by Travis Borne
But—it could be part of the choice. An illusion? Like his mind, his new senses and capacities, it was dizzying. He knew—he was all fucked up. Amy on the other hand was firm, she had made her choice.
“Back at the Old Town mercado,” he continued, “Greg said it was my choice first.”
“Jim, don’t do this, you’re rationalizing,” Amy said. A tiny tear escaped her flooded eyes. Silently, a raspy whisper escaped her lips. She pleaded, “Please.”
Gravity-enhanced surface tension made his eyes glass and layers of tears were an avalanche with his next words. “I love you, Amy.” His core was frozen, the outside of his fingers numb, but Amy was hot, heating his palms. He held her shoulders firm in his two strong hands, and she warmed his dying heart with her smile.
It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Face defiant against the icy air, he watched her fall. She looked up to him, falling backward with that same perky smile she’d had when they first met, and she waved. Jim’s face flooded and his tears froze. He couldn’t even return the smile or move a muscle. Unleashed, the tears poured out, coming down his cheeks as if a dam had exploded. His mouth locked and his teeth cracked under the pressure. He froze solid.
WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Time synchronized with his breath, both stopped. Glistening with red starlight his tears neared the ground, then fell in a hurry like the magnetic dust. The droplets splashed onto the rocky grey at the same moment Amy departed from life. He spun around forcefully after hearing the faint, crack—and his every emotion exploded like a supernova. Anger, sadness, despair, agony—love. His heart was on fire. Loss made hate boil again, hotter than ever. His fists cracked and every muscle in his face and body clenched tight enough to tear tendons and fracture bones. Capillaries burst in his eyes and blood seeped down onto his cheeks. The mental and physical pain of the push branded his anguish like a hot poker to the spine. Emotions were a tornado of flames, setting his skin on fire from the inside out. Veins popped throughout his muscular arms and his face flushed redder than the deep red of the giant star. And he fell to his knees.
Then it happened. His eyes went wide, his mouth agape, his arms and head shot straight back. The rush surged within him.
89. Purple Status
Cheering spread throughout. So much so, Rico had difficulty communicating with Rob Price on the safe-room intercom. The noise, cries of joy and sighs of relief, were however great sounds to hear.
Rico lowered the volume on the broadcast- and safe-room’s open channel then said, “Abell, make a sweep on your way back, and be careful.” Abell nodded and after clearing the door, carried his pipe into the hall. Ron shadowed him, with a much smaller pipe. They headed to the broadcast room; fresh logins or help might be needed. The hallway appeared as though a monumental fireworks celebration had taken place within. The walls were charred and pitted, but structurally intact.
Rico decided he could handle the control room solo, the automation was asking him to make some verifications about their recent savior, to hold off temporarily, and gave him a checklist to attend to. Although he could override many of the systems and burst outside excitedly, he decided to heed the advice of the system and take caution. All was quiet now except for David; he was restrained and drooling, face to the floor. His mumbles had turned into incoherent noises and faint whines. Rico worked diligently, assessing damages, marking off one completed task after another. He took the alert status down a notch, from red to yellow, and kept busy while keeping a watchful eye on the ship outside.
Its just-in-time arrival saved everyone from certain death. The front had opened and three humans wearing clean neon-orange jumpsuits stood on the descended ramp, waving. They were smiling and carried no weapons.
The facility and the town had taken extreme damage and defenses were at half capacity. For reasons unknown ship #11 was unable to complete its auto-repairs. If the town needed support it could spare no more than one ship from the outer perimeter, and likely the drone army was now alert to their current state of weakness, so even one might be too much to spare.
“Rob Price, come in,” Rico said on the intercom to the safe room.
“Rob here.”
“Rob, its Rico. More good news. We have control of the facility and, the ship I told you about, well, there are now three people standing on its open ramp. They’re waving us in but I need you to hold everyone back for now. Slightly open the safe-room door and send out security. Instruct them to perform a sweep of the facility, quickly, then get back to you. I know it’s cramped, just hang on a little longer.”
“You got it, Rico,” Rob said.
Kim Mills was standing next to her man. She was sick of being squished and wanted out. Waving hands sounded fantastic to her. She pushed the button on the COM and added, “They’re waving—that’s great isn’t it? Why should we keep them waiting if they saved us? At least send out a runner.”
“Well, they’ve been signaling us since the ramp opened a few minutes ago. But the automation is telling me to hold temporarily. We have a few checks to make plus it advised against going outside until further auto-repairs have been completed.” He paused, remembering what Jim had said in the company of Nelman at the bottom of the shaft: it’s time to get back to humanity, make decisions, unite together—and build once again. He decided to go against the recommendation of the automation, partly. “Kim, actually that makes sense. Give me two minutes then send out the runner.”
New security team member Joey stood near Rob. He overheard and was jumping at the chance. “Okay, we’ll have Joey check it out,” Rob said. “As soon as he returns, I’ll get back to you with an update.”
“10-4—and Rob, be careful. They’ve been waving steadily for almost five minutes now, no change. It’s a little odd, but they did destroy the entire drone army that would’ve certainly done us in.”
“Understood, Rico. We’re on it.”
A call came in from Ted at the BROCC. “Rico, come in.”
“I’m here, Ted. What is it?” Rico replied. He put Ted on screen. There was a lot of commotion and crying going on behind him.
“We have bad news. It’s Amy—she’s, she’s gone.” Ted moved aside so Rico could see. “It happened a few minutes ago, very sudden. And Jim, we can’t log him out, he’s seizing up.”
Rico saw Bertha sobbing above Amy, her face glossy with tears. Young Doc was tending to Jim, patting his forehead with a damp cloth. He was as red as a tomato and his body jerked every few seconds. Drips of blood leaked from his tightly pressed eyes. Old Doc consoled Bertha from behind. All other lenders surrounded them.
“No—” His spine dealt frozen shocks to every nerve; a new emotion wobbled him. “—Ted. Why? I’m so sorry.” Rico put his hand on his face and rubbed his eyes. “I, can’t leave the control room, the system is—”
“Wait, something is happening, Rico,” Ted interrupted. “Her body—” Ted hustled away, leaving the connection open. She was changing color. The slight radiance that had returned earlier was fading and she became pale, then grey. Dark spots appeared on her arms in web-like blotches. Then her legs, neck, and face. The spots grew like accelerated black mold. Something, was eating away at her from the inside and her body appeared to be deflating.
Gasping, Bertha put her hand over her mouth and stumbled backward. Others assisted, catching the large woman before she tripped on the steps that descending into the sleeping area. Most of the lenders had logged out, unexpectedly because of the thunderous cracking, and watched in horror as her body became thin and disintegrated before their eyes. Abell and Ron arrived, just in time to see: her skin fell off, her blood dried, and her now cloudy-grey eyes fell into her skull. Her one-armed skeleton appeared so tiny and frail, but soon even it disintegrated—her bones got thinner and thinner until all traces of the human being that was once Amy—crumbled. Her robotic arm fell onto the floor. In less than a minute only grey powder remained, and her clothes—but, there was something else, something metal.
It started glowing, then moved.
The three-inch metallic sphere became brilliant and illuminated the room with a purple glow, brighter, then brighter. Arms rose to shield eyes. Bertha and the lenders took another step back as the little ball resting in a powdery pile of ash began to spark and rotate. Old Doc knew, it was the anomaly he’d found! Though, it was not cancer. The sparking became violent and the remains of the nicest young woman anyone could’ve met—blew off the table.
Rico gaped. Ten screens with different camera vantage points delivered chaos to his mind: the ablaze town, the curious ship and people in orange jumpsuits, the cluttered bay and hallways, the claustrophobia-inducing safe room, and now this. On this one screen, yet another bizarre phenomenon added to this abysmal, almost unfathomable day. The glowing purple orb—it came out of her head! It had been there all along!
It rose into the air. The magnitude of its presence became staggering.
Panic set in. A few pinched themselves. Others did various reality checks, deciding it had to be a map glitch, that they were logged in. This can’t be real! Perhaps it was a real dream, something new since Amy’s enlistment. Now everyone was having them, and this must be—a dream, a delusion, a nightmare. But it wasn’t.
Amy’s ashes spiraled into a cloudy storm. From the sphere an electrified spark hit the broadcast needle, zapping the purple-status bar with a snapping CRACK. The rest of the lenders were immediately logged out, cleanly—except for Jim. The broadcast-feed status, like a glass filling, went from red, to yellow, to bright green. It throbbed with intensity as if something was going to burst. With a sharp ESSPEEEEEEEW, the status broke through—PURPLE STATUS! The newly lit band pulsed with power as more bolts emanated from the little neutron star, tackling all sense of reality. And it got bright, so much so that it lost its purple glow. An electric crescendoing hum filled the room. The connection had been made, and the sphere proceeded to unload its energy in a more direct and constant flow, feeding the band which voraciously devoured its energy. Its purple hue grew deeper, richer. The walls of the room became the inner glass of a harmonious purple bulb. Fine bolts of electricity worked their way to its edges.
Then, the jagged zaps traveled through the heads of each and every—panicked apprehension morphed into smiles; all fear, tension, and nervousness dissolved like a hundred golden retrievers frolicking in a field of poppies on a warm sunny day.
Only Jim remained near the anomaly, and his spasms and jerking had stopped. He lay peacefully asleep next to the humming energy source and his rage-red skin color faded to its normal tan.
All stared with a glint of purple in wondering eyes. Not a single mouth was closed. The purple radiation was a source of comfort and the noise became a gentle rhythmic murmur. All felt Amy deep within their hearts, and like a comb through thick hair, memories of her brushed their thoughts. Imaginations meandered—tickled with humor, even a giggle—linear progressions of thought were derailed, igniting unique ideas and creative dreams, and good feelings pedestaled. Love, peace, and most of all hope, saturated the air.
Rico ogled the various control panels. The power from this new status was fixing everything, illuminating his screens, and making smart optimizations. Auto-repairs abound. He was astonished, and perhaps a slight bit frightened at the seemingly omnipotent capabilities. Everything pegged out to maximum within a matter of minutes. Wall lasers were inundated with auto-repairs, even the auto-repairs themselves had their levels topped off, and ship #11 was up and running. It headed toward Jewel City at a speed twice that of their mysterious savior—expected arrival time: 7 minutes. Whatever it was, it had enormous power. Rico no longer had control over his station, except for cameras and the door. The system was preparing for something, running codes he had never seen before, and faster than ever. The mysterious purple status was great, but thus far raised more questions than it answered.
It lasted about a minute and the sphere went dead. It fell onto Amy’s bed then bounced to the floor with an empty metallic ding. Silence filled the room. Ted took one step forward as if to pick up the ball but it cracked open and disintegrated. Nothing but a pile of grey powder remained. The purple status pulsed with a low and balanced warble. And the lenders cooperatively moved around, then hugged each other.
“Ted, what in the world was that?” Rico said. Ted just shrugged, speechless. He glanced to his other screens.
“Rico, I don’t know, and the systems are acting crazy. We have no control and—” Ted took a closer look at one of the screens.
“Same here, Ted. It has taken over. A virus perhaps?”
“It—” Ted squinted at the readings. “—sent something out. Looks like transmission of sorts. But…”
“But what, Ted!”
“I don’t think it’s bad,” Ted continued, with a sense of slow abstraction.
“Why not?” Rico asked.
“We’re feeling something over here. It’s—emotional. I feel, euphoric, my emotions, like a dream my imagination, is exploding. I can’t explain it to you but it’s, it’s, wonderful! I haven’t felt like this since—Rico, get over here.”
90. PART V - Remembrance
The memories rushed in and he fell back onto the grey world. He lay staring blankly at the red-giant star, arms wide. The map had another purpose and everything became clear. The gift was overwhelming. It had deleted Amy, but entrusted to him all of her memories, everything. Her entire life, everything she knew, every moment in vivid detail, rushed into his mind. All of the pain, and it was punishing, more than any pain he’d received from his own life; and all of the pleasure, overflowing with dreams, thousands upon thousands of dreams, every second of every day, it was all there.
Flash!
The spinach-green Colorado mountains were a great wall to the glimmering reservoir, brighter spring-green aspen trees randomly splotched the wrapping forest in meandering gobs, and the last moments of a tangerine 4 o'clock sun warmed their faces on the brisk spring day.
“Daddy, my favorite!” Amy said, picking a purple wildflower near the lake. A white butterfly fluttered by stealing her attention. She noticed everything alertly. Such curiosity for the world around her, an appetite for learning. And she was smart like her father. Amy had learned to speak before 18 months of age. Together they talked and talked, and picked various flowers. Every time Herald tried to sneak one into her bouquet that wasn’t purple, three-year-old Amy grabbed it and threw it toward the water. She loved the purple ones and it became a game—her special color.
He enjoyed every moment with his daughter and made each second count. Herald watched her absorb the world around her and shared in her excitement. So amazing, so precious, he always thought, he always knew. The dark curls of her hair bounced as she skipped around, and her iridescent light-brown eyes caught the descending sun, illuminating the beautiful slivers of green and lilliputian speckles of blue. Today, special company had arrived for a rare visit but their time together, as always, came first.
“I got one!” Valerie called out uneasily, stealing the attention of all. It was her first and a big one at that. Reeling it in unbalanced her; she nearly plunged into the fresh water but Jerry stood behind, happy to assist. He grabbed her waist and held firm. She had on tight jeans, rolled up, yet not high enough; cuffs wet she stood barefooted on the colorful underwater stones. Her shirtless man helped her control the rod, but let her work it. The water was as clear as air and the fish shimmered like a newspaper bag full of silver coins as she fought it all the way in. Exuberant cheering followed as she brought it up, bending the rod close to its breaking point—a beautiful rainbow trout!
Atop her blanket on the coarse crimson sand, Jodi yelled, “Go Val!” She swiftly dropped her book and shook Jon. For them this was new—a break from the norms of city life. Valerie, yes, Valerie, with a fish! Jon awoke from his sun nap and groggily smiled at the out-of-place but fast-learning city girl who dangled a sixteen-inch shimmering fish.
From above, seated on the burgundy rocks, Amy
clapped playfully; Herald mimicked. She loved clapping and looked up to her daddy, always making sure he saw her. Of course he did. He was happy to lend his attention. Almost the entire time she’d been tossing rocks into the water. Daddy was as much to blame, trying to teach her to skip the stones, although she was too young to master that just yet. The splashing didn’t help the fishing, for they probably would’ve doubled or tripled the catch. Six plus the largest one, good enough, and Valerie’s would make a perfect addition to breakfast, or maybe tomorrow’s lunch.
Jerry was quite the fisherman, perhaps not the greatest teacher, but Valerie had at last gotten one before the sunlight waned. Only a sliver left, and the bright red pimple deflated behind the 9,000-foot peak across the lake.
“Maybe just one more, how about it, Val?” Jerry said.
“One’s enough for me, Mountain Man.” She headed in; he just shrugged his shoulders then cast out the line. “Let’s go already, Jerry,” she said, dragging out her words.
“You know,” he said, as if not hearing. “Being out of the city for a change is refreshing, really hits the spot. It’s been too long. One can do a lot of clear-minded thinking out here.” He jerked the rod a few times, then wound a little. “What do ya say, Val? Maybe a place up here in Vallecito near Herald.” Valerie shook her head, but smiled, a no-way-Jose smile.
“Only one day up here,” Jon said, grinning, “and already getting the urge. I knew it was coming, but I see where you're coming from. The virtual stuff, it just doesn’t compare to the real deal.”
The cabin door opened and he yelled down to them. He had a Spanish accent—a style he’d chosen long ago to embrace his uniqueness. “Dinner is almost ready!” Herald acknowledged the good news with a raised arm and a thumbs up. The center cabin was surrounded by seven smaller versions and Rafael stood on the porch. He wore his red apron with matching bandanna. The white plastic of his face had crayon graffiti, and a little spaghetti sauce, as well the usual: Amy’s signature mustache, as crooked as it was. He liked it but would redraw a more symmetrical version after she went to bed. That’s just how he rolled: as laid-back as a golden retriever. She always ended up messing him up again the next day anyway. Some days he’d even let her draw hair on his shiny bald head. He didn’t mind because he loved her, and, knew his body was the perfect dry-erase board onto which she could unleash her unrivaled creativity. Today, he might wipe himself clean, however, for the occasion of a very special dinner.