Excerpt--Chapter 1--The Girl They Sold to the Moon

            Tilly Breedlove never thought she would end up in an institution like this and hear her father utter such dreadful, embarrassing words across a counter top.

            “I’m Reginald Breedlove, and I have an appointment for the last stage of the program.  I’m here to pawn my daughter.”

            I’m here to pawn my daughter.  Tilly knew they had another word for it, because she and her girlfriends used to laugh at the K-Span commercial spots on late night Holoview.  She wasn’t laughing now.  She’d never seen so many kids gathered in one spot, except at a school assembly.  The first floor of the auditorium-sized building had at least twenty standing lines and a waiting area filled to capacity.  Sure, there were sniffles and tearful goodbyes, with an occasional knock-down-drag-out, but the worst scenes were reserved for the six to twelve-year-old kids, the next wing over.  Those kids were on the Daffodil Plan, commonly called, Daffy’s, and their screams pierced through the air conditioning vents.

            The check-in receptionist didn't crack a smile when in a husky contralto she said, “Pawn is a term reserved for the intercity establishments, Mr. Breedlove, most notably found in the vicinity of Forty-Second Street.  You cede, or relinquish custodianship of your ward here at Family Trade and Loan, for a specific time period.  Do you have your identification wafer and DNA cube, sir?  I don’t want your hard-card identification.”

            Reginald unsnapped the lid on his wrist-held Omnicomp and pulled out a small wafer diskette and cube.  He handed them to the woman.  “Pawn, sell, loan, trade, it’s all the same,” he said.  “I’ve already been through the psychogram and background check.  So I’d appreciate it all to hell if I was not held up any longer.”

            The receptionist, whose name tag read, Aurora, slipped the wafer and cube into a console and adjusted her monitor.  “Bear with me while I double-check the contract-application,” she said.  “It should only take a few.”

            “Mother Mary on a wagon wheel,” muttered Reginald.  “It’s taken me three hours to get to this counter.  I’ve got varicose veins as thick as rope, ready to burst from standing in this line.”