Don't Read the Comments

by Eric Smith

  Mira moves her hand out of the way as I reach for the keyboard next, painstakingly typing out the planet’s name.

  Would you like to claim and name this planet?

  [YES][NO]

  What would you like to name this planet?

  PLANET BUTTS

  Are you sure you want to name this planet

  PLANET BUTTS?

  Once a name is chosen it cannot be changed.

  [YES] [NO]

  I click Yes, securing Planet Butts’s place in Reclaim the Sun for as long as the game exists, set in a universe of trillions of planets. It’s unlikely anyone will ever find it again, but if they do, I guess they’ll be in for a treat of a name? Though it’s more than likely scores of younger kids playing this game have come up with similar—likely far more creative and lewd—planet names.

  For a moment, I wonder just how many Planet Butts there are out there. I grin, thinking about how much fun it’ll be when Mira is old enough to play games like this on her own. How I could take her exploring. How we could name endless planets together.

  The view of the landscape pulls away for a moment, bringing up the planet in its entirety, stars dotting the sky as the big green-and-blue Earth-like sphere spins slowly in front of us.

  PLANET BUTTS

  Discovered by Aaron Jericho

  “Yay!” screams Mira, bouncing up and down, and then begins cheering like she’s rooting for a sports team. “Pla-net Butts! Pla-net Butts!”

  “Um, what’s going on in here?”

  I spin around in my computer chair and see my mom leaning in the doorway, her black hair tied up in a bun. She’s dressed in a blue blazer, with thin glasses on the bridge of her nose. An ID tag dangles from her neck on a lanyard, though I have no idea why she wears it. She runs her medical practice in the tiny building connected to our house. She’s the boss. Everyone knows who she is.

  Mom stares at us, shifting the bundle of magazines under her arm, some of them still wrapped in the plastic covers they arrive in with the mail. Her eyes flit back and forth from me and Mira to the computer screen, an amused look on her face. Mira’s mouth is clamped shut, a thin line barely holding back her laughter, and it’s easy to see so much of my mother reflected back in her. She’s got my mother’s Honduran looks, while I look more like Dad. Like we’re little clones that just budded off them.

  “Just exploring the universe.” I shrug.

  “Okay, well... I left some money on the fridge. Maybe get a pizza or something for the two of you? I shouldn’t be too late today,” she says, and I catch her absently fiddling with her ID badge. It’s her tell, and I know that she will be late again, even though it’s her office and it’s connected to our actual house.

  And judging by her expression, I know what’s coming next.

  “Aaron, you promised this summer—” she starts.

  “Mom, can we just... Not now?” I ask, my heart sinking. Reclaim the Sun has been out for a few weeks now, but this is the first day I’ve had any time to myself to do some intense, proper exploring, between end-of-the-year homework and babysitting-despite-Mom-and-Dad-being-right-next-door and my attempts at script writing for ManaPunk. It’s finally summer vacation, and I want to do what everyone wants to do with bright clear skies, warm beautiful weather, and all the freedom in the world.

  Stay inside and play video games.

  “Your father and I think it’ll be good for you, especially for...you know. When it’s your turn, and all.” She presses her lips together, and I fight the urge to audibly sigh at her mention of “your turn,” like she’s suddenly going to finish being a doctor and I’m magically going to take her place. Like it’s a kingdom and she can just pass me a scepter or something, and that taking over her practice doesn’t involve me spending an actual decade of my life studying something I don’t want anything to do with.

  “Just a few hours a week, that’s all we’re asking,” Mom says pleadingly. “And then you can continue to work on your games and exist on...” She squints at the screen and smiles indulgently, shaking her head. “Planet Butts.”

  Mira erupts into a fit of giggling, effectively ruining any chance of having a serious conversation about all this. That this, these virtual worlds that I get lost in—it’s all serious. That I want to make games. Write them. See my name in the credits at the end. That I don’t want to be the next Dr. Jericho.

  “Plus, your father could use some time to himself, away from all that paperwork,” Mom says. “He’s been in there really late at night and terribly early in the morning lately.”

  “Okay, okay,” I grumble. “Guilt me with Dad, that’s a good tactic.” She gives me a look, and I shake my head. “But we’re going to have to define what ‘a few hours’ is. And I get to write on my downtime in the office.”

  Mom makes a face and fusses with her ID badge, and I can tell a “no” is coming.

  “I can use Google Drive or Dropbox on that ancient computer at the reception desk,” I add hastily. “No one will even know. Otherwise, I’m just going to do it sneakily on my phone or something, and I know you don’t like me using my phone behind the desk.”

  “That’s not it—you can work on your games. It’s just...” She pauses. “Aaron, has that boy paid you yet?”

  I don’t want to say “no,” but I can’t exactly lie here. I’d wrapped up some freelance copyediting for ManaPunk right before the school year ended, and I have yet to see a check for it. Ryan, too. But I know Jason’s good for it.

  “He will,” I insist. “And there will be even more money when the new game sells.”

  My mom eyes me for a moment, then gives a small nod. “Okay, well, you can fuss over your games as long as he’s settling up soon. I don’t want you getting taken advantage of,” she says, looking away and down the hall. “Time to fly. Have fun exploring the universe.”

  She walks off, and I can hear her making her way down the stairs, her heels loud against the hardwood floor of our home. Her retreat is replaced by the sound of soft footsteps approaching my door. Dad leans in next, peering over from the side. He’s in some loose-fitting sweatpants and a T-shirt, a mug of coffee in his hand.

  “Hey, Doctor,” he says, flashing a sleepy grin. His accent is thick, unlike everyone else in the family. His Palestinian looks certainly rubbed off on me, though, our faces both full of sharp edges and stubble.

  “Not funny.” But I smirk anyway.

  “Just...do me a favor? Humor your mother?” he ventures, stepping into my room while sipping on his coffee. He walks over and ruffles Mira’s hair, and she responds with a chorus of laughter. He’s close enough that I can detect the faint scent of his cooking, the aroma embedded in the fabric of all his clothes, even though he doesn’t work in a restaurant anymore. It’s like he’s keeping tamarind, garlic, and rice in his pockets.

  “Dad—” I start.

  “Just keep her happy,” he says. “And in exchange, I’ll watch the desk once in a while, give you a break.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” He’s always so much more supportive of these dreams of mine—making games, writing them—than Mom is. I smile, though the small victory feels bittersweet as I take in the sight of his threadbare shirt, his overall disheveled appearance. “How late were you there last night?” I ask, curious.

  “Ah, don’t worry about me,” he says, brushing me off with a wave of his hand. But I know he can’t enjoy being in the office that late, trying to cover for me so I can focus on what I actually care about, and I certainly don’t like being the reason he’s working so hard. Life would be so much easier if Mom would just give up on her pipe dream of me as a doctor and hire someone else to work the front desk.

  “Is this that new one?” Dad asks, staring at the computer screen. “All that modern stuff... I don’t know how you kids do it.”

  “You could totally figure this one out.” He loves to ma
ke these jokes, even though he’s perfectly capable of handling a computer.

  “I’ll stick with Minesweeper.”

  “Dad.”

  He tussles my hair like he did Mira’s, and I squirm to get away. While I might not have inherited all his good looks, like his jawline, sharp enough to cut the veggies he preps downstairs, we do have the same hair—thick, black, and wavy.

  “Anyhow,” he says, walking toward the door. “I’ll get to look up recipes when your mom isn’t looking, and you’ll get to enjoy your summer. Everyone wins.”

  “Dad, come on,” I groan. “You have to get Mom to bring on an intern or something—”

  “Deal?” he asks pointedly.

  “Deal,” I huff, knowing I’ve lost this particular battle for now. “You know that’s just a temporary solution, though, right? Next year is The Year of College Applications, remember?” I glance over at the horrifying stack of college brochures on my desk, one that teeters dangerously—or perhaps fortuitously—toward falling into the trash bin on the floor.

  “Yes, yes,” Dad says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Who knows, maybe by then you’ll want to become a doctor.”

  I glare at him.

  He laughs, his smile as warm as that coffee in his hand. “We’ll figure it out,” he says with a wink. “In the meantime, I’ll take care of the office today. You go do...whatever that is. I want you to teach me how to do it one of these days. These spaceship games of yours look kinda fun.” He waves at the computer with his free hand, then disappears back to his and Mom’s bedroom, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor, a major contrast to my mom’s. It’s always so easy to tell who’s coming and going around here.

  I spin the computer chair back around and, much to the delight of Mira, let it rotate a handful of times before stopping it in front of the screen. I place my hands back on the keyboard.

  “You ready, copilot?” I ask Mira, and her face lights up, her wide smile revealing the dimples in her cheeks.

  “I’m the copilot?!” she exclaims, her hands coming together again in front of her face.

  “Always,” I tell her. I grab the mouse and give it a shake, the since-gone-black screen returning to life with bright colors and the sight of my newly discovered planet.

  Planet Butts still needs to be explored.

  And I’m the one to do it.

  3

  DIVYA

  My breath catches as more ships appear on the screen, and I’m awestruck by the digital expanse before me. Just knowing that each little ship, from the ones close enough for me to really see, to the ones that are little more than a pixelated blip in the distance, is a person.

  Someone who cares enough to be along for this ride with me.

  This is far more people than we’ve ever had, and something about it has tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I shake it off and exhale.

  “Well, well,” I say, stretching in my computer chair, my neck cracking as I loosen up. I open the channel to our group. “I see you’re all here.”

  A chorus of loud cheering erupts in my headset, the voices of hundreds from all over, and my heart feels full to bursting. While the money to help Mom out is great, and the extra funds I’m putting away for college are almost as good, this is the reason I keep streaming. Despite my mom’s worries, despite the trolls... It’s these moments that make this an absolute joy. That make it all worthwhile.

  No wonder Rebekah is having latency issues on her end—there’s definitely hundreds of gamers in our channel and on the screen. I’d likely be having the same problems if not for my Cabletown sponsorship. Thanks to them, I’ve got a wildly powerful connection in exchange for sharing a link to their website on my channel. As Rebekah’s video flickers in and out, I make a mental note to email my sponsor and see if I can’t get a hookup for her, too.

  Far off in the distance, one star glimmers a little brighter than the rest, a shimmering blue color among all the white. I point my ship toward it, so the star is right in the center of my display. It must be a planet. It just has to be.

  “Rebekah, how you holding up?” I ask after quickly muting my public mic, glancing at her video feed, which is starting to look a bit clearer.

  “Better,” she says, her voice not coming in choppy anymore. “Might have some issues when we warp, but if I get disconnected it won’t be the end of the world. Just make sure you’re recording everything on your end, so I have something to work with. I’ll find you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you recording?” she says, nudging.

  “Yes, Commander.” I stretch the word out, making Rebekah grin.

  I turn my attention back to the Armada, switching my mic back on.

  “Alright, everyone, we’re heading to this potentially undiscovered planet up ahead. Take note of the coordinates and get ready to jump!”

  I select the planet, and several strings of numbers race across my screen before appearing on one of the little navigational displays in my control panel. After several weeks of intense gameplay, I’ve finally got the upgrades to detect far-off stars and planets like this. When we first started up, everyone was just slowly trying to find something in all the endless space. Straight-up level grinding, fighting random little monsters on desolate planets, and recording footage of wildlife and plants to earn experience points, to upgrade this, update that.

  Now, it’s almost too easy, but these upgrades definitely make the content of my videos more interesting. I wait a few seconds so everyone watching can plug in the coordinates, and scowl as a few ships make the jump without me.

  “Hey!” I shout into the headset. “I see you guys jumping ahead. If that’s an undiscovered planet and you name it without me, we are so getting into a dogfight.” I hear several people on the stream laugh, and I smile, too. Because it doesn’t really matter in the end. There are trillions—literally trillions—of planets in the galaxy of Reclaim the Sun.

  When you think of that number, a trillion—I mean really think about it—it’s pretty mind-boggling. A trillion is one million of one million things. I always thought a billion—a thousand millions—was a big number. But a trillion is one thousand billions.

  It’s enough to make your head explode and make you feel as if concepts like money or numbers aren’t real. Like when you see a news headline about a company acquiring another company, and the purchase amount is something impossible, like “one hundred billion dollars.” I read someplace once that Sony, the people who make PlayStation—the console this game is on in addition to the PC—is worth something like eighty billion dollars.

  You’re still short nine hundred and twenty billion to equal a trillion there.

  I just can’t with those numbers. Going back and forth from thinking of impossibly large quantities like that to thinking about the dwindling checking account me and Mom live out of... It almost hurts. How a seemingly insignificant amount of money, like $200, has the power to make or break my little family, and yet there are people out there throwing billions at one another like candy.

  So, if someone scoops up and names that planet before me, whatever. I’ll find another one. And another one. And another one.

  There’s so much possibility here, and no one can stop me.

  “Jump!” I shout, pushing a button and sending my ship hustling toward the unknown planet. Once again, I find myself frustrated that I can’t use my VR headset. Gorgeous beams of multicolored light blast by the cockpit window as my little ship breaks through time and space to traverse the cosmos at a speed mankind is still light-years away from figuring out.

  But here, in the world of one of the most advanced video games out there, you can break the laws of physics to reach unheard-of destinations.

  You can summon an armada of people from around the world, connecting virtually to play a game that brings us all so much joy.

  You can pay the ren
t when your shithead of a father leaves your family behind for someone younger and refuses to help support you or your mom, who is working two part-time jobs while in the last year of finishing her dream of graduate school, being a kick-ass woman who has sacrificed too much to give up now.

  Maybe get a job, his last text message read, when I asked him if he’d think about helping, when me and Mom were really struggling in the new apartment, before my sponsorship funds started kicking in. Before I deleted him from my phone and my life forever.

  The new planet briskly approaches, morphing from a small blue speck into something larger, big and swirling. My ship settles into orbit around it, and I watch as the rest of the Angst Armada lines up alongside me. Hundreds, quite possibly a thousand or more ships, waiting on my every word.

  The display in front of me brightens up, detailing information about the planet. There’s a lot I can tell just by looking at it, though. It looks like it’s almost entirely water, with little white patches here and there. Ice? Frozen land? Tundra? Enormous mountains that jut out impossibly high from an endless ocean, the depths of which hide creatures of unfathomable size and power?

  More and more fantastic speculations spin through my mind as the computer finishes up.

  CLASS TWO PLANET [ESTIMATED]

  Status: Charted, Unclaimed, Remains Unexplored

  Life Support Capability: Probable

  Surface: 89% Water [Frozen], 11% Land Mass

  Detectable Resources: Water, Otherwise Unknown

  Would you like to claim and name this planet?

  [YES] [NO]

  I scowl at the “charted” mention in the planetary status, thanks to those eager gamers who sped off ahead of us. And a Class Two planet wasn’t exactly something to get terribly hyped about, but whatever. I’ll find my own planet solo, without the Armada, the next time I’m playing alone. Headset on. The vastness of space spilling out in front of me in VR. The galaxy to myself.