by Travis Borne
“Found it!” Rico exclaimed. Ted hushed him, pointing at the sleeping lenders. He nodded, oops. Rico continued his excitement on the down low. “It’s right here hidden in the coding. The Old Town map.” He presented a preview of the map and it filled the screen. “Okay—I don’t have the code, only Felix had it and he’s gone. But—this is a map of our town as it was before the war, about thirty or forty years before by the looks of it. My Papa told me a bit about it, that the machines gave the map directly to him and embedded within are the codes to this facility should they ever be needed. This is the only map that does not reset; changes to the world are stored forever, recorded. I believe it runs continuously in the system. And, I vaguely remember the town from my childhood, we’d visited many times. It was so different then, just a little Mexican pueblo that barely made it onto any real map.” Rico lifted his chin in reminiscence. “The info must be in the bunker under his house. I think I could find—”
“You cannot log in,” Jim interrupted. Ted followed in agreement. “I’ll go, with another lender.” They both realized what could happen later because of the recent findings, the knowledge of Rico’s childhood cancer.
Ted realized his news wasn’t quite good news, not in this case. The cancer, would it return? “Rico, I think—” Ted stuttered. “—this isn’t a such good idea. There’s—”
“Ted, I think I’ll have to take my chances. We can’t wait any longer. Prep us.” Jim shook his head in disagreement but there was no time to argue, they could very well lose power any second. Who knew what David was doing at this very moment. He might get wasted and smash the panels with a pipe, anything. They had to move—fast.
Jim and Rico rushed to the nearest pair of beds and prepped for login. Ted loaded the map and it appeared as a slice among the active maps on the hologram table. He walked over to the HAT and with a hand-gesture swirling motion, he closed the other slices, making the entire table show only the Old Town map. Their levers illuminated green, ready. Ted looked over to them and held up his hand with five fingers. Both signaled a confident ready.
66. Old Town
The rocking chairs creaked as the weight of their bodies demanded presence. Jim materialized sitting on the outer deck of an old saloon. The sky was vivid blue and the air like that of a blow-dryer. A vague layout of the town was the only thing its future version had in common; it looked entirely different. The roads were baked to a pale tan and the village resembled Mexico as it was before the borders of the world had been abolished. A girl zipped by on a bicycle too big for her. Three boys gave chase while eating her dust and yelling in Spanish. And across the street was a large outdoor mercado.
The lender building—he connected the dots—was an old Wild West saloon. Ha! Before it was torn down, of course. This must be at least forty years ago, if not more. He saw the blur of Rico’s form and patiently waited, rocking slightly. Jim faced what would eventually become Main Street and noticed a couple green and sweaty bottles of beer on the barrel between them. Don’t mind if I do, and he took a thirst-tackling chug. Ah…
Jim marveled at the town and any similarities he could spot, while Rico composed himself—taking much longer than any other lender to do (besides Nanny and Fran). He thought how quaint, and open, not surrounded by that choking wall; like the canyon map minus the canyon. And DCs were already about in the streets, which surprised him. “How can DCs be here before we complete the login?” He asked himself, because his partner had just lost his translucence.
Rico looked nervous, and his usual golden complexion looked as if it’d been smacked with a powderpuff. He began to breathe rapidly, more in than out.
“Rico, just be calm and relax,” Jim said slowly, knowing it would pass. He reached across the barrel and rocked his chair, which Rico white-knuckled like it was a roller-coaster that’d leapt off the rails. “Just take a deep breath and let it out. Focus on something.”
Rico never logged in. It was rumored among lenders that he’d gotten jittery before, sent the system to yellow once, so had decided it just wasn’t compatible with him. Running the control room and staying in the real world would have to be enough.
He started hyperventilating then his grip loosened and he began shaking. As if he was blind, he rose from the rocker, feeling the air with his hands. Panic had dug its fingernails deep. Escape was all he wanted now. He felt he had to get away, out, anywhere, but stumbled and fell down the wooden steps. Jim leapt to catch him but it was too late. He lay on the street, shaking hysterically, his cheek in the dust, drooling. Jim rolled him over and his eyes fell back into his head.
67. Emergency
A silent alarm flashed above Devon’s screen, and another near the HAT. The red glow fogged the air with urgency. Lender instability was about to send the status plummeting. Devon acted with the urgency of a medic, desperately attempting to stabilize Rico’s feed. In charge of lender mental and physical states, he had some control but there was only so much he could do, and he’d already done most of it. The system was designed to allow for minimal human control.
Ted let out a slow breath and shook his head in dismay. He was following things at the HAT. “No, no, not again,” he said. “Not now.” His arms became crutches holding up the heavy despair that made him weigh a ton.
Ron, in charge of map stability, leaned to see Devon’s screen, affirming that things had plummeted beyond what was recoverable. Rico’s mental stability was wildly fluctuating: up then down, up then down even lower, dropping like a stone. Oddly, his physical status was also taking a hit and his heart rate destabilized. Jim’s, invariable as always, held steady.
Devon shrugged. “Nothing I try is working. He’s—dang, Ron, he’s about to be forced out—it’ll put us in the yellow for sure. His I/O parameters are fine but his subconscious is not accepting the environment, he’s freaking out. We’ll have to call it.”
“Let’s hope Jim can pull it off,” Ron replied. “Give him another minute, maybe he can get Rico to calm down—that’ll pull him out of it.” He turned back to his own screen. “I’m going to try one more thing,” he mumbled to himself. “It’s weird, though, I can’t seem to make adjustments to this map, not that I’ve ever had an extensive amount of control over others, but some, at least.” Another of his screens finished running a query he’d sent earlier and he turned to it. “It can’t be,” he said, reading the new flux of data. “He’s tied to it, the whole system. If we pull him the whole dang thing shuts down. It won’t be yellow, Devon, it’ll be straight to red!”
Unfortunately, they could only wait, and hope. They both got up and went to the HAT where Ted, with a hand covering his mouth, stood shaking his head.
“Why in the world did Rico log in with Jim anyway?” Devon asked. “And according to this, the Old Town map is a non-lending map, a part of the system itself. What’s the purpose of that?”
“They went in to get some information. Hopefully a code that can get us out of this mess,” Ted replied. “I knew what could happen. I should’ve stopped them.”
“What do you mean, Ted?”
“Rico was the one. He sent it to red, back then. He was so distraught, so destroyed by guilt…his father’s death, and more than 300 others in the town.”
“It can’t be,” Devon said.
“Don’t either of you ever say anything, please. Ron, Devon, please.” And they lowered their heads in a solemn vow. Ted continued, “He blocked it out, at first. But something snapped and we ended up giving him the chair, a minuscule dose, but just enough so he could go on, and we—Betty and Nanny and I—reformed his recent memory until he believed us. He possessed much knowledge from Felix, so we made him a leader, and passed to him…” Ted lowered his head, then looked them square in the eyes. “…for his father. We did it in honor of Felix. Felix was a hero.”
They were the most trustworthy individuals Ted had ever known, besides the many who had been lost that fateful day. He knew he’d eventually let them in on things—he wasn’t getting any you
nger. Both Ron and Devon quickly realized the stakes and accepted the knowledge with utmost respect and honor. Now they knew the stakes, and what this could mean if Rico was to falter, again.
The three looked toward the beds. Rico was jerking slightly, and soaking the sheets with sweat. Ted rushed over to aid his body any way he could. He began wiping sweat from Rico’s forehead with a cool damp cloth and spoke in a calm quiet whisper, “Hang in there, Rico. You can do this. I believe in you.”
Another alarm went off at Devon’s station. Rico’s heart!
68. Felix
“Rico, easy, calm,” Jim said. On the dusty road Rico lay on his back, spasming. “Focus on my voice. You’re gonna be just fine, it will pass.” Others arrived and peered over Jim’s shoulder as he strove to comfort his friend who was now ghost-white, stiff, and clammy; opposing the warm morning air, his sweat became ice cubes, and his body looked like a cadaver; his eyes bulged and became turbid with a bluish haze. And it shocked even Jim.
Rico felt the sensation of touch abandon his fingers and toes first and the loss crept up his arms and legs like metallic ice-water. Tunnel vision, closing in, everything getting farther from the light, darker, and darker. A big hand as large as his body pushed him deeper into the cold abyss and beyond the walls of the tunnel. High above like a window into nothingness, from the top of the tunnel, Jim called. His voice was hollow and quickly became unrecognizable as the window of light got smaller. Farther, farther, the darkness blanketed everything, leaving only a pinhole.
“Hijo.” The voice came from the crowd.
It echoed against the tunnel walls and fluttered into the void, bringing the slightest trace of a memory. Only a white pinprick of light remained but the void had stopped suffocating him. At least. And the tunnel became near again until he was inside it once more, and the pinhole enlarged as he moved even closer. He felt, feeling. It grew outward from his chest and filled his body with sensation once again. Forward motion, the massive hand was behind him now, pushing, pushing him out, faster, and faster.
“Rico. Hijo!” The voice was loud and distinguishable.
“Papa!” Rico spoke—he had lips, and a face, then a body once again. His own words echoed inside the tunnel. “Papa!” The face at the end of the tunnel was leathery, worn, and scarred, but warm and welcoming. Growing faster and faster, the window grew ever larger.
All exploded into a burst of calm, fading white light as Rico was birthed into reality, shot-put onto the dusty road. He could feel the warmth of the dry air and his heart beating in a normal rhythm. His vision returned with the things near to him first, until everything, including the brilliant popping blue of the sky flooded his senses. With a beaming smile, his papa stood over him—and Rico was back.
“Wow, yes!” exploded Devon, quietly, but energetically, throwing his arms up.
“He did it. Never—wow. Just wow,” Ron said, joining his excitement. He reached an arm over to his bud Devon. They both grabbed each other’s shoulders and squeezed with contentment.
Really, something weird had happened—and Rico’s life, for a moment, was in jeopardy. Yet now, with his color returning, his heart rate settling, Ted hurried over to the hologram table where stood Ron, Devon, and now the twins, in awe. Not a muscle was not, not tight with elation. And they watched as Jim and some others helped Rico to his feet. Oddly, the dream characters standing around Rico weren’t illuminated with any of the standard blue-green hues. A few exhibited the exact same characteristics as, as a lender. They were haloed in glowing white!
Felix held out a hand to his son who was now just as dusty as he after having rolled on the ground. Rico took his hand and rose to his feet. Felix was thin but strong. He wore a short-sleeve faded-red plaid shirt and a pair of jeans that had been mended more times than worth it. They stood apart from each other for a moment, both the same height, staring into each other's eyes.
“It can’t be,” Rico said slowly. “Ha!” They burst into laughter and hugged. “Papa,” Rico said. He squeezed his father while Jim watched. Jim knew it was only a dream character but decided not to ruin the moment with his interruption, especially after what had just happened. They patted each other on the back, sending dust into the air.
“Como estas, Rico? You have aged, pero, I still knew it was you,” Felix said. He had a heavy Spanish accent and spoke Spanglish—a mix of English and Spanish. “And I’m glad I arrived to you, just in time.”
“Rico,” Jim whispered. “You do know this is not your father, but merely a dream character? Most likely generated by your mind.”
“Hola, Señor, y mucho gusto,” Felix said, tipping his straw cowboy hat and holding out a hand. Jim slowly and reluctantly, shook it. “There is much for you to learn here. I am a character generated in this world just as you are. We stand in front of each other, aquí mismo, but I am not a mere dream character. Neither are some of these people around me. Yo soy Felix Lopez. Y—” Felix continued mixing the languages. “—had I not made it to Rico in time, he would be trapped here as well, and his human body—” Felix made a slicing hand gesture across his neck. “—muerto.”
Jim shook his head, grinning. He knew dream characters would say anything, and would appear just as real as any other person. They could surprise. They could lie. And they would fight with a desire to continue to be—to live. He was well experienced with the fact and saw it every day when logged in at work, for years. But, for now he went along with it, he wasn’t here to kill anyone, not today; they had to get the codes, and fast. But, Rico continued to converse with his father; he was elated to see him again regardless. Jim stood aside, hoping it would help to further stabilize Rico in the map.
But after a bit he had to break up their reunion. “He really is just a dream character,” Jim whispered again, just a bit louder, then spoke aloud, “Rico, we need to get what we came here for as soon as we can.”
“Right,” Rico replied, looking around, pressing his smile with a sigh. “You’re right, Jim. We need to continue with the mission.” He shook his head rapidly, snapping out of it, deciding that Jim, with his overflowing experience, was correct. And so, Rico said adios and turned away after getting one last memorable look at his father. The Felix that stood in front of him couldn’t know anything that he didn’t know, so along with Jim, he headed down the street. He abandoned the man who’d just saved him.
“Rico!” Felix yelled. The old man ran to catch up. “Bueno, you still don’t believe me, Señor Jim? Esta bien, pregúntame lo que sea, ask me anything. Something neither of you would know.” Jim pondered the idea and looked around at the old town. He could hardly tell it was the same place they lived in and thought it might not be easy for Rico to remember where the bunker was. If anything, the old man could retrieve a memory from Rico’s subconscious.
“Okay, what the hell,” Jim said. “We are looking for your bunker, and the codes to the lending facility.”
“Well, why didn’t ya just ask? Ran into some trouble out there I suppose,” the old man answered. “Sígueme pues.” Felix headed over to a faded blue pickup truck parked at the edge of the outdoor mercado, a flea market that now, bustled with people, tents, and good old-school commerce.
Jim then recognized it. The flea market was, would be, the green town park in the center of Jewel City. It looks so different without trees, he thought. And then he recognized Park Avenue across the way and some of the old buildings that lined it. The longer he stayed, the more he distinguished.
“Cabrones—vamonos!” Felix yelled after slamming his door and resting an elbow on the window’s edge. “If you two are in a hurry tenemos que salir de aqui, pronto!”
Jim looked at Rico and said, “Fuck it—why not?” And they ran over. Rico plopped onto the psychedelic seat cover that appeared to be handmade with colors that didn’t exist and scooted next to Felix. Jim had to slam the door several times to get it to shut, then, like Felix, rested his arm atop the window’s edge. With a tap of the key the old beast roared to life.
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“I call her Esperanza,” Felix said. “She might be old and beat to hell but—nope, we still pray she’ll get us there.” He revved it twice and laughed, clearly fucking with his new passengers. Neither really got the joke.
The muffler sounded like it had a side job as a shotgun target, but the motor purred with a contently broken-in rumble. Felix slung the column shifter into reverse. After backing out he forced it into second gear, confessing in Spanish that first gear was busted. It made a long grinding gerrrr, eeeeen sound as he worked it in. The tassel decorations hanging about the inside of the truck swayed back slightly as he pressed the pedal to the metal, keeping the clutch a good deal depressed. He had to clutch the pressure-plate to hell but finally got it up to speed. Dust flew high into the air as the truck headed out of town; their elbows protruded from the windows like chicken wings.
Jim loved the ride and let loose a smile—first in a week. Been a long time, he thought, holding his hand out the window, sifting the dry desert air. For a moment he forgot about the war and the wall, and the codes, and relished the present.
Rico glanced at the speedometer which read 70 mph. Felix gunned it a little more after noticing his gander. And Rico made a half-cocked smile at Felix, wondering where they were headed, but he didn’t feel uneasy with the old man. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it really was his father.
“No quieres morir aquí—hijo, es muy bueno que hayas vuelto.”
Rico didn’t completely understand, admittedly yet only to himself, that his Spanish was a tad rusty, and he also wondered how he could’ve forgotten the language.