The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  A few lingering drones were reluctant to give up, yet soon enough even their anchors tore. Inescapably they flew upward, smacking the edge of the sucking, electrified twister. It was spinning so fast its walls were borderline solid. Several exploded, unleashing their screeching last words. Hundreds rode the charged wall of wind into the stratosphere. It shocked every leftover into oblivion, shot them up and flung their carcasses miles away. Far beyond the wall it rained garbage from clear skies, pitting the desert with dead black hail. Some made it as far as the outer ships; their lasers assisted, evaporating the incoming chunks.

  The storm had cleansed the ship, energizing it at the same time. Its lights went bright; the bridge lights illuminated the crew. No cheering or solace, expressionless, completely unphased, diligently still tapping away on their controls, they didn’t even bat an eye out the window.

  “Wow,” Abell said, a single word in his usual monotone. His large eyes gaped. He spoke, he spoke! Who wouldn’t, who couldn't!

  “It’s done—and look, it’s auto-repairing,” Ron exclaimed. “The storm—”

  “The door, it’s opening. They’re coming out.” Rico cut him off, but he didn't mean to. They weren’t even talking to each other, individually, they were gluttons to awe, oblivious to the flashing alert on the panel aside them. The broadcast feed was teetering on the red. But did it even matter—with a force like that, so powerful? Why would it? They really were saved, after so many years. A large door below the front of the ship cracked open. Blinding white edged the breach. Cold smoke forced its way out and fell to the ground. Their mysterious savior did not hesitate—an introduction was coming.

  Rico was ecstatic, his newfound curiosity was a foot revving the gas on a brand-new semi. And Abell was happy too. Happy as if he was cradling two arm-loads of cuddly animals. He was obviously still learning how to grasp his now deeper capacities, because he looked quite goofy. But happy was good in any form. Great! Wonderful! Rico jumped on the oak tree of a man, hugging him. Quirkily, Ron did the same. The oak tree hugged back, squeezing them both red. This was the moment and the day everyone had waited for. The systems slowly returned to normal, auto-repairs kicked in throughout the wall. The broadcast feed crept up, slowly, rising back into the yellow. Relief settled onto the townspeople as Rico relayed the good news to all. They cheered, arms squished at their sides.

  With a perma-smile, Rico glanced at one of the screens still focused on the ship’s bridge. The ring of orange-suited pilots hadn’t changed. Straight-faced, they continued tapping away, operating their panels at the exact same pace—no difference.

  85. The Decision

  The words sobered Jim directly into a rage. He held still, but could’ve ripped their heads off with his bare hands. Something, and Amy’s hand pressing his, told him to wait, to hear them out.

  “This is going to be hard for you to grasp but there is a map,” Greg continued. “It was designed for a special purpose—this. We can take you there, if you decide. I can tell you everything I am allowed to say, and nothing more. Your decision is a big one, and together the both of you must decide it. Your choice is and always will be—yours.” Felix released a sigh and held his arm around Rosita. Eddie nodded with a slight and somber bob of his head, pressing his lips.

  “Go on,” Jim said under his breath.

  “If you so choose, you will accompany her. You can assist with her death if she wishes.” Amy didn’t say a word, just gulped a breath. Tears flooded her eyes, but didn’t fall. She turned to face Jim.

  “You’re right, I don’t fucking understand!” Jim exploded. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t such a good idea. He burst upward ferociously, cracking the first dried-out wooden strip of the picnic-table’s top. The rest of the outdoor restaurant went silent with fear, some snuck away. The empty bottle of tequila fell to the ground and dishes were scattered and broken. He continued, emphasizing each word slowly and furiously, “You are going to start talking, and right now, even if I have to rip it out—” Amy grabbed his arm. He stopped at her touch, for he was ready to split the rest of the wood, make his way straight through the table, grab the pencil-neck and rip his throat out. He held firm, then her small hand beckoned him again. A gentle touch.

  He looked to her, still seated below him; only a single tear escaped her. Amy forced a smile, the best she could, and slowly shook her head. She always had that effect on him. His anger wanted to erupt—and it would have, violently. He wanted to tear their fucking heads off like he had done to so many dream characters: he’d ripped them apart, blasted them to bits, choked them out, gunned them down, and cut them in half. It had helped to release his anger many a day. But never more than after the revert, his emotions were different to him, powerful and still changing; every day was learning then relearning to manage the new person he was becoming. The others at the table felt his pain, and he saw and felt, their sincerity. But it was Amy’s touch that did it.

  She silently beckoned him: sit down, be calm, and listen. Words felt not heard, she had that power. It only took the touch, and her smile.

  Jim sat and puffed the anger away with larger, then easier, then lighter breaths, until he actually could listen again. Felix gave him a single nod then spun a finger to the frozen restaurateurs. The waiter quickly brought a cheap bottle of mezcal con gusano and filled a shot.

  Jim accepted the drink.

  It was smooth and sweet; the shot went down quickly, without a chaser. He no longer needed chasers in life. Like his black coffee, he just wanted it straight. There was something in their eyes, Greg, Eddie, something they knew, something he knew they knew. He sat down and spoke, “Continue.” He said it sternly under a thin layer of control given to him by a young woman. A woman he loved, and trusted. “I’ll listen, for her.”

  “Jim, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it is the way it is. The choice is yours, Jim, first and foremost, yours. Amy, I’m sorry to say, the choice is not yours but you must agree in order for the choice to be allowed. What’s out there, on your planet—it will destroy your town and every single person in it. But worse, it will scan each person first, before it kills them, then use them. It will attract their consciousness to its system. They will work as slaves inside the machines’ worlds, their own maps, however horrifying they might be—forever, possibly for eternity.”

  Jim couldn’t believe it. Had it really gone this far? This deep. Our oblivious little town, he thought. We really are just sheep.

  “This is why we attempt to save humanity,” Greg continued sadly. “Not because of the human bodies, the vessels—meat popsicles as a quirky friend calls them—but for the consciousness that can be caught, attracted to a system—then held, trapped forever, for as long as the system wants. Take for example Felix, and Rosita also, partly and under different circumstances. Their consciousness upon death, attached itself here, in this map, to this copy. Felix has decided to remain here, to help us. He’s our in-between component, and friend.” Felix nodded.

  Jim noticed Amy’s tears had dried up, she was always the stronger one. The implications of this, horrible, unfathomable—hell, he thought, then said, “But why does Amy have to die? Can we not activate this—savior—another way?” Jim’s mood was weighted by the new information. If it’s true—but why wouldn’t it be? The extent of technology, and what is possible. It’s an end, a beginning. He thought of the town, and the possibility of endlessly trapped slaves. Something in his mind constructed a wall and he didn’t want to take it there; he kept his deepest thoughts on the idea imprisoned—but something, something long lost, was pushing to get out.

  “Jim, Amy, estas bien?” Rosita spoke. She held out a hand for comfort but Amy was comfortable clinging to Jim and didn’t respond to it. He was her rock, and Amy was his, probably more than she could know.

  “No, I’m really not okay, not at all.” Jim spoke calmly, drained. Amy held his arm and looked into his eyes.

  “I’m okay with whatever you decide, Jim. I do not want to die,”
she said, “but I must believe that they do know what is best, for the greater good. For everyone, our friends. Our town is family.”

  “Jim,” Greg continued, “if you decide to proceed, we will take you to the map and it can be done any way you and Amy want. The map will delete Amy—permanently. Her body will die on the outside, and there will be no trace of her consciousness. She will be—erased. If not, you return to your town—you live and continue on, and fight for as long as you can hold out. The world is yours.”

  “But why, why—why?” Jim pained. He put his hands on the table, not knowing what position to take. He moved them nervously. It made him uncomfortable and he squirmed in his seat. He was overloaded with anxiety—like when he and Rico couldn’t get the power rerouted—and again felt like he had to take a nervous shit. He couldn’t hold still. He turned to Amy, she calmed his movement and eased his nerves. Their glassy eyes met passionately. Their lower lids were unable to dam the flow of tears. “She doesn’t deserve this. After all she’s been through.” He directed his words to Greg while staring at her.

  “I can promise you this, Jim,” Greg continued. “You will know everything if you go through with it. You will know why it had to be done, and you will understand your choice. Your town will have a chance—it is the only chance of being saved. You yourself, Jim, will be saved.” Eddie nodded a somber validating nod. But still, it was as though Greg was a doctor delivering an unfortunate prognosis.

  Have they done it before, Jim thought, told others about this goddamn fucking choice?

  “That is all we can tell you,” Greg went on, “you must choose whether to believe us. You choose to believe if we are even real. And if we are, you choose to believe that what we are telling you is true. The age-old moral dilemma now weighs on your shoulders, you choose to save the many, or save the one. You ultimately decide, based on what you know to be right in your heart. You hardly know us, but we shared a meal together. We’ve talked, even laughed a little. We enjoyed some really great tequila and each other’s company. We wanted you to know us first, at least as much as possible given the circumstances.” There was a long pause.

  “Jim, the time has come,” Felix said. “You must choose, Señor.”

  He looked back to Amy. He wanted some way to know. Like a bad dream, but it wasn’t, as much as he yearned for it to be.

  Amy couldn’t decide either, and she couldn’t provide any absolution. She thought, how does one choose to die? I think I’m a fun person to be around. I try hard, I care about others, why me? Her thoughts made her want to cry more but she held it in. She gathered herself, mustering her strength as she had done so many times throughout her life. “I love you, Jim. I said that, and I wasn't lying. I’ve been through a lot. My body has been slashed and chopped and I’m in a coma right now. Who knows if I could even help much longer, or will ever awake from it? If there’s a chance the town can be saved—” Amy swallowed hard. The wind shifted the canopy above them, allowing a ray of light to shine inside. A tear glimmering like a shining star caught the light and descended her cheek.

  “If you’re okay with it, Amy—but I don’t know if I could—”

  “I want you to. I want you to be strong. And—remember me. I can’t be completely erased if you remember, right?” They hugged. They squeezed each other tight and their tears broke loose, mixing, twinkling in the light. During the long hug they had decided silently to each other.

  He held her, then pulled away to stare at her. He wanted to absorb every detail of her face. This is how he would remember her. And his flooded eyes spoke worlds, telling her he would never, ever, forget her.

  She smiled brightly with her wet face. She saw the roulette wheel in his eyes, and the marble had taken its slot. She knew he’d been messed up for a while, his imagination and emotions, even his instincts like every other part of his mind were twisting his reality, distorted, fluctuating and finding their slots. And she knew he’d be okay. She also knew—although it didn’t matter any longer, or never had—that he wasn’t actually gay. She could see him through and through, beyond time, just like she’d done with Myron when repairing his wound. She could not repair Jim, it was his mind, his choice, but knew in her heart that he was stronger than he allowed himself to be, and he was going to be fine and move forward with courage and strength and determination—without her.

  Felix rose to his feet. He was in tears. Rosita too. Greg couldn’t help it, he hugged Eddie who’d teared up as well, they all had. Others around had noticed and thought it was a proposal, or an engagement. Clapping began. The food stand owner came out of his trailer and stood next to his family, clapping as well, and his three sons and daughter in front of him, and his wife, a beautiful family. Jim noticed. He saw how hard they worked. He knew the town was in trouble, and this is what would be saved. Good people, people like this family standing strong, together. And the group of six at the table got close with one another. They shared tears, and for a time couldn’t speak. They banded together and hugged as one. Jim saw in their eyes, and he couldn’t help it, maybe he was ignorant, but he saw truth.

  “When you are ready, we can go,” Greg said, still composing himself. The moment was powerful, a decision had been made, and they were ready. Amy nodded up at them with drying tears.

  Jim, yet still reluctant, managed to assemble his final decision. Amy taught him what it was to be strong and it was time to prove it. He took a deep breath while holding Amy in his arm, and together they said, “Yes, we’re ready.”

  86. Skilled Flying

  To Jim, what seemed like a mere hours-long chain of events, was quite different for Felix and company; weeks had passed. Time in Old Town, as the outsiders had explained, had slowed upon their arrival. They had been sent, just in case. The call was made because the earlier visit—a request for the code under desperate circumstances—raised a red flag, allowing for what could be an extraordinary possibility. And that, Greg said, was as much as he was allowed to say.

  Felix and Rosita waved. They held an arm around each other, watching as Jim and Amy were escorted away. Rosita was upset about the circumstances and the decision but trusted her man. He didn’t explain it to her, but said it was for the best, that one day she would understand, and, that sometimes knowing less is more. He also didn’t explain anything regarding why he knew more than he should: about Mr. Quain Renmore—his buddy Q, the circumstances of their first meeting, and how they became friends and talked for hours; that was another story altogether.

  They departed in the opposite direction Felix had driven Jim and Rico. As Amy passed the old saloon she turned around. She paused to get a last glimpse of Rosita and Felix, who were standing at the mercado entrance next to the old light-blue pickup truck. Her hair rustled in a gusty warm breeze. They waved again, but Amy didn’t, she only smiled.

  She looks so innocent, too young, Rosita thought sadly, deserving of so much more. The breeze reached the couple as they watched her slip from view. It was strong and blew Felix’s hat off. But he didn’t reach for it because his attention got sidetracked. He felt something, something powerful. They both did. It was a mix of peaceful feelings, including one that said: I’ll be okay. Felix knew a bit about Amy and her power; she had sent them a final goodbye, a feeling that could say a great deal more than words. The breeze conveyed her essence, and her good will. It carried a vibrant, resilient strength that halted Rosita's tears, and with it, she couldn't help but smile. She put her hand on her heart and took in a deep breath, absorbing Amy’s powerful last message, a message of love.

  “So where are we headed?” Jim asked. He was holding Amy’s hand and walking behind Greg. Eddie was leading and merely pointed. Jim recognized the area. They had come to the edge of the town; a few ironwood trees and some dry overgrown grass edged a nearby canal. The vegetation thickened and heightened the farther they walked, eventually providing substantial shade.

  These trees no longer exist, Jim thought, none of this. It would become the gardens behind his buildi
ng, northwest of the town. They continued along the canal until reaching its source, a small spring, exactly where the wall would be placed several decades into the future. Jim knew it well; besides what little the Atmowater Generators could squeeze it was their primary source of water. The builders had likely built the wall atop the natural well to take advantage of the abundant supply of water, and to secure it; almost too perfect. The more time he spent in the Old Town map, the more he found himself putting things together, becoming familiar with the distances. He knew where he was, for now.

  They crossed a small bridge over the canal just before the spring and continued along the overgrown path into unfamiliarity. Another thin canal broke from the spring and meandered in the direction they were heading. Jim realized, now they’d passed it: the would-be boundary of the great wall.

  “Almost there. We have a ship,” Eddie said. Amy’s eyes widened at the thought.

  The brush squeezed the path and Eddie pushed his way through first. Greg went next, holding some thickets aside for Amy; Jim followed last. The path ended by opening into a clearing: a spring-like oasis. They were beyond a wall of trees and the town was no longer in sight. It was green and grassy and looked almost manicured. The canal had become a clear-water creek after winding its way through the brush. Ahead and to their left, the water cascaded into a serene pond. As though a line had been crossed, the area looked incongruent. But there was nothing more heading out, the grass quickly evaporated into desert. Green sod was the beach, dry dust was an ocean. The view unloaded for hundreds of miles—flat, nothing.

  Jim put his hands on his hips and looked around. The expanse looked similar to the desert Felix had taken them through in his beat-up truck. They had walked a good mile, at least. Greg scanned the area briefly but in a circumspect manner, then reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a set of keys dangling a small device. He pressed a button and the ship appeared in front of them, wavy ripples delivered it to existence. Some sort of cloak! Amy’s eyes lit up. The adventure she’d always wanted.