The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  Amy was scheduled for weight training and no cardio. It was her second time in the adult gym. She was of the ectomorph body-type classification, which meant she was skinny (skinny being an understatement in her case) and burned calories quickly. And her muscle could easily burn away; retaining any weight was for her a Sisyphean task. Cardio would only make her thinner, further diminishing the little bit of muscle clinging to her toothpick bones. Ectomorphs were somewhat lucky; some received more food rations than the other two body types.

  Amy’s foster mom, Bertha Lawson, had a lesser degree of luck—thinking in terms of doled rations. She was of the endomorph body type and put on weight, especially fat, extremely easily. Before the war, she was in security and correspondingly had been given modifications that made her sizable and strong. And was she ever—built like an ox. Although her DNA had been modified to lessen the chance of getting fat, for some reason it didn’t take well with her. Her complexion was dark black with even darker eye circles, she was 5 foot 11, had cheeks like a blowfish, and kept her hair nearly shaved, always less than a quarter-inch thick at most. Her head looked odd on her body, too small. She worked and lived at the restaurant and although she was credited with less food rations for having this body type, she could sneak snacks here and there (something she really didn’t need). She was the largest woman in town but got away with it because she smoked all of her fitness tests. Fit as a fiddle, as healthy as could be, she was a force to be reckoned with. She would really sweat it out during her sessions, too, easily pumping a set of one-twenties on the flat bench, or squatting five-hundred-plus pounds. She liked seeing all the young men, especially her trainer, and looked forward to exercise day. Bertha was very friendly and fun to be around, liked by just about everyone—especially Ed Barton, aka Jolly Cheeks, outer gate security at the facility—and one you would want on your side in a bad situation. Her grunt was a train horn and everyone knew when she was in house. And, the train was at the station now. She was pushing out some stiff-legged dead-lifts with a measly 420 pounds, almost done as Amy entered through the large bay doors which usually stayed wide open. And people came and went all day long to the 5000-square-foot restored-warehouse gym.

  “Amy,” Jim said, as she passed. He was at the free-weight section; his biceps were pumped like balloons.

  “Hey, Jim,” Amy said. To her trainer, “Amanda, I’ll catch up with you in just a minute.” Her trainer didn’t look happy to see Jim but granted the minute with a nod and kept walking. Amy continued, “Caught each other at the same time, that’s a coincidence.”

  “We’ll always have the same day as long as the final compatibility results turn out okay, which they likely will.”

  “Cool,” Amy said. Her attitude was spunky. She’d clearly rebounded emotionally from yesterday’s shocks, and her traumatic memory recollections. She wore cut-off jogging pants that fit her too big, and a tighter chalk-yellow shirt.

  “You look older with your hair back like that. Anyway, I need to finish an hour of cardio then I’m done. Um—” Jim stuttered. “—would you like to get a coffee, or something, later?” He went out on a limb. He wasn’t looking for anything deep but felt a strange connection to her and wanted to further get to know the person he was to be working with. His first day with her was something out of the ordinary, and for him that was refreshing. He was curious about a few things and this was an opportunity to find out, plus he felt an urge to tell her about his dream.

  “Sure, I’d love to. I promised my mom I’d help her with a few things at the restaurant but I can meet you later this afternoon.”

  “There goes your mom now,” he said, speaking louder because the train horn was roaring. Bertha’s trainer had her motivated and she was groaning to finish another massive lift. Others looked on, cheering. “Sounds good then, um, when did you want…”

  “At two would be fine if that’s okay. I gotta go start my workout.” The trainer who had accompanied her in was calling, hands on hips. Jim knew her, Amanda, one of his ex-girlfriends. With irritated eyes fixed on Jim she gestured at Amy to get moving.

  “Okay, see ya at—Julio’s, then, next to the park.” He suggested it like a blurt. Julio probably didn’t have coffee, at least he never bothered to check, but it had already slipped out. Julio’s Pizza was a converted shipping container between two old food-truck shells; a favorite place—of the few that existed—to grab a bite. Julio and his family lived there and cranked out pizza for the entire town. U-shaped, it sat across the street from their building on the edge of the park. Pizza—a happy food—wasn’t his favorite, but he knew she liked it.

  “Deal, see you then,” Amy said, and got back to her suddenly impatient trainer.

  Amanda gave him a foul look when Amy turned away. Jim knew, he’d lost many a girlfriend for being a grouchy pessimist.

  “Okay,” Amanda said, releasing the eye on Jim. “Amy, we’ll start you on heavy weights to build strength but you’ll be doing very few sets in the beginning. Every week we’ll add a set, maybe even just a few reps, and hopefully if you build some strength, we can change the plan in hopes to add some weight to your frame. And this, is your custom-tailored eating plan.”

  Amy shrugged out an okay. Obviously, she wasn’t interested in exercise, or following any eating plan. Blah. She’d learned plenty about fitness and nutrition in school, a required class. She looked at the card. There were some basic strength exercises, nothing too hard, and a diet plan that involved eating more, a lot more, with a recommendation to the board for an even larger increase in rations. Seeing this, her eyes opened like drooling mouths.

  She had an early lunch at the restaurant and finished helping Bertha with some Saturday cleaning then readied herself to have the afternoon coffee with Jim. She wasn’t a coffee drinker, but he’d suggested a pizza joint—and she could tell he looked a little nervous in doing so. But her intrigue about the program aimed her; she wanted to learn more if the subject came up so jumped at the invite. She used her mom’s shower and her old room, which was still just as she’d left it; she loved that room, above the restaurant with a window facing Park Avenue. She still had a lot of clothes and other things there, too. She missed the place, but was beginning to enjoy the freedom of her own apartment, besides, she could visit anytime; it was only a block down the street. Bertha wanted her to stay, but Devon White, head of new recruits, suggested she might get too distracted and needed to learn to live on her own and mature. His suggestion was more of a requirement.

  “Have a nice one, Aim,” Bertha said, as Amy headed out of the restaurant.

  “Bye, Momma-Bee!” Amy yelled, skipping away, hearing Bertha yell out to come back anytime. She knew her Momma-Bee already missed her—but she had to grow up, right?

  “Hey Jim, been here a while?” Amy said, walking toward him. He was sitting apart from others, at a table in the shade. Julio’s had four poles mounted on the internal corners of its U-shaped layout. A forty-by-forty-foot canopy was attached to the tips. The open end faced the lush green park.

  “Not long,” he replied. “Coffee?” To Jim’s surprise Julio had added it, although he hadn’t eaten there in years.

  “Actually, can I get a juice? Not really much of a coffee drinker. And Amanda—she’s my trainer—says no caffeine. Oh, they have those mini-pizzas here, love those. Amanda said I have to eat more so…”

  At the thought of Amanda, Jim couldn’t help but make a face, although it wasn’t the same resentful face that usually manufactured itself when she came to mind. He dissembled his countenance before Amy, entranced by the pizza, could notice.

  They ordered, he a coffee and her a mixed sweet-juice; both got a mini-pizza.

  “Yum! Momma-Bee tries to make these at the restaurant but I told her to stick with country cookin’ because they aren’t nearly as good as this.” Amy gobbled it in the least amount of bites possible then ordered another and ate it too. After finishing the meal Jim sipped his coffee and Amy drank her sweet-juice.

  An
awkward moment arose and Amy broke it, “So, why’d ya invite me for coffee, Jim?”

  “Well, I figured we’d be working together again tomorrow, so it might be nice to get to know each other a little better. You live right below me so we are neighbors now.”

  “It’s an awesome building. A little plain. Hard to believe it was once a fancy desert resort. Can we actually talk about the job here?” Amy whispered. She looked around. The agreement she’d signed to become a lender scared her: no disclosing anything about the facility, or else.

  Julio’s had a decent afternoon’s worth of customers—typically about twenty or so for lunch, but things were winding down.

  “We can head into the park,” he suggested, holding up a faded Mexican blanket, “I brought this.”

  “Um. Okay, sure. Sounds good.”

  The park was Jewel City’s bullseye; its walking paths were a spaghetti bowl. They followed the path Amy had taken to work yesterday; it ultimately headed away from the lake, southeast, all the way back to the immense bulge in the wall: the facility. Halfway, they took a left and headed toward the lake.

  Jim laid out the blanket then planted himself, arms behind his head, looking up at the clouds. She copied. As usual the sky had virtually zero clouds, merely tiny stratospheric specks barely visible to the naked eye.

  “Amy. The reason I asked you to… Well, I had a nightmare last night and felt I had to tell you about it.” He said it breaking a fidgety moment of silence.

  “Sure, but I have nightmares all the time, Jim. Probably one per night but at least the rest are usually pleasant. I try to forget the bad ones and focus on the good ones.”

  “Amy, the people here, everywhere, do not dream. Nothing besides small unrecognizable fragments, glitches, meaningless chunks.”

  “What? You’re kidding,” she exclaimed.

  “Amy, this is the first time I’ve had a full-fledged dream since I was—around fifteen years old I’d have to guess. Before the—”

  “What? I’m sorry, I didn’t know—I’ve always thought this town keeps way too many secrets. But maybe that could be a good thing,” Amy said, “not dreaming. If you experienced some of mine, oh I promise, you’d probably never want to dream again, ever!”

  “I just felt you should know. And I feel a little, different, since our session yesterday. I didn’t mention it to anyone else. I’m not sure if it’s related to the reason I finally had a dream.”

  “Well, what was it about?” She looked at him, realizing how good looking he was, wondering why she hardly ever saw him around town. And, why in the world didn’t he have a girlfriend?

  “The wall explo— Ah, maybe it’s best I forget about it like you do. It was my first in over twenty years, maybe the last anyway.”

  “Uh—okay then, sure.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Amy.” He started before she could get more curious about his dream. “How did you lose it?”

  “My arm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t mind, Jim. I actually like to get that out of the way,” she replied, her attitude upbeat in contrast to his. “Honestly, I don’t remember much—besides what my daddies told me. I was very young.” She relaxed her muscle and slid off the grey and white arm prosthesis. Her arm was just a thin six-inch rounded stub poking out from her shoulder. She passed it to him. He sat up, a little surprised, but reluctantly took the arm carefully with both hands as Amy continued gazing at the microscopic specks that had to pass for clouds. A memory occurred to her: she remembered when there used to be more clouds, lots of them, every day. And she remembered all the fantastic shapes. “Press against the shiny metal plate inside—go ahead, try it. Just think of what you want it to do.”

  The arm was a special gift from her saviors; a hazy memory she could never make clear, but she knew, they’d helped her. It and the Meat Master 5000 were the two most technological items existing in Jewel City; except for the undisclosed inner workings of the lending facility.

  The arm was light—as though it could float on water—with polished inner joints resembling clear glass marbles. The top was white, the bottom grey. The palm and fingertips were rubbery, like sandpaper, suggesting they could grip anything, and grip anything well. It was obviously made with highly advanced technology and must’ve had the ability to grow with her as she aged.

  “It never needs charging,” she said. And he marveled at it. He pressed a single finger onto the inside plate and watched as the hand did everything according to his thoughts. He was amazed.

  “Pretend it’s an octopus, Jim.”

  He did and, WOW, the fingers went back and forth in ways no human hand could.

  Good thoughts rode a tsunami from the depths of his mind, crashing like waves into the face of a cliff that was the front of his skull. Technology! The exploding visions, whitewater hitting his forehead like a bomb, swelled his eyes, bulging them. The diverse array of technology that had once consumed nearly every aspect of living—life was colorful, interesting, constantly moving and changing and evolving and afforded so much: unique experiences, wonders, pleasures…

  The tsunami retreated, taking the rush of dreams with it, and the pressure from his eyes, and again he yearned to have it back, all of it. And he remembered the robots, so many of them, everywhere—with hands just like this.

  “Oh be careful, it can—I wouldn’t—” Amy rolled over and jerked it away. He had it trying to squeeze his knee. “You can’t mess around with it like that. Your knee-joint would’ve been toast!”

  As if it was still there, he kept looking forward, entranced. “It’s, it’s amazing.” And he went for a walk in his thoughts…

  Technology and Jewel City were antonyms. Things were simple: no autos of any kind, no phones, no computers, a few screens, but not a whole hell of a lot to do. People looked at old magazines, rode bicycles, exercised—exercised some more, or went for a walk in the park. A simple life, and most simply enjoyed each other’s company. Amy didn’t miss anything but Jim couldn’t forget the days of his youth. He adjusted, but it always gnawed away at him, probably more than most. Life in the fast lane, existing within the grand utopia: virtual reality, interactive movies and games, infinite varieties of food and drink, hyper-transports to anywhere, including Mars and the Moon; to a lesser degree the newer cloud city on Venus. Data and information and entertainment were only a thought away. After money, and borders fell, everything kept getting better and better. Change itself was a blockbuster and all of humanity had a front-row seat. As the years went by, he missed it ever more, but stopped talking about it, and his alacrity to do anything plummeted. As of several years now he’d lost touch with others, lost girlfriends, and found himself content to sit in his room, waiting for work; it was as close as he was going to get and he knew it. Being logged in was like being injected with drugs—yet only to achieve baseline. Logged out: waiting, depressed, eat-shit-repeat, even exercise no longer helped; he had become a dire malcontent. Amanda was the last to go, and as much as his hate for her seethed, he couldn’t help but notice something now, something he couldn’t put a finger on.

  “It is, Jim. I’m used to it and I like it,” Amy said, plucking Jim from his meandering daydream. She plugged the arm back onto her nub. “I can make it do anything my real hand can do, but it is much stronger. If anyone ever messed with me at school all I had to do was make a fist with it.” She giggled. “Or scare them like this…” His eyes went wide again—the fingers moved like spiders in a blender.

  “So anyway, how did you—”

  “Jim, it happened a long time ago…”

  49. Lee

  A brisk autumn night. Much of the foliage had been vacuumed away, leaving the forest nude and lacking its comforting obscurity. In the cave, Jerry was perfecting his famous rat stew and waving away the smoke. Amy was huddled close to the small fire dimly lighting their space, sitting on Jodi’s lap and warming her hands. Valerie was sound asleep behind Jerry; her pregnant belly was a basketball so she s
lept on her side. And Jon was outside in the dusk light, adding more brush to the cave’s main entrance. He tried his best to make it look natural. The denuded forest always left him nervous, yet at least the freakish, earth-wiping storms had been diminishing over the past year.

  Things were okay, as okay as things could be. Amy, with cute braided hair, had just turned six and was skinny but healthy. She giggled while Jodi and Jerry took turns telling her jokes by the fire. Jodi told her the ol’ lil’ piggy joke and tickled her toes. It made her release a high-pitched squeak and she said, “Jodi, that tickles—”

  “Shh. Something outside.” It was Jon. He hurried down the steps while waving his hands. Without hesitation Jerry smothered the fire and covered the pot. Jodi extinguished the torch light and hushed Amy—not easy after the lil’ piggy had already run all the way home. She continued to giggle so they got stern with her. The result was a pouting face but her giggles were still, unsquashable. Jerry pointed up then put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet with sign language. She responded and finally hushed, and now, everyone was dead serious.

  “A light, moving,” Jon whispered. “Twenty yards out, I think it’s getting closer.”

  “Let’s go,” Jerry responded, motioning for everyone to head deeper inside. He woke Valerie and helped her along. Quietly they all disappeared into the haunted house and huddled together.