Malltown Read online

“I know, I know. Next time, alright? I promise.”

  Meg frowned and her form disappeared.

  The Pwamster Robot closed her face.

  Meg hadn’t said goodbye. She’d just shut off. Peggy wondered how mad Meg was. Meg was one of her oldest friends. Meg and a bunch of others getting together for another AR hunt—and another AR Hunt in Malltown was no big deal. That sort of thing went on all the time in Malltown. There were always sign up sheets for AR games and RR games and Meg would easily find another person to play.

  Peggy wondered if she shouldn’t have gone.

  :::SECTION BREAK:::

  Peggy checked her watch—7:45 PM—and thought about the game going on inside Malltown that Meg had invited her to. Peggy sat at a folding white plastic table for dinner. She pressed her plastic fork into the slice of chocolate cake. She thought to put up the wall scroll and get the news but couldn’t be bothered. The forkful of cake crossed her teeth and settled on her tongue. The soft cake tasted rich and chocolatey, with just the right amount of spongy bounce. Peggy hated wet cake. The kind doused in synth brandy. She chewed thoughtfully.

  Peggy glanced down at the sheep by her leg.

  55,555 stared up at Peggy.

  “Would you like some?” Peggy asked and she cut off a thick wedge of the nutritionally dense cake. “Has extra vitamin D,” she said to the sheep and dropped the hunk of cake on the floor, nearly not missing 55,555’s head.

  55,555 bent her head and stuck her nose in the sponge and frosting. She looked up at Peggy and then brought her face back down and began to eat.

  Peggy watched her eat. Soon after they’d returned home that afternoon, Peggy had fixed up a suggestion from the Pwamster Learner Robot as to what 55,555 might like to eat. The sheep had devoured the lasagna, so they’d made her another one. She’d devoured that one too. The Pwamster Robot had suggested a third, but upon checking 55,555’s distended belly, Peggy thought not to. Instead Peggy placed 55,555 on the chair while Peggy herself layed out for a nap on the couch. When Peggy woke she found a blanket had been placed around her middle, and under the blanket 55,555 laying asleep in a curve against her stomach.

  The Pwamster Learner Robot lay at rest against the curved wall, eyes dulled, mouth dark, having shut herself off.

  The lights dim. Peggy knew if she brightened them the Pwamster Robot would wake.

  Peggy had gotten her own cake from the printer. She hadn’t thought about the Burble. Or done any investigation.

  Peggy just wanted silence.

  Cake.

  That’s all.

  END OF CHAPTER FOUR

  Chapter 5

  Peggy woke up in her homepod interior living space. She lay forty-five centimeters off the floor, on her fold out wall bed, in footy pajamas—her one real indulgence. Laying in the bed, which ran a half length of the left wall of her homepod (left wall—if the homepod were to be viewed upon entering through the main door to Malltown), Peggy turned her face and looked at where the couch and chairs had been shunted aside to make way for the wall bed. Against the wall stood Peggy’s Pwamster I Can Learn Robot. The Pwamster Learner’s eyes and mouth were dark. On her head it looked like cat ears? Attached with a band of some sort. Peggy had never seen the cat ears before and didn’t know where the Pwamster Robot got all the accessories. Behind Peggy’s head, toward the back of her homepod, the field door lay open. The open field door brought in fresh summer air and the smell of grass. Even though Peggy couldn’t see the field door, she could tell it was open by the quality of light in the room and the fresh smells. Peggy also thought she remembered the faint whoosh of the door opening, which briefly woke her from sleep. Due to the field door being open, Peggy knew she’d slept past 8:15 AM—late for her. The field door opened automatically at 8:15 AM. Usually Peggy got up before hand and opened the field door manually. It had been a long time since Peggy hadn’t opened the field door manually.

  Peggy stared at 55,555.

  55,555 stood fifteen centimeters from the wall bed. Close, but far away enough to be able to look up over the thin mattress and at Peggy.

  After a while, Peggy turned her head and looked up at the ceiling. Peggy exhaled deeply and rubbed her eyes. Her bones felt tired. Her muscles felt woozy. She could sleep more—but her mind felt alert. Her sapped body restless.

  Time to get up, Peggy told herself and opened the smooth white sheet and blanket like the triangle of an old fashioned envelope. The Pwamster Robot awoke. With a slight hum of warming, the Pwamster Robot wheeled forward. “Good morning, Grippy Peggy.” Peggy swung her legs down and sat up. 55,555 stepped toward Peggy.

  “Good Morning,” Peggy said and yawned. She patted 55,555’s head.

  Her Pwamster Learner’s eyes flashed. “Would you care for a breakfast? You have slept late. Is that a reason for concern?”

  Peggy stood, stretched her arms above her head, and dropped her arms to her sides. “No, I’m fine,” she exhaled. Without looking behind her, at what she was doing, Peggy bent her knees, reached under the wall bed, and gripped the wall bed’s handle. She lifted the wall bed into the wall by its silver handle. The long, narrow bed folded into the wall. It left a smooth, rubber-lined seam and at the center, the silver handle which Peggy used to pull the wallbed up and down. Above the wallbed another silver handle denoted a second wallbed that could be pulled down to make bunk beds, or they could be connected to make a double bed.

  Padding across smooth, gleaming white concrete in her footy pajamas, Peggy stepped over one of four cleaning robots, humming disks that methodically climbed the walls and polished the floor. Peggy sensed the Pwamster Learner Robot coming up behind her.

  “Is there a task I could perform?”

  “Not at the moment.” Peggy approached another silver handle in the wall. There were numerous silver handles set into the walls of Peggy’s homepod, each identical, fifteen centimeters long. Each looked as though they opened a drawer inside the wall but they did not. This particular silver handle appeared to be in the middle of a faint, small, rectangular seam. Peggy grasped the silver handle and pulled. The wall opened with the sound of suction resistance, which indicated that, like the wall bed, this closed with a tight seal.

  Upon opening the food printer, Peggy removed a paper cup of hot synth peppermint cream Caffeine #16. The peppermint cream had been waiting for three hours. Peggy removed the still hot cup using the pads of her fingers, “hot hot hot,” Peggy said and quickly placed it down on the sturdy plastic end table. The food printer door slowly swung itself shut with a tight seal. “Can I assist you!” The Pwamster robot headed forward in a burst and stopped sharp, her bottom, snow white orb, the part of her body which protruded out the furthest, bumping Peggy’s knee very slightly.

  “Nope,” said Peggy. Peggy heard the faint hiss of steam and the hum of the printer cleaning its interior.

  On the second tier of the end table lay Peggy’s rubber cup sleeve and she reached down and got that. In a moment of whimsy five years ago Peggy had bumped points at a Sector 6 kiosk and taken home a cup sleeve with her name on it. She slid the brown ‘PEGGY’ sleeve up the length of the cup and put her palm around the ‘PEGGY’ part, self conscious about it. Peggy blew on the steaming peppermint cream beverage.

  The Pwamster Robot grew very still. Her motor slowed to silence. Her oval eyes and half moon mouth flashed on. And remained on.

  Without looking down at 55,555, who she knew was following her, Peggy walked to the main door of her homepod. The main door whooshed open upon Peggy’s approach and the sounds of Malltown entered Peggy’s homepod. Peggy stepped out and noticed her neighbor Becky, in striped pajamas, leaning against the wall of her homepod. Becky wore an upper flannel top with a wide collar, baggy, and a matching, lower baggy pant, also flannel. Becky also had on pink, shaggy-terry clog slippers.

  Becky had a #8 haircut with a #224 hairstyle for a 3C/4A dominant lean. Becky’s hair rested three centimeters above her shoulders. She had naturally thick eyebrows and was about Peggy’
s same age. Becky had moved into her homepod not much later than Peggy herself.

  “Morning, Peggy.” Becky lifted a large, rubber purple mug in greeting. Nestled inside the rubber mug sleeve was the paper cup. Out of the top of the purple mug, steam wafted through a pyramid of whipped cream, drifting toward Peggy the scent of hot chocolate.

  “Morning Becky.” Peggy leaned against the door of her homepod and took a sip of her peppermint cream Caffeine #16.

  A vast open space spread out in front of Peggy. Bright blue skies and morning sunlight spilled through the enormous solar dome high above. The air smelled clean and fresh, slightly metallic. No extra lighting needed today. Kiosks, beginning to Peggy’s immediate right, homepods to Becky’s immediate left, the curve of bimpercars ahead. Malltowners headed up and down the Left Mainway in coveralls, or in printed fashions like Peggy’s footy pajamas.

  Peggy liked where she lived. Sector 4, at the deep curve of Malltown’s far eastern end. Here she had access to both the Left and Right mainways of Malltown without having to cross the kiosks. But Peggy wasn’t dead center—she could see all the way up the Left Mainway of Malltown only. Sure, in the snug, narrowest curves that made up Malltown’s eastern and western ends, the homepods were built smaller and a fraction more snug together, and Peggy only had one room and a VR cylinder, while others who lived further up the mainway, more centrailly, often had two rooms, but Peggy didn’t mind. Yes, indeed, if someone came around asking for a pod swap she’d have to say no. Peggy took another sip of her peppermint cream, the rich, frothed white beverage going down smooth, the peppermint stinging her nose, waking her. And if she ever wanted a new homepod, well, each homepod was a module. A segment. With the ability to detach completely and be replaced with a technologically updated model. She’d seen it herself, homepods pulled in and out of Malltown. That freshly printed smell. So Peggy could change out her homepod—she could move, in a sense. And she could stay right here.

  “I hear there’s a flu in Sector 5,” said Becky.

  “Bad?” asked Peggy.

  “Not too,” said Becky. Becky lifted her thick rubber mug and took a sip. The tip of her nose entered the whip cream. She lowered her mug. “A caravan brought it.” Caravans of nomadic travelers came and went in Malltown, bringing relatives, outside entertainment, and the occasional flu. It was the same way in all the Towns.

  “I hope the chickens don’t catch it,” said Becky.

  “Me too,” said Peggy.

  “They had a Sector 5 VR”—virtual reality—“meeting last night. The community decided everyone should stay inside their homepods for a few days.”

  Peggy nodded, “Good idea.” She took a sip from her mug and watched the Malltowners pass by. Petunia-Glass lived on the edge of Sector 4, near Sector 5. Peggy hoped she was alright, being a senior. “Hitting seniors hard?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Becky.

  “That’s good,” said Peggy.

  “What’s that?” asked Becky. Becky stared at Peggy’s feet.

  Peggy looked down. 55,555 stood beside her leg, close. Behind 55,555 a cleaner robot waited. “That is 55,555. A genetically modified sheep. It belongs to Petunia-Glass.”

  “Cute, can I touch?”

  Peggy shrugged. “Sure.”

  Becky crossed to Peggy’s homepod.

  “Mind your hot chocolate,” said Peggy as she watched Becky bend down.

  Becky righted her mug of chocolate and pet the sheep’s head. The sheep’s head pressed down at each press of Becky’s hand. No more or less than the pressure received. Becky ran her hand along 55,555’s back, petting. “Smooth coat. Is that mango?”

  “It is,” said Peggy. Peggy took a sip of her beverage.

  Becky straightened. “Sure seems attached to you.”

  “That’s the result of a chemical spray.”

  “Oh. Why do you have her?”

  Peggy explained.

  Becky’s head grew still as she listened. Her eyebrows went up. “Interesting. Well, I hope it’s not what she thinks it is.”

  “I hope so too,” said Peggy. A mythic homepod break in. Peggy took a sip of her beverage. Crazy. Malltown’s first crime spree?

  “Could it be a game? A treasure hunt or something?” asked Becky, taking a sip from her purple rubber mug.

  Everyone knew how RR—real reality—games went on all the time, along with AR and VR games, huge battles and whatnot, everything and anything, they just needed to be registered.

  Becky added, “There’s always a treasure hunt going on—or something.”

  Peggy had checked for games on her Grippy Rover while at Roxy’s kiosk for breakfast yesterday. “I’ve checked that. Nothing out of the ordinary. There’s three treasure hunts going on, one Bake It contest and one Attack the Sleeper. I’ve checked the treasures being hunted—none are a sheep.”

  “Could something underground have started up, you know, like in the cities?” Wide eyed.

  The wild, criminal games that go on among kids. That hadn’t happened in Malltown. It was possible but certainly unheard of—“I can imagine the community meeting!” Peggy shook her head. “No one even tries it. Why bother when you’ve got VR?” Peggy paused. “So if it’s not a treasure hunt, and it’s not stealing. Then it’s got to be a grudge.”

  Or was it?

  55,555 was a unique product—or more unique than most. Luxury items—like a Tiffany lamp—could be replicated with sand. And the plan for any item had to go public after five years of being bought and paid for in the trendy cities. Then surplus and used tech items, as well as the plans for anything and everything had to, by law, be disseminated to the Malltowns. So, free if you’re willing to wait. The tech items had to be maintained too—i.e. updated and could not be ‘orphaned’ without a recycle and replace program for all Malltowners. (Many Malltowns had won lawsuits in this regard and have accrued pointless quantities of money which to this day remain unused.)

  So everyone just had to wait for most things, five years. But some didn’t want to wait. If not, they could build up points and exchange the points for dollars and buy the item over the internet vending machines that gave access to the outside. Or they could send their order to the Bundler, and the Bundler would make it go live ASAP, out into the world. Malltowners had decided long ago, by vote, that they wanted a closed system, no commercials. And that’s what they got.

  Still, GMO sheep were available for money. And points could be turned into city money. Easy to make points in Malltown, as we’ve seen. Must be something about this sheep in particular. Or someone wanted to get back at the elderly woman. Seems the latter is the most likely. Or someone wanted to steal it to sell. Seems an awful lot of trouble for that. Peggy sipped her beverage, listened to the hum of people and looked down the long Left Corridor of Malltown.

  :::SECTION BREAK:::

  Peggy stood at her homepod’s field door, looking out. She heard them before she saw them. A clucking, the sound of a large form trundling over grass, the opera music.

  The chicken coop ambled into view to the overture from the opera Zampa by Ferdinand Herold. A vast low structure of thin mesh and light wheels. Nests toward the back—sturdiest wheels. The chickens within, a pet project for someone, Peggy wasn’t sure who, free-ranged around the Malltown fields. The chickens had been bought in a cycle over the years that enabled whoever worked up the device to allow for the older chickens to remain and die off naturally, while being replenished with younger, egg laying chickens. There were seats at the back, for the older chickens, by the nests. If a fox or a wolf or a bear came out of the distant woods, or even a cat, dog, what have you, the coop would emit a troublesome sound, above the human ear’s ability to hear, which sent those animals away.

  At the front of the coop, a panel held the ‘Pick n’ Play’. The chickens used their beaks to scroll through a music selection. Peggy didn’t know if one bossy (or inspired) chicken chose a song or a whole group got together and decided which music to play. Th
e chickens used their legs to mobile around the coop, which used sensors to follow the generally agreed upon direction of most of the chickens. The chickens had really gotten the hang of it. It was argued about in Malltown, whether the chickens had actually created a louder call which they made just before turning. A sort of group alert to go left or right. Either way, as Peggy watched she heard a loud cry above the opera music and could see, through the airy mesh, the chickens all turn in unison. The coop headed away and up, for a dark green patch of field.

  Peggy stared out the field door, finishing her now cold second peppermint beverage, letting the time pass.

  Ten minutes passed. Twenty.

  Her Pwamster I Can Learn Robot wheeled herself centrally, to a location behind Peggy, in the center of the room. And spoke behind her. “Can I be of assistance?”

  Peggy finished her beverage. “Yes,” she said, still looking out of the field door. “Watch the sheep.”

  “…Jump back, what's that sound. Here she comes, full blast and top down. Hot shoe, burnin' down the avenue. Model citizen zero discipline…”

  The chicken coop raced into view accompanied by Van Halen’s Panama, and raced out of view.

  :::SECTION BREAK :::

  …Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two! Peggy had left the Pwamster Robot staring at the sheep. Both the sheep and the Pwamster I Can Learn Robot stood in the center of her homepod’s main room, 55,555 staring at the VR cylinder as the door shut, and the Pwamster Robot, still as a spider, staring at the sheep. Like some artist’s tableau.

  After counting the outdoor steps as she headed up them, Peggy slipped passed the colonnaded, limestone exterior, into the Metropolitan Museum’s cool grey interior. Inside the Great Hall, Peggy’s sneakered feet pounded against the marble floor with a good, solid feeling. Beneath her VR sneakers, Peggy’s Qwammy slip-on Runners held her in place. Through the Great Hall, turning left, down the marble-like corridor. Peggy had removed the actual-time feature of the VR program New York! New York! so that the museum would remain empty—as if she had woken early. She sat on the marble bench next to Upper Part of a Marble Statue of a Woman, Roman imperial period. Peggy breathed hard from her run.