The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  He awoke fully rested, and with a clear mind, resumed work.

  Rab perfected the sleeping schedule at only two months in. It allowed him to work like the AI he strove to create, although, it relied heavily on another piece of technology developed by the company and released in 2018. The device made the company billions within the first year. The InstaRest—he simply referred to it as the Insta—was a flat twelve-inch circular pad that could be placed under any pillow. It was programmed to work for one user, for the life of the device—for security reasons, yet it also worked out well for monetary purposes—and included an app to control the settings. Upon its pressure-sensitive activation the pad emitted sounds, delta waves not audible to the human ear, and in conjunction with a small magnetic field, all operating in sync with a proprietary rhythm, most users would be sound asleep within ten to fifteen seconds. It also had a reverse mode that allowed users to wake quietly at any desired time; no more alarm clocks. It was portable, could be rolled up for traveling, simple to use, and the batteries lasted just about forever.

  The pad’s surprise release intentionally and completely disrupted the entire market for sleeping pills and other resting aids. Within months, hundreds of companies around the world filed for bankruptcy. But overall productivity on the entire planet soared, all because of the InstaRest. No one had an excuse for not getting enough sleep, not anymore. The pad sold in such high quantities, factories had a hard time keeping up with global demand. Noticeable worldwide statistics revealing elevated productivity pointed fingers directly toward Meddlinn and there was a single person behind the technology. Rab was awarded the Nobel Prize later that same year. The invention of instant-sleep technology had helped to change the world.

  24. The Interruption

  “Rab?” She knocked but didn’t receive an answer. Auburn bobbed hair, always a white button shirt, and the tightest skirt human hips could squeeze into, she always dressed the same. Most didn’t notice her clothes; her figure could demote an hourglass to just a glass. Two years the company CEO, she needed to talk to Rab before heading over to Jon. She knocked again, nothing, but she could hear him inside tapping on something, and the knob did turn. File in hand, she barged in with her extremely important question.

  “Ooh,” she squeaked, covering her mouth with a hand. The file fell to the floor. Her eyes widened when the tall Latina moved a foot from the chair all the way up and onto his desk; black panties dangled from her ankle. The banging was loud on the inside and it was like a swamp, as if they’d switched off the AC. The woman was clobbering Rab’s touch panel by pressing her sweaty face against the vertical screen for balance. The screen was mad, flashing with each clamor.

  Rab knew the system backup was reliable—he’d designed it himself. So, he didn’t give a fuck as he continued on doing just that. He turned his head to meet Nancy’s eyes. She stood stiff, gawking. He altered his position a little. A better view for my new audience. Maybe she’ll finally get the hint, he thought grinning. A flicker of red from the error messages glinted in his eyes.

  The tall woman on the receiving end searched but only one eye got a glimpse, the other received radiation from the blinding error notifications. Her face was stuck to the screen like a suction cup. She knew someone was there but it wasn’t worth it to move, not now, not an inch, not right before…

  It was none other than Nancy Nichols—again. Her chalk-white skin flushed tomato-red, firebombing her cheeks, but this time she didn’t back away so quickly. Something held her there: perhaps their locked gaze, his lingering stare, or the devilish, carefree smile. It was twenty seconds, at least, while she knelt slowly to the floor; file recovery, eyes locked like an owl’s. Surreal, unreal, colorful.

  He wore the kaleidoscopic blast of colors like an expert and tried his best not to laugh, or ruin the coming moment. Bare-assed, cut-off shorts cuffing his feet—not doing a terrific job of hiding his skinny ankles, with his long-sleever wide open—shirt tails flying like flags getting air from Hell or who knows where, all topped off with that huge sombrero, he continued the rhythm. Awkward, just like last time, but comical nonetheless in a demented sort of way. Nancy released her sigh from a subconsciously-generated smile then initiated an angry face before finally backing out.

  The magnificent headgear was a gift; they often brought things. He had canteens, flasks, blankets, shirts, teddy bears, necklaces, fake watches worth a cheeseburger and real ones worth—if they were solid gold—the size of his swinging balls; his favorite gifts however, weren’t tangible. Lupita, the six-foot-tall ear-fetish girl was a regular, snuck in as usual by Jon who’d met her at the club.

  As the door closed, she elevated her bronze moon, making Rab reach for it. Beyond his limit but he managed, stiffening tight. Both clenched each other hard. She was the tallest girl he’d ever been with and had offered to ditch the heels to help—but Rab insisted.

  Nancy folded herself onto the wall outside the door. She raised her shoulders a little and straightened her arms at her sides. Hands to the wall, the file a disaster. She looked out about the grand room and composed herself. A high-pitched scream followed by a howling moan penetrated the door and she heard it clearly, as did everyone else. The sound caught the attention of the team at the round table, including Jon, who’d been peeking over his office wall; they tried to contain their laughs—unsuccessfully. Nancy hastily headed toward the elevators with cheeks that had glanced a thermonuclear blast. As usual the elevator took a good minute to arrive. She didn’t dare turn back.

  Jon shook his head with an ear-to-ear grin, watching her stand there, waiting for it. He knew, bad timing, again.

  With her back to the others, Nancy hid a smile as she boarded the elevator.

  No one mentioned it after—never did. Like a machine, Rab put in an unbelievable 140 hours of work the past week, so this bit of embarrassment wasn’t an issue. Nancy didn’t have a problem with it yet still hustled away, obviously flustered; this time likely getting the message in crystallized form. She decided to ask Jon for the progress report another day, after her nuclear sunburn healed. Thinking to herself later, and she played it back several times since, she had gotten quite turned on by it. The rest of her day went great; her night was even better.

  It was typical, secrets evaporated quickly, and normalcy on the top floor regularly received a new baseline. Rab’s unbalanced schedule, a constrained mind, fighting for balance with a remainder of extremes… He loved the ladies now more than ever and the ladies went nuts over him; everybody was happy.

  Except Tim Tench. Maybe it was a grudge, obsession, or jealously. Rab made the news many times because the relentless reporter cleaved to him like a stalker. Tim focused on the young women: why they’d been given such a high security clearance; they were seen leaving the building at all times of the day and night. Then there were the toys. And Tim had reels of footage and photos: Rab sneaking out in disguise, wild club activities, even interviews with the girls themselves and scrutiny of their lives. He ran stories about Rab all the time. He even managed to tie Jon to the story, as well the owner of a nearby adult store, Jerry Otts, where Jon had been seen at least once, and others from Meddlinn arriving to pick up orders of sex toys. The latest report included not the women, or the supposed reckless granting of high security clearance, but the adult toys found scattered around the building. He assumed Rab had ordered them for the girls, and Tim embellished his stories with the racy details.

  A huge dildo ended up on the windshield of Nancy’s car, squished under her wiper. Nancy looked around cautiously to see if anyone else noticed (that one was never seen again).

  Stern Steve found one with big bull balls taped under his desk, and it shocked him intensely. He thought his secrets were out.

  Rab never fed the reporters—never told them what they wanted to hear so they’d concoct stories that glorified pedantic details. And most eventually left him alone, except for Tim; he was a thorn, a nuisance of a man, Rab’s personal paparazzi. Tim had blond hair wi
th too much sludge, greased back, complimenting a cheap suit. He smoked fifty packs of cigarettes a day and had a talent for writing but took blurry pictures. Once, leaving for a rare outside lunch, Rab finally responded to him.

  “Mr. Tompkins. A minute please,” Tim asked, cutting him off on the street. “Can you explain the women coming in and out of Meddlinn at all hours? I have pictures of naked women on the roof, with no qualifications—”

  “Yeah, so—” Rab paused with a sneer, looking at the belly-bulging reporter. “—we have lots of women employed at Meddlinn.”

  “The models, sir, Natalia, the sexy—standards, you know what I mean.”

  “I have sex with them—many times, right on my desk,” Rab replied smugly. “Don’t you have something useful to do?” The woman working the camera blushed, coughing shortly. Rab winked at her and Jon shook his head, holding back a laugh. Tim hesitated, suddenly at a loss for words. Rab simply told the truth, too simply, too bluntly. Tim wanted lies, deception. He wanted to drag it out with drama and suspense, build upon it.

  Tim came back, “And their clearance is only for sex. Isn’t this a business? They—”

  “Yes, and I own a large portion of this business, and I run it my way,” Rab answered. He turned away not granting the matter another thought.

  “What do you have to say about the sex toys?” Tim yelled. But he’d become the invisible man. Jon and Rab continued along the sidewalk.

  Next Sunday’s headline: And I Loved Every One of Them. It was followed by: Top Meddlinn Technologies Programmer Herald Tompkins Admits to Exotic Office Affairs with Famed and Married Mexican Actress Natalia Luisa Raquel. And it went on painting dramatic pictures for the purpose of gossip. Nothing became of it, except another huge boost in free publicity for Meddlinn; stocks continued to soar.

  Rab knew what he was doing; all were adults and more than willing. If anything, he didn’t realize who Natalia was, but knew she had worked her way in like many of the others. No different than other single males in the city, except he was famous and that made the difference; but really, he didn’t let it.

  The Nobel Prize win had elevated his status. Before that he was just another person in the crowd. Now he was a target, be it for the stories or the incessant and time-wasting litigation. The entire world used Meddlinn’s software, technology, and products; Rab was a huge deal, his lifestyle a prime bullseye for social media and the news. The stories blew up for a while as another sex scandal but were easily masked by the next big thing, as always. The story about the sex toys, supposed dumpsters full of them even, went nowhere and eventually fizzled out, just like Tim Tench.

  Next week’s headlines were also relevant to Meddlinn. Boldly stated: Meddlinn Technologies Reveals: Something Big is Coming! GET READY! The company’s stocks continued to rise with no leveling off in sight.

  “We probably shouldn’t have joked around with those dildos, Rab,” Jon said, as they arrived back to the lab.

  “Fuck it, man, it was only a few.” Together they laughed. “Fucking Steve, too, peeking out of his office door with it.” Rab sat at his desk and popped a Pro-Con; his laugh tapered off quickly. He offered some to Jon.

  “Ah, no thanks,” Jon replied. “Lunch was nice. I wish you could get out more often, like old times. We had some good ones.”

  “We sure did, Jon.” He scooted himself closer to the desk and the lure dug in, entrancing him. “Speaking of…” Rab started typing fast and began to lose himself in the code, forgetting what he was about to say. Jon watched for a moment as Rab zoned out, soon no longer acknowledging his presence.

  “Yeah, I know,” Jon said quietly, to himself. He headed to the door.

  “Jon, I’m really onto something here,” Rab said, peeling himself away from the screen one last time.

  Jon paused to look back. “I know, Rab, you always are.”

  25. Hellaciously Overworked

  Friday, a little after 4 p.m.

  Knock knock.

  “Come in,” Rab said in a slow, raspy voice. “Hey, Jon.”

  Jon took a stool next to the desk and Rab returned to his work. “Hey, man.” Jon leaned in, attempting to snag Rab’s full attention. “Been a while since you’ve gotten out. How about we hit the club tonight, like old times?” Rab sighed, his fingers paused.

  “I don’t know, Jon. How about you just send me back one of the B-Twins?” he joked, yet seriously, at the same time. A nickname branded them long ago—B standing for three things—the twins were a couple of regulars who could easily be found in the most popular clubs around town. They never missed a night and were always ready for a good time. One short, one tall, both had nice figures, thin faces, and the longest fake golden-blond hair.

  “You wish,” Jon laughed. “They’ll probably never come back here. You balded them, man.”

  “They lost the bet.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Actually, we were thinking about Tijuana.”

  “Damn, Jon. I don’t know. That’s pretty far. And I have a lot of—”

  “Come on, Rab, it’ll be like old times, when we lived in San Diego, way before you took on this insane project. You know, we all thought you were nuts, but here you are working like—like a robot. A night out’ll do ya some good, I know it. Whaddaya say, let’s do it, Mexico like the good old days.”

  Rab allowed his screen to recommence the frying of his retinas, then after a good burn returned to Jon with a half-cocked smile. He’d been needing to talk with Jon anyway and knew it had been at least six months since he’d even been outside the building. I’d have to go incognito, he thought. And he knew things had calmed down a lot since Tim Fucking Tench had found a new target. He and the rest of the world’s reporters were busy absorbing the latest in a string of presidential scandals: Chandra Croften, first woman President, caught on tape in the Oval Office having sex with several of the men and women of the Secret Service, all at the same time. Apparently, she was a nymphomaniac, moreover adept at hiding the secret—until now. The tapes were plastered all over the net and people wanted details, details, bloody fucking details.

  “Fuck it. I’m in, Jon.” He unhunched from his panel like an old man; his spine made a sound like a chiropractor giving him the knee. Jon smiled, but the sight of Rab made that hard to do. He looked terrible.

  He’ll be all right now, though, Jon thought, watching him move slowly. He just needs to get out for a while. “That’s great man, really. We’re gonna make the drive, already rented a limo. It’ll be fun, an adventure. We’re leaving at—”

  “I’ll take the chopper and catch up with you,” Rab interrupted. “I—I just need a—” It was nearing 4:30 p.m. and Rab was overdue for one of his naps, and if he didn’t get it soon, he’d look more cadaverous than he already did. He lugged his visibly thinner self up from the chair and headed to his apartment door, nearly dragging his legs. And he looked like he hadn’t changed clothes in a week. The bags under his eyes were saturated teabags that’d changed color from the usual exhausted purple to deathly black.

  The downside to the Uberman sleep schedule, naptime was non-negotiable: concentration, focus, even physical energy would be zapped, and no amount of any drugs would help. Of course, twenty to thirty minutes later he’d be back up to full speed—coding away nonstop for another five hours straight.

  Disheartened, Jon watched him stumble away. Flattening his smile, he lowered his head and shook it slowly from side to side.

  “Jon—I think we’re close here,” Rab said, turning himself around before the entrance to his apartment. “Wait—” He mumbled and looked up at the empty wall. The ideas kept coming. The flow, he couldn’t turn it off; it was apparent his mind had gone haywire. He was out of it. He raised a finger and jiggled it as if drawing an imaginary note, then quickly changed the subject again. With a sudden idea lighting his thoughts, he flipped. He acted slightly more coherent and his finger directed its way toward Jon. “Did your team get the algorithms done?”

  “Yep. Jodi is compiling
now and we should have them for you before we leave today.” As if throwing him a life preserver, Jon swapped the topic: “Damn, it’s good to have you with us tonight. I’ve missed ya, man.”

  “Bring them in tomorrow, at noon, would you?” Rab spoke as if he hadn’t heard Jon’s last sentence. “I want you to be here, it’s very important. But you are right—” His head fell and he blinked as if getting dizzy. “—I have to pull out of it for a bit, reset.” Rab looked up then wobbled, catching himself on the door. A brown grid of tunnel vision flanked the edges of his sight.

  Jon noticed he looked much thinner, and weak; he looked 90 years old!

  “I just need to get my rest, Jon. The strip, right? Same club?” Jon nodded then Rab went inside. The door slammed and Jon took from it a micro jolt, then somberly turned to leave. Crash! It came from inside Rab’s apartment.

  “You okay, Rab?” Jon yelled, running back to the door. He tried to turn the handle but it was locked.

  “I’m good, Jon. Get the fuck out.”

  Jon ran his fingers through his brown hair like claws. His hands met at the top then slid behind his neck. He felt asphyxiating sorrow for his friend and the disintegrating state of being he’d fallen into.

  Upon opening the door, she was right there, waiting patiently for him in the grand room. Sunshine. She worked one desk over from Jon, although she usually found herself outside if she was in a smoking mood. Jodi was an Idaho girl. To Jon, she was brighter than sunshine. She usually wore jeans with colorful iron-on patches, or any thrifty items with bright, lively fashion. She was the only true stoner on the team, a skinny freckled blond with an amazing mind. The weed didn’t affect her negatively, either, just the opposite. She’d failed the drug test twice at her last company, so they fired her, totally disregarding her outstanding performance. Meddlinn’s gain. Rab didn’t give a flyin’ shit about the drugs, not one bit. Jody was exceptional and well balanced, and had surprised him many times with her creativity. With an IQ over 140, she single-handedly coded many of the algorithms he’d passed out two weeks ago.