Jeramey Kraatz - The Moon Platoon

“The Vipers will have joint leaders – the Tokyo twins, Kai and Kira Miyamura – on floor number three.”

Drue looked back and forth between the red horse on the screen and the smaller one on his HoloTek.

“Crap,” he muttered.

“That means—” Benny started, but he was cut off by Hot Dog’s gasp.

“Finally, the Mustangs will be on the fourth floor, led by Ricardo Rocha,” Pinky said.

“The beast from Brazil!” Hot Dog half shouted. There were practically hologram hearts in her eyes. “The only person from the first scholarship year to be invited to stay on the Moon. Did you know he was living in an abandoned building and leading a street gang in South America before he got invited to the Taj?”

“It wasn’t a gang,” Drue said. “It was an amateur football team that ran drills in the streets. I don’t know how he was the one who got picked to stay up here. He’s not even a very good pilot.”

But Hot Dog either didn’t notice Drue was talking or didn’t care about what he had to say.

Pinky smiled. “Now, please make your way to the lifts at the back of the lobby and find your rooms. Simply place your hand on the door to unlock it – the room is already keyed to your unique biosignature. And once again, welcome to the Lunar Taj. I guarantee it’s an experience you won’t forget.”

Benny stopped half a metre inside his assigned room. The rucksack he had slung over one shoulder dropped, hitting the floor behind him. He’d been expecting the place to be nice, but hadn’t really given a lot of thought as to what that might actually look like. And now he was here, standing in a suite that was at least ten times bigger than his RV on Earth. Everything was plush material and dark, polished metal, the walls a slate grey with thick red stripes shooting across the room. Huge pictures of distant planets and celestial bodies hung in metallic frames on all the walls except the furthest one, by the bed, which was just one big window looking out onto the Moon. There were multiple sofas, a small dining table, and—

There was a flicker of light a few metres away from him, and suddenly a woman with blond hair piled high on top of her head was standing beside a tufted chair.

“Hello there, Mr Love,” she said.

Benny took a step back, nearly tripping over his bag as he let out a string of half-words.

The woman smirked. “Sorry, I probably should have warned you before I appeared. We haven’t been officially introduced. I’m Pinky, the artificial intelligence who runs the Lunar Taj, and your personal concierge for the duration of your stay. We’ve found that our guests are much more comfortable being able to visualise the entity keeping their oxygen regulated and appointments in order instead of trusting a dismembered voice. And, as a privacy measure for our guests, my holographic form serves as a reminder that I’m not always watching or listening. I’m only present in your room when I’m here , if that makes sense. Do you understand, Mr Love?”

Benny stared back at her in silence.

“No one’s ever called me Mr Love before.”

“Would you prefer Benny?”

He nodded. Pinky smiled.

“All right, Benny. How about a quick tour?” She turned away from him, motioning to the kitchen at her left. “Against my nutritional recommendations, Elijah insisted that the pantries be stocked with all sorts of packaged snacks and pastries in addition to fruits and vegetables grown in our lower-level greenhouses.”

Benny made a mental note to fill his rucksack with anything left over on the last day – free souvenirs for his brothers.

Pinky continued, leading him deeper into the room.

“This wardrobe is full of custom-fit space suits and some casual clothing for downtime. Of course, that’s all yours to take with you in two weeks. This desk is equipped with a holosurface that can project three-dimensional images of the resort, your daily schedule, et cetera. Ah, and the entire wall across from your bed is a screen operated by your new HoloTek. You should find any sort of media you want streaming from our servers – music, videos, games. We have everything.”

“Everything?” Benny asked. He’d rarely been able to pick up enough of a signal to watch clips of cartoons whenever they were deep in the Drylands, and now he had anything he wanted at his fingertips, presented in trillions of ultradef pixels.

Pinky nodded. “If we don’t have it already, we’ll get it for you. Just say the word. Now, a next-gen gaming system is built into the server. You’ll find instructions on operating the holographic interface on your HoloTek, but there are a variety of controllers on the dresser should you prefer something a little more old-school. Apart from that, everything should be self-explanatory. Is there any way I can be of service now, before I go?” Pinky asked.

Benny could feel goosebumps prickling his arms underneath his space suit. He was pretty sure it wasn’t from the sight of the room alone.

“It’s kind of cold,” he said.

“The suite is set at an optimal temperature of twenty-one degrees Celsius,” Pinky said. Then she adjusted her glasses and bounced her head back and forth. “Of course, that’s probably a little chilly for someone coming from the Drylands.”

Benny felt warmer air blow across his face from a hidden vent.

Pinky continued. “This should be more comfortable, but if you’d like an adjustment, just let me know. All you have to do is say my name. Otherwise, please enjoy yourself.” She grinned, and then she was gone, blinked out of existence in an instant.

Benny stood still for a few moments, unsure of what to do first. Eventually he started walking around slowly, looking at all the shiny surfaces and electronics. Everything was so clean . He was almost afraid to touch anything for fear of getting grime on it. Despite all the amenities, though, the thing that he ended up focusing on was the kitchen sink. He stood in front of it, just staring for a while, before turning on the tap and taking a step back. For someone who’d spent most of his life in the desert searching for clean water, seeing a seemingly endless supply shooting out of the tap was almost as exhilarating as the high-tech electronics or the fact that he was on the Moon at all. He splashed his face, and then drank deeply from the stream – huge gulps that hurt his throat – before suddenly feeling guilty and turning it off. The tap seemed almost wasteful, too indulgent, though he assumed the water would be recycled somehow and that the people who normally visited the Taj were probably far less concerned with such things.

It didn’t take him long to unpack his stuff once he managed to stop gawking over his temporary accommodation. He didn’t have many belongings on Earth to begin with, apart from a handful of gadgets he’d either salvaged or traded for, and knowing that the resort was going to provide space suits, he hadn’t brought much in the way of clothes. He tossed a few ragged T-shirts in one corner and fished out the small voice modulator he’d packed and placed it on the bedside table. At least his little brothers hadn’t taken that . He pulled his beaten-up old HoloTek from his rucksack, the screen cracked and clouded with dirt that had somehow become embedded in the datapad, and then tapped on his shiny new device to start a data transfer, importing all his old files. After a few seconds, the transfer was complete, and he scrolled through some videos to make sure everything seemed in order. Most of them were outtakes from his scholarship vid. There was one, though, that looked unfamiliar. He checked the file’s info and found it had been created the day before. He tapped on it.