by Travis Borne
Jim and Jon admitted they did feel somewhat tired anyway, as if they’d slept for days, yet not just the same. But Rico looked very tired; he’d quickly developed dark circles under his eyes. They’d been in Old Town for nearly three days, but only one afternoon had passed. The three left and headed back to Bertha’s. After too few steps in the bright but descending sunlight they soon became astounded at the repairs made by the builders in such short time. In mere hours, a single afternoon—one that felt like a week to them—months of work seemed to have been completed. The park was clean as if it had been raked and the lines were even-steven, and the pond was filled and people were already catching fish! Many of the buildings were still destroyed but had been covered and cleaned as if either ready for paint or finishing touches, while others had already been erected larger and grander—as if God himself had hands in this toilet bowl, reassembling heavy steel beams and partitions with ease. The metal pile outside the facility had been depleted to mere scraps, but was used wisely. Things were well on track and the small city was rebounding magnificently. At this rate complete restoration was now—probably only a day away!
Together they caught a bite to eat. Rob joined the three of them and others eventually gathered round until the restaurant was packed—and Jim spilled the beans, the entire tale of their short adventure in Old Town: Carlos, Luisa, their kids, now Rafael! And the job, the mescal worm, even banana head—and the wreck and how they were probably lucky to be alive. The response was overwhelming. Imaginations were clearly back in place, center stage. All devoured the story with spongy ears, and moreover, wanted roles in what was next. Concluding, Jim calmed the excited crowd and pronounced to everyone that soon enough, all would be working together. Every single person would have a chance at lending—without the black-bag program—as long as duties and town obligations were met.
They went over many details during the meal. Rob Price had already assigned roles to each person in the town; exactly what needed to be said. All would work together, building and exploiting their unique and soon-to-be-emerging, natural gifts and talents. And Jim added that lending could be everyone’s little vacation, a day off, as it was intended to be—a place to learn and explore, something to look forward to after sharing in the duties of town maintenance, and of course, maintaining optimal physical fitness. Because Rob noted, “We can’t have anyone getting sick, or going mental,” pointing out how Herald had applauded, how their town had succeeded where others had failed. Jake was missing, so he appointed Amanda in charge of fitness.
Jim smiled at her, sincerely, and for the first time in a long time, she returned one from a booth on the far side of Bertha’s. His mood floated warmly inside his head, like a glowing sunset after a long and punishing day. And her goodness and beauty set him further at ease.
Things were looking up. Up, up, up. Upon leaving the restaurant, full-belly satisfied as always and in good spirits, Rico passed out. He fell backwards onto the sidewalk and cracked his head open.
67. Treatment Options
They rushed him into the emergency room; it had just been rebuilt. The docs confirmed Rico’s diagnosis then sent him home to rest. Cancer. The leukemia, which he’d endured throughout most of his childhood, had returned with a vengeance. Old Doc stated that it was extremely aggressive and he had little time left. When Jim asked how long, Young Doc responded, “Two weeks, a month at best.” The docs possessed some tools for testing and diagnosis, thanks to Rick Crisp and his longtime fix-it efforts, and a few new gadgets since Marlo had been unlocked, but nothing that could cure him or prolong his life.
Worse yet, by the end of the day two others had passed out—likewise, they were rushed to the emergency room with similar symptoms.
Rico’s cancer, and now, possibly that of others as well, had been completely cured with genetic manipulations of 2022 through ’25. And now that he had been wholly reverted to his natural state by the purple status, the blunt of Rico’s fears were realized and confirmed. Lying on his bed in the converted storage area of the control room, he stared up at the metal ceiling. Jim sat in a chair at his bedside and they talked a while. Marlo joined the conversation via a portable screen.
Marlo had little good news. He said there were a few ways to beat it. The simplest method, Rico could be genetically modified to beat the cancer; this cure was effective but permanent, a Hobson’s choice with another downside: Rico couldn’t be a lender and he wouldn’t be compatible with the system Marlo had upgraded to make full use of his newly enhanced mental capacities.
Rico agreed, this wasn’t an option. He wanted to live, and dream, not revert to a black and white life with the imagination and sensory perception of a slug. Everything had felt too plain, such a short time ago, although the prior inadequacies could only be understood objectively, now, with his new mind. And he enjoyed his nightly dreams, which continued to vivify memories of the warm, loving, and large family he’d once been a part of before the war; only his two brothers had made it out, and they left with Herald, for Rico had made them go, to carry on he’d said; deep down he’d known he might perish on this ever more seemingly, suicide mission.
“I couldn’t do it,” Rico said, lying there while Jim held the screen, propped on his knee. “Going back would be like, wrapping my head with plastic wrap, stuffing cotton in my ears, seeing the world as if it’s an old photograph, one about to crumble and blow away. Out of the question, I’d rather just die.”
Jim smiled—the new Rico, his new faculty for spewing colorful metaphors. “I know exactly how you feel.” He put a hand on Rico’s shoulder. “I wanted to die, then. Until…”
“Until, Amy.”
Jim nodded and they shared a moment. Marlo did his best to fully understand and bowed his head.
At the hospital, Jon mentioned that Herald’s bunker should have the equipment needed for genetic manipulation, and regardless of Rico’s defiance to use it, Jim had decided to add it to the list of items they would be retrieving. He was not letting Rico die—not if he could help it! And if it came down to it, he would subdue Rico if necessary, and send him back to the vapid world from which they’d all been liberated—anything to save his friend.
“There’s still another option,” Marlo said. “We could purpose equipment found in most hospitals. The latest technology—of twenty years ago—could reprogram his white blood cells and within a matter of days he would be cured. This method would not impact his DNA, or his dreams. However…”
Jim thought, here we go again. “However?”
“The outside world has been utterly destroyed. I don’t think there are any hospitals left standing for us loot. But it’s at least a possibility. If we could perhaps find one, a pocket of a room buried under the rubble—well, every hospital once possessed the necessary devices, but it’s still a long shot. Although…”
Jim’s patience was a wrestler getting ready to leap from the turnbuckle, deciding if he wanted to perform a diving headbutt, or just clothesline this adversary. Rico however, was relaxed—enjoying the sedative he’d been given.
“One of the seven other cities—all now abandoned and burned—did have what we need.
“How do you know this?” Jim asked, riled enough.
“They broke out, searched—they roamed like pirates. I’ll be revealing more about this tomorrow when the both of you log in to my world. But according to my calculations, there’s a slightly better chance of finding one in a hospital. It’s just that you’d likely end up doing a whole lot of searching before finding a hospital, one with a worthy pocket of a room. The towns on the other hand were torched, likely beyond usefulness, but I do have their locations—it’s almost a 50/50.”
“What about—” Rico froze. “I really don’t want to say it—what I’d endured since age eight, I don’t even want to think it.”
“What, Rico?” Jim asked.
“The—old way. A bone marrow transplant, providing there is a donor in the town. But could it even be performed by the docs? And t
hen it would have to be followed up with…chemotherapy, radiation.”
“This is an option,” Marlo said. “The town is able to produce this archaic medicine with my assistance and knowledge.”
“Rico,” Jim said. “I overheard the docs discussing it. Old Doc said it was the best and, only option available.” Rico held still and silent, stayed that way. Even Marlo knew, the chances were not good with the old ways. “Well, I’m going to head out. I can see you’re tired, and it’s getting late. And Marlo said we need some rest—tomorrow’s the big day. You take care, Rico.”
“I will. And I’ll be fine—in there. Good night, Jim. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“A good evening to the both of you,” Marlo said. And the screen faded to black.
68. Marlo's World
Ted’s eyes throbbed; Rafael was blowing his mind in the broadcast room. Jim and Jon headed over.
“—it’s just so smooth, I love it,” Jon said, walking alongside Jim. His futuristic-sheen suite was in the wash and he’d donned a blue lending uniform.
“Hugh crafts them, every uniform for the entire town,” Jim replied. His smile flattened. Jon noticed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Let’s just say Hugh didn’t go with Herald, and he’s not with us now.”
“Oh, right.”
“He didn’t talk much but he was a pretty cool dude. But we’ll get him back, all of ’em.”
They chatted as if they’d been friends since the seventh grade and the two of them looked like a ready team, as if they were about to embark on a routine mission aboard a starship to another galaxy. Jon resembled a fit model who could sell business suits by accident—in some other happy dimension, one that’d had static, cautious technological growth, or none at all; he’d make millions with his looks alone. His hair was thick, brown, and sported the perfect wave; he didn’t look a day over thirty yet at the same time had just the right amount of lines adding character to his face. Jim was blond, mostly bald but good looking enough, more porous these days, without his neon-blue eyes, and just as fit with an extra serving of muscle. They took a spot next to Rafael and Ted at the HAT. Marlo was on screen behind them, and very few lenders were sleeping. Status: high green.
Again, it was eerily quiet, and unusual seeing so few on duty—only four? Only four! A feeling of imminent peril, with the shit-tingling nervousness he hated, touched Jim. He couldn't help but sense, something.
For years there needed to be a minimum of twelve logged in at any one time and now the job had been transformed into a bizarre vacation of sorts; there were non-lenders lending—and seeing Bertha on Abell’s bed again, logged in with Rob Price! It had to be the new objectivity, seeing the sudden flip-flop change in a new light. Lenders lying peacefully. And Jim knew they were enjoying themselves, perhaps at that same beach resort, drinking Margaritas and beer, getting a weird eye from the dreadlock-swingin’ bartender while island music was thumping; or maybe strolling around at the zoo, awing at extinct animals with personalities that could rival the real deal. The power of the human mind—every day this new profound ability to fathom, a limitless branching out of possibilities, smoked Jim’s brain. “Freak show,” the old Jim would have said. “Good morning,” the new Jim actually said.
And good mornings went round, a little small chat, then Marlo, as if taking a pair of scissors and cutting the starting ribbon of a race, said, “Well, is everyone ready?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Jim replied, “but where’s Rico?”
“I contacted him earlier this morning. I told him it would be best if he did not join us. I had reconfigured the system to accept only four—you will soon see why this matters—and with his condition it is best he rest his mind as well his body.”
“But, I thought…” Jim trailed off, thinking of his bud, all they’d been through.
“Jim, there are valid reasons for my decision. To where we’re going is a place in which each will be in control of their own mind, where the real possibility exists to, as one might say, lose your marbles. That is the gestalt of what I have been configuring over these past few days. I’ve tried to bind and focus some of the relevant information, that which is not securely contained, together with a reality each of you can understand—although all will be open and accessible. You will have the power to interact with everything.
“But the depth of possible dimensions within my mind can be disturbing if not perceived in the correct way. So, where Rafael had taken Lia’s place, I took it upon myself to make a switch. Lia will be going after all. My last-minute decision, while it may seem last-minute to humans, is anything but. Also, Rico’s near-death experience in Old Town demonstrated to me that he might not be of stable mental capacity to endure the trip we must undertake, and with his new condition, well, it could very well aggravate things.”
“I understand,” Jim said, grimacing over the idea: losing one’s marbles, disturbing dimensions, and Rico not being to handle them; but what about…ah, fuck it. “Then let’s do this,” he said, while wanting to say, “Let’s get this shit over with.”
“Good morning, Lia,” Jon said. Lia arrived from the break room. Ted had signaled her during Marlo’s explanation.
“Hi, Lia…” Jim said. “Wow!”
Rafael nodded. Ted smiled gently. With crutches, Lia was walking—on her own! And her prosthetics had obviously been modified. And, albeit by a small amount thus far, her legs were growing!
“Good morning to all,” she said.
“It’s—”
Ted finished for Jim, who couldn’t: “It sure is, Jim. Amazing.” Lia looked—great! The change another day made was…even her scars were fading! They looked more like Jon’s, a vague spiderweb, only slightly more visible. And she spoke—clearly!
“Let’s get moving,” Rafael interrupted. “We have a lot to go over, a lot of planning to do, and if what Marlo told me last night is true, we’re going to need it.”
“Okay then,” Ted said, “the beds are prepped, use the ones I’ve marked.” Like a little tent, there was a folded note card on each, indicating who was to use which. They headed over. “Good luck,” Ted said quietly as they descended the steps toward the sleeping area. Jim attempted to help Lia, but she, politely, wouldn’t accept.
Jim, Jon, Lia, and robotic Rafael mounted the correctly marked beds. Within a minute, cool, relaxing blue light, phased to darkness.
“Follow my voice,” someone said, gently; it was like Ted’s voice, easy, calm. “Focus on my words, I need to calibrate your perceptions, each one individually.” It was Marlo, and he continued to speak. The more the words flowed, the more it sounded like him, and visuals began to emerge, such as that of a grid, brown at first, with white lines—and it seemed, as if somehow, emotions were riding the lines! “You will be able to see me soon. Please, each of you, continue to focus on my voice.”
Jim couldn’t see a damn thing, not any real thing at least. He’d never logged in to anything like this before. He could feel his emotions, out there—as if each had a number and was waiting in line. Curiosity, one of his sensibilities, was the first to hand over its ticket to the gatekeeper, then it slipped through, into the new, unknown world. One by one each of his mental faculties crossed over as if there was no such thing as time. Visuals, he thought, must be last.
Good emotions entered through the weird, fuzzy-brown portal ahead, then he felt okay. Then all the others came, one after another down the line as though leaping from the grid like energetic white lice falling forward into something, or nothing. As if, the barrel of stew that was a mind, his mind, was being categorized then replaced, then sucked into it. Anxiety passed the gateway, which was now visible like a vortex about to wring him good. Unlike the pleasant emotions, anxiety felt terrible—he heard a hissing ring that grew louder, painfully so. Hisssss! He became worried again and visuals climbed a notch like a cuckoo-clock’s ticker managing another rung on the gear. The brown, white-lined weirdness faded and he went through, his pith,
unhurt, un-wrung, and somewhat relieved. He could perceive a vague outline of a robed figure; it had to be Marlo. Relief was the ticker getting another notch on the gear—I’ve got to be almost there!
Yes! Jim made out the overkill, purple-lined, star-emblazoned robe. Marlo’s facial hair, white and long, silvery and shiny like—no, Jim! Good thoughts, good thoughts, he told himself, it’s not snakes! The rest of him, his legs, feet, the tail end, were squeezing through. Like a golf ball going through a rubber hose, he saw it from the outside. He was sucked red and plopped out, then rebuilt from the ground up.
Jim materialized, scared out of his mind, anxious, nervous, gotta-take-a-shit, but bursting with happiness, yet sadness at the same time. And he realized as anxiety took over, coating him like a living, growing, black tar, he was losing it. He felt his face—it was warped and twisted!
“Jim, please look here. Look at my staff. Jon, look here. Rafael, over here, please. Lia. All of you, please gaze upon my staff. Focus on the orb. Let it soothe your mind.” Marlo stretched out the word soothe and repeated it a few times like a massage therapist.
Jim did exactly as he was told. He remembered Rico in Old Town, that first time, and wondered if this is what Rico had felt. But the inflamed emotions and feelings of dread slowly abated and he found himself becoming calm, then standing on ground. Air went into his nostrils, the smell of freshly watered grass, and his lungs took in oxygen as if they were balloons that had surfaced from the cold depths of the ocean. Pop—the balloons snapped! He was in a field. A world solidified. The clarity was vivid and clean, better even than the real world, almost like—that place! He blinked hard several times. He looked at his arms—they were scaly, like that of a lizard! But no more anxiety pushed on him and the scales became human skin in no time. He turned to face Jon.
