The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  Rab tipped the cab driver a hundred bucks; had he known the extent of harmony he would be feeling right now he would’ve made it a million. The cabbie also gave them a blanket and a couple of warm emergency beers that were stuffed in the crack of his seat. Popping the tabs, taking a sip after a toast, Ana and Rab sat on the five-thousand-color blanket behind a large boulder, and enjoyed the magnificent vista. It wasn’t long until they could no longer control themselves.

  They made out under the stars, caressing each other’s bony frames, pausing every so often to lock eyes. Their kisses coalesced synchronously and the universe became a neglected third wheel. They had each other and nothing else mattered.

  Her skin was fire and melted the ice that was his. He slid his hand lower into thermogenic magic but she stopped him before they experienced meltdown. Nudging his hand, she took it in hers. Tightly she interlocked her fingers with his. With her other hand, she reached to touch his cheek. His skin had finally gotten warmer; the back of her delicate fingers brushed his face and he felt something in his mind crack. Antarctic ice, a glacier the size of Texas, falling.

  She stared into his moonlit blue eyes, and he into her deep browns; they connected without words. His hand neared her face and he moved his fingers under her chin then around her neck. She had high cheekbones and her thick to thin eyebrows stretched up and out as if she’d been born with makeup painted by God. Ana’s head fell back and she let escape a full, titillating breath, while moonlight illuminated her mark; the shape was the most elegant symbol Rab had ever seen. Her every detail captivated him, and every person who populated every dream he’d ever had, pushed on a wall in his mind, a wall between new and old worlds.

  The beating in his chest was strong enough to throw the switch; their heartbeats synchronized and time was a surfer taunting the event horizon of a blackhole. The impregnable wall, he’d built to keep his feelings trapped, came crashing down. A mob of millions leapt over the rubble, carrying the wires of his mind into a new and powerful realm; like countless fingers, he could feel the rubble beneath trampling feet. The collapse echoed through his heart; the vibration of true love brought with it something he’d never experienced. Like tearing away layers of hate and rotten flesh, he could step out clean—reborn, a snake shedding its skin. In that exact moment his hateful, solipsistic shell had been shed; there would be no going back. For years, women were objects to him and he never let anyone get close. Ana was unlike any other woman he’d ever met—and things were going to change, including his future plans.

  Later, they lay on the blanket, gazing up, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, his fingers sliding back and forth along her hip bones. Rab pointed to a few stars he recognized but quickly shifted the topic to describe the future he imagined—although he knew she didn’t completely understand. But he sensed genuine, mutual enjoyment and she snuggled closer as his voice fluctuated with sentiment about the alarming vision he had: the fate of mankind.

  An hour passed and the now chilly air gave them both a shiver. Ana noticed Rab had developed dark bags under his eyes. His skin looked pale as though there was no longer blood on the other side of it, and he felt clammy to the touch. She didn’t question his condition, only said she had to go, but not because she had to; she knew something was wrong. He needed help. Rab nodded in agreement. He could read the look in her eyes and knew too well how bad he looked.

  Rab was a dead stick but Ana helped him to his feet. He knew exactly what was wrong. His sleep schedule, the Uberman, demanded he rest. The highly addictive Pro-Con was calling his name as well; withdrawals lurching, he forced his stomach to hold it in. He’d never planned to stay this late. As the night progressed, his objectiveness had folded into a new direction, the enjoyment and pleasure, with the sweet taste of love, and he realized actually how much he had been working. And he wondered, while she helped him along the path as if he was a weightless skeleton, how in the world does my body continue to function? I should probably be dead.

  Folded over like a man of two-hundred years, deathly and frail, he hobbled to the cab. He could hardly climb back over the guardrail and almost fell, but Ana, far stronger than he, caught him. Concerned, she put the colorful Mexican blanket around him and did her best to help.

  He fell through the back door, passing out on the seat. Her nursing instincts kicked in and she quickly checked him then elevated his legs onto the seat. She went around to the other side and put his head on her lap, and then looked to the cabbie. The driver was still out cold. She thought about tapping the horn since their clumsy noises and Rab’s fall into the car didn’t manage. It was a button on the dash surrounded by myriad faded tassels and embellishments. She was familiar with the customized taxi cabs and buses around Mexico, having ridden in many, the drivers always honking about the busy streets. She didn’t want to move Rab so instead nudged the driver’s shoulder. After several attempts, and almost changing her mind about sounding the baahoooogah, he finally awoke; it was obvious he’d been working overtime as it took him a while to compose himself and recall where he was.

  Ignacio—he’d said to make it Nacho for short—was a courteous round and short man with sun-beaten skin nearly darker than hers; he politely called her Señorita every time he talked to her. She paid Nacho all the pesos she had to take Rab home, wherever that could be, only knowing for sure it was across the border, somewhere. She had implored Rab to stay the night with her, going first to the clinic so she could take a look, but he adamantly refused, mumbling in his best Spanish, that he needed to go home.

  After arriving at the Mexican side of the border, Nacho pulled to the curb just before the international bridge. Ana jostled Rab who was out cold with his head in her lap. After several attempts, he pushed himself up and squinted at the bright lights of the Tijuana strip. The bags under his eyes were fist-sized punches, making him look like a corpse. He wished he was dead, and he could smell it, and felt horrible knowing his stomach had emptied itself in the man’s car. He would make it up to the guy.

  “Ra-aab, tu direccion?” Ana asked.

  “Donde vive, Señor? Tu casa?” the cab driver asked, turning around. Rab couldn’t scrape enough energy from his depleted reserves to form words, also his esophagus was filling again and he used every bit of strength to keep the rest inside. He fumbled a hand into his pocket and pulled out a card. Ana picked it up and after looking at it, sadly and slowly passed it to the cabbie. Rab looked into her eyes and saw the energy fizzle away. She cried right then and there.

  Nacho’s eyes lit up. “Aquí, Señor?” And his jaw dropped. The address was in LA, more than three hours away!

  Rab forced his body upward and reached for it. His tonsils were drowning in the vomit topping off his esophagus; he used everything he had to push it back down. He turned the card around and there was a nearby address, just across the border where his heli-jet was waiting.

  “Ah… Okay—si, Señor,” said the cab driver with a sigh of relief. “Vamonos. We go now pues.”

  Ana kissed his forehead with slow sensuality. Her lips were as hot as the sun and it was the only thing he felt. His body was cold and had long since gone numb. Then she left the cab. She said goodbye but Rab couldn’t hold his head up long enough to respond or return one.

  Leaving her felt like entering Siberia. With a push, as though finally mounting Everest without oxygen, he thrust himself up. He saw her get farther, smaller, holding her eyes with both hands.

  He passed out.

  Ana felt alone again. And after the time they’d just shared, alone felt like cold hands choking her. She stood watching the cab climb, taking its place in the line which started at the top of the bridge. She stood frozen until she could see only the glow from its taillights, and still, didn’t move. She stood, just staring at the empty grey bridge. A tear fell down each cheek, lightening the flood of water pulling on her eyelids; because she knew, it was all too good to be true. She’d read the address on the card: Los Angeles. He would not be back. She tur
ned unhurried, and walked home along the strip: under the flashing lights, past the hotdog stand where laughing drunks stood enjoying fully-loaded foot-long hotdogs, past countless borrachos without so much as a look in any direction, and, past Club Subterranean. The street was desolate—in her mind—and she was the last living being on planet Earth. Turning right after a few blocks, she headed into the darkness toward her home atop the clinic, only a block from the ruckus she would continue to hear, as always, from her window until the wee morning hours. And she wasn’t sure if she could…

  31. Back Again

  Back at the lab the clock read sixteen minutes till 5 a.m. and the door flung open. He took slow, trudging steps toward his apartment door. He’d managed to nap a little in the bridge line but his body refused to sleep during the flight home. His internal clock had gone haywire—and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He needed the Insta.

  Sensing his presence, a screen above his desk illuminated. A few tasks appeared as status bars with encrypted labels. All were complete except one, which was nearly there. Above the status bars a large wandering eye floated, and behind the code bits and symbols gushing outward from its center, scintillated the exotic dance of his screensaver. Only a low hum of the machines could be heard in the otherwise quiescent and dimly lit lab. The eye blinked and followed his every move, and he stumbled closer. He stood in front of the system for what seemed an hour, just looking down at it. He shook his head then hunched to give it his face, and the screen unlocked, then drunkenly tapped a few keys and the computer initiated ferociously. Others along the counters began toiling away as if a gun had fired to start a race. The quiet hum transformed into an eerie pulsating drone.

  Rab stood up as straight as a warped two-by-four and headed to his apartment, loping dizzily around the glass divider, then stopped for a last vague glimpse at the screens before he left.

  “This is it.”

  His words cut the air, and he gazed at the team of machines through the glass. The dizziness intensified. He caught himself mid-fall and palmed the glass with both hands to get back up.

  “What have I done?” He slowly turned away and continued into his apartment, not bothering to shut the door.

  The hand prints faded slowly from the glass as the concerned breath that had made them visible evaporated. And the computers roared on, voraciously devouring his last set of commands.

  Morbidly overdue, he desperately needed sleep. Although he’d gotten decent rest before heading to the club, more than in months, his body had yet to adjust. The extended sleep only made things worse, sending his internal clock into a frenzy, which in turn sent his body into catch-up mode—and he was months behind. Now, he was in complete shut-down mode. Passing the edge of his kitchen counter, Rab mindlessly grabbed a chug of water from an open bottle then let it fall to the floor. He lumbered on, crashing into the door of his bedroom. Reaching into his pocket he removed his phone and flipped it open. He couldn’t quite get a finger on the buttons so activated hologram mode by tapping the power button twice. With a clumsy wave of his hand, he activated the Insta app and deleted all timers and alarms then motioned with a finger. The Insta icon spun round like a whirling tornado, turning from blue to green, and faded into the screen, disappearing into the app while minimizing itself simultaneously. Crash. His head hit the pillow and he was out before the pad underneath could even initiate.

  His phone fell onto the floor beside his bed, face up. The hologram floated above it, still active. The calendar app formed a cube grid representing the days of the month. Active dates had a spherical shape and rotated like globes. The nearest date that wasn’t empty, simply read, Ana.

  32. A Handful of Metropolis

  Knock, knock. “Rab. You in there?” Jon entered, peering around. He saw the chair tipped over behind Rab’s desk. The glass sliding doors to the lab had been left open and there were hand prints smeared all over them. The door to his living area was also wide open. A shoe lay on the floor in a puddle of water. “Rab,” he said a little quieter, picking up the large water bottle that had spilled. “Hey, man. You sleeping in?” I can’t believe it, Jon thought. Rab doesn’t sleep, much less sleep in. “You told me to come around noon. Figured you’d be at it by now.”

  “Yeah, come on in,” Rab said, strewn diagonally across the bed. Stretching arms wide, he looked at the clock blasting its bright blue digits: 11:11 a.m.

  “Had a great time last night. We lost ya. Had some of those awesome foot-long hot dogs, remember those? Jerry ate four of the damn things fully loaded.”

  “Gimme a minute, would ya?” Rab planted his feet and straightened his back, which had been bent so long due to a lack of energy to uncurl it. It felt good and cracked like an antique zipper. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen. There’s some stuff we gotta—” Rab started pissing with the bathroom door open; his flow was dark orange, near red—at the sight he paused his words. He continued a bit quieter, as if only to himself. “Time for you to know, Jon.”

  “Sure, Rab. Take your time,” Jon said. He raised his head above the open refrigerator door, cocking it curiously, wondering, time for what, then noticed the clock. Whoa, he slept in all right. Almost like old times, he thought. But not quite—always straight back to work.

  “Not quite,” Rab said, somehow guessing Jon’s exact thoughts. “In the old days you wouldn’t have awoken me—and we slept until at least three.”

  “How did you—” Jon said.

  Rab shut the door, staying in the bathroom. He had a stash of Pro-Con in the medicine cabinet. The horse pills were in a large half-gallon container, the small red ones in a pill bottle. He got out one of each and looked at them for a good half minute, and looked at himself in the mirror. He thought of Ana once again, knowing it was time for change. He hesitated, then went ahead and took them. Swallowing the big one was still just as hard as ever.

  Jon sat on one of the bar stools, drinking a canned iced tea when Rab finally came into the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. He grabbed a sports drink from the door and guzzled half then blindly put the bottle on the counter behind him. Then he reached in and pulled out a hexagonal container, sliding it from of a stack of many; they filled the fridge from top to bottom, neatly stacked trays. On the flat edge a label read: Turkey and Swiss.

  “We finished them, Rab. I had a few of the team come in today to give the final compilation a once over.” Jon placed a digital file on the table and pushed it toward Rab as he sat opening the container revealing a hoagie. The file looked like an ordinary business card: black plastic, flexible, with a circuit design and the Meddlinn company logo. With one eye on it Rab took a humongous bite.

  “Good work,” he said in a food-muffled voice. He chewed like he hadn’t eaten in days. The bags under his eyes had once again abated. He swallowed the bite and took another drink. “Last night I met someone, Jon. She—she was amazing. Jon, she opened my eyes to the world, and, priorities, what is really important. Things are going to change, starting today.” He took another bite and Jon waited contentedly. “From now on, call me by my given name, Herald.”

  “That’s great news—Herald.” Jon leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Haven’t called you that since, freshman year, before you…you were always my best friend and I’m happy for you, more than you know. Anything you need, I will always be here for you.”

  “We need to talk, Jon.” Herald sighed, pulling away slightly. “I’m gonna lay it all out for you and I want everything to stay confidential—between you and I. And I know I can trust you.”

  Jon nodded. “Of course. What is it, Ra—Herald?”

  “This project is coming to an end. With what you turned in today—well, I only need to finish a few more code blocks and tie it all together. Then, it’s done. But—I’m not going to activate it. I have a side project I want you and your team to work on first. There will be no change in routine and to everyone it will appear as more code blocks and algorithms.”

  “Okay, but w
hy not activate the project, Herald? This is it, man!” Excited, Jon nearly jumped off the stool. “What we’ve worked for. This is it!” He flayed his arms outward.

  “Jon, you probably wonder why I spilled my guts last night. Well, I need to find some close friends I can trust, and I need to be open so our group can understand me and where I’m coming from. I like Jerry. I see an honest and good man when I look into his eyes. And Jodi, I watched you and her last night and I got a warm feeling about the both of you. I know she wouldn’t be with you if she wasn’t a very special person. And with you as second in charge of this project, I know she’s trustworthy—because I know you. So far, it’s you three.”

  “Okay, and what about Leti?” Jon asked, grinning.

  “Come on, Jon,” Herald laughed. “She’s not the one, I felt that too.” He took another bite, then a drink, finishing it. “Let me explain, Jon. The very moment we release AI into this world, everything will change—and I’m afraid it will not be for the better. As I told you last night, when I focus deeply, I come to conclusions regarding various scenarios, much in the same way I put this project together. I fear for humanity—” He couldn’t help himself, thinking only of Ana as he said humanity. “—but in the end if we didn’t come out with it first someone else would have. It has always been inevitable.”

  Herald walked to the wall-sized window and stood looking out at the city, then continued, his back facing Jon. Hair a disaster, barefooted, shirt unbuttoned, hands in his ruffled green cargo shorts, he felt the Pro-Con kick in hard, waking him, and as always, he fucking loved it.

  “This is it for me, and I leave the project to you once I complete my contract with Meddlinn. Within about two months, I’m moving to the country—Colorado. I’ve been thinking—I might even go full-on mountain man.” Herald grinned. “I will turn over all of my notes, everything, to you. I’ll also advise the board that you are the only man for the job.”