Lenders

by Johnson, John

  The place was beginning to fill up. Felix motioned to the waiter who was hustling about the twenty or so tables under the shade. He was a Mexican boy, surely less than fifteen with dusty worn clothing, but dressed to impress.

  Amy finally took a seat, the idea of food enticed her. She sat directly across from Rosita beside Eddie. Rosita had welcoming eyes that melted her tension. She was very pretty, a bit younger than Felix with a glossy red flower in her hair and matching band dangling about her waist dividing the black and white of her beautiful dress. Jim took his seat next to Amy bringing a pressed and irritable smile to the table.

  The puesto had water tubes strung throughout which delivered a moist cool to the setup in the form of mist. It was warmer, later in the day than when Jim had first met Felix in Old Town only a short time ago.

  The boy waiter greeted the table in Spanish, again, because the others had obviously finished at least one plate of tacos each. With alacrity Amy ordered some tacos—and extra cheese! They didn’t have cheese. So she told the waiter, just surprise me. Felix ordered a round of margaritas, telling the waiter to bring an extra bottle of the best tequila he could find and slipped him a large bill after whispering something else into his ear. The youngster rushed away. An even younger boy burst out of the side of the food stand and zipped up the road toward the saloon.

  Rosita reached her hands across the table taking Amy’s. “Todo va a estar bien Amy,” she confided making a smile that seemed to carry a frown behind it. Amy started to worry. She felt something was wrong and saw it in all of their eyes. Felix put his arm around Rosita and nodded in agreement to her comforting Spanish words.

  Amy was surprised by how much Spanish she understood. Nobody spoke Spanish in the town, not anymore. She’d even spoken Spanish to the waiter, with a decent accent. She thought, Where did I learn it? She shrugged it off about as fast as most thoughts, and anticipated the food, famished as usual.

  “Maybe we should wait for the drinks,” Eddie suggested.

  “We can,” Greg replied.

  “What’s going on?” Jim asked. “Why are you focusing on Amy like that? Now I want to know.”

  “It’s okay Jim,” Amy said doing her focus trick. She was looking deep into Rosita's eyes. She saw honesty and compassion, and sorrow. “Like they said, there’s time. If this is bad news, and I feel it might be—I want a huge plate of tacos, and my drinks first. Alcoholic ones Mister Jim!” They remembered, and shared a calm uplifting smile.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Eddie agreed. The other three nodded wholeheartedly. Jim shook his head, hardly in agreement, but for now would play along. He would indulge Amy’s newfound patience. He would do, anything for her.

  The Mercado bustled with people, hundreds. Where’d they all come from? Jim thought managing is patience. He rubbed his knees. Their picnic table sat at the edge of patchy shade near lines of passing shoppers. The tables weren’t as tightly squeezed together like the competitor’s across the way. They were at the edge of the food section, which had at least eight different food stands: churros, flautas, burritos, even hamburgers and hot dogs, and all vendors had colorful hand-painted signs. Beyond the food area there must have been a hundred stands with colorful vegetables, merchandise, junk for sale, odds and ends, whatever could be sold; people trying to make a buck, a peso likely.

  Everyone looked each other, wordless for a moment. It nearly turned into an odd moment of silence but the food arrived soon enough. And the boy came rushing back to the trailer, careful not to trip with it. He was guarding a glass bottle that shimmered in gold under the bright desert sun.

  The waiter set the large steaming plate of tacos in the middle of the group. His little sister assisted passing out some fancy plates; Jim looked around, others had paper plates. There was more than enough food for the entire table—even enough to satisfy Amy. Felix and his secret whisper had likely modified the order—an impressive upgrade. The plate was de—luxe, and although it lacked cheese, there was plenty of everything else: fresh guacamole, grilled onions and peppers, cilantro, with frijoles and rice on the side. There were diced red chili-peppers, and green salsa with tomatoes and onions. Amy wasn’t shy, the aroma alone annihilated her restraint, possibly her manners; hot off the grill and fresh! She reached across the table and seized three at a time, and after piling on the extras, dug in.

  She had a voracious appetite and her eyes went around in a circle after tasting the food. Everyone smiled then copied her; she had determined the pace. They reached in and the feast began. It was second helpings for most but they ate with a craving. Jim ate a few. Surprisingly, the taco’s had an entrancing effect—and he was able to set aside, for a moment, his nagging feeling of dread. But now he knew for sure, Amy’s arrival was a special occasion. Although, Felix was looking to him also, with different eyes; as if bowing to him, treating him with admiration and respect.

  The food was every bit as good as it looked. Better, for its aroma, mixing with the cool mist, gassed the crowds sucking others into the outdoor restaurant; more customers to the small family business—like other things, the more the merrier. In the rocking puesto which was an old converted camper, the father of six had taken a break from the sizzling plancha. Mama took over. He was busy preparing the drinks and operated with a different rhythm, like he wanted them to be perfect. What had Felix slipped him? But regardless of the money, his family worked with passion and integrity. His wife carved more pork to feed the steadily arriving lunch crowd, and the kids—even the toddler helped— waiting tables or preparing ingredients. Things were getting busy, just the way the hard-working family liked and needed it, and after a few minutes the drinks were ready. Papa placed the golden bottle containing the rest of the tequila in the middle of the tray which included the margaritas, shot glasses, limes and salt. He carried this one out himself. The bottle was the finest and most expensive tequila the town had and he single-handedly balanced it like a pro. Served.

  The tone at the table had already changed—especially after the drinks. But, the alcohol didn’t get the credit this time. It was Amy, with her genuinely positive and infectious personality. The feelings of dread, that something was wrong—gone. She talked to Felix and Rosita in Spanish, mostly about her adventures in other maps.

  Jim talked to Greg about the time difference. Greg didn’t know exactly how it worked, he said no human could understand it, but reassured Jim that they had as much time as they wanted as long as he and Eddie were there. Jim tried to get answers; the alcohol kept his impatience in check. He wanted to know so many things: who are you people, why are you both dressed like that, is Rosita a lender, plugged in somewhere, or is she also trapped in the map, but most importantly how had they recognized Amy, and what were they going to disclose, and ridiculously, why did we need tacos and tequila first? He asked various questions but Greg, who seemed to be the most knowledgeable, kept changing the subject. Eddie mimicked, dodging answers as well, and they both took a peculiar interest in Amy’s adventures. It reminded him about dream characters, regular ol’ DC’s, and their numerous quirks. Have I completely lost my lucidity, am I being taken for a wild ride inside my own mind? he thought. Then Felix stood up proposing a toast. Was it finally time?

  “To Amy,” he said and everyone rose their glasses. Jim held up a shot. Even he was getting numb, it had been a while and the tequila had a hell of a kick in contrast to Felix’s mezcal. The last time he’d felt such a clean buzz—ah that was a good day, he thought. He and Amy were on the beach talking for hours at the bar. They talked and talked and he explained, and he felt like a teacher, a mentor, possibly more. He saw her differently then. His thoughts and mind had changed. He felt like he’d been riding a wave, since then. He turned his head, admiring her—in that moment she was happy, laughing. She lived in the moment. Felix thinned out two shots with some lime soda. Amy and Rosita turned ‘em up and slammed ‘em down. Jim smiled contentedly.

  He loved her, but somehow, lost the physical attracti
on for her—it had once been so strong. Like he was on a roller-coaster ride, up, down. She was too young. She’s still too young. No, that’s not it. Jim’s thoughts were drunken, which can stir the pot, reveal some truths, even it was only to himself, in his mind. The atmosphere at the table, buzzed, high spirits now, and everyone was having a nice time. The family oriented taco stand at the mercado was packed, much like his thoughts. I know, I love her, and I’ll never let anything happen to her. He realized what his thoughts told him while he beheld the beautiful girl beside him. His mind was a mess. He would never be with her—no, not like that. Since the revert he had attained his natural self. Could it really be? No one is—not anymore, not since. But he knew he’d changed so much. Amy had a special affect on him and everyone else she lent with. The repairs, the changes back to a natural state, how everyone would have been. Jim’s thoughts played out like a film projector as the others had a fantastic time at the table. He realized, he must be, gay. What Else could explain it? His instincts were in knots. The revert twisted him around and he didn’t know how to deal with it. Okay, so what if it’s so? He thought. I’ll never forget my previous attraction to her, and my love for her will never go away. She’s amazing.

  Jim stumbled to his feet wobbling. He was plastered, and the bottle had little but a swig left. He and Felix had kicked its ass. And he made a toast, “Amy. I love you, as a sister, family. I just realized—I’m gay and can never be with you—” He wobbled a little more, totally wasted. The cat was out of the bag, lured by some of the best, no, the best tequila he had ever drunk. The other two toasted and cheered, as well as Felix and Rosita. There was no shame, not a hint of it anywhere.

  Amy was however a little shocked—taken aback. She didn’t know what to think. He had so abruptly and drunkenly blurted it, out of the blue. The things that come out when you're drunk, she thought. But she noticed how he had changed, so completely. She loved him, even envisioned herself ending up with him many times—but after his revert, and it didn’t take long—she knew. She had already known—sort of though, sometimes, not others. He seemed to float back and forth. When she did the focus trick on him she saw storms, tornadoes in his mind, a roulette wheel with a marble that was about to land in a slot. No, this wouldn’t change a thing between them. Together they’re a team—the best team.

  “I think you’ve had enough Señor,” Felix said, with his own, but very slight wobble. Felix was tough as leather and could have handled the entire bottle by himself. “We are all relaxed and have gotten to know each other a little bit. We’re comfortable here. Greg, would you?” Greg nodded, then began to speak.

  “Okay—and Jim I’m happy for you, the revert has affected many that way. You’re returning to how you were born, your original DNA 100%. But you still have quite a ways to go. Your fluctuations appear undefined, as if flying wildly—they are, but will soon land. Where? In time you will find the truth and rediscover yourself. This is nature, life in all of its colorful varieties. I’m glad you are able to be open, that is what our society is all about, which you will soon learn.” Greg raised his glass, “To Jim.” Jim nodded a thank you. “Jim I do want to say however, being gay does not mean the two of you can’t, or won’t end up together. A light is coming, and it will shine objectively, transparently, and intensely. You will have a choice, soon, and things will be quite different if you take the chance.” Greg turned his attention. Felix nodded and he continued. “Now Amy, you are here because there is a problem in your town, yes?”

  “Yes, it’s under attack,” she said.

  “And you are curious, you want to activate the purple status?”

  “Yes, I thought we could get everyone together, combine the maps, more DC’s and—”

  “That is not how it works Amy. You see—you—helped design the purple status. It is a beacon, and if you trigger it a ship will come to help, and it will indeed, but only once, ever, and that will be it.”

  “But how could I of—”

  “I’ll try to explain,” Greg continued. “Please keep an open mind.”

  Jim’s curiosity sobered him. It made his earlier news sound small, individual, but it had gnawed at him; he felt relieved letting it out, although slightly embarrassed. They sat at the picnic table of truths he thought, and this was it, the big one, bigger than him, and he desperately wanted to know. Perhaps the tequila was a good idea after all.

  “Your father searched for you for years, and a ship finally found you. You are very special, you always have been, more than you know, but in a way you do not. After you were reunited with your father in the largest, and one of the last human cities, together you set out to finish his plan, together.”

  “My father! What plan?”

  Eddie turned to her, “I think you know who you father is. You’ve seen him in your dreams, haven’t you Amy?” she nodded.

  Greg continued, “And the plan Amy, has always been the same—to save humanity—be it one person, or one billion. I’m going to put it right out there. Amy—” He faced her with the utmost sincerity and seriousness. “—you have to die to activate the purple status. ”

  56. The Visitor

  The incomer reduced its speed and Rico said slowly, “It’s here.” He temporarily disabled the seemingly useless forcefield, just in case, and was dumbfounded at the immensity of it in comparison to the wall. Ron accompanied him with mutual amazement; both had their eyes glued to the HAT. It was mere feet away now. The three of them (not counting David) were trapped inside the control room and most screens displayed different angles of their visitor. Abell stood near the door, waiting for the worst. The sound had changed, as though the drones had penetrated the steel and were grinding into the rock hard slabs of bread he’d stacked as a first layer.

  It was bigger than initially calculated, the size of a football field. It passed over the wall at thirty miles per hour. The flat bottom crept silently mere feet from the top near the same location the drones had first hurdled it, west behind the now torched gardens. Beneath its shadow decimated Jewel City resembled the glowing embers of a freshly stoked campfire at dusk.

  Like those metal Goliaths in old science fiction movies, the ship appeared to be man-made, having large plaid metal panels in varying shades of silver and grey. The bright noon sun made the enormity gleam brightly. Its hull had a faint teal glow—its own protective forcefield—made apparent after receiving a blow from laser or suicide drone. With each hit it shimmered like electrified plasma. But it was dealing more hits than it was receiving. Indentions dotted streamlined grooves around the sides of the ship, each hole housing a laser; there were hundreds. Smartly they blasted every hostile, even intercepting most incoming fire.

  Front to back, the ship’s deepest grove was wide and flat, narrow in the front climbing the nose, getting wider toward the back before veering outward at the rear. The inner edges of that groove also contained lasers; all were operational, and powerful. The side panels had a myriad of markings—written words, English!

  “It is one of ours, look!” Ron exclaimed pointing. And he could almost read it. Rico chose the best of their still surviving cameras to view it from the side, for it was headed straight toward the facility and had just fully cleared the wall.

  “It looks like a big flat pill,” Rico said letting his imagination get the best of him. It did, bulky but sleek. The back was flat, housing its propulsion drive which emitted a cerulean blue glow, and like the sides, had smoothly angled lips at the edges—likely for stable aerodynamics at high speeds. Its flat-black bottom looked like a heat shield and housed twelve inset glowing disks, also the same intense blue but outlined by rings of hot orange.

  There were decals and writing all over it. First they made out the flags and it elevated their hopes. On the frontal sides were dozens from various countries of a time long past, when the globe was so divided; the pre-2020’s when individual nations squabbled over ceaseless controversy and land. It appeared there was at least one from each, hundreds, but many were unr
ecognizable. Newly conquered territories? And there was writing between the orange and black stripes that lined the sides: black and bold text in squared letters with loud reflective-white outlines. Rico and Ron read it slowly as it passed into view of their most well positioned camera: RESCUE SUPPORT 486. They both did a leap for joy then quickly re-glued their eyes.

  Unrelenting in its barrage of laser fire to the curious drone pests, the ship slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped over the park, center circle. It hovered at wall height.

  “Give me a close-up. I want to see what it’s doing,” Rico said. And Ron did just that inspecting each of the ship’s many facets. Bottom lasers, dozens of them protruding like marbles under the ship were firing at a much faster pace than the wall lasers could, also burning hotter, longer, and more intensely. They zapped drones like harmless flies, sending them crashing to the ground like a firecrackers last fizzle, mere globs of black smoking coal.

  The drones hesitated, obviously having had signaled each other.

  Inside the control room Abell was ready: to battle flesh versus machine. He had a six-inch diameter by six-foot length steel well-water pipe gripped like a baseball bat, and his color was again flushing with rage and red. He lowered it when the chaos relented. The pounding and cutting noises that’d tortured them diminished. And, quickly the noises sounded distant.

  With a horde mentality they set forth, withdrawing from the facility and every hole they’d dug. Like fire to oxygen in a back draft, the drones swooshed from the hall allowing the team a much needed sigh of relief. All pounding on the broadcast room, control room, and safe room doors ceased. The freight train of noise disappeared in rapid diminuendo. New orders had called them out. And the unrecognizable bay, now like a multi-impacted crater, was empty once again.

  The swarm was a streak of metallic black and chrome, and joined those already encircling the ship. As if it was the sun and they were the asteroid belt a wide orbit was quickly achieved; the great wall bounded their rotation. There was a hesitation, an intermission. The swarm scanned the intruder, likely plotting its next move against their lead brick adversary. The ship held silent and firm, taunting its extraordinary armor and enormity, and likewise had ceased its firing. Both sides were in remission and a good five minutes passed before...