Ari saw both sides, to be honest, but as her cheek started to hurt less, she could not afford to stay on Amal, waiting for her death to find her and Nin to make her into a new cycle.
That, and she really wanted to get her hands on that sword.
The bus pilot’s bored voice smeared with static through the speakers. “Kemelotch stoppsh.” The children on board squealed happily as the starbus docked so hard Val lost his footing. Gwen grabbed one shoulder and Ari the other, keeping him from tumbling into the surrounding passengers.
They stayed toward the back while the bus unloaded, adjusting their Val-designed costumes. He wore a hat with a jaunty purple feather, which, as Ari had pointed out, “Only draws attention instead of dispelling it.”
“Yes, attention to the feather.” He’d had a little too much fun masking Ari in a dress and Gwen in a jumpsuit as if swapping their gender expressions might alone fool Mercer. To be honest, Ari barely recognized Gwen’s backside in that getup, which ended up being the one thing to jostle her one-track mind from stopping Mercer before she died. Her hands were coming alive with very specific needs.
Val gave Ari a smack that stung only because it reminded her of Merlin. “Stop it. You might not look exactly like yourselves, but as a couple you’re unmistakable.”
Gwen gave Ari a saucy look but moved to the other side of Val. “We’ve got exactly one hour before Amal arrives and all hell breaks loose. We have to be in position before then.”
“Assuming they let us in,” Ari said.
“Let me do my part, will you?” Val said with a dash of salt. He’d been a short-tempered mess since they’d left Merlin behind in Avalon, and Ari couldn’t blame him. She only hoped she could do something to change Merlin’s fate before she was gone.
They were the last to get off the starbus, entering streams of people unlike anything Ari could have imagined. Old Earth’s moon was nothing like the bare silver face she’d seen from Camelot, or the hyper-neon colonies she’d once gleefully snuck into with Kay. Crowds siphoned through glass-covered walkways toward the enormous, new dome so large it made the moon appear top-heavy. One word flashed across its peak like a gleaming crown:
Camelot™
Gwen exhaled an expletive so sincere Ari stifled a laugh.
“Okay, let’s be tourists,” Ari said.
Up ahead, Mercer associates checked people over, sending them to the right toward the entrance to the park, or to the left for further security screenings. Ari could feel the red alarms of facial recognition software and enough heat guns to sublimate their cells on the spot. When it was nearly their turn, Ari panicked. She reached for Gwen, kissing her so heatedly that the associate deadpanned, “Honeymooners to the right. Congratulations.”
Val gripped the tickets that cost way, way too much. At the turnstile, he flirted with the associate who blushed purple and let him through. Ari went next, the guard still distracted, but her relief was cut short when the associate took hold of Gwen’s bag.
“You didn’t go through bag check.” They ripped the bag off her arm and fished through it, pulling out the chalice… and Gwen’s Lionelian crown. The guard held it up and whistled.
“It’s from our wedding,” Ari said in a rush, kissing Gwen’s neck. “We got married on Troy yesterday. The jeweler said this one is just like the crowns they used to sell on Lionel.”
Gwen picked up the story seamlessly. “We’re going to take pictures with the Sword in the Stars. Isn’t that romantic?”
The associate smiled—actually smiled—as if they were a human underneath that stiff uniform. They placed the crown on Gwen’s head and waved them through.
Walking hand in hand, Gwen whispered, “Baby girl, did you just lie?”
“Like a pro!”
“Didn’t I advise you two not to be stuck on each other?” Val asked.
“Worked, didn’t it?” Ari said.
Val chortled. “For now. And you might want to bag that crown, Gwen. Why did you even bring it?”
“For my reasons,” Gwen snapped, sliding the crown back into her bag.
None of them were prepared for CamelotTM. The park was worse than the ads and Ari’s imagination combined. The streets were cobbled and outfitted with handmade wooden signs, a medieval paradise like Lionel in appearance, but reeking of the capitalistic starship mall Heritage, which was now orbiting Old Earth in great mangled hunks.
The crowds were thick and loud, riddled with feasting, yelling adults, and screaming, overstimulated children. A ride before them was made to look like a jousting ring, while a pavilion to the side boasted a sign: PRINCESS MAKEOVERS. Everything was gendered to the hilt, as if the past’s hardcore misogyny was just a nostalgic throwback that had been transformed into wholesome family fun. Not to mention that the park was teeming with Mercer associates. No wonder the Ketchan elders had referred to it as a fortress.
“This place makes me sick.”
Gwen tugged Ari’s hand, somehow convincing Ari’s feet to move. “We have to go straight through. The sword is at the middle of the park, but we should split up. Val, get in position on the far side. Signal us if something is off. Amal will be here in,” she checked her watch, “thirty minutes.”
“Shit, getting in took too long.”
“Move.”
Val sped off in the opposite direction with a small, affectionate eye roll. Constantly rubbing shoulders in the crowd, Ari and Gwen pushed forward until they were sweating profusely. Ari’s nerves were getting the best of her.
“This will be over soon,” Gwen whispered soothingly. “Pull the sword fast. From there we should have the security of the crowd’s excitement until Amal shows up. And I have no doubt that the Administrator will seize a
