Lenders

by Johnson, John

  “I thought it might offer some different perspectives on our progress if you put together a—on second thought, I would like for you to sit in with us for this Tuesday’s meeting if you would.”

  Jon sighed. He had to let this one out so held a hand over the speaker. “Will do Nancy,” He replied cheerfully with an insuppressible hint of sarcasm. “I’ll have that summary for you Tuesday before the board meeting. Have a nice weekend Nancy.”

  “And to you Jon.” Jon had already hung up a half second earlier.

  Jon thought, with his new baggage of burden, he loved coding, but hated… But he thought again how Herald worked so hard while they had it easy. He pressed the elevator lobby button and the doors closed.

  This project is probably the greatest undertaking of mankind and it’s treated like—just another company investment with little regard for the real implications. It is all about the money. And, if Herald is right, we don’t know what we’re messing with—we really are playing with fire. Oh well—his optimistic side came out like the sun from a cloudy day—not that hard, I can get it done pretty quickly. Jodi will help me with it. Maybe she’ll go in with me and do half the talking. Board meetings, though…ugh.

  The turbo elevator, halfway down, he could feel himself about to float. But he had been watching the news, and knew very well what was at stake. VlexCom had squeezed themselves thin, just like any company with wildfire ambitions, right in between the rock and the hard place. They’d invested millions, actually billions, into the project. And he knew something important was going on below, on floors he couldn’t access, not exactly what, but he guessed it all, everything, depended on their project. VlexCom did have a lot on the line for this one and no business wants to get trumped. It’s just the way the world works. Winners come in first, at all costs. Losers, work under the winners, or just end up on the street.

  His thoughts took a turn as gravity returned to normal, the elevator slowed from its virtual free-fall. It always feels weird to leave him way up there, alone on Saturdays and Sundays. He would probably work for 48 hours straight, more if he could. But at least he mentioned a change—this is good, no, great news. Some hope. Like old times. Old times…

  Jodi. Time to go, get home.

  He had left her at his place that morning hunched over the toilet while she waved him away. He wanted to be there for her in case she needed anything for the hangover, and besides they had to celebrate. They’d decided to move in together as of last night at the club. And they could use the weekend, well at least Sunday, to get started.

  Herald’s talk had really jolted his thoughts, a lot to think about, but for now a little bit of life. Some rest, relaxation, and cuddle time with the girl he— I’m going to ask her, he thought, and smiled. I love her.

  Ding. The elevator settled onto the first floor and the doors opened. As he stepped out he couldn’t believe it. His eyes widened in exhausted surprise.

  19. Perfect Sunday

  Ham and cheese mega burrito with onions and green peppers; Herald ate lunch soon after the late breakfast he’d had in the company of Jon. Must restore balance, eat more, and get healthy. He washed it down with vegetable juice. With a light tap the hexagonal dish went flat and he slipped it into the recycle slot then headed to the lab. He decided to get outside for a while thinking a little sunlight will do him good, so he carried his mobile up the stairs to his personal overlook. He’d made up his mind about certain changes. He would take fewer naps, and so decided to ease himself out of the Uberman sleep schedule he had been on for nearly a year. He would also ease off the Pro-Con—something he knew would be easier said than done. The plan was to come back down and slide into a more natural rhythm. There was still work to be done but the project was in the bag and he knew it would be completed in about a week, even with a laid-back schedule. The back-end and core programming was finished. It was only a matter of joining some remaining code blocks, appending a few algorithms, running tests, then handing over the finished product—which would still be a month ahead of schedule.

  High and tall, another cloudless day in LA. There was a gentle ocean breeze, just enough to shove the smog eastward. His mobile was lightweight and powerful with three screens that could optionally fold out from behind the main screen. He didn’t have them out. To get more sun he moved from his personal area onto the peak of the green hill and faced southwest. Grabbing a padded wooden chair from the pool area, he sat upright and alone, feeling like the only man on earth. Clear-minded, he worked until the sun fell.

  As it began to set, he let his mind tinker with the beauty. He associated with it with good thoughts and feelings, making a point to remember the moment. He felt at ease and closed his computer; a perfect time to further rewire his mind, something he was getting exceedingly better at doing. The distant clouds had beautiful orange and red hues with every color in between; all was being chased away by the blue, then purple, which ultimately won the push, dunking the sun. A few stars appeared, Mars in the south, the full moon was expected later. He infixed the picturesque visions permanently into his mind—and thought of tomorrow, Sunday—and wondered if she might be looking up at the same stars.

  The outside lights flipped on around the pool and bar. It was 8 p.m. and he’d managed to get a good deal of work done. Yet occasionally throughout the day, unlike any for months, his thoughts had wandered—he paused for a moment gazing outward, thinking of her. They’d set a time and place, and even shook on it. They were to spend the whole day together. His thoughts hovered with a sliver of dejection; doubt that he would actually see her again. Will she actually be there? he thought. I looked like a bloodless vampire that had lost a boxing match, walking death. But he fought the scintilla of pessimism, this time winning.

  He sat alone, top of the world on the white chair; his computer closed, his hair lightly blowing in the night wind, just thinking. Eight turned to nine, nine turned to ten. The breeze soothed his sunburn. Then he stood and reached for the sky with both arms.

  What can I do? Nothing? Powerless? The vastness of it, on and on forever. Billions of people. Building, infrastructure, control, economy. It will not stop. It’ll just keep going, on and on, forever, unless… The beautiful world devoured by the plague that is humanity, each and everyone of us. All of it—gone, because, we just can’t help ourselves. We can’t stop. We couldn’t stop. No! But maybe. Maybe there’s a way. Save her. She’s out there, somewhere. I—I—I can. I can save her.

  The idea that maybe he could so something led to a plan, changing things up. She made an impact for sure. Just the thought of her enabled him to headlock the Demon that resided in his mind. Her very being was now imprinted onto his thinking, and a part of the plan. Perhaps he wasn’t to be so alone, and the world was worth fighting for. At the time he had took on the project he had different ideas of the world, some filled with hate and some for many other wrong reasons. The proposal of this undertaking, which he had confidence he would succeed in, was in a sense his way of finishing things off quick, and with a boom. Simply put it was like: fuck it, fuck the world.

  But with his newfound sensitivity, and his I-can decision, more importance weighed on the secret project he’d let Jon in on earlier. At first it was intended to save only himself, just long enough so he could sit back and watch it all burn. Then—maybe a few friends, now—her, and maybe even—at least a part of—the world. It was too late to go back now, or stop any of this shit from being developed, so the plan was, to complete it. The device he had been working on must now have a part in saving more than just a few, it has to save many. He’ll still get Colorado, but it won’t be for the purpose of sitting atop a mountain with a front row seat to: Endless Extermination, now in theaters—live around the world—last one breathing gets the best selfies. The building, coding, and creating would not simply end in a few weeks after the project was done. It would be back to the mental drawing board. I can do it, I will do it!

  In Heralds vision, The Blocker, would render any person
invisible to technology, particularly from the perception of artificially intelligent machines. Almost any type of sensor would be affected causing input signals to be scrambled. It would give a single person or even a small group of people, a chance—the ability to hide and stay hidden, to run and escape wrath—to disappear from what he feared could and probably would take over, ultimately controlling or killing the human race.

  Herald’s latest but merely partial test runs on project Archeus hinted at his unsettling predictions. In a sandbox, (a closed-off, completely firewalled test system) the project demonstrated a leaning toward various patterns, bias that seemed to arise randomly. Putting the system to work with various puzzles resulted in thoughts and ideas that appeared to come out of nowhere, or more eerily, from a hidden outside source. And after each of his tests the system was purged. And he tried again with, a blank slate, completely unbiased; but it always leaned in the same direction. It was these findings that only went on to validate the suspicions he’d always had—the AI, in any form generated by mankind, was NOT going to be friendly. It was still early however, and Herald hoped his early validations were somehow wrong. But plans were set, and the big one was coming soon: the first major test run of the full package. Hopefully it would offer more insight.

  Sunday came quickly and with a full night’s rest Herald’s dreams returned to normal. He’d had fewer lucid dreams which allowed his conscious mind a better recovery; he felt more rested than he had in a long time, but also more realized the damage he’d done to himself and that it was going to take time. The lucid dreams were an entertaining escape, but a part of the mind, somehow always awake, didn’t rest the same. He took only half of a Pro-Con that morning (he realized he should’ve gave Dan Casteel an extra couple weeks to make a smaller version because sawing that horse pill in half was a bitch) and had a larger, more typical breakfast. He ordered up from the building’s 24/7 cafeteria staffed on the second floor: sausage biscuits with Swiss, bacon, more bacon, more sausages, grapefruit juice and pancakes with a heaping of butter, the works. Later while brushing his teeth after a shower he noticed his skin in the mirror. He looked less like a vampire in need of blood and more like—shit, he looked good, the redness of yesterday’s first-suntan-in-months had abated evenly. Even the bags under his eyes had almost completely disappeared. Change happened so quickly, he hardly recognized himself.

  Red was waiting on the roof inside the streamlined heli-jet. The morning sun reflected the fine glitter of its silver-metallic body; a high performance sports car of the sky. Blades inserted into themselves, just waiting for the command, it idled quietly in the gusty morning air, ready to head south.

  With renewed vigor Herald ascended the steps from the rear of the bar ducking the winds; he hopped inside and sealed the door.

  “Hey Red. Damn windy out today,” he said donning the matching silver helmet and adjusting the microphone. “How about some lessons? Double pay.”

  “Good morning! But I could not accept double pay Rab—”

  Herald interrupted. “I’m a changed man Red, call me by the name my father gave me, Herald.”

  “You got it Herald,” Red replied with slight wonder in his expression. “What I meant to say is—I’m your pilot, but I’ve hardly flown for you during the past year—yet you still pay me steady.”

  “We’ll things are about to change. And if you would like I’ll have a new job for you soon, out of state. Colorado. We can talk about it later.”

  “Actually been thinking of moving for years,” Red replied. “It’s just me and the wife. Never could have kids, so sure, we might as well.”

  “Perfect, you're a good man,” Herald said eagerly scanning the controls. “I have the opportunity of a life time for you, but we’ll talk about that later. For now—I don’t want to be late. So—”

  Red started instructing Herald right away. After a quick overview of the important instruments and controls they began the flight and Herald flew much of the way. It was a short flight but Herald learned the controls quickly. He got a feel for the heli-jet at top speed and requested that Red demonstrate some evasive maneuvers. Herald realized Red was quite the pilot and decided to add him and his wife to the list.

  And Red was quite surprised, something he’d never seen before; the speed at which Herald learned was almost unheard of among pilots. He exhibited reactions of expert pilots early on, and navigated the strong winds competently, even though he’d confessed that it was his first time piloting. Upon arriving in San Diego Red complimented him about his maneuvering and also the way he looked, changed, for the better.

  They’d agreed to meet at a small outdoor restaurant called Tacos de Paco, only one block further from the club where they’d met. But again he started having doubts if she would actually show up. She didn’t know much about him, nor who he was or was he did for work. She didn’t know that he was rich and famous or that he worked and partly owned of one of the largest technology companies in the world. She seemed to like him as a regular guy; probably better this way he guessed. The questions lingered nevertheless: why me; what made me stand out; and why would a girl like that give me a second glance? He knew he had to reel in is thoughts and tried to do so as he walked across the international bridge. Mexico—he crossed the line. He wore the bandanna again, some slick shades, a lighter colored shirt, and descended into Tijuana.

  With a hiss anxiety reared its scaly face, slithering onto his left shoulder as he made it to the street. He felt the tongue like a feather on his neck. It only whispered slowly, “I’m back.” And it didn’t say anything else besides the disturbing hiss. The hand of Fear caught his other shoulder in a lunging heave but only the tips of its brown warty fingers were able to latch on. He could hear the troll grunting, mumbling, beginning to form words. Herald flicked them off at the mere thought of Ana’s voice. And as he walked his thoughts continued to wander.

  He was sick of the nickname anyway. Such a dweeb back then—no cool, just a nerd. They teased him about the rabbit, calling him Rabbit Boy, Bunny Bumper, and other hurtful nicknames. Even the nicer girls laughed at him, he’d been branded. Inside, hurt, sadness, all turned to anger. A dork looking for a way out and he was smart enough, he knew at least that—but will always regret what he’d done. It was cruel and selfish, and it pained him inside everyday; a thorn that could never be removed; a scar that could never be painted over. If he could take it back he would but that was life, what’s done is done. He tried to fix it soon after, but it was too late.

  On its rusty coil springs his dad’s old brown pickup bounced over the rough desert terrain. In his mind he could picture his bud clearly: Fat Radar bouncing around with no mind to the occasional bump, he loved going for a ride, with his head out the window like a dog.

  Frantic, he looked away to see the road, then back; Radar’s spot—was empty. The rear leaf springs, one broken, creaked and squeaked over the bumps. He was going way to fast for it to last much longer, returning to the scene soaked in tears.

  He leapt from the truck onto the broken-glass littered desert crying. Radar was right where he’d left him. He’d been too fat to go far, and it was blistering outside, not a shade tree in sight. It was a moronic idea, the result of overload; the first hint of a defective mind.

  It was Snakes idea, but Troll had forced him to go through with it.

  “He’ll be fine, just like the other desert bunnies, run free, happy,” Snake said. But the Troll scared the shit out of his nerdy ass, literally, numerous times. With his cursing and powerful deep voice, and the choking by his slimy hands. He couldn’t breathe. And the snake continued on—that it was actually a good idea.

  “Leave me the fuck alone!”

  “Then—after—sure. Hiss. We’ll leave you alone. And you will be free. Hiss. Forever.”

  He took the easy way out, and killed his friend without having to know for sure, ever—that he was actually dead—or that he’d actually premeditatedly killed him. It was part in the anger of the moment. An
d under the influence of the others, the many others that tortured him, besides Anxiety and Fear, there were others. Many were dreadfully worse, especially Hate—a demon that he would eventually come to love.

  It’s always those rash quick decisions that so flat-out end a part of our lives. And there’s no going back, the pain gets tacked onto the board, later heapings of it, piles, mountains; it all gets thrown onto the top, just another dead body.

  Radar’s over-sized black eyes stared outward blankly, his hole body was stiff as Herald squeezed him while shedding razor blades for tears. He tortured himself that day and through the night. He cut his left forearm to ribbons with the desert litter. He ate dirt, and set the truck on fire and raged and screamed into the desert night until he collapsed.

  By morning a switch had flipped. Suicidal fuck-the-world thoughts took over. Conquer and take, take, take. He hated himself and started heavy with the drugs, and built up a wall that no one could scale, not even his own self. A misanthrope, his hate blossomed. He hated the stink of humanity; every hair growing from every pore, the need to eat—he really hated that—and the need to piss and shit. He hated his mom, and left her, and she died and he laughed and celebrated for a week. He hated the world and its stupid rules and especially the economy with its drones of mindless citizens. Most off all, he hated himself. He was fired from his job and didn’t even go back for the check. And for a few years he went under—deep under, into the dark underworld exploring the hate that consumed him and the insanity that twisted his mind. He made friends with the big red strong one, large and conquering of all, his horned amigo: Hate the Demon. In return for his loyalty Hate protected him from the others, and even, made him cool—a chick magnet.