Once & Future (Once & Future #1)(2)
“So, three cases?”
Ari side-eyed him, and he added, “Plus breath mints. And for the cake, chocolate this year?”
“I don’t need a cake, Kay.”
“Ten years is a big deal. I vote chocolate. I eat most of it, anyway.” Kay hadn’t even glanced out the window; Old Earth was old hat to Ari’s adoptive brother. He’d been on board Heritage a bunch of times as a kid and claimed to be over the view. Still, whenever their provisions ran low, Kay set course for this exact starship no matter how far away they were.
“How many times did you come here with our parents?”
“Salt. Wounds,” he gruffed, confirming Ari’s theory that this place reminded him of better times, before his moms had taken in Ari and they’d all had to start dodging Mercer.
Ari turned her telescope to the motley, cratered moon. Unlike Old Earth, it had been overrun by domed colonies named after ancient vehicular gods. Each one featured its name and mascot in great, glowing letters. Even from this distance, a neon ram’s head charged through a wall over and over, the letters DODGE blinking.
“Hey, we should stop there on our way out,” she said, pointing to the overrun moon with its billboards more brilliant than stars. Live shows. Dance halls. Oxygen bars. Something called an Elvis. “When’s the last time we went dancing, Kay?”
Kay snapped his fingers in front of the telescope, and for a second the automatic focus zoomed out dizzily and gave her a view of the powder granules of orange cheese from his favorite tortilla chips.
Ari lifted her face, watching a drop of sweat travel down Kay’s cheek to his scruffy chin.
“Stop sweating. They’ll think you’re sick. Or hiding a secret Ketchan in the medieval times section.”
“Hilarious, Ari. Truly.” Kay wiped his face with his forearm. “Tell me, are you able to stop your body from sweating on command?”
Ari squinted. “I haven’t tried. Maybe.”
“Look, don’t move from this spot while I pick up our supplies. Don’t talk to a soul, and if you must? Lie, Ari. I want you speaking eloquent, exquisite, capitalistic lies. Repeat after me: ‘Mercer is my king, my God, my salvation. I love to shop ’til I drop.’”
Ari’s lips pruned; she’d make herself sick uttering such nonsense. “I’ll stay put.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. Worry folded his adorably brutish forehead into lines. “If something goes weird, run. Take off in Error. Don’t wait. Promise?”
“I got it, Kay,” she said, slipping past promises she’d never keep. Ari clapped Kay’s shoulder, before he headed out of the museum exhibit and down the stairs that led to the heart of the mall. Ari moved to the balcony to watch him go, taking in a bird’s-eye view of bleached consumerism. The ceramic tiled walls and floor were white. So were the identical Mercer storefronts: the symbols for grocery, pharmacy, clothes, and spaceship hardware among the most visible.
Worst of all, even the light pouring from the lofted ceiling was blinding and pale, the kind she couldn’t look straight into without wincing—which was exactly what Mercer wanted.
“Don’t look at us looking at you,” Ari murmured, her nerves prickling. She couldn’t blame Kay for sweating in this place. The Mercer Company didn’t mess around. Ten years ago, the Mercer Company placed a barrier around planet Ketch, sealing everyone in—their response to the Ketchans, who had begun speaking out against the company’s monopolistic tyranny. Not even communications could pass through. The Mercer Company proclaimed that the Ketchans had become hostile, that they were bad for the economy and therefore must be walled off. Mercer had become more than just a greedy corporation with a monopoly on goods and services for the entire galaxy—they were the galaxy. They controlled everything from people’s food to healthcare to the freaking government.
Around the same time that Ketch got walled off, Kay’s moms found seven-year-old Ari abandoned, starved, afloat in a piece of space trash. They’d taken her in, loved her. They’d even tried to find a way to get her through the barrier and back home to Ketch—and gotten arrested in the process. That was three years ago, when Ari was fourteen, and there hadn’t been any word since. They could have died in a Mercer prison or on a factory planet. Kay said not knowing was the easiest part; that was his favorite lie.
“Welcome to Heritage Mall.”
Ari managed not to shout. The words came from the image of the Mercer Company’s CEO, known only as the Administrator, whose bust was now projected above her watch screen.
“We’re so glad you could join us today on Heritage. All pilgrimages to Old Earth are rewarded with a twenty percent discount on souvenirs and government documents.” The man’s blank eyes and digitally smooth skin hinted at intrigue, explicit knowledge, and caustic mischief. Ari wondered if he looked that way to everyone or just her. “Whether you’re in the market for a keepsake pebble from terra firma or a quickie divorce, the Mercer Company is at your service.”
The Administrator’s face disappeared. Ari swore inside her smelly rubber knight’s suit and silenced her watch. “It’s just a pop-up ad,” she murmured to herself. “He’s not actually on this starship. It’s just an ad.…”
“Look, my sweets! A knight!” An elderly couple swept into the Middle Ages display, as swift as a pair of roaches. They were on top of her in a moment, groping her suit, all up in her personal space.