Vacation 2156

Moriah woke suddenly, just after dawn, to the buzz of the daily report coming from the kitchen. She wondered why it would wake her, since she fell asleep to the very same sound. The television had been on continuously for the past three days. Ever since school had let out in the middle of the day, a quarter of the way through math class. Moriah had been adding and subtracting at her learning station, humming along with the catchy tune coming through her headset. The screen went blank. The overhead lights flickered. Forty first graders jerked up from their dark stations, muttering and removing their headsets.

"Class, school will be ending a little early today. Your parents and caretakers are on their way to pick you up," the teacher told them. The young woman was trying to keep her face expressionless, but every few seconds a grimace of worry slid over it.

Moriah fell out of her soft platform bed and sniffed the air. Pork? She scrambled to put on slippers to guard against the plastic floor's chill and shuffled through the open doorway into the kitchen. Her mother was standing in front of the television, installed in the far wall, and her father was bent over the range, poking at three long, gelatinously pink strips of bacon. They sizzled on the cast-iron frying plate and gave off an aroma that made Moriah's mouth water.

"Papa, why are we having bacon?" Real meat was a luxury, even to well-off families like theirs. Pork ran as high as 55 dollars a kilo and there were only a handful of factories that raised swine in the entire North American Union. Most days their "meat" dishes were actually cleverly flavored soy protein product, enhanced with Maggot Meal© for added nutrition. Moriah felt fortunate, however. She had classmates who considered the meat product a luxury.

"We've been entrenched for so many days, mi amor. I decided to dip into our stores."

Her mother had not moved from in front of the television. She was wearing the long wool shirt she normally wore around the house, and her short, dark hair was uncombed. Her smooth, angular face was twisted with stress. Moriah was a beautiful child. Everyone who met her commented on it. But she didn't look like her parents. Her mother had wanted a baby with blonde hair and delicate features. The geneticist had nodded approvingly at the delicate features request but warned that the hair color might turn out more caramel than blonde. It was such a rare color. But here she stood, as tow-haired as a Nordic fairy tale maiden. Her golden locks contrasted with her nut-brown skin and dark eyes.

Moriah skipped over to her mother and wrapped her arms around Maria's lean waist.

"Mama, are you excited about the pork?" Her mother reached down and hugged her back, too tightly, and kissed the top of her daughter's curly blond head.

"Yes, mi amore, very." She turned back to the television.

Moriah slid into the chrome kitchen booth and turned her attention to the report.

"Nepal continues to defy the People's Democracy of East Asia and refuses to surrender their nuclear weapon location, although they have confirmed that such a location exists. Sarite Gonzales, Union Leader, remains supportive of Nepal's independence as a nation but is firmly against this violation of the U.N. Global Armistice Treaty."

More of the same talk she had heard for the past few days. It was not interesting and she resented that these newscasters had yet to find a solution to this vexing problem. She had not been allowed to stream her own programs because of her mother's obsessive watching.

"Maria, we will receive a call if it comes down to it," her father spoke above the popping of the meat and drone of the broadcasters. "There is no need to keeps eyes on the report."

"I know Don," she answered. "It soothes me to see that nothing has happened yet."

Moriah was uncertain as to what her mother was referring to. She had asked multiple times what it was and merely received vague assurances in reply. She only knew that the protective window screens were drawn, their coon, Sandy, was confined to the basement shelter in a travel crate and none of them had ventured out in the yard for three days.

"We're three minutes from the lift. It's the main reason we had our home unit installed here. We'll be gone before the report even knows of the action," her father continued.

Moriah perked up instantly. So, these events might bring on an impromptu vacation? This was not so bad. Her father placed in front of her a plate of multigrain grits and bacon and a glass of soy milk. The prospect of a leisurely tour in earth's orbit and the effects of warm food momentarily pushed all disgruntled thoughts from her mind.

"Perhaps the Web would have more up-to-date accounts?" Maria inquired as she sat down in front of her own plate of food.

"Bah," her father scoffed. "Not even this threat could convince me to venture there."

The World Wide Web, which was once utilized by nearly every person on the globe on a daily basis, was now the epitome of nefarious dealings. No decent citizen entered that tangled web of thieves, murderers, concubines, and slave traders, at least not without a connection as secure as the Yukon Maximum Security Camp, and certainly not without an alias. Several generations ago, there was hardly an individual in the union who didn't have a duplicate identity walking around, charging exorbitant, bankruptcy-inducing loans, inciting online terrorism, hacking into "secure" servers for intelligence to hawk and even rigging presidential elections. The window of time available for policing the mess had long passed and the Justice Department finally advised all concerned citizens to avoid the Web and stay within the relatively safe zones of home, school, and business Intranets. The Web was now a law unto itself and all who entered did so at their own risk.

"Think of our Intranet as a basement shelter," her teacher had explained in media class. "We have all that we need in our shelters: food, water, family, pets, even our learning stations. While the bad is kept out by solid walls."

After breakfast, Moriah asked to go outside. No, was the answer, though she already knew that it would be. Her six-year-old brain knew what to expect, based on three days precedent, yet the asking still needed to happen. She made do with visiting Sandy in the basement. The basement was separate from their home unit and had to be accessed through a short staircase and tunnel on the west side of the family room. It sat 12 feet below the surface of their yard, was constructed of concrete and re-enforced steel and covered with a layer of uniform plastic, meant to keep out radioactive materials from a nuclear blast. The décor of the space was outdated, with garish red leather furniture and wooden shelves stacked with preserved rations. Most of Moriah's friends didn't even have their home units hooked up to the basement. The Treaty of 85 years ago had soothed the masses' worries over a nuclear attack. Her parents worked for the National Security Department and their worries were never soothed.

Sandy heard Moriah coming into the basement and started chittering and clawing at the cage's door. It had to be padlocked with a key because the creature was so clever at escaping.

"I'm sorry Sandy, mama gets so impatient with you in the house and we can't go out in the yard."

The yard was Sandy's usual habitat, unless the rare snow shower or ice storm moved in. Moriah had spent countless hours teaching the three-year old female tricks in the yard. Every time Sandy learned a new trick, she got a bauble as a prize. Her sheep's wool nest inside her house on the patio was bursting with keys, bead necklaces, and bright strips of fabric and flashing laser balls.

Moriah had brought a handful of mini bots, shaped like over-sized centipedes, ants, and other insects, and scattered them all over the floor. She un-taped the key from underneath the crate and carefully unlocked the padlock. In one motion, Sandy quickly reached out through the gap in the bars and unlatched the door, tumbling out of her prison with a giddy bark. She gave Moriah a friendly nuzzle and showed incredible restraint by passing up the blinking bots and trotting across the scuffed carpeting to her litter box and hand-washing station underneath the stainless-steel sinks. She did her business. After meticulously shaking the sand off her paws and a perfunctory hand-wash, she leaped up in the air, made a 180 turn, and pounced on the bots. The bots were ready for her. They whirled into motion, the centipedes weaving underneath the couch and chairs, the ants climbing up the table legs, and the bees taking flight, artificial wings buzzing. Moriah's shrieks of glee filled the air as the coon took chase, intent on claiming these bright, cheeky prizes as her own.

Moriah was still cheering and laughing at the coon's bot-chasing antics, when her father burst into the room.

"Mi amor, come with me."

He shook a treat in Sandy's direction and threw it into her crate. Sandy forgot her mission and scampered into the crate for the imitation deer jerky. Don slammed the door shut and locked the padlock. He grabbed Moriah's hand and lifted the crate. Moriah was too stunned to ask questions just yet, and followed her father out of the basement, down the passage and up the staircase into their family room. Through the room and into the kitchen, Moriah could see that her mother was still stationed in front of the television, where the report droned on.

"Maria, they will not have news of it yet. We must go," her father said.

Maria turned to face him. Moriah was terrified by the expression on her mother's face.

"Your superior's are certain of it?"

"Yes, most of them have left already."

"Will there be maglevs left on the lift?"

"Not if we don't hurry."

Maria spoke a command to the television and it blinked off. Silence stole through the house. Even Sandy was uncharacteristically quiet. Thick, padded coats were pulled on. Satchels were grabbed from the storage shelves that stood near the door. An argument broke out between Maria and Don over whether or not they should put on their radiation suits.

"Minutes, Maria, we have minutes, and the cars will be gone."

Maria shook her head and pulled the door lever. The heavy metal door swung outward and the chilly December air rushed in. Moriah though it smelled lovely after days spent inside the house. The sun was out, warming the shriveled clover lawn and bouncing off the shiny siding of their home unit. The street and sidewalks were empty. Most of the neighbors were still sequestered in their own units, watching the report.

"Will Feliz and his mama come with us?" Moriah asked. It was the first time she had spoken since her father had burst into the basement. Feliz and Niah nearly always vacationed with them, since Niah worked with her parents and their ships were next to each other in orbit.

"Perhaps, we will see when we get there," her mother spoke grimly.

They all climbed into the car. It was brand-new, purchased from the Velot factory in Anaheim just last month. It could seat four, a luxury size, and the padded seats reached around each passenger in a custom embrace in case of the rare crash. As soon as their belts were strapped on, the vehicle hummed to life and politely asked the destination.

"New Washington D.C. lift, Maglev Base 1.0, 1400 Pentagon Drive. Disregard speed limit laws," Don told the car.

"Noted," the female voice answered.

The familiar neighborhood units, with their tiny yards and frost-encrusted gardens, rushed by as they left the cul-de-sac and turned onto the main road. Massive, gray government buildings lined both sides of the capital's White House Street, fondly named after the iconic presidential residence that now sat at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, 60 kilometers to the East. There was more activity here, with a handful of cars and mopeds driving in the same direction--towards the Maglev Base.

"Who all was notified?" Maria asked.

"I wasn't told that." Don replied. "It appears to be more than I had considered."

"We'll make it," Maria murmured, grabbing Don's hand across the cup-holder.

"We should have gotten married," Don said to Maria with a half smile.

"No one gets married these days," her mother retorted.

From inside her seat, Moriah thought she saw tears gathering in the corners of her father's eyes. Her mother's face remained stoic. She had only seen her father cry once. Three years before when her mother was supposed to become pregnant with her little brother, the population had taken a sudden upturn and the Census Bureau had revoked all of the 2153 conception requests. Her parents were not young, and there would likely not be another attempt. Even then, her mother had held off the tears.

"No reason to cry over someone that never was," she had said.

The car took a hard right, onto Pentagon Drive. The granite-gray Justice Base building blended in with the structures surrounding it except for one major difference. Starting from its flat roof at five stories up was a slim, reflective tower that thrust up past the line of sight. Moriah knew that something bad was happening, but she had nothing but fond memories of coming to this place and taking the lift. She couldn't help the happy, euphoric feeling that was filling her chest. Vacations came so seldom in her parent's work, but they were superb vacations. Their ship was larger than their home unit and she and Sandy were given the full range of it while in orbit. Earth was dull and ordinary from here, but breathtakingly beautiful when viewed from her bedroom window in outer space.

"Will the transit to Columbia be safe?" Maria asked. "It seems it would be a target, no?"

"It seems," Don replied. "Let us hope that capitol itself will provide a distraction for the time being."

The car had some difficulty finding a good parking spot and after a minute of searching, Maria became impatient and punched in the manual command. She flipped it into reverse and backed all the way to the wide, graveled path that led up to the building entrance. The back wheels bounced off the curb and a shrill warning went off, signaling a collision. Maria over-rode it and their safety belts retracted.

"Hurry, Moriah, grab your satchel. We must run," her father said.

As they ran to the tall, dark-tinted double doors, a young man sprinted past them and reached the entrance first. Held tightly against his chest was a petite canine that yipped and struggled in its thick coat. Moriah stared at the dog, entranced with this rare sighting. The man must be very wealthy. He pressed his palm on the sensor, tugged open the door and without a backwards glance, let it close behind him.

"He could have held it for us," Maria muttered.

"But that is against regulations!" Don laughed.

"Somehow, I don't think that was why he let it shut," Maria answered with a rueful smile.

Maria scanned her own hand and they were inside the Maglev Base. They ran a few strides across the polished marble floor, emblazoned with the North American Union symbol of a pyramid, with each side showing an iconic scene of the former three nations. Moriah trotted across the mosaic of the Rocky Mountains on the front of the triangle. The elevator stood open and they all stepped aboard. Before it could take off, a woman carrying her toddler entered the building, calling for them to hold the elevator. Don halted the take-off and let her climb in next to them. The woman was out of breath, but thanked them repeatedly, showing uneven teeth. She wore cheap, synthetic clothing and was shivering from the cold. The little boy was bundled up to his nose in a hand-made snowsuit. His large, dark eyes stared at Moriah, who smiled at him. He reached out his chubby hand and waved.

"Gib-ya," he said.

"He means thank you," his mother interpreted. "He copies everything I say."

Don and Maria nodded knowingly.

"I think I recognize you from the cafeteria, yes?" Maria asked. The woman simply nodded in response.

The elevator reached the top floor and plinged. In front of them was the lift terminal; narrow waiting room with built in chairs lining three walls and flat gray carpeting. The far wall was of semi-transparent metallic glass, through which Moriah could see the maglev car, resting flat in boarding position. The young man who had entered the building before them was climbing into car while strapping on his helmet. The toll operator waved them over to his booth.

"Just in time, there are five seats left and this is the last car until maglev b1 comes back tomorrow morning. Some important meeting in Columbia I don't know about?"

"Something like that," Maria said warily, handing the man her paycard. "There should be enough in our base account for a one-way."

"One-way?"

"Yes, we won't be coming back for some time," Don said. "We'll arrange payment at the geostation for our return."

The operator looked confused and slightly suspicious but ran the paycard for a one-way and motioned them through to the car. Moriah un-zipped her satchel and pulled out her helmet. It was a smoky black with an inlay of sparkling constellations, so similar to the view out their ship's living room window. A commotion broke out behind her and she turned to see the woman arguing with the operator.

"This isn't enough. You're 3,000 dollars short! And you don't have helmets."

"This is all I have from all of my accounts," the woman pleaded. "We need to get to the geostation."

"How will you pay for accommodations there if this is all of your funds?" the operator inquired loudly. "Is it reasonable to assume you do not have a private ship?"

The little boy began to cry, his face crumpling and a low sob escaping through his bundles. The mother bounced him, shushing.

"Please, there is no one else waiting, just let us go."

“Papa, can we take them with us?” Moriah asked, pointing to the woman and her boy. “They can keep us company while we are on vacation!”She was the youngest of her extended family and almost never had the opportunity to play with toddlers or babies.

Maria took Moriah’s helmet from her and began to strap it on. Don hesitated for a second, but then walked over to operator and handed him the paycard.

“Charge this for a one-way for these two.” The operator began to protest. No helmets, against regulations to pay for non-relatives, he could be terminated. Don flipped up his sleeve, clicked on his watch and projected his credentials onto to his palm. The operator fell silent and nodded. He scanned the paycard.

“Six thousand five hundred, one-way ticket to the geostation. Will you also be seeing to their accommodations I hope?”

“I will,” Don replied.

“Because you know what kind of penalties vagrants and freeloaders face if discovered on the geostation without a way to pay for a room?”

“Yes.”

The woman had stood by speechless as the transaction occurred, but now began thanking Don effusively. The toddler joined in, forgetting his tears momentarily.

“I’m sorry sir, but your paycard has been declined for the amount,” the operator cut in and handed the card back to Don.

“Please try it again,” Don argued. “It isn’t possible that my account has insufficient funds.”

Now thoroughly annoyed, the operator ran the card again. A shrill alarm went off and the card was jerked into the machine and shredded. Don would have to pay a hefty fine for attempting to withdraw twice from an empty account. The low tones of the lift alarm began to go off, warning that the shuttle would take off in one minute. The room took on an orange glow from the flashing lights, creating a garish atmosphere in place of the drab one.

“Don, we must go!” Maria shouted to him as she pulled Moriah towards the open hatch of the maglev car.

“I’m sorry,” Don said to the woman. A wretched, resigned look had slipped across her face and she nodded, turning away with the child. Her life to this point had not set her up to believe in miracles.

Moriah waved to the boy, who stared back at her with wide, beautiful eyes.

Don whispered something in the operator’s ear. The man went pale and bit his lower lip. He nodded.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Do you have family at your home unit?”

“We live in a flat downtown. My wife and my daughter.”

“Get to your building’s shelter as soon as possible,” Don said. “Take the woman and the baby?”

“Yes. I’ll send you off and go.”

Don came back to the car and followed Maria and Moriah into the cramped space. Maria brushed the side of his face with her hand.

“You tried. That is more than most would do.” Don shook his head in response.

“This is selfish,” he said. “We are simply saving ourselves.”

“Saving her,” Maria corrected him, nodding to Moriah.

In front of them two rows of passengers stared at them out of their restricting seats.

“Feliz!” Moriah squealed joyfully. The boy was fully strapped into his seat, making waving impossible but he shifted his fingers and smiled back.

“Hola Moriah. This is going to be a great vacation!”

THE END

Bio: Ms. Harden is an online and magazine journalist by trade, who occasionally chucks the AP Stylebook across the room and attempts to write fiction and poetry. She asks that you please be gentle with feedback, as she has a fragile ego.

E-mail: Renee Harden

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