The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  His lab consisted of a few basics and little else: at his desk were six curved screens connected to a powerful computer, and behind it, two rows of counters. It resembled a typical science lab, which led him to calling it, the lab. Atop the counters were numerous interfaces (touch panels, keyboards) four on each face. Hardware was tucked into the spaces below and multiple screens lined the upper vertical sections. Each of the systems ran calculations day and night, ceaselessly performing various tasks.

  Most of the rooftop, and the grand space beside the lab, was designed for the team. Rab’s longtime best friend Jon—only friend really—was the top coder and put in charge of the team; he’d helped come up with plans for the area. In the center of a large mahogany-floored space were twelve pristine offices surrounding a knight-worthy round table. At any time the team could exit their spaces and take a seat to engage in conference. The ceiling was two stories aloft and, theater-sized windows let the world in. The view was spectacular.

  Various usable areas occupied the corners looking out. There was a beanbag zone, a customizable corner with couches and tables that could glide like hockey pucks, soundproof booths, and a day-room kitchen area. And of course, there were no televisions. Additionally, there was the human dumbwaiter: Jon’s idea and that’s what he named it. Circular pads wrapped in cushioned railings could raise and lower in case anyone had the urge to code from above: get in, press a button, and rise—lean back in comfort while getting the work done like a bird in a nest. However, much of the team preferred to work outside. To keep things fast and fun a winding metal slide dropped off into a rubber-ball pit. And edging it, winding to the roof, were the grand stairs.

  The stairway exited to an outdoor meadow paradise complete with a pond surrounded by palm trees; it also included a bar, pool, and hot tub. A grassy hill bulged high on the west edge, sloping gently to the water’s edge on the north side. The water appeared to flow off the edge of the world; on the southeast corner so did that of the pool. Fish followed the slow rotation of the current around the cascade, under the bridge and back. It was a preferred spot to relax, attain clarity of mind and focus, and work, work, work.

  Rab’s private stairs emerged at the southwest corner behind the bar into a small and secluded overlook area only for himself. They continued up to the roof of the bar, allowing access to the heli-pad. He could use the door behind the bar to access the pool and eastern deck overlook area. The pool and hot tub were surrounded by tables with umbrellas. Except for the waters’ edges the roof was surrounded by a short four-foot-tall glass wall. A walking path encircled the hill and most of the roof.

  All rules regarding the team, how they worked, and what was allowed, was under Rab’s control and enforced through Jon. But things were quite relaxed as long as the work got done—and it did. Tons of coding needed to be completed—more than most companies could output in a decade.

  Jodi, while not the fastest coder, was Rab’s top pick when it came to algorithms needing a creative touch. When things got really deep, she dug in and found a solution. She loved to sit legs-crossed on the grass, looking toward the ocean. Occasionally she would smoke a bowl while coding—many times surprising Rab with uniquely creative ways of unriddling an assignment. This, was perfectly fine. In moderation, he knew it boosted creative output significantly, and with the tasks Rab entrusted his team to complete, creativity was a priority requirement.

  The bar had alcohol but most didn’t indulge themselves during working hours; no one on the team was much of a drinker anyway. Working late, even staying overnight was fine. Idea parties became common. Rab picked his team carefully and most joined a weekly celebration under the stars: a brainstorming party with plenty of cannabis and magic mushrooms helped to unleash curiosity and free trapped ideas. Sitting around a campfire on the top of the hill, surrounded by intelligent minds, with a view to die for…after many a night great inventions were contrived. But, Rab made sure to keep the river of thoughts focused on the task at hand, focused on tackling the projects he constantly challenged them with.

  As a major part of his proposal to the board, Rab declared to work unheard of hours in the newly customized space, with little breaks—and did he ever. Much of what interested him resided in the virtual world with a plenitude of ones and zeros, to include both and neither, all and some, etcetera, all the way down the rabbit hole—into the unexplainable world of his own uninterpretable forging.

  But working constantly derailed other aspects of his life. He had one other uncontrollable urge and his unbalanced life forced it to emerge like a tidal wave: the allure of a beautiful woman—his number one distraction. No matter how smart, how determined, those instincts could break down walls. He thought about it as a curse many times but came to embrace his animal side and allowed himself to exploit human carnal desire from time to time. After an escapade, a binge: enhanced focus, stronger, better, faster, a renewed reason for his mad determination, perhaps. He loved the beautiful Latinas and Mexican girls, with their heavy accents and golden bronze skin, but all women elicited his desires, in turn restoring at least some balance.

  Jon helped him quite a bit in this area, his matchmaker in a sense. Months in, Rab came to develop a habit—but he was smart enough to know it would only be temporary. A side-effect of his insane schedule: occasionally, but not lately, they’d sneak out to hit the clubs downtown; but as Rab continued to get deeper and deeper into the project Jon simply brought up a special friend after his own night about the town, and that would be that.

  21. Two: Pro-Con

  Two.

  Rab’s request list included the need to develop something—again at any cost—for his own use or any other coder on his team who wanted it. Days past, he would consume large amounts of energy drinks and pop pills in order to continue on for long periods. He found it inevitably hindered progress. Rab learned the crashes, mood swings, and poor health could destroy a project from the inside out. Depression, lack of sunlight, poor diet, no exercise, especially lack of sex, he knew it would only slow him down. And he knew from DAY ONE, with the sheer mind-boggling amount of coding that needed to be done, a comprehensive approach was necessary. So, in regards to doing everything that could boost workflow, a solution was concocted. There wasn’t dire need to make it safe for public consumption, and with piles of money anything could be developed, even if it was only going to be used by one or a few then likely discarded later.

  “But, can you get it done?” Rab asked the two while leaning back in Nancy’s chair; she stood beside him. The board members had mostly stayed quiet yet a few couldn’t help but interrupt, inquire, and assure themselves a little during the course of the discussion.

  “Yes. We can, sir,” said Dan Casteel, head lab technician. “It will take us about…six months to get it ready for human trials.”

  “What will it take in order to have it completed and ready to use in say, six weeks?”

  “Six weeks, I—I’m sorry but—” Dan’s boss Evan, CEO of the pharmaceutical company coughed. “It’s just that—”

  “How about a billion dollars?” Perplexed, both Dan and Evan had a conversation with only their eyes. The room went silent as everyone waited—then Dan nodded one single and decisive time. “Great, here’s some data for it,” Rab said, picking up on the acknowledgment. He stood up and held out another file. “Dan, it’s not exactly my field of expertise but I think you’ll find this very useful. And you can pick up the check on your way out.” Tired of the back-and-forth slow-motion world, Rab hustled Evan and Dan out of the boardroom with an arm around each of their shoulders; the board members—all completely nude and wearing sombreros, red-faced having just snacked on hot peppers like squirrels—watched in awe, shaking their heads. The power of money at work, they all knew it well.

  Rab closed the door after the bewildered two left with twisted smiles. “Yes,” Rab said impatiently, turning to the doubtful-looking board members. “It was absolutely necessary.” Then he left as well, once again, slamming th
e door.

  The solution was created on time but came with an added price: addiction. However, Rab could live with this, just as he’d noted to Dan, and so could anyone else who wanted the potent edge. The result was a two-pill solution and arrived on time. A small, fast-dissolving red capsule started the effect right away and primed the human system to accept the second pill. A solid brown pellet half the size of a large thumb enhanced and continued the effect for many hours; Rab looked at it every time and thought, horse-pills. It almost hurt to swallow. But, it worked.

  Rush job, he thought, but that’s what you get. But Dan explained that it would work best like that—like a big rock in the stomach, dissolving slowly; the effect could last for sixteen, even up to twenty hours.

  With the substantial boost of focus and alertness, Rab coded the months away wide awake. Others tried it, yet occasionally; he used it daily. He named the pill combination Pro-Con to remind himself that it was to be a temporary solution: everything having pros and cons. His expectations were to use it as purposed and then with sheer will, break the addiction and quit when the time came.

  In the race to develop something that would change mankind forever, Meddlinn Technologies Corporation demanded the gold cup at any expense. Other companies were close, making slow and steady progress. But to win this one an edge was needed and that edge came in any form Rab wanted. Who could argue with him now? It was all part of the deal, a deal that had been signed on the bottom line, granting him the throne for one year.

  22. Three: Leave Me The Fuck Alone

  Three.

  Bluntly, horribly so, but he had to state it as straightforward as he could spit it; he had to jolt their nervous systems to be sure it would stick, with words he didn’t particularly like or even want to use. But it was all part of the package, the plan, one branch on the white-lightning tree in his vision. He had to cut the corporate red tape. So, he told everyone flat out: his way, his schedule, his time, every second of the project was his.

  Rab pronounced to be left alone and explained himself for nearly a half hour. He needed control over every aspect of what he knew would be an unheard of routine unlike any other.

  He was viewed as out of control by some, a freak of nature by most, but the board members weren’t stupid; they liked his passion, the arrogant confidence oozing from his every pore, especially his previous record that left barge loads of money in its wake. Even though many would never allow themselves to say it out loud, subconsciously all devoured it like a heroin-topped pizza. But this…it almost sent them over the edge.

  “I WILL have total control!” Rab roared, summarizing his tirade, “over all aspects of the project from DAY ONE until completion. Am I understood?” No one said a word, he glared at each one individually before continuing. He had transformed into his mother and no one recognized him.

  “I WILL NOT be bothered with trivialities and questions. The top floor is mine as well as every single fucking thing in it. And don’t fucking hound me with: Is it almost ready? Is it done yet? And NO progress reports. I don’t have time for that shit and I will not tolerate any distractions. Sometimes I’ll be awake all night, sometimes I’ll sleep all day, and sometimes I might have company over. Leave me the FUCK alone and as promised, you WILL get what you want.” He stopped, put his hands on the table, breathing hard.

  I over did it, he thought, feeling suffocated, feeling, a presence he hadn’t felt since… I have to get out of here. Like that of a welder burning a line, white traced the edges of his vision, and behind it was the brown grid.

  He looked up at them, holding himself up, then said quietly and slowly in a final release of pressure, “You’ll get it. I give you my word. And you’ll have it before the year is up.”

  He didn’t feel like himself when he left. And he didn’t want to slam the door that hard. The crack of it—it hurt his ears. I think, I broke it, a part of his mind said, and that same part even felt sorry for them; he felt the split. First, he’d envisioned them as suicide bombers, then useless blobs, just to make it easier—but it didn’t help. He left remembering their real faces, their real expressions. And it was he that felt like the bad person, the bomber, the blob, and the rest of the day was pretty bad. And the old friend, one who hadn’t reared his ugly red face in a long time, sat with him laughing, loving it, reenergized.

  23. A Lucid Routine

  He almost never slept, at least not much since DAY ONE. He’d discovered years ago a special sleeping routine and knew it would allow him to feel awake and refreshed for twenty hours a day, sometimes more. He’d learned it when developing algorithms for one of his most successful inventions; he also discovered that Edison himself had tried it with moderate success. But he was prepared to take it to the sky, beyond, and like a mad scientist, mix it with his own technology. It was a type of polyphasic sleep routine and it was something that had lodged itself into the back of his mind, waiting for the perfect time to leap out.

  “I’ll need this now—it’s time,” Rab said, talking to himself in the lab. “I’ll combine it with the Insta. And with the Pro-Con, it’ll be perfect.”

  It was called the Uberman sleep schedule and supposedly allowed a person to take several small naps instead of one long night of sleep. Rab tweaked it with his own personal touch. He started off slow but eventually reached the point where he was sleeping for less than three hours every twenty-four-hour period. It worked. He coded on. And he pushed it, and pushed, harder and more focused than any endeavor he’d ever embarked on. He exploited every branch of, the plan. Every component was timed, slipped into the right slot at the right time. And the white-lightning tree pulsed with a life of its own. Its branches led to infinite points, to all directions of the universe while simultaneously touching the tip of every other, then full circle completing the circuit that wired his brain.

  Many times, during his short naps he would continue to code while experiencing a lucid dream (consciously awake during the REM state). Special ingredients in the Pro-Con solution inadvertently assisted his ability to attain lucidity while inside a dream—in spectacular ways. And although they were short, he experienced vivid, colorful, and seemingly long-lasting dreams. They were also breaks, a much needed escape from the lab. Inside the lucid dream he could fly out of his window to Tijuana or up the coast. He could go into space and sit in silence on the moon with no air and no sound, far-out peace and quiet, to the top of Mt. Everest or deep into hell to fuck with the devil and his demonic sluts. Sometimes, he’d release pent-up steam with a TV-bashing session; anything was possible. The dreams were so real, many times he had difficulty continuing to realize they were only dreams, often losing his lucidity. And the dreams distorted time, giving him the conducive impression he’d gotten more rest than that of a mere twenty-minute nap.

  The Insta kicked in—calm, still, sleep—and the dream began.

  Arriving at the club... “Welcome, sir. No cover for you, of course,” the usual tuxedo-clad doorman said.

  “Ah, Mexico again,” he said to himself. Rab descended the cement steps into darkness. The pounding bass got louder and he let it massage his mind. He turned immediately to the right, entering the DJ booth. “Let me have that MIC, Sancho. Ladies stay, the rest of you take a hike, except you, Sancho—” He motioned over his shoulder. “—and bartenders, stay. Join me ladies, you know what to do.” The females went wild. Rab pushed the four volume levers to max and left the booth, feeling invigorated. The music pulsed and fog machines exhaled. Hot, sexy, dancing, mostly Latin girls, now totally nude except for high heels; he always made them put the heels back on. They tossed clothes everywhere. His dream, his rules. The DJ automated a roll of tunes then joined Rab on the dance floor; the bartenders too. The beats seeped into his bones and activated every sense. He raised his arms as the naked women danced around him with wide toothy smiles, long flowing hair flying in all directions—sliding, against tan birthday suits.

  He saw his red friend sitting at a booth in the back and raised his bee
r. His friend returned a sinister grin and likewise lifted his beer, then pushed the woman’s head back under the table.

  The bartenders brought more beer and passed them out. Clothing began to pile up. Dancing became difficult. It had become a bed. And more ladies kept coming, tossing their clothes, diving into it. They plunged deep inside, burying themselves within the colorful perfumed coziness, some disappearing completely.

  The strobes rained waves of light and the music became distorted, slowing down and speeding up randomly. Numbers, letters, and symbols sparkled, falling with the light. He reached for a nude leg protruding from the blankets, but when he touched it realized, it was no longer flesh, and no longer attached to a beautiful body. Once plump with dozens of naked women, now the clothing imploded and lost its every soft and supple curve. Rab knelt and began to swat the thick mess of clothes aside. “Ladies!” he yelled. But there wasn’t even a floor beneath the pile, only a dark hole. Empty clothes and high heels fell inward from the edges. Behind him the jiving DJ laughed and the bartenders held up their beers—then kicked him in. Falling, together with symbols and code, laughing señors peering down, surrounded by sweaty panties, dresses, bras, falling, darker, darker, into nothingness.

  All became silent. He was no longer falling, just there, yet nowhere. An infinite point, but not powerless. Just the opposite and he felt it. What—is—happening—to—me? And he knew exactly where he was once again. Everything became clear—possibility in any direction. No longer was there any such thing as time or the physical dimensions, only one thing remained—choice. Decision.

  He burst through the hole of nothingness and into the sky, slashing at the bright blue, and into space until light itself stretched past him, faster and faster, until it all meshed together and got infinitely bright.