Lenders

by Johnson, John

  “There it is! The park,” Valerie yelled and pointed. Startled, Jodi awoke to the sudden outburst. It was easily identifiable in contrast to the urban grey surroundings, and the sun was just high enough to graze its green grassy baseball field. Jodi had to flick her head from side to side a few times, just to make sure she was really there, so quickly—and for the last time. Not a dream, it is real, just surreal. Jerry heard Val’s excitement from the back and knew it was almost time to open the bay door. Two white plastic helpers stood next to him, not near as large as he, about Jon’s size. They’d finished their boot procedure and came to life with the last memories they had. They looked around and gathered their bearing. And Jon and Jerry looked at them, then to the coffin-like black pill casings that held two sleeping people. Weird, they both likely thought. The bots gave a cordial nod their way. The large black builder booted next but just held still, solid and neck-less, and hunched like a long-armed linebacker ready to plow through anything in its path. A moment later he rotated one turn to face the closed ramp exit. Vlad was bigger than Jerry, by far. Jerry’s eyes widened and met Jon’s across the way. Brow lifted and eyes round, he banteringly followed up with the same feeling, astonishment.

  Herald let the velocity subside as they floated toward the park. Once over it he descended the ship, simultaneously rotating the aft toward the dugout, and pressed a button. Red light illuminated the inner walls of the hover-jet’s bay. “Now Jerry,” he ordered, and eagerly Jerry punched the large silver button. The ramp folded down.

  They clearly saw home base and the, large, family waiting and gently touched down over the pitcher’s mound. Valerie’s tears flared, her entire family was there, unexpectedly, everyone: primos and primas, Tio Juan and Tia Lupe y todos los otros, Visabuela Panchita y Jose, todos! An enormous family it was; they overflowed the dugout and surrounding area. In front and center of them all, her parents stood holding hands. And they all marveled at the large silver body of the ship; how it changed colors: to grass-green and clay-red to mimic the field. It descended gently blowing their hair with dusty air. Herald couldn’t believe it; he wished he could bring them all, and it saddened him, as it did Ana. Their eyes met sharing the mutual dismay—but the crates, as heavy as they were, came first, and they both knew it.

  An old-style morning news chopper, the bubble type, with a single human pilot had spotted the ship visually and hovered above like a fly. Jon saw it from the view of the spinner on his screen; a set of choices popped up beside it. The chopper blasted an ultra luminous spotlight at the dugout illuminating the large family packed inside. They were all hugging each other and crying. And just like that, they were on live TV.

  5:57 a.m. About an hour to launch. We got this!

  Amy remained strapped into her small reclined seat between Ana and Herald at the front. She slowly awoke as cool air entered the hull. In a moment she was awake and aware, and followed her daddy’s every move, always learning, curious. He pushed the yoke forward and it, ominously, clicked into place—as if it was the switch of fate, and that of no return. “Be right back Aim.”

  In her little custom made seat she smiled brightly with cute groggy eyes, “Okay daddy.”

  He kissed her on the forehead, taking extra time to focus on the moment. Ana took the pilot seat and Herald kissed her as well then swiftly headed to the aft, center position between Jerry and the bots. At the ramp, the team at his sides, he paused and looked back at them. Ready to go. Bright-eyed Amy gave him a tiny thumbs up. Her smile made everything worth it. Ana told him good luck, and that she loved him, in Spanish.

  5:58 a.m.

  “Now!” Herald said, and together they sprinted through swirling dust courtesy of the gadfly chopper coming down onto them. The hover-jet’s engine whistled, almost silently. Valerie and Jerry ran on his left and the builder on his right. Vlad impacted the earth with each step, cratering the field. The two helpers were on guard at the open bay door. He pulled out the blocker as he reached the family. By feel alone he clicked it on: mode #1.

  The family was taken aback, mostly by the large ground-pounding robot. There were robots everywhere, sure, but nothing, no, nothing like this. Herald reassured them and handed the blocker to Valerie's oldest brother, a few years younger than she, Enrique, Rico for short, who stood next to his father. He was told what it could do, bluntly, in ten seconds. Felix overheard. And hearing it, what a great idea he thought. It gave him a sliver of comfort in that they might have a chance. Over the buzz of the chopper Valerie yelled, distraught with tears, “Como dije ayer. Get everyone to Papa’s bunker in Mexico! Rapido y no mires para atras para nada. Los quiero a todos!” And she broke down, and so did her family. Warm tears of pain flooded that baseball field dugout. Largely the family was too emotional to make total sense of what was really happening. Yesterday’s call was short—it had to be—and shocking, but to the point. Translated from Spanish she had said:

  The world is going to end, tomorrow. This is no joke. I can save my parents, no room for more. Be at Torres Park, baseball field, wait for pickup: 6 a.m. Rent or steal anything that flies and get ready to fly away—to the Papa’s bunker in Mexico. Do not be late! I love you all and I’m so sorry for the bad news but this is real. We have something special to protect everyone else, so please be there to receive it—and for goodbyes. Love Valerie.

  Use the blocker, stay close together and go, fly away NOW, were Herald’s last words, which he directed mostly to those near to the device, mostly, to young Rico. He wasn’t sure how many the blocker could actually protect, but his pessimistic and calculative thoughts said, ten, no more than that.

  Inside the ship Ana and the girls, along with Jon and the two helpers waited, patiently but nervously. At the front console, Ana received a message—from Rafael. He broke radio silence, at cost to the entire bunker, their mission, the chance of saving millions! “Oh no,” Ana said, knowing very well the risk he’d taken. She knew it must be of the utmost importance, and terrible—to jeopardize so much, to compromise it all. A stab of energy electrified her usually calm nature sending a leg-wobbling shock up her spine. And she answered the call.

  70. The Getaway

  Jerry had to tear her away with force. Commotion escalated and Vlad kept his position at the dugout entrance to hold back Valerie’s rousing family. Sad goodbyes had turned into mad defiance for some. Hugging, crying, getting upset, they spent a short four minutes, four longer than Herald wanted to.

  As they rushed back with Felix and Rosita a black and white police-jet arrived abruptly braking to a hover. It joined the news chopper already buzzing above. Ground units arrived. Things move fast these days, Herald thought. What a difference. Officers, both bot and human formed a perimeter around the field. A fluorescent-orange interrogator bot stepped onto the field next to a towering angular looking woman. She appeared to be of German descent and had a large bun in her hair and wore a captain’s star. She ordered her even taller bot to proceed.

  “This is the Los Angeles Police. I order you to halt,” he spoke with a bullhorn of a voice. He continued with demands and Vlad the Builder turned and ran. Some of Valerie’s family leapt to follow but only ate his dust. He caught up with Felix and Rosita, snatching them up like a tornado, shredding earth. Herald looked at his watch as he ran. It was 6:04 a.m. Ana had gotten up from the pilot seat and was at the ramp waving desperately.

  “Stop! Freeze or we will shoot,” the interrogator said in a stentorian voice. They were halfway to the ships open bay door. Jodi stood next to Ana waving them in. Ready to assist Hal and Jay were further outside, waving arms inward. “Stop. We will shoot!”

  Shots fired. Ana and Jodi ducked. Running like a gorilla the builder rocked his hulking mass from side to side shielding the group; creating deep craters in the process. He was hit numerous times but his armor was impenetrable and he took no damage. Jerry had Valerie on his shoulder, but cradled her in front of himself, willing to take a hit to protect her. Followed closely by Herald they ascended the ramp
. Vlad hoisted the older couple forward tucking them in, continuing to use his back as a shield. And they all made it inside.

  “Herald!” Ana yelled. “The launch, Rafael contacted us, it went up. An hour early!”

  He didn’t say a word, but his face did. Nervousness the Vine grew thorny points and constricted his legs. He felt the pricks up and through his spine. And he could hear the hiss of Anxiety the Snake, like a ringing whine in his ears. No, not now, he thought.

  Jerry had slapped the bay door button and the ramp was up; ship sealed. Herald, slightly pallid, rushed to the pilot seat next to Amy.

  Jon found the control station easy to operate. By touch he selected the flying buzzer and switched it from surveillance to attack mode, then selected an option next to one of the various possible targets. It told the buzzer what to do, like an attack dog. The buzzer would use its intelligence to figure the most efficient means to destroy Jon’s selection: the hovering police-jet, which was firing the most lethal high-caliber shots. The buzzer’s dome expanded slightly: maul mode. Blades extended with a snap and began to revolve, and its noise was purposefully loud, for distraction. Wow, Jon thought. Effective! Like an amplified chainsaw at max throttle it attacked, obliterating the tail section in one slice. The maul action, like a wedge, made the entire rear explode. The black-and-white spun violently. Smoking and ablaze it managed to set down hard, on third base.

  “Inbound, two police-jets, we gotta get out of here!” Jon yelled to the front. He designated each as a target. A recommendation popped up on his screen: deploy more buzzers. And he did, five of them. His screen instantly lit up with additional views and options. Although the buzzers were intelligent enough and could collaborate with one another, this gave him a great deal of control. He selected a target, then another. Two police-jets down. Four more inbound!

  They were ten feet from the ground and rising away quickly. The buzzers flew to catch up. The clumsy little news chopper was spinning wildly, recovering from its attempt to dodge the falling black-and-white. It stirred smoke and red dust from the baseball diamond providing them at least a partial smoke screen. Bullets and a relatively newer weapon, a laser, blasted the underbelly of the ship which was already changing color to match the sky. The burn gouged the rear door making a black gash. Herald dove the ship to evade the stinging heat. Jon hesitated at selecting the laser-wielding human officers who’d set the weapon up. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, so instead sent a buzzer to chop a nearby cruiser in half causing an explosive distraction. It worked. People and bots dove away in all directions. Laser clear, he destroyed it next.

  Herald unlocked the steering yoke and pulled it close. He looked at Ana. Ground forces were firing incessantly and the police-jets were closing in fast. “Jon call the buzzers back now,” he yelled. Ana knew what he was about to do and instructed everyone to buckle in. “We have to, we can’t wait. Tell me when everyone’s ready.”

  The ship wasn’t designed to initiate jet mode from slow speeds, and he’d have to navigate buildings and countless city flyers, likely going faster than was possible to do so. Also, it could wake the lenders, even as sedated as they were; having them logged in was like driving a van with fragile cargo. An unexpected logout would be crippling. Intelligent defenses, the ship’s automation, bots and buzzers, would all set down, and it could mark the end of the road. But, they had to try. The bombardment was relentless and backup had arrived—lots of it. Large caliber bullets hit the aft; the police-jets were in range and firing. Saving humanity—shit, they had to get away from it first. Herald’s mind raced: the early launch, their schedule, his friends at the final pickup—would they be okay now? And the forces were now trailing him at a faster speed than his ship could build acceleration. Ana turned to face Jon. He had a hand up counting down as each buzzer reattached itself to the ship. 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and he gave her the thumbs up. She turned to Herald gripping her chair and said: all ready. He reached for it.

  His finger froze in the air one inch from the button. A wave distorted the world around them. A low frequency warble twisted reality. Colors diffused objects and people with a brilliant prismatic glow. He could not reach the button, and time and space sinuated. Muscles became petrified wood, eardrums were frozen leaving only a constant hum, and vision handed over the present in a paused state, but also, they watched their past selves, minutes ago, running toward the ship. The past sights and sounds from the nerve-splitting run, and forth, was the only activity in motion; like a memory, an objective dream. Except they felt it, as if being there—again? And the now, the frozen state that bound them? What is happening? Outside the ship bullets halted their forward motion, yet floated up and down as if riding a wave. Buildings of the city looked like a fun house mirror through a kaleidescope. I’m tripping again, Herald thought. Beautiful colors, more than eyes should be able to perceive flooded the air. The wave continued to pass through the ship. The team saw themselves—as time caught up—doppelgangers, feet over from where they sat, seconds in the past. Herald’s mind wandered in the eternity of the wave. No time, for a moment it didn’t exist, but thoughts persisted, panicked albeit, yet rationally undisturbed.

  The warp drive! He realized. I hadn’t calculated its explosive effects, and worse, its impact to the ship—to the blockers? The low warbling hum gained frequency as reality began to snap back into place. Their duplicate able-to-move selves merged with their frozen panicked selves. And it hurt, jolting their insides as if a hand had reached inside and was churning their intestines, and a hand in their skull stirring their grey noodles, and large icy hands choking their necks. A sharp high pitched sound rang in their heads. The frequency rose higher and higher. Muscles became soft, eardrums regained elasticity, and sight took on only one view once again, true reality. Back, almost. All mouths were open but scream-less, pushing it out—then, the bullets hit, and Herald’s finger made it to the button. But somehow, not unlike a surfer dropping into a wave, the nose of the ship now pointed toward the city below.

  They were forced against their seats, with a punch to the chest, heaving out and unable to breathe under the high G-forces. The helpers clinging to the standing grab-handles flew backward but were able to hang on, bodies dangling like puppets in the wind.

  A muffling sound came from the inside of one of the lender casings. And the lid to the enclosure flipped open letting his voice escape, “Ahhhhrrrraaaahhhh!” Red was clawing at his white skin. Unexpected logout. One lender down.

  The ship had little ability to magnify the feed like the bunker in Valecito and Herald had made sure all bots and systems were linked, to operate for the greater good if need be. So, intelligently, to save the feed and buffer for the most important systems the automation decided: Vlad had to go. He shut down releasing his grasp. The extreme G’s forced him to hit the ramp door like a bowling ball, denting it. Builders guzzled the most resources. The helpers would be the next to shut down but the feed had just enough for them with only one lender. If the other lender woke up they would soon drop as well, then the ship, defenses, and small bots. The most critical systems would have ten minutes at most using the buffer.

  Herald pulled back on the yoke with all he had. The ship was in jet mode blasting downward. Six police-jets were on their tail, likewise recovering from the time warp. Two crashed: one into the side of a building, exploding into a red fireball; the other managed to catch a road and slide along until crashing into a church, disintegrating it like matchsticks.

  They made it, scathing a residential rooftop sending shingles flying like leaves in the wind. Herald pushed the throttle forward taking the ship almost straight up and to its max speed: Mach 2. It was a triumph to behold, a real testament to his fast mind and coordination that they were able to dodge the city’s countless flyers on the way up.

  Things settled as the blood rushed back into heads. Their minds and bodies had been oddly stretched, from the inside out, painfully twisted at a cellular level by the time wave, a brief dose of weirdness and pa
in. As if every cell had fallen onto gritty asphalt at high speed, scraped and bruised, each had to get up and brush itself off; their bodies returned to normality and they regained full composure. Except for Red. He fell out of the lender casing and stumbled to a seat. He was seriously distraught, recovering from the unexpected logout.

  The ship flew east-south-east toward El Paso and quickly outran the police-jets. Herald had to drop the first crate soon, preferably in the mountains beyond Yuma. Things were back on track and good to go. Amy recovered faster than any of the others. Her mom comforted her but she was fine, very resilient. She became hypnotized by the ultra-high speed flight and was intently focused on enjoying the view.

  “Herald—we have a problem,” Jodi said putting a hand on his shoulder. He and Ana looked back. Rosita was down, in the isle, and Valerie sat crying, holding her hand. Jerry, with her husband Felix, attempted to give aid. Everyone else was upset and standing over her. Blood covered her seat, which she had fallen out of after things had stabilized within the ship.

  “Let him in,” Herald said jumping out of his chair. Ana took over and slowed the ship. “Hal can help. Jay, up front now, pilot.” Jerry ripped off his shirt and pushed it onto Rosita’s left lung to stop the bleeding. When he applied pressure blood leaked from her mouth, and she started coughing, spewing bright red onto Hal’s white plastic face. Her eyes drifted about, as if she couldn’t focus on anyone or anything above her—as if, she was losing it. “Jerry move over,” Herald said sternly, unlike his usual self. “Make way for Hal.”