amidst Styrofoam and old papers wrapped in a box. Fingers crossed, she wished for a charge. She was in luck, the laptop had a built-in solar panel. Exposed to the sun, the battery began charging.
Cyra found a place away from the garbage on an open patch of grass. She glanced in the direction she had come wondering if they had noticed she was missing. No one appeared. Cage had his new female; Cyra was chopped liver. At half charge, Cyra turned the computer on. It flickered. She turned it over and accessed the main panel. Inside, wires were fried, so was one side of the solar panels.
“Damn.”
Back to the pile she went. She located foil paper, toothpicks and duct tape. After rummaging through bags she pulled out a pair of solar light-up shoes, size eight children’s. Cyra guessed they might have been used only once. Parents’ overindulgence matched their own needs. Children picked up on it. Everything had to be new.
Cyra took her items back to the computer. She tore off the solar sparkle lights on the tops of the shoes in one strip. Using the toothpicks, she gently pulled the wires apart on the computer where her somewhat larger fingers wouldn’t maneuver. She ripped off the foil paper and pressed two different wires together. She ripped off a Band-Aid-sized piece of duct tape and pressed it across the wires. She flipped the computer back over. She attached the solar lights to the broken panel and set the computer in the sun, watching the battery power up.
“Good heavens; if they saw me do that on the satellite, I’d never hear the end of it. A quick fix for nickels when I charge tens of thousands.”
The laptop was otherwise fine but older. The computer was incapable of transporting objects through the view screen. It was the kind given to children under three, who not so accidently transported diapers to daddy or mommy from daycare, so they were banned. Earth’s society was out of control, the need for newer items was at an all-time high. The second a new device was built, the old was outdated—even if it was barely a month. People had to have the best; it was why their garbage problem had gotten so out of hand. Humans invented compact gadgets, companies racing to add new features as must haves. Smart phones could do a load of laundry at the click of a button and slide of a wrist. If your hand held device didn’t connect you to whomever you wished wherever with video—enhancing video making even the ugly look stunning—you were considered poor.
The video enhanced your voice, added expensive hologram jewelry, covered blemishes. Plus all the rage was a heated device in winter, cooler in summer with built-in personal air conditioning. Texting was voice activated for the texting impaired. But looking at the mess nearby, at what cost? What planets were now harboring the Earth’s mess? What medieval planet or Neanderthal planet now had technology too advanced for them? For Cyra it was a scary thought.
The computer hummed. Cyra whacked it. Again, another quick fix. The machine flickered to life. Cyra punched in the coordinates of her place of work. Leo was an associate, he lived at the office; she hoped he was there. The background, when the picture came into view, was strange. Cyra was certain it was Earth. Video signs, torn but readable were in the distance. Smoke was spiraling from some source. She wondered if she were looking out a window. The computer should be inside.
The laptop picture was fuzzy. “Leo?” Cyra yelled. She had a visual of an arm for a split second.
A frazzled man looked into the other side. His hair was a mess, he was unshaven, his glasses broken and taped. It took Cyra a moment to realize it was Leo. She had gotten through to Earth. Her heart began to race, freedom was at her fingertips.
“Leo, it’s me, Cyra. I’m on a different planet. Send some help and hurry, I’ll get you the coordinates in a second.” Her hands flew over the laptop figuring latitude and longitude.
“Cyra?
Cyra found a place away from the garbage on an open patch of grass. She glanced in the direction she had come wondering if they had noticed she was missing. No one appeared. Cage had his new female; Cyra was chopped liver. At half charge, Cyra turned the computer on. It flickered. She turned it over and accessed the main panel. Inside, wires were fried, so was one side of the solar panels.
“Damn.”
Back to the pile she went. She located foil paper, toothpicks and duct tape. After rummaging through bags she pulled out a pair of solar light-up shoes, size eight children’s. Cyra guessed they might have been used only once. Parents’ overindulgence matched their own needs. Children picked up on it. Everything had to be new.
Cyra took her items back to the computer. She tore off the solar sparkle lights on the tops of the shoes in one strip. Using the toothpicks, she gently pulled the wires apart on the computer where her somewhat larger fingers wouldn’t maneuver. She ripped off the foil paper and pressed two different wires together. She ripped off a Band-Aid-sized piece of duct tape and pressed it across the wires. She flipped the computer back over. She attached the solar lights to the broken panel and set the computer in the sun, watching the battery power up.
“Good heavens; if they saw me do that on the satellite, I’d never hear the end of it. A quick fix for nickels when I charge tens of thousands.”
The laptop was otherwise fine but older. The computer was incapable of transporting objects through the view screen. It was the kind given to children under three, who not so accidently transported diapers to daddy or mommy from daycare, so they were banned. Earth’s society was out of control, the need for newer items was at an all-time high. The second a new device was built, the old was outdated—even if it was barely a month. People had to have the best; it was why their garbage problem had gotten so out of hand. Humans invented compact gadgets, companies racing to add new features as must haves. Smart phones could do a load of laundry at the click of a button and slide of a wrist. If your hand held device didn’t connect you to whomever you wished wherever with video—enhancing video making even the ugly look stunning—you were considered poor.
The video enhanced your voice, added expensive hologram jewelry, covered blemishes. Plus all the rage was a heated device in winter, cooler in summer with built-in personal air conditioning. Texting was voice activated for the texting impaired. But looking at the mess nearby, at what cost? What planets were now harboring the Earth’s mess? What medieval planet or Neanderthal planet now had technology too advanced for them? For Cyra it was a scary thought.
The computer hummed. Cyra whacked it. Again, another quick fix. The machine flickered to life. Cyra punched in the coordinates of her place of work. Leo was an associate, he lived at the office; she hoped he was there. The background, when the picture came into view, was strange. Cyra was certain it was Earth. Video signs, torn but readable were in the distance. Smoke was spiraling from some source. She wondered if she were looking out a window. The computer should be inside.
The laptop picture was fuzzy. “Leo?” Cyra yelled. She had a visual of an arm for a split second.
A frazzled man looked into the other side. His hair was a mess, he was unshaven, his glasses broken and taped. It took Cyra a moment to realize it was Leo. She had gotten through to Earth. Her heart began to race, freedom was at her fingertips.
“Leo, it’s me, Cyra. I’m on a different planet. Send some help and hurry, I’ll get you the coordinates in a second.” Her hands flew over the laptop figuring latitude and longitude.
“Cyra?
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