The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  “True that,” Trixie replied. A composition so colorfully solid and undecayed, once upon a time mankind had—

  “Mankind had tons and tons of shit,” Jim growled, saying what everyone was thinking.

  “Material repurposed for survival,” Rico stated, “here and now and still, standing tall, a symbol of humanity’s tenacious desire to continue to exist. The Great Wall.”

  The brightness made every detail stand out. The immense interior was lit with numerous luminous white lights, including many that lined the stairs at their feet. And they continued up and around.

  Abell tirelessly carried Lia. He had her draped over one shoulder. Others huffed and puffed along the laborious trek, but the dry cool of the interior helped, a little. And a slight breeze could be felt flowing counterclockwise. Rico explained it. The dryer fans, to prevent corrosion, he said, and went on to explain other things about the wall while an oddly pleasant, yet slightly malodorous smell lingered, like that of burnt tires, or burnt electronics, mixed with Bertha's crispy and frequently burnt potato wedges. But the smell seemed to lessen as they passed the halfway point, and amid the clink, clink, ding, dozens of feet tapping on the metal stairs, a faint and steady humming sound could be heard. And it seemed to be getting louder.

  Three quarters of the way. Looking down before reaching the final tier, the conoidal shape of the broadcast room could now be seen as a whole. Looking to the sides, the hollow vertical corridors of the wall were lit for as far as could be seen with the same bright white lights; some flickered and some were altogether defunct, though plenty endured to reveal seemingly interminable chasms. There were four in total. Massive. Every twenty or so feet a thick horizontal stratum divided the vertical span.

  The humming intensified.

  “What is it?” Amy asked.

  Rico smiled and pointed up, in the direction of the noise. “Wait for it…”

  A platinized saucer-shaped drone with two green glowing eyes! About the size of a spare tire, it flew out of the top west side wall corridor and hovered for a moment, rotating to face the group. It descended, circled the broadcast spike one time, then paused in front of them all. Five seconds, just floating, hovering. It had two thin robotic arms, and it waved. Amy waved back with a mega smile. Then it disappeared east into a small tunnel on the opposite side of the outer wall.

  “Repair and maintenance drones. They work for us,” Rico replied. He led the way, Amy followed anxiously, Jim was last. “And in a sense, you work for them. Pretty rare to see one, you got lucky. We estimate there are hundreds more on standby—in the case of emergency. They maintain the wall and defenses, as well manage many of its auto-repair systems. That hole it went into is a service passage for one of the outer wall lasers.” Then, just as everyone started walking again the drone shot out from the small tunnel and continued east through the massive fourth-level wall corridor.

  Almost there. A six-foot-wide platform circled the top of the broadcast spike about a fifteen-foot radius. The ceiling was no more than eight feet above that. An exit port, marked by more stairs, awaited them on the opposite end of the circle walk.

  “Quite a climb isn’t it?” Rico remarked. He then stepped onto the wider, hanging walkway.

  “Wow, sure is!” Amy replied. Being a lightweight she easily made the climb, even though, she was still a little sore from her previous exercise sessions. She then slowed while edging the central rail, gazing down at it. “Like a circus tent!” At least the shape of one: the colossus that was the broadcast-room’s cone, and she marveled at its entirety. Fine traces of blue sparkled around slivers of green within her brown eyes, eyes twinkling with wonder under the widely spaced ceiling lights.

  The final stretch was another short, grated stairway leading to a bulkhead door. Rico unlocked and opened it. David and Chang, members of the control room staff along with Rico, had to verify the breach before the doors would open. They’d prepared for it. A camera allowed them to see Rico's request from the control room and simultaneously they turned keys after a three count. Making sure everyone was inside the next section, Rico repeated the procedure with a second bulkhead door. Beyond that a smooth inclined corridor lined with a likening of bank-vault superalloy, led to a final bulkhead door, same deal, which alas led to sunlight.

  He let her go through the last one first. Rico couldn’t stop her anyway, Amy was about to shoot between his legs.

  The sun warmed Amy’s ecstatic cheeks, cheeks that’d been cooled in the previous two tunnels. And the others followed, emerging one by one, squinting at the bright sunlight, welcoming its rays. Jim slipped out last then Rico secured the door.

  Abell carried Lia in one arm, her chair in the other. Unfolding it, he placed her into it. And although her face couldn’t completely convey the happiness radiating from her body like an aura, the burn scars and skin grafts were no match for her magnificent Asian eyes; her deep browns sparkled with delight. Today was to be her day off, but she’d surely trade a day in the park for the rare chance to be ON THE TOP OF THE WALL!

  What a chance, way better than a day off, her eyes said. But she only had one, and was the only lender to only have one. Lia spent days off with her caretaker, a white-haired woman named Betty, and the only non-lender allowed to live in lender housing. Betty was ninety-one and, as though age meant squat, helped with a multitude of tasks at home. Betty spent her time reading the old yellow magazines, occasionally a book, and when Lia had her day off, sometimes they’d read stories together in the park; likewise, Abell enjoyed story day and others would gather round to hear Betty speak. Betty was once a lender but couldn’t handle the killing; she was the only lender to be fired without getting the chair.

  He wheeled her to the edge and they both beheld the view. Abell. The big Russian. Like a buzz-cut pro-wrestler, his uniform fit tight as did many of his clothes. He had no neck, muscle like a Belgian Blue, and St. Louis arches for eyebrows above an amiable, nonchalant face—most of the time. The limited degree of fat on his body filled his cheeks—cheeks appearing as though he used sandpaper instead of a towel to wipe them, rosy red, a surefire contrast to his white Siberian skin—and just enough fat layered his belly, with just enough daubed elsewhere, just enough to make him look passive. Effortlessly, Abell always carried Lia wherever she needed to go: the gym, park, bathroom, along on a jog or out to eat; they were an inseparable pair.

  Amy had run to the edge. The winner by far. She saw the encircling ships miles away. And contentedly, Rico watched her. Amy was seeing it for the first time in nearly ten years. The outside world! And she couldn’t speak, but her elated expression—“The world, the world!”— spoke worlds. She truly was the liveliest on the team. Her alacrity was a genesis bomb currently tending to a field of springtime flowers.

  The Great Wall. The mega, massive, almighty structure continued upward just a tad farther, with four-foot-tall slotted ramparts adorning the top-o’-the-wall edges, inner and outer: for defense reasons, also, to prevent overexcited teenagers from going off the edge.

  53. Objectionable Transitions

  Creeping ever higher, the yellow sun baked the arid quarantine zone with its marmalade-orange rays. A ring of pale tan surrounding the only thing for miles: the wall with a small jewel at its center, a bluish greenish speck as seen from space. The final organic splotch?

  Desert, nothing but desert. Flat and scorched under the clear, weatherless sky—it was the only thing strewn out before them, sprawling for, seemingly ever. And like silent streamers, something patrolled some fifty miles away, weaving up and down in unpredictable patterns. The outer perimeter defense ships. They effectively kept the quarantine zone barren: clear of debris, rocks, sheared of weeds, even tumbleweeds, but especially, swept of any invader that might be feeling lucky. Maintaining a clear line of sight was high priority. And assisting, lasers encircling the wall fired on anything moving, including distant and coordinated targets. All of it, a nearly unfathomable possibility. But here they were. A magnificent wall en
casing a heart: the lending facility, its life energy supporting every ship and system. And the ships supported the town all to keep people, possibly the last of humanity, safe.

  Amy gazed outward with captivated eyes; all others eagerly surrounded her. Rico allowed a few minutes and did the same; there was time—and everyone was silent. It was desolate but beautiful, and liberating to feel boundless for a change, but unsettling just the same. Like a prisoner finally freed from decades of entrapment, denuded of the towering bounds that were always there, no one could help but feel a slight uneasiness. The vastness and being able to see the horizon left everyone, even Jim, who’d longed for the outside world, with a feeling of insignificance. A sole electron in a vast sea of atomic empty space.

  A wall laser fired! Target exceeded visual range. The rapid event broke their quiescent silence and Rico spoke: “Okay, everyone over here if you would.” He walked toward the broadcast needle and gestured for everyone to take a place.

  He continued after the lenders formed an audience. “We have some very interesting things to talk about today. I know the years have been long and our efforts at times might seem unimportant, but quite to the contrary, they are necessary—and of the utmost importance. You see it, out there, the vastness of it, those ships far away. As some of you know—and we don’t know much—we hypothesize there are other towns like ours. We have years of data and have concluded that our broadcast feed is also used by…something else, perhaps something out there. Our systems generate, magnify, and send out more than what is utilized by the ships out there and the entirety of our automation combined. By quite a substantial amount, too. More than we’d previously calculated—the broadcast feed is very special. We surmise something out there needs us—it siphons a part of our feed. And as long as we keep that feed up, we are safe. Those ships in the distance, they keep us safe, our community alive. They are not manned by humans yet highly intelligent and the consciousness you lend makes everything possible. I wanted to bring you all here today to get things out into the open, reestablish our perspectives, but mostly, to talk about some of our new discoveries—also to welcome Amy. She is now officially a member of our team, and so quickly, a top lender. As you know she’s been partnering with Jim for over a week now. She has proven herself worthy and passed all tests with flying colors. Most of you took a full week to initiate, but Amy—as impatient as she can be—jumped right in, full charge on her second day, with some outstanding results, I might add.” Rico started to clap and the others followed up. “Congratulations, Amy, welcome aboard.” Everyone took turns. They welcomed her personally. Jim was last, but his welcome was the most sincere.

  Rico continued, “Okay now, Ted has some interesting news, much of it concerning Amy and Jim, yet it will soon affect us all. Feel free to sit on the forcefield generators, or continue to stand if you’d like. Ted, ready?”

  Ted nodded and stepped forward. Rico moved aside and sat facing the group. The meeting began between two parallel rows of three-foot-diameter forcefield generators encircling the broadcast spike. A ten-foot gap separated each of the circular rows. Another row with larger five-foot-diameter generators about forty feet apart from one another lined the top of the entire wall. Each forcefield generator was housed by superior metals with a cylindrical housing protruding two feet up from the floor. Amid crisis the casing would, one, separate and expose the shield generators, and two, charge up—energize! A semi-translucent barrier effectively disabled or destroyed most artificial systems upon passing through. The shield provided protection from harmful toxins, rays, radiation, gas, harmful nanoparticles, grey goo, maybe even raining shit!

  Behind Rico, Jim, and Ted, the team leaders who sat facing the group, was the gleaming broadcast spike, currently in full extended mode. It stood over fifty feet tall and fucked the sky like a platinum magic sword fucks a grey stone. It was surrounded closely by additional protection within the bounds of its forcefield generators: dozens of specialized lasers that could rotate to target close attackers, or form an additional and impenetrable high-output laser forcefield if needed. Red-hot tepee.

  “Hello, everyone,” Ted addressed, prosaically fluffing his special tie as if to show it off. “I’ll be talking about Amy specifically, and the effect she has on our systems, and—” He looked over to Jim, who sat to his left. “—her effect on something else. As many of you have known for some time now, Amy demonstrated a remarkably high creative intelligence score during our initial tests. And now, time appropriate, we were anxious to see how she would perform. She has exceeded our expectations. But what you don’t know, is why she performs so well. Amy…is not genetically modified in any way, nor were her parents at the time of her birth. And this, is extremely rare. There is no other like her in our town. We believe that, during the years before the war every human on the planet had been affected, that is, had their genes cleansed in order to cure diseases. This soon led to frivolous gene editing and DNA altering. We are now learning that these modifications led to a large decrease in creativity, the ability to dream, although we don’t understand why. Virtually the entire human race was affected. And—most of us haven’t had a dream since, at least nothing more than choppy flashes anyway. Amy on the other hand has many natural dreams every night.”

  The group looked around at each other. They knew of Amy’s high creative intelligence score—rumors spread quickly amongst the team—but besides Ted, only Rico, Devon, and Ron, and more recently, Jim, knew the true reasoning behind it.

  “Really interesting, Ted, but what does this mean for us?” Jessie said, sitting on George’s leg.

  “I’m getting to that, Jessie. But I think things will only get more unusual as we move forward. Jim, could you please come over here for a minute. I hate to put you on the spot but we have detected changes in you and it is something that will soon involve everyone.”

  Jim’s curiosity was overflowing. He wanted to know what was wrong with him. I’m infected, logging in with Amy has damaged me, I’ll be kicked from the program, what’ll I do? I’m going to die. His thoughts intertwined as he rose up like a sloth, a bit reluctantly. He thought of his bud Lion, pulling weeds, and thought of himself in a green uniform. His imagination was strong and he could even picture the dirt under his fingernails; he could smell the moist, sweet smell of the weeds. He felt sick to his stomach thinking about it but sluggishly, a zombie no longer caring about brains for dinner, took a stand next to Ted, facing the group.

  “Jim, I want to let you know—” Ted paused, smiled gently. “—there is nothing wrong with you. I know you’ve been going through some changes over the past few days. Your DNA is—being repaired, Jim. We don’t know why or how. Data shows your C-IQ, your creative intelligence quotient, has risen dramatically during your week logged in with Amy. As far as the requirements of our systems, this is the most important value. Also, your E-IQ, emotional intelligence quotient, is elevated substantially. Your standard IQ score has not changed, but the C-IQ and the E-IQ are like, well, a turbo-boost for the mind. Strong imaginative and emotional abilities lead to gains in overall intelligence and creative thinking on a dynamic level. It is this special power that once made our species the dominant one on the planet.”

  “But what about this?” Jim blurted. He grabbed a section of hair. A hand-sized tuft came out easily, almost the entire front patch above his forehead. The lenders gasped, especially Jessie. She placed a delicate hand over her mouth and jerked her head away.

  “Unfortunately, this has some…side effects, Jim,” Ted continued. “But they are only inherent to how you would be, would have been all these years, naturally, having had no genetic or DNA modifications in the past. Jim, your DNA, your entire genetic makeup, is being reverted back to its natural state.”

  The lenders were astounded, many glad the issue had been caught in time, or sorry for Jim. Only Rico and Ted knew the full gist of it. Jim couldn’t believe it himself and just turned his patchy head and sat in dismay.

  And Amy thought ab
out being special, as she had been told in the past. She remembered her recent flashbacks, her Daddy Jon’s last words. You are special, remember that always. I love you, Amy.

  “Is everything okay, Amy?” Rico asked, hushing the group with his arms. She looked disappointed, her liveliness crumbled. Everyone went silent.

  “My Daddy. He told me I was special before, right before he died in front of me. I keep recalling those memories now. I had them shut out. Yeah, I’m special all right, in a bad way.”

  “I’m so sorry, Amy,” Ted consoled, “but I do not think this is what he meant.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Ted. But what does this mean? I—I hurt Jim?” She was getting more upset with each word. And she looked at Jim, he was melancholy, had been all morning. Now he was sitting there and had a buzzard’s forehead.

  “Amy,” Ted said. “We believe you, you fixed him actually, but the modifications that were made, such as disease prevention, cosmetic changes, all others, will be reverted and there’s no stopping it now. Since he first logged in with you his creative intelligence score has skyrocketed. It’s now closer to yours.” Ted turned to face the now concerned group. “As we move forward—and Rico and I have already discussed this—well, we’ve come to a decision. Each one of you will work with Amy for one week. These sessions will start with the newer and lower-level lenders, eventually involving everyone here.”

  Those who had been sitting stood up. Those who were standing sat down, flummoxed and dismayed. The group was clearly apprehensive about the decision. Rico calmed them once again, letting it be known, answers were coming.