Moongazer

by Mari Mancusi

  “I’m exiting,” she declared. “I’m jinxing the entire team just by being in here with him.” She blinked her eyes twice.

  The signal to exit removed her smoothly from the sim and a moment later the gym disappeared, leaving her back in Avery’s basement. Peyton pulled off her VR goggles and leaned over to switch off her deck plug-in. She watched her friend do the same a moment later in the armchair across from her.

  “I gained a level with that last ip,” Avery announced, bouncing excitedly in her seat. “Unlocked the NCAA courts!”

  “Stellar,” Peyton muttered. “I’m thrilled for you.”

  Her friend looked a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, well, you’d be just as high if you had your own copy and didn’t always have to play at my house. I get a lot of late-night practice once my parents go to bed. That’s when the real action on the court happens anyway.” She winked.

  Peyton sighed. “Yeah, well, that’ll never happen. Not as long as I live at home anyway.”

  “You know,” Avery said, “the fact that you don’t own your own sim deck in this day and age is almost criminal. Someone should report your dad for child abuse, denying his kid virtual reality.”

  Peyton shrugged. Never mind the sim deck—the virtual reality videogame system that practically every kid had gotten from his parents by the age of three. At her house they didn’t even have a Smart TV. There was just a small, dusty, thirteen-inch black-and-white television sitting on a stand in one corner of their living room. The kind of TV they’d made last century, when television was first invented. It was almost as bad as having no TV at all. It got thirteen stations from bent rabbit-ears antennae her dad had jerry-rigged from a coat hanger. And none of the thirteen ever had anything on worth watching, just crackpot broadcasts by old technology enthusiasts and a mind-numbingly awful reality rerun about some obscure, ancient family known as the Kardashians.

  When she was younger, she’d begged her dad for a Smart TV like all her friends had hanging in their living rooms. The ones where you could inject yourself into the show and become a character, changing the plot at will. But her dad refused, insisting that those kinds of television sets were dangerous. After all, there was no way to tell what programs the government had put inside of them, what the interactive devices were doing to your brain. Weren’t the higher-ups involved enough in their lives? he would ask her. Peyton supposed he was right.

  “I’ve got to kick you out,” Avery said apologetically. “Gotta hit the doctor’s office this afternoon. I’m...I’m getting my LTF! Can you believe my parents finally said yes? How rolling is that?”

  An LTF. A License to—well, you know. It wasn’t its official name, of course, but that’s what all the kids—and, Peyton knew, quite a few adults—called the Copulation Conditional. Kind of a stupid name, but what did the government expect when they started legislating who could have sex and requiring a license to do so?

  “Oh wow. Stellar,” Peyton managed to say, trying to make her voice sound enthusiastic. Great. Even Avery now. Seriously, she was going to be the last one left on the planet without the shot.

  The AIDS vaccine had been the biggest scientific breakthrough of the 21st century, if not the most controversial, especially after the United Nations had exerted their newfound global legislative powers and made it mandatory for everyone in their majority. It made sense. Africa had been decimated by the disease’s resurgence in the early twenties. The virus had mutated, rendering the formerly effective drug cocktails useless. And now, from the richest Upper East Sider in New York to the poorest bushman in Australia, everyone over eighteen was required to be vaccinated.

  The vaccine was available to those younger than eighteen as well; teens like Avery. But because of certain complications with children in early tests—as well as moral objections across the more religious sectors—it eventually had been left up to the parents to decide about inoculating their families. And Peyton’s dad had said “no way” without even offering a reason why.

  “Does Drew have his license?” Avery asked.

  “Of course. And he’s not happy about having to wait for me, let me tell you.” Peyton slid her VR goggles into their protective case and handed them back to her friend. “He’s constantly suggested we SWL.”

  “You mean break the law?” Avery raised an eyebrow.

  SWL—Sexing Without a License—had some pretty severe penalties if you were caught. Extended quarantine to make sure you didn’t have a disease or an unauthorized pregnancy, along with exposure through the media for public ridicule and contempt.

  But in reality, there wasn’t exactly a sex police peeking in windows, waiting to bust people who dared get it on in an illegal fashion. After all, everyone knew how virulent the disease was and how gruesome its effects. How could they not know with those UN Biological Division advertisements playing 24/7 on every media outlet? Even if you didn’t agree with the laws against unlicensed fornication, it was safer to stick to those partners who had their CCs.

  “Let’s face it, if my dad has his way, I’ll be a virgin until I’m ninety-nine years old and eligible for Medicare.” She rose to her feet, not feeling like talking about it anymore. “Anyway, I’m gone. Good luck and I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

  Avery gave her a small wave and a smile. “See you.”

  Peyton headed up the basement stairs and into the main house, on her way to the front exit. As she pushed open the basement door, she couldn’t help but steal a peek at all the glorious technology, entrenched in the family’s modern living space. Avery’s parents weren’t rich by any stretch, but they had all the latest gadgets: the refrigerator that reminded you which groceries you needed, the music system that sensed who was in the living room and adjusted its music accordingly. Of course, Peyton didn’t have an iChip like everyone else and so it remained on “Sounds of the Twenties”—classic hip-hop that had been all the rage in Avery’s parents’ day—as she passed through. The sound system had no idea of her secret love for music from the 1980s...which was perhaps for the best. After all, hearing “I Want Your Sex” would have just depressed her.

  Walking out the front door, she squinted into the bright afternoon light and gazed around Monroeville, their suburban South Carolina subdivision. The sun was high in the sky and a slight breeze was the only relief from its heat. Her ears picked up the sounds of lawnmowers buzzing, while a particularly loud bird screeched from above. Normal real life sights and sounds were always a bit disconcerting after spending time in a VR deck.

  She headed down the street, passing Chris Parker’s house, wondering if he was still playing virtual basketball or if he’d gone back to Knights of the Living Dead once she’d exited the game. His silly crush on her had always been cute, but was now bordering on obsessive. And if Drew found out... well, let’s just say Chris didn’t stand a chance against her boyfriend’s surgically enhanced fists. And as annoying as he could be, she didn’t want anyone hurt on her account. Maybe she should speak to him. Cut him off, once and for all. Though that would be hurting him, too. Albeit in a less physical way.

  She arrived home to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table, her tablet propped up in front of her, reading some email. It was the only relatively high-tech gadget in the low- tech room and it was still probably twenty years old. No Smart Oven, no iDishwasher, no Super Fridge like at Avery’s house. Like everything else, her dad had forbidden it all.

  But despite the lack of modern conveniences, Peyton’s mother had made the most of the space. After all, all the technology in the world couldn’t make a room this cozy and warm. It couldn’t manufacture the smell of freshly baked cookies. And the pretty silk rose centerpiece her mom had found at a flea market last month gave the room a cheery vibe.

  “Hey, Mom,” Peyton greeted her, grabbing a cookie from the tray sitting on the stove top. The VR games always made her a bit sick to her stomach and she hoped to settle it with carbs. “What’s going on?”

  Her mother looked up. “Not much, sw
eetie,” she replied. “Just answering some party invitations. The Nixons are having a huge bash this year, but they waited forever to send out the notes. I’m going to have to go shopping this nanosecond to nd something to wear.”

  Peyton smiled. For as long as she could remember, her mother had always been a social butterfly, flitting from party to party, always happiest when she was around other people. That was how she and her dad met, many years ago, when he was still a dashing government employee and she was the child of a state senator. Peyton’s grandmother had been ecstatic that her socialite daughter had snared such a great man and patriot. She’d become less than pleased since.

  But Ashley Anderson was a woman who stood by her man. During the rough times, during the prison sentence... even afterward. It was hard on her, Peyton knew, to have the neighbors whisper about the crackpot she’d married. Ashley’s parents had begged and pleaded for her to walk away over the years, but Ashley always refused to leave. Peyton admired her mother’s stubborn sense of loyalty, even if sometimes she wondered if it wasn’t a bit misplaced.

  Peyton looked down at the invitation. “Sounds fun,” she said. “Can I come?” She didn’t really have a burning desire to attend an adult party, but she hated to see her mom be forced to go alone. And she knew her father wouldn’t touch an invitation like this with a ten-foot pole.

  “Of course. If it doesn’t interfere with your training schedule,” her mother replied, reaching over to brush a lock of hair from her daughter’s eyes. “You know how your dad is about that.”

  “Yeah,” Peyton said, rolling her eyes. “Believe me, I know. If I bring it up, he’ll probably tell me that I shouldn’t bother to buy a dress. ‘No, no!’ he’ll say, ‘The End of Days is right around the corner, and there won’t be any parties ever again!’”

  Her mother smiled and rose from the table. “Yes,” she said. “He probably would. But I’ll tell you what, sweetie.” She plucked a bright red silk rose from the table’s centerpiece and stuck it playfully behind her daughter’s ear. Then she grabbed her hands and twirled her around the kitchen. “Come with me to the party. If the world does end, I want you dancing by my side.”

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