Lost Planet 01 - The Lost Planet by Rachel Searles Page B

a small table near the back. The walls of the café were covered in video screens, each one blaring an advertisement for something called ReNuvaGel, accompanied by images of a nondescript woman’s wrinkle-free face. Parker tapped on the illuminated tabletop and began scrolling through a list of pictures.
    Chase laid his head down to rest his cheek on the cold, smooth surface. His head whirled as the remaining shreds of panic dissipated. They were safe. For now. “What did that officer mean about recruiting you for the Fleet?” he asked.
    Parker shrugged. “Another warm body to serve the Federation. They’re always pulling shady stuff like that. Yes! They have scrappies here! I hope you’re hungry.” His fingers flew excitedly over the tabletop. “What’s wrong with you?”
    Chase took a deep breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten and he was starving, but that wasn’t his first concern. “What are we going to do now? There’s no way to contact Asa without Mina, right?”
    â€œRight. We just need to find her.”
    â€œOkay,” Chase said sarcastically. “No problem.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting something, dummy.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMaurus told us what ship he serves on. The Kai Desser or something. We just have to find it and then we’ll be able to find him.”
    Chase snorted. Parker had a magical way of making things sound easier than they really were.
    â€œHey, sit up. Food’s here.”
    â€œAlready?” Chase lifted his head off the table as Parker took drinks and paper packets from a tray hovering beside them. Chase unwrapped one of the packets and found something that looked like a dense orange sponge. He poked it cautiously.
    â€œIt’s called a scrappy—soy-chitlin-riboflavin patty,” said Parker. He broke his own patty into quarters and folded each piece meticulously in half before cramming it in his mouth.
    Chase tentatively took a bite. The texture was strange—melty smooth on the outside, unexpectedly crunchy on the inside, with a rich, almost cheesy flavor. In three bites he devoured the whole thing. He washed it all down with a huge gulp of the fizzy red drink, wincing a little at its sweet-sour taste, like raspberries soaked in vinegar, and reached for another scrappy.
    Parker swallowed and grinned. “Good, right?”
    Nodding vigorously, Chase took a huge bite.
    â€œOne time last year, I snuck out and went into Rother City to a Captain Orion’s and bought like a hundred scrappies, and brought them back and hid them in my closet.”
    â€œEw. Did they get all nasty?”
    Parker’s face lit up. “No! That’s the crazy part—they stayed exactly the same! I was eating them for a month.”
    Chase laughed. “That’s gross.”
    â€œI know. They’re probably really bad for you.”
    â€œDid Mina get mad?”
    Parker gave him a devilish grin. “She never found out. Her central processor almost caught fire trying to figure out how I skipped every meal for two weeks and never lost any weight.” He frowned at the scrappy in his hand. “Actually, this is the first time I’ve eaten one since. For a while, I couldn’t even think about them without getting sick.”
    Chase took a long pull on his red drink. The flavor had become strangely appealing. “Why didn’t you just have your autokitchen make them for you?”
    Parker made a face, shaking his head. “Synthesized food seems like a great idea. You store the basic molecules of food—proteins, fats, sodium, the like—and the machine reorganizes them in a million different ways. But after years of eating nothing but synth, you realize that everything has this same underlying bland taste like, I don’t know, petroleum jelly.”
    â€œThat breakfast we had at your house was pretty good,” argued Chase.
    â€œIt’s