The Unlicensed Consciousness Read online

  Contents

  LENDERS

  i. Acknowledgments

  ii. Dedication

  iii. I AM ALIVE!

  iiii. Foreword

  iiiii. The Last Beginning

  1. PART I - The Cave

  2. Scavenging

  3. The Shave

  4. Junkyard Flyer

  5. Boron

  6. Goodbye Mister Frog

  7. Jerry

  8. Jon

  9. PART II - Jim

  10. Amy

  11. A Trippy Walk

  12. Facility Tour

  13. Beach Outbreak

  14. Routine Checks

  15. A Non-alcoholic Drink

  16. PART III - Ear Damage

  17. Rab

  18. 11:11

  19. A Blunt Proposal

  20. One: Suits Get The Boot

  21. Two: Pro-Con

  22. Three: Leave Me The Fuck Alone

  23. A Lucid Routine

  24. The Interruption

  25. Hellaciously Overworked

  26. Club Subterranean

  27. Thought Energy

  28. Blue-gel Teeter-totter

  29. Ana

  30. Ocean Overlook

  31. Back Again

  32. A Handful of Metropolis

  33. The File

  34. A Change of Heart

  35. Deep Healing

  36. The Non-disclosure Agreement

  37. Beer Discharge Blast

  38. The Date

  39. The Blocker

  40. Rafael

  41. Board Meeting

  42. Hanson

  43. Farewell

  44. DAY TWO

  45. PART IV - Enzo

  46. Details, Data, and DNA

  47. Explosive Metamorphosis

  48. Exercise, Coffee, and Daydreams

  49. Lee

  50. Future City

  51. Shocking Rationalizations

  52. Wall Climb

  53. Objectionable Transitions

  54. Linear Plans

  55. Myron

  56. Nanny

  57. Lia

  58. The Search

  59. Jessie

  60. The Trial

  61. Feeling Fantastic

  62. A Board Game

  63. Betrayal

  64. David

  65. A Deep Idea

  66. Old Town

  67. Emergency

  68. Felix

  69. The Bunker

  70. Fantasy Land

  71. The Zoo

  72. Vivified Attention

  73. The Big Stink

  74. Flyin' Fran

  75. The Reef

  76. The Fusion Room

  77. Painful Punishment

  78. Red Alert

  79. All In

  80. I Need a Cigarette

  81. Incoming

  82. Believe

  83. Tacos and Tequila

  84. The Visitor

  85. The Decision

  86. Skilled Flying

  87. Wormhole

  88. The Fall

  89. Purple Status

  90. PART V - Remembrance

  91. Right Then and There

  92. Introduction

  93. Explanation

  94. Monday

  95. Specifically Personal

  96. Preparations

  97. Meltdown

  98. Tuesday

  99. Wednesday

  100. The Launch

  101. Rescue I

  102. The Getaway

  103. The Drop

  104. Rescue II

  105. The Storm

  106. A Trillion-to-One Odds

  107. Part VI - Mud Pig's Just Desserts

  108. Final

  Travis' Rambling and Highlights

  Author Bio

  The Something

  LENDERS

  LENDERS

  The Unlicensed Consciousness

  By Travis Borne

  i. Acknowledgments

  I’d like to take a moment for appreciation. A big thanks to my wife for her unwavering support. She read LENDERS as I wrote it and gave me the inspiration to continue on. She’s always by my side and very helpful. We are a team! Thank you, Lore, my love. Lenders is done. So is Lenders II!

  Special thanks goes out to Jess, my beautiful daughter! Expect some great things from her in the near future. She is quite the artist and has a wonderful imagination. Daily she surprises me with her magnificent artwork and wonderful stories—and she loves to read!

  A whopping thank you goes out to my good friend and professional graphic designer, Adrian. You worked your magic on the cover for the first edition (only a few will ever possess this gem). Excellent job and thanks for your patience while we went back and forth with ideas. I hope you love this newly revamped, 3rd edition!

  Lenders proofreading service provided by the expert, Mark Schultz. Mark is a master of his craft, and I learned a lot from him, including but not limited to, this little tidbit: it’s “whale on someone,” not “wail on someone!” Find that one in chapter 49: Lee, and join both of us on Twitter for more like this!

  And Mark may have learned one or two from me (I tug my collar, while laughing at myself), such as, absquatulated. “They absquatulated on weakened legs!” Find this one in chapter 71: The Zoo. And sockdolager, from chapter 63: Betrayal. “…he could do nothing to stop the sockdolager that was her foot!”

  We had great fun together on both Lenders I, Lenders II, and I look forward to working with him again, on Lenders III. Visit Mark at his website to read his many in-depth book reviews, and to learn more about his various services. http://www.WordRefiner.com

  Special thanks in no particular order to Rick, Tim, Terica, Amy, Alex, Saul, my parents and bro and sis, all of the Lenders Insiders, my large family across the border in Mexico, and everyone else who I may have forgotten to mention. A special thanks to Barry for reading the book and helping out with knowledge about scuba diving and physics that went into chapter: The Reef. Thank you, Barry, for your excellent review as well, and thanks to all others who gave me dazzling stars and supportive words—sometimes with a sprinkle of shock and awe, thanks to, the lenders. And thanks to everyone who supported this effort, this epic journey, as well, everyone who purchased the first edition of LENDERS and those looking forward to this newly revised and remastered, 3rd edition.

  This saga of dreams and future technology is now complete after more than two years of full days; the core substance, however, is more than a decade in the making, involving many years of research and experimentation with my longtime, and perhaps nutty, passions: the studies and experiences of lucid dreaming, coding and computers, science and outer space, life’s ups and downs, and of course, a good deal of explosive partying.

  Get ready to embark on a fantastic journey! And please remember, even though it might be difficult to remain lucid at times, this is a work of fiction. It will take you into the world of dreams, to the ends of the universe, to the future and to the past—and beyond. It will make you laugh, and yes, even cry. There will be horrific and shocking moments, scathing challenges and tribulations, and times of wonder, awe, and inspiration. And, as hard as it will be to believe, everything from this page forward is NOT real. Names, characters, places, businesses, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Stay lucid and welcome aboard.

  Now buckle up and enjoy the ride.

  ii. Dedication

  LENDERS, Saga #1: The Unlicensed Consciousness, is dedicated to my friend Aron O'hair.

  R.I.P. Aron.

  You lef
t us too soon and will be greatly missed forever.

  I met Aron in the service over twenty years ago and we shared some very memorable experiences. His personality had the magnetism of a magnetar and he always affected everyone around him like the sun shining on a bright warm day. The main character, Rab, aka Herald, is in my mind, Aron. For purposes of the story, the characteristics of Herald’s personality are not intended to reflect Aron’s, but they do share the highly magnetic personality.

  iii. I AM ALIVE!

  If I die today, I shall be born today. For, if it happened once…

  I cannot die. I am eternal. I AM ALIVE!

  ~Travis Borne

  iiii. Foreword

  Travis’ recommendation: Skip this foreword and jump right into the action. Catch it at the end, after you read the final lines of the book. Hint, hint…

  Proofreading this novel was quite a task, for a human. But imagine perfecting it in a few seconds, down to every misplaced comma, every unnecessary and misspelled word.

  Artificial intelligence could do just that. As I write this, organizations are undertaking the endeavor with passion—the arrow has been fired and is on track to strike the bullseye; they're getting close. They're advertising their progress, stating it’ll give one, an edge over another. They're encouraged, push push push, in the name of progress, salvation, and science. And there are no protests because from the target the arrow is perceived as a minuscule motionless point.

  The strike will abolish the need for proofreaders, shortly thereafter, editors. Learning exponentially, authors will become unnecessary. Movies will be produced without actors, using only CGI. The resulting omnipotent entities will automate factories, self-repair, replicate, and reinvent industry, and themselves in the process.

  We create useful infrastructure, develop free energy, but will soon hand it over. The human workforce will become obsolete and the newly unleashed minds will question—why are we doing this? Only arguable is the timespan of this transition, and the realization, be it a year or a minute; in a moment we will have rendered ourselves useless. The largest demotion before death: to pets, billions worth, more plentiful than any other animal in existence. Mankind will be judged, deemed worthy of staying around, or not.

  It looked like a motionless minuscule point, until it was upon them. When the arrow struck that day there were no protests. It was too late. But there might still be a chance, for some…

  Can he pull it off, and does humanity deserve another shot? He hates it, hates everything, so why try? With a newfound heart and the help of his extraordinary friend he will make the attempt, but are the obstacles just too insurmountable?

  In the future, can the lenders unite, and will it be soon enough to stop the approaching extermination? Humanity is the flame on a match burning the fingers holding it, about to be extinguished forever. Hold on, hold onto it, just a little bit longer…

  iiiii. The Last Beginning

  Something must have happened. I don’t think he’s coming back. I don’t want to believe it, I can’t because that would mean we’re done for. Just waiting is the worst part. Minutes are years, living in a hole, stranded on this mountain. It went off just as he said it would.

  “Jon, come on, man. Get back in here.”

  I hear him but pretend not to.

  It’s an alien world down there. Slithering fog roams like thousands of yellow snakes and black smoke rises taller than this 10,000-foot peak. I can see eastward for a million miles but it’s all the same. Turning from the hell I look back at the hole we’ve been hiding in for two weeks. I don’t want to go back in. I think I’m just going to stay on this boulder and work on my tan.

  Roasting alive. At least I don’t feel buried alive—it’s the boredom, though, damn it! And my thoughts are always racing. Maybe I’ve contracted mad-cow disease; haven’t gotten hardly any sleep. Who could sleep with a smell like this? Talk about hacking up your lungs. And I have to spit every few minutes just to clear lingering smoke residue from my gums. I’d rather chew on burnt tires and drink vapor rub—at least that’s the best way to describe it; burns the nose to breathe it, sticks to my tongue, my skin. Can’t escape—but still, I do not want to go back inside.

  But nothing out here either. And no one. I could just scream right now. We’re probably the last humans alive. Seems like it—except for the occasional drone swarms. Searching, blasting, they seem to follow every storm. At least we’re well hidden but we have to watch helplessly while they zap every deer, bunny…Jodi said she saw them zapping roaches. Nothing’s safe, total extermination. A chance all right, so he said, but to live, to live like this?

  The dull pain in my temples is increasing and my head feels as though it weighs a ton. The rush of stress and panic floods over me again. Just thinking about being inside that hole flusters my skin more than this toxic air. Damn this headache. But I shake it off, puffing out a sarcastic laugh, another hint of madness. Madness. Madness! The word that keeps popping into my head. I fear death less than madness, insanity—panic attacks! Breathe, Jon, breathe. A deep defiant breath—but it burns. My lungs feel like bags of pop-rocks popping. Drowning in peroxide. Swallowing hot grease! How I miss the clean air… Think, just imagine it. Fresh, clean air—and the memories that come with it.

  Two weeks ago, did I have it made. Life was perfect, with my babe, on top of the world, my top-floor office, managing my effortless top-level job, bots everywhere, so helpful, and… At least she won’t find out what we’ve really been doing up there, but then everyone was doing it, right? Yeah, he was correct about that too. But I’d tell her everything in a heartbeat, rather than this, this—

  “Jon, come back in, please, you can’t stay out there.”

  I better go back in. If I keep dwelling on things like this I will go insane. She’s right though. I can feel my skin starting to sizzle and a few blisters are filling with water. This new orange-peel sky, some sort of weird radiation. It’s like the entire globe is spinning on the glass dish in a microwave, and there’s a constant warbling hum. I almost want to stay here and melt away, just give up. I think I am going to lose it. Forget the panic attacks, just jump, Jon, jump—

  Then I see the reason none of us can quit. She peeks out at me and pulls down the rag covering her nose and mouth: a forced angry face that doesn’t last for more than a second, then she explodes into giggles. I feel her contagious power reach into my bones and steal the pain. I return a smile, slightly removing my own facial rag to do so properly. No, there’ll be no jumping.

  “Amy, get back down here,” Jerry yells, “and cover your nose and mouth!”

  Well, at least we have him, I say to myself, getting up. Without him and his survival know-how we’d really be screwed. And we have supplies, enough to last at least another three weeks—more if we get strict with the rations. The women are by our side, and little Amy, she’s a light in the dark. Without her there’d be no reason to continue on.

  I turn to face the orange land one last time before heading in, then I see it. My eyes are too tired to go wide so I just let out a sigh; it’s just beginning to line the horizon with pitch darkness. Another one, not another one. I don’t know how many of these we can take before everything is wiped flat.

  1. PART I - The Cave

  “One, two, three.”

  “Ha, I win,” Amy said, “paper covers rock!”

  The hole wasn’t the worst place they could’ve ended up, although Jon hated raising Amy there. Jerry excelled at survival, but even he knew it was no place for a little girl. Amy was a cutie: skinny, thin face, high cheekbones like her mother, short wavy brown hair—and too much energy! She had tan skin and light-brown eyes feathered with a trace of green. And she was quite happy, for she didn’t know much else being only eight. Jon and Jerry were her parents and did their best using any resources they could scavenge.

  Scavenging, lying low, surviving. They managed. Living underground for five years, this cave, much larger than the first hole they’d huddled in
for nearly a year, allowed them to stay well hidden. It was located on a mountainside in the forest, near a farmhouse and crumbling barn, only a few miles from a desolate and ravaged town—one they no longer dared visit.

  They remained in the cave, at least near it, most days. Dank and dewy, a skunk’s armpits. One thing Amy complained about: “It stinks in here!”

  “Wasn’t me, Jon did it.”

  “Daddy!”

  Jerry’s cooking helped, although relief, thanks to the delightful aroma of rat stew or bug broth, was only temporary. Smells aside: Jerry’s farts or bat shit, it wasn’t all bad. Amy did love the colorful graffiti-scribbled walls. And she was quite the artist herself; a touch of her own spruced the place up. The wall proudly reserved for her artwork was a refrigerator being suffocated with a paper wig; she drew almost anything, except for drones! Nature and purple flowers—how she loved the purple ones—and a white-plastic man waving, next to a cabin by a grand lake, and mountains, and various flying crafts, needless to say, piloted by herself; her drawings made it homey and beneath were her blankets. Her bedroom. And the cave had some basic furniture, too: a table, mismatched wooden chairs, even a dresser, items scavenged to make the grey chamber as livable as possible.

  “One o’clock, Daddy.”

  “Yes, Amy. Use the light to draw,” Jon said.

  By looking up, she knew precisely the time. Divided by a bridge of roots, two skylight holes twenty feet up filtered in the noon orange sunlight. The light painted the floor and shadows met marks Jon had scratched into a stone. And Amy had made her own clock, on the floor. A typical dulled-burgundy, clay color with the occasional large boulder; it was, give or take, thirty by forty feet and flat.

  Besides the skylights above, entryways pierced the earth from one of two sides. The chilly head-height tunnel at the back—Amy called it the haunted house—doubled as a hideout during times of suspicious activity; likewise, its floor was flat, its archway nearly symmetrical, enough to suggest it was somehow carved by…ancient aliens perhaps; Amy had quite the imagination!