The Guide to Shopping in Low-Orbit Consumer Zones
A Babs & Hal Field Report - Part Two
Hal was glitching again.
I tried to move on. I really did.
I even found a dress with suspiciously few sequins and what appeared to be a real hem.
But then another egg dropped. Right into the freezer aisle.
This one was already cracked and oozed glittery condensation that smelled like prawns covered in hair gel. Before I could say anything, I saw Hal twitch. Not again, I thought, just when I thought we were on our way to check out.
“Oh, not again, Hal…” I started, but then he made that unnerving restart noise—like a kazoo underwater.
“Hal… please tell me you’re seeing this. Please, don’t reboot now! We’re surrounded by clearance items and fluffy footwear and they all look like rodents in a radioactivity research lab!”
But very softly, he just said:
“Bear presence detected. Bear presence detected. Rebooting nostalgia protocol...”
“What bear? Don’t be daft, Hal, this is the kitchenware department.”
The bear tilted its head.
It was the size of a toddler, and one of its eyes was cracked, like a porcelain plate from an abandoned tea set.
It was sitting in my trolley.
The sign on its neck read:
DO NOT FEED AFTER CHECKOUT.
Then the overhead tannoy returned.
Attention shoppers: The teddy bear is no longer part of the promotional giveaway. Please return it to the Forgotten Items bin in Aisle 9. Unless it returns itself. In which case… run.
Hal shuddered.
“Hal,” I whispered. “I didn’t choose this teddy bear. I swear I didn’t. I’m sure it chose us. I’m not touching it, Hal, it shouldn’t be my problem. If you’re back online, say something, or blink, or whatever, just please do something.”
Hal's voice dropped three octaves.
“Please state your emergency,” he said in an unfamiliar, velvety tone.
“Hal?”
“Please. State. Your. Emergency.”
“The bear, Hal. The one they said wasn’t part of the promotion.”
Hal sighed and burped loudly.
“Excuse me! I think I’ll be all right now. It must have been the CAPTCHA puzzle. Those just do my circuits in.”
“Thank Goodness, just in time! There’s a creepy teddy bear in my trolley and…”
A child wandered over, possibly real, possibly not.
“Excuse me,” she said, “My name is Janet, and that bear belongs to me.”
“You’re Janet?”
She said nothing. She just stared, like the twins in The Shining.
It was aisle 12.
The teddy bear was now not in my trolley, but lying on the floor with one of its legs barely attached, only just hanging by a thread.
I stared at the limp leg, swaying gently in the artificial breeze from the refrigeration unit. The bear hadn’t moved like a toy. It had moved like an idea. A very bad one.
Hal scanned its barcode. “Item not found. Suggest: Decorative gourd? Shaggy aubergine? Wounded hope?”
“I don’t like any of those suggestions, Hal.”
“Try not to make eye contact with it and walk away very slowly.”
The bear’s remaining eye blinked.
We pretended that we were very interested in the contents of the next aisle:
Battery-powered fondue sets, biometric banana peelers, and something labelled “emotional support gravy boats (now with less judgment).”
Hal whispered, “Do not engage the bear. It thrives on uncertainty.”
I nodded, reaching for the fondue set like it was a life raft. The bear’s cracked eye followed us, but only just.
Its head didn’t move.
The eye did.
“Hal,” I murmured, “did that eye just swivel?”
“Statistically, that’s not impossible.”
“Statistically?”
Behind us, the loudspeaker clicked on again.
Static, then:
Attention, shoppers! The teddy has returned itself.
The little girl was still standing there, staring at us without ever blinking, as if she too was something for sale.
The lift at the end of the aisle dinged open.
We ran.
Do not forget the fondue set. It may be vital. – said the overhead speaker.