Amy woke earlier than usual, missing the sunrise by exactly 44 minutes. She usually slept in until at least 8:00 a.m., playing in her lucid dreams for as long as she could. But the company made her restless and she ran out with her purple and yellow blankie and jumped onto her daddy who was conversing with Jon and Rafael. As usual, right away she began describing her nightly dreams. Herald set her in his lap tucking her blanket tightly and gave her his undivided attention.
She described being on the edge of a tan desert, on a tall cliff above waves that crashed onto the rocks far below. Like fluffy white cotton balls, she said, and liked the cool mist that rose from the turbulence; it felt nice on her hot cheeks. A spooky storm was behind her and she had to make a choice: jump, or hope the storm will pass and leave her alone. She decided to leap just before the storm arrived. She fell and it was scary, but flew up into the air before impacting the rocks below. Things changed after she looked away then back again. The ocean had disappeared becoming the base of a canyon that was filled with creepy skeletons and piles of white bones. But she didn’t worry because she had gotten away, and with a happy smile flapped her arms like a bird. On the edge of the cliff where she had been standing she could see a man. He was lying down and crying. She said she was afraid to look back again and kept flying, higher and higher. The sky changed to dark. She said she flew up into the pretty universe with all the twinkling stars and could go as fast and far as she wanted.
Flabbergasted, Jon was at a loss for words. He was amazed at how such a young girl could articulate. This highly detailed recollection from a three year old! Herald said she’d be four in a month. Even though, there was something very special about little Amy, and something eerily haunting about the dream she had expressed so clearly.
Ana soon brought coffee to the porch. She had her thin body wrapped in a quilt. As she opened the glass front door she got a chill, it was crisp but warmer than usual for that time of year, mid May, the 15th. She bent over and kissed on Amy on the cheek, then gave one to Herald and told them breakfast would be ready soon.
“Okay mommy!” Amy said, and rolled her eyes up, quiet for a moment, trying to remember more of her dreams.
They’d resumed a bit of talk regarding the plan but intermittently Amy would beg daddy to listen when she remembered something new. So talkative, she had more dreams, loads. But soon enough Ana called her inside to eat; or was it the smell of syrup-drenched pancakes. Such a contrast, it was quiet again after she left.
Jodi arrived in time for breakfast from cabin #2 higher up the mountain. She ascended the wooden steps of the porch and kissed Jon, differently than usual, slower, then sat on the rocker next to him wrapped in a blanket. Lasts nights conversation had gotten deep, especially with her weed, and she’d stayed up until midnight talking but Jon eventually walked with her to the cabin where she fell asleep almost instantly. Jon had soon returned alone—no way he could manage sleep with what he’d just learned—and found Herald and Rafael conversing at the table inside. He’d joined them until 1:30 a.m. and Herald opened up about more incredible details. He mentioned that he was back on a relaxed version of the Uberman sleep schedule, so didn’t need much sleep, and told them how much he and Rafael had been working—on projects that would make Archeus look like child’s play.
During the course of the night Herald had convinced Jon to stay, at least until after the launch on Wednesday. If the launch was successful he would admit he was wrong, and Jon would go home. If things took a turn for the worse, the world as they knew it would end, and what better place to be. Jon would simply disappear until Wednesday. He knew they could handle it without him, although he had eagerly been looking forward to attending the worldwide triumph he had a part in. So a no-show he would be, and things would go on—hopefully, he thought.
“Speaking of dreams Jon, when the last time you had one,” Herald asked rocking in is chair. Rafael gave him a look; he knew where Herald was taking things next.
“Been a bit too busy for dreams Herald,” Jon said, “but it’s been a while.”
“Jodi?” Herald asked.
“Um… I can’t recall,” she answered, obviously not ready for more talk just yet, the topic of dreams being the last thing on her mind. “Been smoking a lot. Jon’s hardly ever home anymore. And I suppose not many dreams with this—” She held up a joint. “—but it helps me pass the time alone.” She rolled an eye at Jon. He knew the look—they'd been arguing a lot lately. She had continued to code, but from home, and most of the time while baked, even if just a little, while Jon practically lived at VlexCom. They were a couple that excelled at being together, and being apart, was breaking them apart. She lit the joint and offered it to Jon and Herald. Rafael looked slightly disappointed that she didn’t offer him any. He excused himself and went in to help Ana with breakfast.
“No, thanks,” Herald said.
Jodi leaned back and smoked. The once glass-like water below began to shimmer as the day gave it a gentle stir. Quickly her eyes relaxed and felt warm, and she felt more awake, good, and the nervous edge that yesterday’s grim prediction had sharpened became dull. So beautiful here, quiet, peaceful. A perfect morning for a wake-and-bake, she thought. Like Jerry had wondered earlier, she felt the same, what are we doing in the city? This—now this is it.
They enjoyed the magnificent view as the sun worked its way into to sky. Herald changed his mind about the smoke, the smell was sweet, pleasant, and took a toke of Jodi’s now half-sized joint. He had brought up the question of dreams because he was going to tell Jon about the after-effects of the cleansing that took place six months ago—one thing that didn’t come up last night—but changed his mind. What’s done is done, and he and Rafael had found out too late to warn anybody anyway. He did manage to keep himself, the family, and the lenders hidden while it passed. They were safe in the sealed living quarters, deep inside the bunker below the cabin.
Herald and Rafael kept a good many things to themselves. Herald didn’t tell Ana every single thing either. She trusted him and didn’t want to know every detail; decisions about what they would do, and how, when the time came, was up to him, mostly. He was attempting to give humanity a chance, although much of him had decided, ultimately, that he still hates humanity, especially now seeing what it’d become. But he would still try his best. Like the endeavor at VlexCom—seemingly impossible—but he’d conquered that. Could he, even with the help of his extraordinary friend, conquer this too? Where most civilizations fail (according to Rafael’s calculations the percentage that survives is merely a handful, literally—the odds were by far against them), could he actually succeed with this? The challenge was much the same, but the stakes were higher. He had a family now, friends worth saving, and there was more on the line than money or any personal conquest.
Following Herald’s laid-back lead, Jon changed is mind as well—before the joint was totally cashed. The three of them ended up comfortably numb, relaxing on the porch, gently rocking in their chairs. Jodi knew exactly which strain to choose and it hit the spot after a long night of apocalyptic talk.
They heard a noise behind them. It was Valerie.
She walked down the winding path from cabin #3 holding hands with Jerry. It was obvious she had been crying all night. Last night she had left early with Jerry, before 11 p.m.; she couldn’t take it anymore yet still didn’t get much sleep. Jerry had fixed her up real good in the morning, country style, but her crying resumed as she reached the porch; she worried about her family and could not stop thinking about them. Stopping at the steps she begged Herald to save them, and swiftly, he agreed. Maybe it was the excellent cannabis sativa (coincidentally named Purple Haze), maybe not. She hugged him and her tears became that of temporary happiness.
Their moment of joy was interrupted, by something with an aroma of goodness. Ana had been waiting for the two, she had breakfast ready. Again Rafael had helped her. They had eggs, bacon, blueberry pancakes, the works. Everyone went inside to eat and over the meal discu
ssed a plan to fit in the new decision.
Herald said they couldn’t take to the air until Wednesday morning the 17th. Rafael warned of being a predetermined target, and for now the cabins and secret bunkers were unknown, or so they hoped, but nothing was beyond doubt; the whole world could be bugged, and likely was. So—they would wait, no choice about it. They’d contact Valerie’s parents as late as possible, keeping outbound transmissions minimal and hidden within the static of elevated worldwide confusion, decide on a rendezvous location, then fly in for the save right before the launch. He told them of an even larger bunker further up the mountain that contained two hover-jets which could get there relatively quickly. The plan was to take one ship, use its blocker for stealth flying, and head back as quickly as possible after accomplishing what needed to be done. Then, wait. After the first waves had passed—providing the key project they’d built would work as intended—they would build. Build, build, fucking build.
Valerie still had much despair, she had a large family but only two could be saved. Herald said he would pick up only her parents—for he couldn’t spare anymore space—and offered a single blocker for her remaining family; her brother would be the one to receive it. She was grateful to Herald, but prayed that somehow, he could be wrong about this whole damn thing.
Herald might have had some ulterior motives leading him to attempt the daring rescue—besides already having other necessary drop-offs and a pick-up on his schedule. Valerie had mentioned something, she’d spoke loosely last night after getting, wasted—something she really needed. The story was clear enough to peak Herald’s interest. She said he’d trekked to the border many times and would be gone for weeks on end. He became obsessed, and they thought he’d gone loco. Her father, Felix was his name, had these visions or so he said, and ended up hiding himself and his wife Rosita from the cleansing in a homemade bunker. He had tried to get all of the family to make trip to the tiny little pueblo, his hometown in Mexico, but no one believed him, nor wanted too.
Herald’s eyes lit up, as did Rafael’s, brightly. He pondered the idea all night because he knew it was next to impossible to find more lenders after the cleansing. Without the ability to dream, they were useless. Although Rafael had a contingency plan in the works—something involving a black bag, a possible way to take advantage of non-dreamers—it was far from ready, an untested idea at best. So he had to try; they desperately needed the lenders. The cleansing had so dubiously thrown a wrench in Herald’s early plans but there’s always a way if there’s a will—and he had that.
65. It Begins
The morning seemed perfectly normal—until breakfast when Jon switched on the TV after being thrown from his seat by the first bite of Rafael’s delicious but muy caliente green chili and egg burrito. He waved his hand, trying to fan the flame, and held the pain after being shocked stiff by the news. Nancy Nichols, head CEO of VlexCom, was found murdered in the bedroom of her Pasadena Mansion. Her six male-oriented bots said there had been a glitch in their systems, that they were shut down for the night leaving no record of the incident. The scene was brutal: her body was contorted and left propped up onto her knees with her ass in the air, her mouth was agape and the edges of her lips were torn, her eyes had been pushed deep into her skull and blood so dark it neared the color purple soaked the sheets around her head and knees, and her entire backside and face had whip marks, some of which were inches deep. She’d apparently been sexually assaulted and sodomized repeatedly which, eventually, led to her death. There was no sign of forced entry and the crime scene was limited to her bedroom where many slimed sex toys and torture devices had also been found. On screen a cop held one of the wiggly and weighty rubber dongs with a pair of tongs and placed it into an evidence bag. Apparently she was deep into sadism, and for years had used the objects to torture her bots for the sake of her own pleasure. Investigators were continuing to look into the case but had no helpful info from the bots, or any of the residents of her quiet neighborhood.
“It has begun,” Herald said after the report finished, knowing he would have never known this interesting tidbit had it not been for his friends—the TV was and had always been, for them; the urge to smash it beckoned him everyday since Rafael had installed it a week ago. Ana placed a plate in front of him then put a hand over her mouth and turned away. Her trust for Herald went deep; she knew—this was it. Seeing the gruesome news solidified the disgusting reality of what was on the way.
“Is that—” Ana said.
“Yes,” Herald nodded. She’d learned quite a bit about VlexCom, and had met Nancy.
“Can you believe it—Nancy!” Jon exclaimed. “Do you really think the bots—it would be a first—ever.”
“That one was a freak,” Jerry said. “I gave her some advice years ago and man, she really took it. Her husband liked it, for a while, until she got those bots that is. She was actually a good customer, until then.” Valerie lowered her brow looking at him sternly; she’d convinced him to sell the store, and really didn’t like hearing about it. Since moving in with Jerry, she’d become, a little bit jealous.
“Looks like a case of targeted revenge,” Jon said taking another, yet more cautious bite. The media laid it all out too, for not much was censored after the 2020’s. The gruesome image should’ve ruined his meal; it might have before, back then, but it didn’t now. Like billions, he’d become desensitized.
Rafael didn’t quite understand. He knew there was to be mass coordination but hadn’t figured the machines would be so specifically personal, or risk exposing themselves earlier than, the day—but they did, and did they ever. The scene was too graphic, leaving even him with much disgust followed by thoughts of his previous self. He pushed his plate away.
The rest of the day was tranquil—with the TV off. Horrendous things were going to pass, but they were going to savor their final two days. Jerry enjoyed the outdoors with Val who tried to keep her mind busy. He fished mostly, and spent time with Amy, further teaching her. Ana conversed with Jodi on a picnic blanket while enjoying the fresh mountain air. The sky was crystal clear, not a cloud in sight, and again the day was oddly warm.
Jon and Herald were high on the mountain prepping the hover-jet with supplies for Wednesday, getting a force of bots ready for travel. Herald loaded one of the largest black robots; he called them Builders. He said they were strong enough to lift a bus, and crush it into a cube. The one he chose was named Valdus, Herald called him Vlad for short. He loaded two of the white human-sized bots, similar to Rafael. He called them Helpers. The two he chose were named Jay and Hal. Helpers were skilled medics, pilots, and general assistants that could perform a wide range of tasks. Next they loaded eight of the mini red and black robots, which he called Flippers. The Flippers were excellent acrobats, great distractions in battle, and could hover-jump great distances. Aside from the humanoid-shaped bots he loaded several small flying drones no bigger round than a spare tire and no thicker than a fist. He called them Buzzers. Titanium blades folded into their sides, blades that could rotate at high velocity around their central dome shape. Impact with an object had the effect of a wood-splitter combined with a chainsaw. They also housed cameras that could be used for long distance visuals and surveillance. He stacked them in a space designed to fit ten and they could be ejected from the ship. Introducing these Herald pointed to a log pile outside. Dissimilar to a traditional wood pile, there were hundreds of three-inch precision cut flat slices. Jon got the idea.
Inside the craft were two sealed casings, human-sized, black like sleek coffins. From tomorrow on, all computers and AI would be susceptible to infection. There could never again exist any safely. So, two lenders would be dreaming in order to empower the bots and computational systems of the ship during the mission. The ship had a weaker ability to magnify the feed and make full use of it compared to the facility, and additional sedative measures were going to be used to ensure undisturbed sleep. If both lenders were to awaken the ship’s relatively small feed buffer w
ould kick in allowing the systems to operate minimally for about ten minutes before having to set down. Complex computations necessary for flight required full use of the systems in hover or slow mode but Herald had modified the jet so there could be human-piloted flight in high-speed jet mode that was completely independent of the automation systems. This would work at only high speeds. Also, he’d been working with Rafael on remote transmit lending systems, capable of sending the feed hundreds of thousands of miles, discreetly, but it wasn’t quite ready—and lacked a special part. They planned on finishing that and much more upon their return. The to-do list was never ending.
Many times even Rafael had given up at the thought. Even his powerful processing mind was made dizzy. For this reason he highly respected Herald. How can one do anything without using a computer, much less save humanity, in a world where almost any device would be susceptible to the infectious nature of the insidious and soon to be deadly AI? The LENDERS were the solution: an idea conceived by a mortal human man in the cold basement of a Rocky Mountain cabin.
Jon covertly managed to keep a watchful eye on the news throughout the day while helping Herald, who contrarily, didn’t care to see any of it. Reporters had a field day with Nancy’s murder but soon many others followed. All of the victims, rich or famous in one way or another, had been raped to death, left in obscene positions and mutilated, and still no evidence could point out a suspect. By nightfall the atrocities, all with analogous details, numbered in the hundreds.
Lenders Page 53
