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“Hey Boims, look at this!” Beckett Mariner hefted a large stuffed brown bear in her arms and waggled its floppy arms at him.
“How come it’s not called Björn or something?” Bradward Boimler said, poking a soft cushion experimentally.
“Because that would be lame!” Mariner said, chucking the bear back into the large bin labelled “Djungelskog.”
Boimler pulled out a tricorder and poked in some commands with the grim determination of a commander on an away mission. “Jungle Forest? What does that even have to do with bears?”
“It’s a cool name. I don’t know! Hey look at this. You should buy this.” She handed him a soft basket filled with plush vegetables.
He regarded them before setting them down. “Can’t we just make it to the end?”
Mariner sighed. “You want to leave?”
“I want to, you know, pass the test.”
“Test? Boims, this isn’t some horrifying Academy entrance thing that haunts you for years. It’s probably just one of the default programs,” Mariner said, picking up a large stuffed blue shark and trying to see if she could fit her head in its mouth. “It’s like the jungle with the wobbly rocks.” Her eyes lit up. “Hey, we should try to break the program.”
Boimler whimpered.
“Computer,” Mariner said, “increase customer traffic by four hundred percent.”
They were suddenly deluged with crowds of stressed families and frazzled couples. She heard Boimler shriek in terror as a crazed man clutched at his arm and demanded that he tell his husband that his choice of couch was a deal breaker for any normal relationship. When Boimler said, “The couch looks fine…” the man roared in frustration and demanded a divorce from his partner on the spot.
“Mariner…” Boimler complained.
“Fine," she conceded, "we’ll leave. Sheesh.”