One Last Final Date

Brandon wrestled with his wedding band. Twisting and pulling on the silver piece was all he could do to muster the nerve to speak aloud. Crouched over in the metal folding chair, Brandon looked around the room. He was not one to speak at every meeting, but there were new faces in the group that night. They needed to hear his story.

"Her name was Ashleigh, with an E-I-G-H, she always insisted.” A smile broke through his graying beard. “Smart, beautiful, and her laugh ... oh, she could find humor in almost anything. I found my peace within her laughter; I can hear it now.

“Then they came!” Those three words melted Brandon’s smile. The wrestling of his ring exacerbated. “The first night of the attacks. Those aliens came here on a ship full of hard drives. Used our robots against us. Robots intended to save the lives of thousands of soldiers. We all know how that turned out. What I wouldn’t do for one more evening of Ashleigh’s laughter.

“Yeah, I volunteered. It was chaos at first. Small groups of rebels, fighting back with primitive weapons against the bots. We spent more time running than fighting. Eventually, word spread that we had a weapon to fight back - a mechanical box full of tiny robots. I had my doubts, but they swore these minuscule robots would fly around and destroy the aliens. Nobody knew the origin of these boxes, just that they would end up in the hands of multiple rebel groups. The box worked within a radius of so many square miles. All we had to do was infiltrate a group, then activate the box. There weren’t many people left in our rebel group by the time we received the weapon. Maybe a little more than a dozen. We had no chain of command, no orders, nothing. Just a few guys finding the best way to deliver a box into the middle of a bunch of deadly robots. Our grand plan was to use a motorcycle, the lone vehicle, to drive as fast and as far as we could, then activate the weapon. We drew straws. Guess who won.

“So, we strapped the weapon onto the seat, and away I went. I drove so quickly, dodging bots, driving in irregular patterns to keep their fire off of me. I drove a good 15 minutes into the thick of them before the front tire blew, and I flew off the bike. All I could do was crawl back to the bike to activate the box. I took a bullet to the leg as I crawled.” Brandon winced as he reached for his leg. “But I made it to that box, and I hit the button. The bots started falling one at a time as if their power source failed.”

“Hell yeah!” random shouts erupted throughout the room. The enthusiasm fell short, bouncing off the old books on the shelves.

“And similar stories happened around the globe,” Brandon found his smile again. “We thought we were done with the aliens, just to find out that there was another group of them, hiding in another group of hard drives. Their consciousness living within a simulated world. So here we are, humans attempting to learn to live with an invisible alien civilization. I know they helped us create the weapon, but I still find it hard to trust them. That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s right,” an unfamiliar face in the group agreed.

“Can’t trust them,” said another.

“Alright, that was a very detailed narrative,” Sarah interrupted the group. Her youthful enthusiasm showed nothing but love for the otherworldly beings. “Next meeting, let’s focus on how our visitors have helped society. Remember, they gave us the weapons to fight off the aggressive intruders. Same time next week. Help yourself to refreshments on the way out.”

Brandon sighed as he pushed his tired body out of the metal chair. A brief look around the room showed that most of the group belonged to the generation that understood and embraced technology but could also do without. The meetings were held in a library, neutral territory where old sources of knowledge lived amongst modern sources. A simple black cane assisted Brandon’s walk to the table. He laid it against the table as he reached for a paper cup. Propped up with one hand, he navigated the coffee urn with the other.

“Are you a light and sweet guy?” the man towering over Brandon inquired. He ripped open a sugar as he continued, “Let me get that for you. A true war hero deserves a little help.” He held his hand out, waiting for the cup.

“Sure,” Brandon replied, indulging his new acquaintance. “But I wouldn’t exactly call myself a war hero. I ...”

“Nonsense,” the man interrupted. His clean-shaven face highlighted his square jaw. Serious was the only way to construe this barista. “There were no medals of honor to be given, but you sacrificed plenty for humanity. I’m Kevin, by the way. I was part of a resistance group but never made the run into a swarm of alien bots.”

Kevin passed the coffee back to Brandon. “Come with me, Brandon. I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine. We’re all big fans. Right over here, in the 900’s.” Kevin grabbed a doughnut and left a trail of crumbs for Brandon to follow.

They ducked into the row of books on history. Two shorter men stood in the aisle. Kevin introduced the two, “Brandon, these are my companions, Tom and Nick. We are part of the new resistance.”

“Resistance?!” Brandon questioned. “We beat the bad guys, what are you resisting?”

“Brandon, you said it, they can not be trusted. They are an alien force from the same planet as our initial invaders. Our resistance believes they are playing the long game. You have your story, I have mine. My son went to one of their upload sites. They allow people to upload their consciousness into their virtual world. What you get depends on the quality of your current physical body. A young fit human gets just about anything they want in the virtual world in exchange for use of their body. It’s temporary, at least for now. My son is back in his body. But he said there’s a transitional phase when you first enter the virtual world. A brainwashing phase, where they train our young to not believe they are now a virtual person. Would you want your children to be indoctrinated by these computers?”

A brief pause allowed for Brandon’s reply, “I suppose not.”

“Exactly,” Kevin continued. “Word on the street is that they wish to occupy the robots that we fought off the first round. They say they want to live peacefully among us. I can’t believe that! No way!”

“I don’t know,” Brandon sighed. “It’s a lot to think about. I’m in this group hoping to learn to accept our new neighbors. My leg is acting up, I need to get home and rest.”

“No rush, Brandon. You are still a hero in our books. If you wish to speak more, contact me.” Kevin slipped a card into Brandon’s jacket pocket.

Brandon lay in his bed that night, his mind going over the day’s activities. He had heard of the upload centers but never did much research. He would much rather stay away from the virtual beings. What about Ashleigh? Could they reproduce her? Do they want to revive the bots? Why relive that nightmare? Between the pain in his leg and the thoughts running through his brain, Brandon netted about three hours of sleep.

The next day, Brandon stood, both hands on his cane, looking at the upload center. The curiosity of seeing Ashleigh again, even in a virtual world, had overwhelmed him. Brandon limped his way forward.

The entire process reminded him of making a call to customer service in the beginning days of automation; no actual human interaction. He swiped his ID, presented his face to a screen, spoke to a microphone, then waited behind a large metal door.

The door slid open after a short wait. The speakers in the next room urged, “Brandon, please step into the next room and have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” The voice was close to realistic, yet retained a slight robotic feel. Brandon found his way to the chair. The door closed behind him.

A friendly face appeared on a screen in front of him. “Brandon, I understand you would like to be plugged into our virtual world. Please understand that our world requires computing power, memory, programming, and other variables that force us to be selective with those who wish to spend time in our virtual world. Some of our citizens wish to experience humanity for a short time. Our citizens do prefer a younger and more able body to fulfill their experience.”

Brandon interrupted the avatar, “I understand. But my injury … it comes from fighting against our common enemy. I hurt my leg setting off the box deep in their territory. I just need a few minutes with my wife. She’s no longer with us. Maybe you can program her into a memory. Just a little time, please.”

“For your service, someone may be willing to satisfy your request. Please pause briefly,” the face on the computer froze.

Brandon sat there quietly, again wrestling the band around his finger. He noticed the lack of music as he waited. “No human touch.”

The reanimated face shocked him, “Congratulations, Brandon, we are willing to give you a short time with your wife, a repeating loop equal to about three hours of your earth hours. Please give us the exact date, time, and location, and a description of this event, and we will begin the programming. You are scheduled at 3 pm tomorrow.”

Brandon never smiled so big, “My first date with Ashleigh.” He continued with all the details of that wonderful evening.

Brandon needed to sleep well that evening. He could not have a repeat of the prior night. He wanted to be awake and aware to make the next day’s experience that much better. Brandon popped a sleeping pill, prescribed for when past traumas haunted him.

The dreams that night felt so real. At one point, Kevin, from the support group, overlooked Brandon, his goons beside him. “Secret weapon,” he heard them say, “a computer virus in his brain.” Kevin leaned over and whispered into his ear, “Shhhh, sleep now.”

Brandon arrived, 3 pm sharp the next day, checked in and waited briefly behind the sliding door. His heart beat faster than any other moment in his life.

The door slid open, and the speakers repeated, “Brandon, please step into the next room and have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Welcome to your first date. Please lean back and relax.”

Brandon leaned back into the chair, as a brace lightly clinched his head.

Suddenly, Brandon was in his ‘05 Honda Civic, pulling up to Jake’s Steakhouse. He exited his vehicle and walked up to a beautiful woman at the door. Her dark hair flowed in waves down to just below her neck. The summer dress draped over her body most elegantly. “Ashleigh?”

“Yes,” she replied, her smile so big. “With an E-I-G-H.”

“I’m Brandon, with an O-N,” his introduction.

Then she laughed, and not a fake laugh to placate her company. She laughed as if this was the first joke she ever heard. The laughter brought ease to an otherwise nervous Brandon.

“Let’s go inside,” insisted Brandon. “I’d love to have a drink about right now. How about you?”

“A merlot, of course,” Ashleigh answered.

Brandon put his hand to her side, as she led the way inside the door. The door began to pixelate and break up. Everything around them slowly faded in and out, breaking down into pixelated blobs. The sound was stuck in a loop containing the last footsteps he heard.

Then there was nothing.