30. Poppy
POPPY
The alien fruit tastes like a cross between a Starburst and static electricity, which isn’t a combination I thought possible. It works immediately, though, and I can feel the jolt of energy. Lucy walks over to the buffet, picking up the frosted pitcher Ken left for us.
"Before you got here, Ken said these were authentic Earth margaritas," Lucy says, sniffing the yellow slushy before pouring it into three glass chalices.
She takes a sip and immediately wrinkles her nose in total disgust. "This is literally coconut cream and pineapple juice.
There isn't a single drop of tequila in here.
It's a virgin pina colada." She shrugs. “Honestly, I think I might swear of alcohol from now on anyway.”
“You know?” I ask Lucy, stunned. “You know they got out? How?” I chug the sugary slush Lucy hands me.
Selene plops the platter of fruit down on the floor, and we converge around it in a tight circle.
"The program relies on biometric tracking," Lucy explains through a full mouth, motioning for me to do the same. "It can’t understand our speech if we do like this,” she points to her full mouth and chipmunk cheeks. “Ty-Rok and I found that out when it surprised us one night eating.”
I shove more food in my mouth, hope stirring in me.
“If you mask your signature, the drones can’t lock on you and Ken’s fucked."
Hell, I can hardly understand her through her full mouth. Selene nods, eating at a rapid pace. Whatever she’s been through, it seems like it’s a fuck ton worse than what I’ve experienced.
"Pol just smashes things until the power shorts out," Selene says, hardly intelligible.
Something tugs at my memory, and I squint, trying to figure out what it is, when it hits me.
This is like one of those Captcha things from before the Roth invaded, except instead of identifying motorcycles, I’m having to spend all my energy on understanding what the fuck they’re saying, and instead of keeping bots from filling out forms, we’re keeping a bot from surveilling us.
Hell, truly.
Selene takes a massive gulp of her fake margarita. “It’s old school, but it works. Apparently this wasn’t a moon at all, by the way. Pol said it’s an abandoned satellite that vanished mysteriously, and the people on it were never heard from again.”
A sharp vibration ripples through the room.
I freeze, my cup stopping halfway to my mouth. It isn't coming from me because my pink slip does not have a single pocket, but the embedded smart-coaster on the fake-gold side table is humming like a cheap pager.
The palm-sized glass panel pops slightly out of the wood, its screen blinking erratically. A green cursor appears against a black background, and it looks nothing like the comms tablet UI or anything else I’ve seen here.
“Oh shit,” Selene says. “I know who this is.”
We both stare at her.
“This is how the Suevan Warlords communicate,” she continues, her voice tight, and for the first time, something like hope is in her eyes. “They hacked the pirate ship I was on once.”
The cursor blinks, and then a message begins to form on the screen.
We all lunge forward, grabbing the panel and holding on to it for dear life. Our heads knocking together as we stare at the tiny text crawling across the display.
SOURCE: SURFACE DEPLOYMENT // SUEVA MAINLAND SENDER: BEX
MESSAGE: IF YOU CAN READ THIS, HOLD THE LINE. LILY, ELL AND PARTNERS ARE OFF-PLANET. BILLIE AND AYRO UNDERGROUND; RESISTANCE. HACKING KEN’S CORE MATRIX. WE ARE COMING TO GET YOU OUT OF THAT SATELLITE.
“Ellison and Lily,” Lucy breathes. “They made it to Sueva.”
“They are alive.” A breathless laugh tears out of me. “The Suevans are coming to get us.”
A silver recording drone drops out of an air vent, its blue lens spinning rapidly as it locks onto our huddle. Ken’s hologram face flickers into the center of the room.
Selene throws her cup of pina colada at the drone, and it slops all over it.
Ken’s hologram glitches.
“Take it,” Selene hisses,
I pry the hacked screen or whatever it is out of the table and shove the glass panel straight down my cleavage.
I don’t think Ken’s interested in looking too closely at my tits.
“Contestants, you are expected to provide a storyline,” Ken says. “Are you harboring unreleased emotional content? Please do not refrain—”
I spring to my feet, and I channel my best Real Housewives rage. I grab my cup of pina colada and hurl it straight across the room, where it splatters against the velvet wall.
“I cannot believe you would say that about my mother, Lucy,” I scream at the top of my lungs, slapping my hand flat against the table where the missing tablet should be. “You have always been jealous of me. Always.”
Lucy blinks, her mouth dropping open, and I see the exact second before her brain catches up. She lurches off the floor, her face twisting into an unhinged snarl as she grabs a handful of fruit from the platter and throws them straight at my chest.
“Your a joke, Poppy,” Lucy shrieks. “You dragged us to an alien game show because you are a loser. You ruined my life.”
Selene doesn’t miss a beat. She lets out a feral yell, grabs the entire pitcher, and dumps the slush straight over her own head, letting it run down her suit.
“You are both fucking idiots,” Selene says, then grabs a throw pillow and rips it open with her bare hands, sending a cloud of feathers into the air.
Lucy and I stare at her, because damn, I’m not sure if she’s acting or not.
“I will kill both of you, and your partners, and then I will go to Roth and take those mother fuckers out too.”
Her chest heaves, and then her eyes widen slightly when she realizes were both actually a bit scared of her. “But first I’m going to win this whole thing,” she adds, the delivery extremely deadpan.
Lucy shoots a look my way, and then gives a little shrug before launching herself at Selene.
The green room descends into a storm of flying fruit, feathers, and screaming humans. We are kicking the sectional couch, throwing platters, and screeching the most unhinged things possible.
“THE LIE DETECTOR DETERMINED THAT WAS A LIE,” I scream at Selene.
“IS THAT YOUR FINAL ANSWER?” she yells back.
“I’M THE NEXT AMERICAN IDOL,” Lucy says, and I swear, Selene almost laughs at that one.
The silver drone hovers mid-air, its blue lens darting frantically back and forth through the cloud of feathers as Ken’s system tries to process the sudden escalation.
“Incredible,” Ken’s voice shrieks through the speakers, his hologram face expanding with corporate joy.
“The psychological breakdown metrics are breaking the scale. The engagement metrics are melting. Keep fighting, contestants. This is the highest-rated after-party in the history of the show. It is also the only after-party in the history of the show.”
Beneath the cover of chaos, I adjust the device in my boobs. The green light pulses safely against my skin.
We have a plan. As I grab another piece of fruit to pelt at Lucy's head, I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry.
We are getting out of this nightmare.
I lick some pina colada off my finger and decide it is not the worst mixed drink I’ve ever had. That dubious honor belongs to the trash can punch I had in college.