Felix. Then he slept.
16. Ice Cold Beers
Marlo remained in constant communication with Ted and disclosed to him many things, more than he’d spilled around the “campfire HAT.” And Ted absorbed it all like a newborn scientist in a new dimension. Marlo told him about the black-bag program and some more about Rafael: how Rafael had devised the workaround, an albeit sadistic method of killing dream characters in order to capture a sliver of leftover consciousness from damaged minds; something that now, was no longer needed—that now, as intended originally (before the cleansing had thrown a wrench into Herald and Rafael’s plans) the lenders could dream peacefully and enjoy their days to the fullest. All citizens could take turns and the feed extracted was not only hundreds of times more powerful—thanks to Amy’s sacrifice, the choice to put the needs of the many over the one—it provided nearly unlimited power and potential. It could now empower not only the town, its wall maintenance drones, the systems themselves, the outer perimeter ships, even every builder, but entire armies, a world’s worth. Now, maintaining green status was not only a slacker’s paradise, but they had more of the feed than they knew what to do with.
And this was a part of what Marlo was going to disclose to Jim, Jon, Rico—and now Lia. The five of them would talk things over in very special ways, and decide how to move forward with the newfound power. They would share and combine knowledge, for each had something unique to contribute. Jim knew much of what Herald knew thanks to the DNA transfer, the residual ancestry of memories that had flooded into his mind along with it. And Marlo mentioned he knew of the world outside and could access previously locked data, and in being unrestrained, thanks to the key, could go beyond his normal programming to help in invaluable
ways—possibly even, with the excess and overabundant feed, he could become a sort of new-world hacker. Everything was a possibility. And too, Rico, Lia, and Jon would contribute equally; they’d offer their particular and distinctively honed advice. The four would meld their minds.
Ted listened and learned, and in a special and wonderful sense, science was reborn. And outside, while the leadership team took it easy, repairs went round like beer bottles through a brewery of old. And it was as if, every human received one or two ice-cold, hit-the-spot-on-a-hot-day beers. Psshhhh! And the aroma of fresh brewskies leaked out and about, and took away the pain, the despair, and reinvigorated hope. Exponentially, shit was happening, really happening! With the indispensable help of the builders who had been locked away all along, and the maintenance drones that were also allowed to come outside for the first time in over twenty years, they were not only able to clean the town, get the restaurant running, and salvage various sections of the gardens, but new building began. Jim boldly told the builders what he imagined, and they were more than helpful in making his far-reaching, quixotic, entrepreneurial ideas a reality.
17. Dream Stew
Day six, since. With his left hand gripping the charred-black railing of his balcony, Jim stood looking down at the town. Widening morning eyes said holy shit, and he shook his head in sarcastic disbelief.
His right held the mug, and damn if the oil he loved didn’t hit the spot right now. He still craved the coffee, first thing. And by a stroke of luck the wreck an apartment still had some. Laser BBs must’ve pinged almost everything: broke the handle off his only surviving mug, but missed the bag. Ah, he thought, the aroma of dark, steamy sludge. The blacker the better, black as a fucking black hole. It was Kim’s special, thick and potent blend, the last of it; when they were sneaking around together, she had tailored the concoction specifically to his liking—and now it seemed even richer. Taking it in like a connoisseur, he looked around as if the shit below was a dream. He did a reality check, pinched himself, and thought again of Kim, how she used to pinch him.
