Lenders

by Johnson, John

  This is fucking insane! he thought. He lost count but knew there must of been at least fifty kills, by his hands alone. Amy was panting, but caught her breath quickly—to his surprise, so did he. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Later, far from ground zero…

  She cleaned herself in its water. The fountain was beautiful; it mesmerized her. Sitting on its marble-edged wall Amy watched the show; just where she’d wanted to be. Only twenty feet over was the bench where she’d first seen Jessie. “Let’s go sit over there, come on.” Jim lugged himself over and they fell onto the bench facing the fountains. She turned to him seriously. “Jim, what happens if we get arrested, or shot here? Can we die?”

  A part he’d yet to explain, but knew was coming. “Unexpected awakenings could happen, caused by sudden shock, or anxiety. This is not a good thing. It disrupts the system, which could make the day a total loss. It’s very important we inform the director for all log-outs. The system has to be prepared for an awakening and only he can do it. They’re always watching, anticipating. For sudden log-outs some of the output can be saved, but a calm logout is best. If you ever feel like you’re getting sucked out, it’s almost too late anyway.”

  “But we can’t actually get hurt?” Amy asked. “Have you ever—” This being what she really wanted to know.

  “No, it won’t hurt you, not physically at least. But, I’ve seen people with resulting mental problems. We had one guy named Lion, a real bad ass, one of our best. He got himself killed, a DC snuck up on him—a surprise ambush—blew each of his limbs off one by one then slowly cut his throat. He felt it. You will, just like it’s real—the bad part. But, your actual body won’t be affected. Lion was messed up after that. He had anxiety attacks, constant feelings of dread, bad thoughts, and uneasiness. It really screwed him up.”

  “What happened to him? Is he still—”

  “No, his mind was shot. We couldn’t get output from him after that day. His fear always took over and—”

  “What?”

  “He got the chair,” Jim sighed. “He pulls weeds from the streets now. I’m sure you’ve seen him: curly blond hair with chest hair that sticks out of his shirt. He’s skinny now, does mornings on Main Street.” Amy nodded, yeah she knew him. She waved to him all the time, even seen him on her first day. He was nice, to himself mostly, very quiet.

  “I’ve been through almost every death scenario you can imagine,” Jim continued. The fountain exploded behind them with a new song. “I’ve been killed countless times. But, I’ve learned to control my anxiety and fear. And, you get good at it, really good. They don’t get me anymore, haven’t in a long time. But if they were to—I’d have to finish the map in pain, or ask the director to log out and take the loss. Oh, and no, they’ve never been able to catch me for an arrest,” He joked. Amy laughed nervously. She was glad to be with such a pro—at least that gave her some comfort, but she didn’t want to get shot or chopped up. She shrugged her head to herself, re-thinking about Lion.

  What they had done left the both of them slouched on the bench—stoned-like. They watched a few DC’s scurry about. There weren’t many left, and Amy thought it odd they seemed to lose attention for Jim and her. She noticed if she paid them no attention, even in chaotic moments, they could lose focus on her as well. She made a mental note.

  “After all that action the system soaks up the consciousness from our minds,” Jim said, slouched, letting the show amuse his turbid mind. “Hard to believe isn’t it. We can relax for few hours, and if up to it, have another release before day’s end. You probably feel drained right now, foggy-minded, but that’s normal. You’ll feel better soon.”

  After a while they got up and walked around a little. They went around the fountain then attended a magic show, even had a midnight lunch. DC’s spawned quickly. More, and faster than Jim guessed they could. He knew it was all Amy now, because after a day like that his mind couldn’t manufacture a mouse. He went along with it. She told him she wanted to see what she could do. She was very interested in her new job. Every aspect of it intrigued her.

  The area around the fountains was once again bustling with tourists. A new black bag appeared on the ground near the bench they’d rested at. Amy was ready, full of energy and clear-minded once again. Jim was still a bit tired but he surprised even himself. As if their minds were on the same page, they glanced to each other, and spoke at the exact same time, “Let’s do this!”

  30. Wall Climb

  He’d been working with her for over a week, and was convinced. She must have something to do with it. He was immersed in a flood of dreams every night since, and recalling them well; at least a quarter of those were lucid (within, he was aware that it was a dream). Exploring them he learned much about himself. He had never dreamed as an adult and, as tortuous as some were, liked it.

  Jim relished his coffee, black as usual. He stood leaning on the railing of his balcony overlooking the west side for a change: the gardens and greenhouses, the colorful multi-fruited trees, especially the hybrid coffee bushes. He took a moment to appreciate the hard work the botanists and farmers put in to make everything so bountiful. He saw Kim and her new assistants far below, up early as usual. The skies were clear of distant smoke and he watched the morning light obscure the remaining stars.

  He felt fine, like he’d bounced off a slight malaise; better now, but different all the same. And, brushed with a newfound optimism he thought about what he would like to do in life, perhaps create something. What? He didn’t know, but a new urge was there.

  He went inside to get ready. Today, be there an hour early: briefing.

  After his two minute shower cut off he donned a towel and dried off. He wiped the mirror and started to comb his hair as usual. He noticed something different and brought his face near the glass. His eyes—they weren’t as bright. The intense blue had faded to a dull salty-ocean color. A quick shock poked at him but rational thought quickly extirpated it. How could—it must be a fluke, maybe just something I ate, too much coffee, better cut back. His mind juggled possible answers, any one of which filled the gap just fine. And with the reasoning, a crutch of comfort, he resumed his morning habits.

  He ran the comb through his hair. Now it was obvious—he leaned in closer once again—his hair was thinner. He took notice of himself with heightened awareness. He slowly reached to the top and tugged lightly. Out came a tuft of hair! The shock was more than a poke this time, it stabbed him, and sent chills echoing throughout his body. He’d never thought much about his physical health, for good reason: there’d never been reason to. His genes had been cleansed and his DNA optimized at a young age. He, like most, was always the picture of health. But now, he was really worried. This wasn’t a dream and he even pinched himself to make sure. He tried other reality checks that he’d learned from Amy over coffee a few days ago: pushing a finger through his palm, look away then back to see if text changes, the time—likewise does it change, he flipped the light switch several times. Nope—this, was real.

  At work he noticed Amy was already there, typical. She was always early. She was in the broadcast room talking with Ron. He was teaching her a few things at the BROCC.

  “Hi Jim.” She waved, as spunky as ever.

  “Morning everyone,” Jim said lowly, “um, is Ted around?”

  “He should be here any minute, probably in his quarters,” Ron replied, “says he’s got some very interesting news for us.” Ted was the only person with quarters inside the broadcast room; a vital part of the team, he needed to be near, and conveniently, a borderline insomniac, he hardly slept.

  “Is everything okay Jim? You look a little pale,” Amy said. She worked with him so often, where they always looked the same, but now, there was something noticeable, a change. She’d been taught about self-perception and how it transfered into the maps, usually a week or so behind. The system, having its own intelligence, would pick and choose which characteristics to retain and project, and which—like Amy’s arm—t
o change or alter. Today she noticed his face was more porous, his skin lacked its normal radiant tan glow. And instead of popping like his blazingly young and usual self, he actually looked closer to his age.

  “I’m fine Amy. Be back in a bit, gonna go talk to Ted.” He left abruptly which struck both Amy and Ron a little odd. Others were arriving and he passed them by without regard.

  Ron shrugged it off and continued where he’d left off, “And here is the stability-to-output ratio of other lenders after multiple kills, you can see it drops significantly after…” Amy couldn’t help but turn to watch Jim. She felt concern; his demeanor appeared worrisome and anxious.

  Diligent as always, fixing his special tie, Ted headed straight to his panel behind the HAT after exiting his quarters. Jim rushed to catch him midway over. He had a screen in hand and had dressed up slightly adding an Albert Einstein ‘tongue out’ tie in addition to his usual old white lab coat and collared shirt. The broadcast room was getting full as many top lenders were arriving for the briefing. Shift three had vowed to stay a bit longer if necessary.

  “Hey Jim, big day,” Ted said. “Is everything okay? You look a little—” He cut himself off, and paused. A verification of what was happening hit him like a spotlight—he, for the first time, took notice of Jim’s hair. The true reality of the situation, it was the first physical confirmation to meet the data head on.

  “Ted, can I talk with you for a minute?” Jim said, totally disregarding his flamboyant special-occasion tie.

  “Uh, Jim. I think you should come over here,” Ted said put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I have some important information to tell everyone, and I think it might be exactly the answers you want right now.” Ted’s usual pleasant voice, hearing it made him feel a little better. Ted nodded humbly and pressed a smile as if to say, come on, let’s go, everything's gonna be fine, and he patted Jim’s shoulder.

  “Okay, Ted. I’ll be right over,” Jim said pulling away unhappily. “Just going to grab myself a drink from the fridge. Feel like I, like I need some sugar or something.”

  After Jim returned all top lenders and staff were gathered near the HAT. He took a spot next to Amy. Ron and Devon stood next to each other, then Ted. Jessie stood in front of George who covertly grabbed her ass. Alex Pennington stood tall behind his partner Trixie Wells wearing his usual pressed black suit, barely faded, with handmade wooden bow-tie. Alex was really the only lender who dressed up daily—said he could only perform optimally if he wore his suit, so an exception was made—every other lender arrived in the blue uniform. He stood six foot tall and was thin, and kept his appearance impeccable. Short little Trixie was always as casual as could be, his opposite, but they got along well. Four other lenders were there, including Abell who stood holding Lia in a seated cradle position atop his interlocked fingers. Eight were currently asleep lending, and the twins, taking over operations, were prepping to log in four more.

  Of Spanish descent and not much older than Jim, close to the same height but a little thinner, Rico arrived in his usual relaxed attire: open brown vest with extra pockets, white close-fitting untucked t-shirt, and faded overly-patched jeans fraying over red and black shoes. His skin was naturally golden and he had thick neatly combed black hair, parted on the side; the front waved across his short forehead tipping his thick eyebrows. He made his way over to address the crew.

  “Hola everyone,” Rico said. “It’s good to see so many of us together at once. I asked that our top lenders be present and thanks to those who came in on their day off. Earlier I spoke with Ted and he told me we did not have to be here in the broadcasting room for this, so, if everyone would like—I know Amy would she has been bugging me—” He turned to her and smiled. “—we’re going to have our talk on the top of the wall.” All smiled at the idea, such a rare chance—some had never been. Jim forced his smile as Amy looked up to him excitedly. He still felt unnerved by his morning discovery and couldn’t seem to clear his mind; he kept seeing his face in the mirror, his hair. Suspicions spun in circles, a broken record that kept replaying the morning event, and he reeled at the idea of bad news.

  Rico continued, “We have a few extra lenders coming in today and we’re high green right now. So without delay, vamonos. Follow me. Jim or George, can you please help Abell carry Lia when we get to the steps.” Lia had been horribly scarred and deformed from a deadly attack, the same that had killed Rico’s father long ago. Only in the dream world could she ever talk and run again. She was the next most productive lender after Jim, now third with Amy in the picture.

  “I can,” Abell said in his soft deep tone. Abell was Lia’s longtime lending partner. He was the largest and strongest man in the town by far, and rarely spoke more than a few laconic words per day.

  There were two entrances, one at the end of each hall. The long hallway, upon entering the facility from the bay, curved round in two directions: right to the broadcast room, and left to the control room. After exiting the broadcast room they followed the hallway left until it dead-ended, and they entered, The Great Wall.

  They clinked along on a narrow metal stairway in single file. A huge open space, a void save for the facility below, the peak of the broadcast room’s architecture stabbed it, rising toward the top like a jousting spear. The stairway traveled along the roof of the broadcast room spiraling up and around its conical shape, winding its way to a platform high above. The view from the midpoint was incredible. Amy yelled, “Echo! Echo!” Most didn’t mind, but George gave her a funny look of annoyance, Jessie bumped him.

  The innards of the mountainous wall was an engineering wonder, truly grand. The structure was built with compressed metal, and much thicker was the outer partition. It was constructed from any scrap that could be found: cars and tractors, axles and motors, yellow school buses, even concrete, all compressed to add thickness. There were airplane hulls and propellers, rims and rubber tires, automobiles of all shapes sizes and colors, entire tractor trailers, all mashed together into thick blocks, stacked, welded, and reinforced. Nothing was incongruous, it was a hodgepodge of whatever could be resourced; an impressionistic masterpiece. One could spend hours looking at it: a composition so colorfully solid and undecayed—once upon a time mankind had tons and tons of shit—material repurposed for survival, a symbol of humanities tenacious desire to continue to exist.

  The inside was lit with numerous luminous white lights including many that lined the stairs. The brightness made every detail stand out.

  Abell carried Lia tirelessly, draped over one shoulder. Others huffed and puffed along the laborious trek; the dry cool of the interior helped, a little. A slight breeze could be felt flowing counterclockwise. Rico said it was the dryer fans, to prevent corrosion, and explained a few things about the wall. An oddly pleasant, yet at the same time slightly malodorous smell lingered, like that of burnt tires, or burnt electronics, mixed with Bertha's crispy and frequently burnt potato wedges. And a faint and steady humming sound could be heard, which seemed to be getting louder.

  Looking down, before reaching the final tier, the conoidal shape of the broadcast room could be seen as a whole. Looking to the sides, the hollow vertical corridors of the wall were lit for as far could be seen with the same bright white lights; some flickered and some were altogether defunct, yet plenty endured to reveal seemingly interminable chasms. Every twenty or so feet a thick horizontal floor divided the vertical span for a total of four levels.

  The humming got louder.

  “What is it?” Amy asked.

  Rico smiled and pointed upward in the direction of the steady hum. “Wait for it.” A platinized saucer-shaped drone with two green glowing eyes—about the size of a spare tire—flew out of the west-side wall corridor and hovered for a moment, rotating to face the group. It descended, circled the broadcast spike one time then paused in front of them all. Five seconds, floating—it had two thin robotic arms, and it waved. Amy waved back with a huge smile. Then it disappeared east into a small tunnel on
the opposite side of the outer wall.

  “Repair and maintenance drones. They work for us,” Rico replied. He led the way, Amy followed anxiously, Jim was last. “And, in a sense, you work for them. Pretty rare to see one, you got lucky. We estimate there’s hundreds more on standby—in the case of emergency. They maintain the wall and the lasers, and manage many of its auto-repair systems. That hole it went into is a service passage for one of the outer wall lasers.” Just as everyone started walking again the drone shot out from the small tunnel and continued east through the massive fourth level wall corridor.

  A six foot wide platform circled the top of the broadcast spike about a ten foot radius. The ceiling was no more than eight feet above that. An exit port, marked by more stairs was on the opposite end of the circle walk.

  “Almost there. Quite a climb isn’t?” Rico said stepping onto the wider hanging walkway.

  “Wow, sure is!” Amy replied edging the rail looking down. Along with the most minute traces of blue, slivers of green in her eyes glinted with wonder under the spaced ceiling lights. Being a lightweight she easily made the climb, even though she was still a little sore from her previous exercise sessions.

  The final stretch was another short grated stairway that led to a bulkhead door. Rico unlocked and opened it. David and Chang, members of the control room staff along with Rico, had to verify the breach before the doors would open. They’d prepared for it. A camera allowed them to see Rico's request from the control room and simultaneously they turned keys after a three count. Making sure everyone was inside the next section, he repeated the procedure with a second bulkhead door. Beyond that a smooth inclined corridor constructed of silver metal considerably more dense than the inner wall led to a final bulkhead door, same deal, which alas led to sunlight.

  He let her go through the last one first. He couldn’t stop her anyway, she was about to shoot between his legs or blast her way past.