“Mira, come on,” I groan. “Get out of here.”
“Planet...Butts!” Mira shouts, her hands leaving her face and quickly coming back up, as though she’s trying to hide that she’s the one who just screamed “butts” at the top of her lungs.
Resigned, I smile and motion for her to come sit with me. She scurries over and squeals gleefully as I pick her up, then settle her on my lap in front of my computer. It’s a massive gaming rig that I’ve slowly built piece by piece over the years, collecting parts off eBay and from discarded machines around my neighborhood—the latter much to my parents’ disapproval. No parent likes seeing their kid drag home old, beat-up computers they’ve found in the trash, no matter how often they tell you to experiment and explore and all that.
But this—it’s the perfect beast to explore galaxies in Reclaim the Sun. It’s a massive game, with worlds that are randomly generated for exploration and a universe so big no one will ever be able to see all of it. And when you’re playing a first-person exploration game that micromanages even the tiniest things—like upgrading vehicles, customizing armor, establishing trade routes, and slowly creating your own character to look way too much like yourself—you need a lot of power. And even though I have the graphics turned down a bit to keep things running smoothly, it still looks great. Plus, my rig is great for working on the games I’m trying to write with my best friend, Ryan, at our part-time job with ManaPunk, a local game developer.
And I managed to build it without bothering anyone for upgrade money.
Not that my parents would give it to me, anyway. We might have money, but none of it is being used to support something they refer to as a “hobby,” a frequent point of contention whenever I come home with parts gleaned from dumpster diving at Penn or Temple, the nearby universities, or discarded computers our wealthy neighbors toss outside, even though you’re not supposed to toss computers in with the general trash. RAM, hard drives, better speakers... My rig is the Frankenstein’s monster of PCs, only I nurture my creation.
When most people hear that I write video games, I think they imagine coding. Programming and all that. But no, I write. Story-type stuff, dialogue, instructions. Ryan does the art, Laura handles the coding, and Jason, the publisher, does a mix of all of it.
We’re a scrappy little team, and I love it.
My monster-machine of a computer helps process the beta code of the games-in-progress better than my regular old laptop, which I drag around to coffee shops when working on the story. But this beast also helps me play games like Reclaim the Sun—because not all of us can afford a fancy game-developing PC on our own, like Jason and ManaPunk can.
Though maybe I would be able to buy some new parts if he’d just pay me for our last project already.
“Beeeeeeee...” Mira gibbers, staring down at the keyboard. She leans over the smooth white desk as she glances at all the keys, a single finger on her tiny fist sticking out, ready to jab the letter of her choosing.
“Here,” I say, unplugging my headphones from the PC. The music of the game blasts from the speakers behind the monitor, an epic classical score that sounds like it’s ripped straight from a Star Wars film, mixed with the sounds of my unnamed planet. The rustling plants, the din of the roaring river, the odd calls from those flittering lizard-birds that have begun to circle overhead, and the hum of my ship’s cooling engine.
Mira moves her hand out of the way as I reach for the keyboard next, painstakingly typing out the planet’s name.
Would you like to claim and name this planet?
[YES][NO]
What would you like to name this planet?
PLANET BUTTS
Are you sure you want to name this planet
PLANET BUTTS?
Once a name is chosen it cannot be changed.
[YES] [NO]
I click Yes, securing Planet Butts’s place in Reclaim the Sun for as long as the game exists, set in a universe of trillions of planets. It’s unlikely anyone will ever find it again, but if they do, I guess they’ll be in for a treat of a name? Though it’s more than likely scores of younger kids playing this game have come up with similar—likely far more creative and lewd—planet names.
For a moment, I wonder just how many Planet Butts there are out there. I grin, thinking about how much fun it’ll be when Mira is old enough to play games like this on her own. How I could take her exploring. How we could name endless planets together.
The view of the landscape pulls away for a moment, bringing up the planet in its entirety, stars dotting the sky as the big green-and-blue Earth-like sphere spins slowly in front of us.
PLANET BUTTS
Discovered by Aaron Jericho
“Yay!” screams Mira, bouncing up and down, and then begins cheering like she’s rooting for a sports team. “Pla-net Butts! Pla-net Butts!”
“Um, what’s going on in here?”
I spin around in my computer chair and see my mom leaning in the doorway, her black hair tied up in a bun. She’s dressed in a blue blazer, with thin glasses on the bridge of her nose. An ID tag dangles from her neck on a lanyard, though I have no idea why she wears it. She runs her medical practice in the tiny building connected to our house. She’s the boss. Everyone knows who she is.
Mom stares at us, shifting the bundle of magazines under her arm, some of them still wrapped in the plastic covers they arrive in with the mail. Her eyes flit back and forth from me and Mira to the computer screen, an amused look on her face. Mira’s mouth is clamped shut, a thin line barely holding back her laughter, and it’s easy to see so much of my mother reflected back in her. She’s got my mother’s Honduran looks, while I look more like Dad. Like we’re little clones that just budded off them.
“Just exploring the universe.” I shrug.
“Okay, well... I left some money on the fridge. Maybe get a pizza or something for the two of you? I shouldn’t be too late today,” she says, and I catch her absently fiddling with her ID badge. It’s her tell, and I know that she will be late again, even though it’s her office and it’s connected to our actual house.
And judging by her expression, I know what’s coming next.
“Aaron, you promised this summer—” she starts.
“Mom, can we just... Not now?” I ask, my heart sinking. Reclaim the Sun has been out for a few weeks now, but this is the first day I’ve had any time to myself to do some intense, proper exploring, between end-of-the-year homework and babysitting-despite-Mom-and-Dad-being-right-next-door and my attempts at script writing for ManaPunk. It’s finally summer vacation, and I want to do what everyone wants to do with bright clear skies, warm beautiful weather, and all the freedom in the world.
Stay inside and play video games.