Lenders

by Johnson, John

  It was about 8 a.m. and breakfast would be up soon, like clockwork. The meal just like dinner, and lunch if you were there for it, would appear at the dumbwaiter, sent up from the kitchen arriving with a ding, always on time.

  DING: interrupting the silence of the apartment. He pulled it out and threw it haphazardly onto the table then sat down to eat. Tenants—all lenders in this building—could submit desired meals by returning a check card on the dumbwaiter, or let the kitchen decide. Jim always let the kitchen choose so it could add at least some surprise to his life; but they knew him—small town—and knew what he liked best. The town made use of many genetically modified foods that could grow in almost any climate or soil, and, possessed a single food synthesizer; located in the kitchen of his building. A marvel of modern technology, it could generate synthetic meats and refine protein sources: eggs, bacon, pepperoni, beef, chicken, and pork were a few tastes it could imitate. Today was Wednesday, and breakfast happened to be scrambled eggs, two bean and cheese tacos with salsa, and turnip juice with a few strawberries, including as always the lender’s special vitamin. The vitamin contained minerals and nutrients sure, but predominately served to stimulate a specific aspect of mental activity—desired in his line of work. Jim grabbed his plate and sat down to eat, after pouring a second cup of black coffee.

  I got the job everyone wants, why should I want anything more? His mind tossed and turned as he ate. He left the lights off, still dark inside, curtains closed. Maybe it’s just—grass is greener. Same thing as the years pass—the job—that and not being able to—go places, trapped, stuck within this wall—damn fucking wall. If it hadn’t happened I’d probably be in space. Anywhere out there. Same old, same old. Good tacos today. Salsa is hotter than usual, go Kim, tasty fresh. Mornings—fuck. Might have a third cup of coffee. He pulled the file over and took another look at the photo: New Lender, Amy, Age: 18.

  Looking down at the photo, suddenly his mind wobbled. Déjà vu. He’d about gotten up, but sat still to take another look. And he stared at the picture, as if it spoke to him. Something beckoned him—this, today—something, there’s, something... But he couldn’t pinpoint the odd and eerie feeling. He shook it off and left to get ready for work.

  After a shower he donned his work clothes: custom made for the lenders by the town tailors, cargo style jogging pants, and a navy blue shirt with the small facility logo on the neck—a human silhouette, standing tall, arms up, four wavy lines rising up from the head: red, yellow, green, then purple. It shows, there was plenty of time to make frivolous shit. He combed his thick blond hair in front of the mirror; long wavy blond on top, a lighter shade of brown and short toward the bottom. He stood up straight, 5 foot 11 inches tall, and took in a deep breath; feeling much better now, his morning bags gone and the coffee—and vitamin—kicking in. Gonna be an interesting day, he thought. Been waiting a long time for this one. He finished up and headed out—and didn’t go for that third cup.

  Stepping out into the morning sun felt nice as usual, warm on the face. He turned his head up at it. He didn’t follow the date anymore, no seasons—the weather never fucking changes—why bother? Last he heard it was somewhere around midsummer, if anything a very cool season. He headed off.

  The vitamin started to kick in hard; it always mixed well with a few cups of coffee. It had antidepressant properties perhaps. He felt more focused and alert, more creative. It was a fifteen minute walk through the town to his workplace at the base of the wall. Feeling better and better with every step he waved at a few acquaintances as he took his normal route walking along the sidewalk, bypassing the more direct but winding route through the park. He preferred a cityscape to nature. He was a well regarded man in the town, most knew and respected him—and he didn’t tend to display his inner feelings, those of a typical grouch.

  6. First Day at Work

  The graduation ceremony in JEWEL CITY consisted of only eleven students; the entire class passed. Much of the town joined together to celebrate and many pitched in with gifts. Some brought breads or donated ration cards, there were tools given for certain town occupations, clothes were a popular gift, and most likable, pizza, which had been donated by Julio who ran the outdoor Pizza Box next to the park. There was no college, this was it. Graduates went directly to work to support the town one way or another. Most available jobs were basic occupations: shoemaker, cook, maintenance, tailor, security, even teacher to name a few—although teaching positions were in decline. Learning could continue but only on an optional and personal basis beyond schooling; generally meaning read your own books. Few did. Skilled trades were learned by becoming an apprentice.

  Amy didn’t need to choose an occupation or spend even a second thinking about it; hers had been chosen long ago and she was anxious to get started as soon as she could. She would soon be working at the JCDC (Jewel City Defense Center) and was to begin as an operations assistant. She had no clue what the job entailed but knew she didn’t want to be peeling potatoes next to Bertha or cleaning or pulling weeds. It was the coolest job available, and only a small few were ever selected; this year around: two. A short red-haired classmate named Myron also passed the entrance tests. Another good friend, Terri, missed the chance by one test point, and was terribly upset, and was instead given a decent technical position in the botany department.

  Amy sparked serious interest with head personnel involved at the JCDC, and for good reason. But because the town council had chosen to run the things similar to the old ways, entrance to the workforce, like traditions before the war, had to wait until age 18. There was no outside force to govern the how or why, so the town council, selected and voted into office by the citizens, took it upon themselves to make laws. Amy had to wait like everyone else, no exceptions. But, she had taken some initial tests when she first arrived—she was the last survivor ever brought to the town—and the results were nothing short of extraordinary. The JCDC could enlist children in the name of town security, bypassing law if needed, and had seriously thought about taking Amy early. They’d done so in the past but technical complications arose so decided not to risk it with her.

  She was different; perhaps the only one on Earth possessing such a special gift and consequently her creative IQ was off the chart. The operators were very curious to see how she would perform. They had waited years, and finally the time had come.

  Director of the JCDC (known secretly as the Lenders Program among insiders) Enrique Castillo had the final say in her enlistment. Rico, as he was known by most—a town of first names because most no longer bothered with a last name—always consulted with top scientist Ted first. Together they would choose who was in, and who was out. And when presented with her scores there was no doubt about Amy.

  And she was extremely willing; anxious to start as soon as possible—yesterday if possible. Her inflamed curiosity; she leapt at the chance to do something special. The very word special rang through her brain, tugging at her. Special included anything different, intriguing, and adventurous. For years she’d heard rumors about what went on at the JCDC, but no one really knew for sure. Even the closest rumor was likely incorrect, off by miles. But she had it planted firmly in her mind: visions of piloting a ship, outside the wall, and around the world—adventure!

  Her curiosity directed her future. Also enticing her was the rumor about the availability of knowledge. Fantastic inventions of the past, possibilities of the future, and details of the war: those specific details, unbeknownst to the commons—partly for lack of desire to care. She yearned for specific knowledge rather than the minimal basics she’d been taught at school. And if accepted, it was assumed those special secrets would be disclosed. Just the idea of any secret had her hooked from the beginning. She had known exactly what she wanted to do for quite some time. Although this couldn’t be farther from the truth—she didn’t know anything yet.

  Things moved swiftly after the testing which she’d finished over the weekend. Similar to the ones she’d aced long ago, but th
is time official and more up-to-date. There was also a special calibration process which she finished on Monday. It used a weird head device with blue lights. Both were performed at the school, now empty for a long break. And Amy never guessed she would be screened while asleep—all day long. The funny thing, after the day of tests she did feel unusually tired, the total opposite considering her assumptions regarding sleep. Tuesday was a rest day—what a boring day it was. She was instructed to rest in her apartment, quietly, for the entire day.

  But finally, the time had come, and today was to be her first official day at work. The routine was easy to grasp: she had the day shift (Myron got stuck with nights), wake at 7, breakfast at 8, to work by 9. At last—her patience wearing thinner than ever.

  Amy had been in her new building for a few days now and stood at the window awaiting breakfast. She’d never seen such a view of the town below; from so high, the ninth floor—wow! It looked smaller; the tallest building in town beside this one, town hall, had only three floors. The halls were quiet and plain, no decorations, pictures, nothing, and only those who worked at the JCDC were allowed in the building. The other tenants, whom she’d guessed she might be working with soon, smiled at her but didn’t talk much; and not about work, they weren’t allowed to. Her room was clean, but simple, furnished with only the bare basics: a small bed, a twenty-four inch round table that was a little wobbly, two metal chairs, and one lamp. It echoed her sounds as if it was empty, but she liked the layout, especially the elevation. Food was provided, even laundry was taken care of; there wasn’t much to do and she was getting restless. She tried to get used to it. She’d been reading a bit, even played a puzzle game that she checked out from the archives, and once skipped out to her foster mom’s, namely Bertha’s Place, to eat and enjoy some company—plus, Bertha’s, the largest of the few restaurants in town, had one of the rare working screens. Glad today’s the day, she thought anxiously, and took a seat at her table.

  The file, she slid it toward herself again. A man named Jim was assigned be her guide. She didn’t know much about him besides what she’d read in the report. He was in his thirties and had been in the program for over a decade. His status was labeled expert at the highest level and he had a high creative intelligence score. Many of the specifics had been blacked out. She’d seen him around town a few times, a strong-looking man with thick flowing blond hair combed straight back from the front. He was clean-cut, with a straight nose and strong chin and bright ocean blue eyes, and usually he wore a dark blue uniform; he was, she thought, very good looking.

  Her attention diverted, steps in the hall. Her stomach rumbled. Quiet here, she thought while waiting, trying to control the nonstop flow of energy to her jiggling legs—unlike the busy top-floor living area of the restaurant, with bickering from the others, and Bertha’s roars. She also had to get used to everything being done for her—and just then breakfast arrived. The dumbwaiter door slid open. That’s it? Vegetable juice—looks like turnip & tomato—and three rolled-up mini burritos steamed on a plate. I could eat 6 of these little things, she thought. There was a bowl of red dipping sauce, and a six strawberries, and for the first time, as instructed after Monday’s testing, the little orange vitamin. She swallowed the meal and then the pill, then pushed the file aside and finished getting ready. Wow; it was the first time she put them on. The soft blue one-piece uniform—that looked like a two-piece—was probably the most comfortable outfit she’d ever had. It looked quite professional, but felt light and flexible, soft like jogging pants. I might use these for jammies too, she thought smiling at herself in the mirror; still thinking about another three burritos—maybe another six actually. She noticed the small logo, and wondered, what does this have to do with flying a ship?

  Quite early, maybe too. The door burst open, the sun was rising, burning away the purples and reds, bluer than ever, and the broken moon was falling. In the middle of the street a duo wearing green uniforms were scraping the weeds that constantly battled the cracking pavement. The older one had curly blond hair, fluffy like a lion; the other had just landed the job, a friend from her graduating class. Mostly empty but the town was waking; two others in the same blue uniform headed right, toward town. Whelp, here I go, she thought and skipped across the street taking the winding path through the park. “Morning guys,” she said to the two, passing by quickly. They returned a wave and said good morning back. She knew it was too early so halfway there slowed and began to look around.

  Wow, things look brighter and clear, she thought as she reached the halfway point. Her head floated on her shoulders taking a focused look at everything. The colors of the pines popped, and the old willow tree, it looked almost alive again with clear sharp contrasting browns, and the flowers, beautiful vivid reds, bright yellows, and purples—oh the purples! But she noticed her mind was a tad fuzzy, thoughts a little unclear. Has to be that little vitamin, messing with my head.

  Upon arriving at the facility, its base bulging from the southeast wall, she gazed upwards. The wall shadowed the morning sun and made her feel tiny. She felt a little shiver at the sheer immensity of it then continued toward the outer wrought iron fence gate.

  “Good morning Amy,” the gate guard greeted with a smile. His name tag said Ed and his logo was that of security guard: an arms-on-hips silhouette with a peaked-cap and stars above it. She knew him from the restaurant. As kids they jokingly called him Jolly Cheeks. He was an older man, always jolly and never minded the names. He could reach 5 foot 6 inches tall before pie, and was very close to being fat. The older men usually had last names and Bertha called him by it, just Barton. And he loved to eat her homemade pies, especially the chicken pot pie; the Doc’s told him he had to stay away from the sweet ones.

  “Good morning back at you. I’m here for my first day.”

  “Yes I know, we’ve been expecting you,” the guard stated happily. “Welcome, it’s a pleasure to have you aboard. And I hope you have a great first day.” Inside his booth he turned a crank and the twelve foot tall wrought iron gate creaked aside.

  “By the way, how did you know I was coming?” Amy asked stopping halfway through the gate.

  “Well your clearance is much higher than mine,” Ed explained, “but, we hear things. And from what I’ve heard, everyone inside has been anxiously waiting this day for a long time. They say you’re, special, or something.”

  “Ah,” Amy grinned, her eyes rolling up ponderously. Ed closed the gate behind her.

  She continued inside the perimeter looking around. A short walk led her through an obscuring fence of trees that partially hid the face of the facility from passersby. A huge metal door came next, thirty feat wide and at least fifteen feet tall. Across its center, burned cleanly into the metal read: JEWEL CITY DEFENSE CENTER. It was slid open, just enough for people to enter on the left. A large man passed her, a giant she thought. She’d seen them in the park many times. He entered carrying a girl over his shoulder.

  Amy followed. Inside was a one hundred foot square foot cement-floored bay, empty besides a few building materials and a broke-down light blue pickup truck on the far right. On the left yet another massive twenty foot door, sealed shut: SAFE ROOM was painted on it in red and yellow. Aside that, further in, was a fifteen-foot horizontal window and another regular-sized door. She could see it was an office for security, and labeled so. A man spotted her and exited. She kept following the large man with the girl on his shoulder who soon disappeared through a door straight ahead further across the bay.

  Security intercepted her before she could enter. “Hi Amy. You’re headed the right way,” said the man gesturing an arm toward to the door. “Welcome.” His name tag said Jose Limon and Amy didn’t recognize him. He was around forty or so, Spanish yet with light skin, and he reminded her of a cloaked crusader on a white horse—minus the mask. She couldn’t recall the name but knew it was from an old book. He was smiling big, maybe he wants my autograph, she thought giggling to herself

  “Thank you
,” Amy giggled, and finished the few steps toward the door. Above it read: Lender Facility. Perpendicular past the door was a hallway, left or right. A handwritten paper sign was taped to the wall, obviously instructions for two newbies. An arrow on it pointed right, under that it read: Amy and Myron. Lenders this way. Again she remembered the word from the file, and was told explicitly not to talk with anyone about anything. Lenders… She thought, slowly repeating the word in her mind. Weird.

  7. The Facility

  She followed the curving hallway until coming to a split. The direction on the left continued like a normal hallway and its sign read: TECHS. The choice to the right paralleled it, heading in the same direction, but was dimly lit such as a tunnel with colors reflecting onto the walls, and its sign read: LENDERS. Below this was another paper handwritten note, clearly visible: AMY / MYRON THIS WAY.

  “What in the world,” Amy blurted. She glanced back and two others were coming her way. One had blond hair—Jim, she thought—and the other was tall and slender, a black man in a white lab coat. She recognized him from testing. They seemed to know each other well and were busy walking and chatting.

  She turned then continued on, still wanting to be early, first if possible, with her head up as if she’d been there before and knew what she was doing. A few steps into the tunnel and an automated path appeared with silently moving round pads. They came from below the floor and emerged uncurled to be flat. It was similar to those broken down escalators; the thought emerged from her childhood. My daddy Jon with me, her mind drifted. Exploring that old mall. I must of been five years old, maybe less. She felt herself there once again, the vision of the memory sprang to life. They had climbed the old broken escalator and it was damaged, enough to allow Amy to see inside, the gears and belts, how it worked. A broken step gave way. I tripped and almost fell; Daddy! He reached for me… She shook it off. I feel like—like I’m falling asleep—dreaming. She rode the slow moving plate further and the lights became brighter and she could hear a low frequency hum. Something about all this, she thought. It’s—making me… Feeling a presence near she glanced behind and noticed a man several pads back leaning on the railing, relaxing; she could only see his silhouette. The colors were beautiful, flowing through every hue matching a beat. They followed the rhythm of a humming noise which had become a gentle song; a vibration traveled up her arms from the rail and into her legs from the pads.