Author: Hillary Lyon

The old guy slid his card down the side of the small terminal to pay for his groceries. An error message appeared on the screen. He tried inserting the card in the slot at the bottom. Another error message.

“Swipe it over the icon in the top left corner,” Kora, the checker, offered. He did; it worked.

“Old people and technology,” he said sheepishly. “No worries,” Kora smiled, handing him his receipt.

* * *

Kora rang her Gran’s doorbell. She was dropping off bi-weekly groceries for the old woman. The door opened and a perky young gal stood before her.

“Uh, hi,” Kora said, confused. “I’m look for my Gran.”

Laughing, the young woman took the groceries. “Come in!” She dropped the bags on the floor and twirled around.

“Sorry,” Kora stammered, “you are…?”

The young woman grabbed Kora by the shoulders. “I’m your Gran!”

“No,” Kora said flatly. “That’s not possible.”

“Yes,” Her Gran corrected. “It is with rejuvenating gene therapy.”

“Oh, Gran,” Kora said, “you didn’t.”

“I did, and stop calling me Gran. You know my name is Tessa.” Tessa ran her hands down her svelte figure. “Only took ten days…isn’t this wonderful? I’m twenty-two again! Younger than you, and prettier, too! I’m a Rejuvie! A grooovy Rejuvie!”

“Gran—I mean Tessa—how much did this treatment cost? What are the side-effects?

“Puh-lease! Side-effects, shmide effects,” Tessa snorted. “And, Miss Nosy, I have investments and savings out the wazoo—good thing I was fiscally conservative for so long. So no worries! No worries at all!” Tessa fluffed her hair. “There’ll be no inheritance for you, or your mother.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll need every bit to live on for the next, oh, fifty years.”

“Gra—Tessa, I don’t care about inheritance. I’m worried about—”

Tessa cut her off. “I’ll buy whatever I want, eat whatever I want,” a dreamy look crossed her face. “I’ll go out to clubs, drink and dance all night…frolic with all those frisky boys!” Her dark eyes twinkled. “Oh, this is gonna be fun!”

* * *

Kora opened her laptop, logged on to the internet, and searched for information about rejuvenating gene therapy. Medical studies were only now being publicly published, months after the pharmaceutical companies made their billions.

Her cat, Mojo, jumped on the kitchen table to lay down beside the laptop. She scratched him under his chin before returning her attention to her screen. What Kora found caused her heart to sink. Reported side-effects included, but were not limited to: narcissism, increased libido, loss of fiscal sense, inability to plan for the future, lack of self-control, rising aggression…

Kora clicked another tab, this one being a live news feed. A wide-eyed, distressed podcaster spoke of rising tensions between the world’s superpowers. Rejuvenated macho generals, he warned, were thumping their chests, threatening to push the button—that button. As the podcaster spoke, numerous missiles launched in real time, sailing across the world’s oceans in all directions.

She clicked another tab, in dire need of distraction from events she had no control over. A viral video of a cat playing the piano. Just what she needed. “Mojo,” she said to her pet, “look at…”

With a distant boom, an EMP killed the internet. Electricity too. Kora closed her laptop. Rising from the table, she went to the kitchen window and opened it. The stars were innumerable, the night quiet.

“You know what I’m gonna miss, Mojo?” she said, picking him up. “Old people.” She looked out over the permanently dark city below. “And technology.”