Prodigy

a proper analysis of them, but the one thing I notice is that all of their clothes—boots, pants, shirts, coats—have a variety of emblems and words on them. I’m shocked by the sheer number of ads on the walls—they stretch on as far as the eye can see, sometimes bunched so closely together that they completely hide the walls beneath them. They seem to be advertising anything and everything under the sun, things I’ve never seen or heard of before. Corp-sponsored schools? Christmas?
    We pass one window where a bunch of miniature screens are displayed, each broadcasting news and videos. SALE ! the window display reads. 30% OFF UNTIL MONDAY ! Some channels’ broadcasting programs are familiar—headlines from the warfront, political conferences. DESCON CORP SCORES ANOTHER VICTORY FOR COLONIES ON DAKOTA/MINNESOTA BORDER. REPUBLIC RUBBLE AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE AS SOUVENIRS ! Others broadcast movies, something the Republic only shows in rich sector theaters. Most screens are showing commercials. Unlike the Republic’s propaganda commercials, it’s as if these ads were trying to persuade their population to buy things. I wonder what kind of government runs a place like this. Maybe they don’t have a government at all.
    “My father once told me that the Colonies’ cities are like glitter from far away,” Day says. His eyes skip from one brightly colored ad to the next as he helps me through the shuffle of people. “It’s exactly like he described, but I can’t figure out all these ads. Aren’t they strange?”
    I nod back. In the Republic, ads have organized displays with a consistent, distinct government style that remains the same no matter where in the country you are. Here, the ads don’t follow any sort of color theory. They’re jumbled, a mishmash of neon and flashing lights. As if they weren’t made by any sort of central government, but by a number of smaller, independent groups.
    One ad shows a video of a smiling officer in a uniform. The voiceover says:
“Tribune Police Department. Need to report a crime? Only 500 Note deposit needed!”
Underneath the officer, in small print, are the words: TRIBUNE POLICE DEPARTMENT IS A SUBSIDIARY OF DESCON CORP.
    Another ad says NEXT NATIONWIDE EHL * CHECK SPONSORED BY CLOUD—JAN. 27. NEED SOME HELP TO PASS? NEW MEDITECH JOYENCE PILLS NOW AVAILABLE AT ALL STORES! Below this, another small asterisk is followed by the text: EHL , EMPLOYEE HAPPINESS LEVEL .
    A third ad actually makes me do a double take. It shows a video of rows of young children, all dressed in the exact same clothes, smiling the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen. When the text comes up, it reads FIND YOUR PERFECT SON, DAUGHTER, OR EMPLOYEE. SWAPSHOP FRANCHISE STORES ARE A SUBSIDIARY OF EVERGREEN ENT. I frown, puzzled. Maybe this is how the Colonies run orphanages or the like. Isn’t it?
    As we move along, I notice that there’s one unchanging image in the bottom right-hand corner of each ad. It’s a giant symbol of a circle split into four quadrants, with a smaller symbol inside each of the quadrants. Underneath it in block letters is the following:

    T HE C OLONIES OF A MERICA
    C L O U D . M E D I T E C H . D E S C O N . E V E R G R E E N
    A F REE S TATE I S A C ORPORATE S TATE

    Abruptly I feel Day’s breath warm against my ear. “June,” he whispers.
    “What is it?”
    “Someone’s following us.”
    Another detail I should’ve noticed first. I’ve lost count of the number of things I’m failing to catch. “Can you see his face?”
    “No. But judging from the figure, it’s a girl,” he replies. I wait for a few more seconds, then chance a look back. Nothing but a sea of Colonians. Whoever it was, she’s already disappeared into the crowds.
    “Probably just a false alarm,” I mutter. “Some Colonies girl.”
    Day’s eyes sweep the street, perplexed, then he shrugs it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were starting to see things, especially amongst all these strange new glittering lights and fluorescent ads.
    A person approaches us right as we turn our attention back to the street. Five foot seven, droopy cheeks, tannish pink skin, a few strands of black hair peeking out from a heavy snow cap, a flat tablet in her hand. She has a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck (synthetic wool, judging from the uniform texture), and little ice crystals cling to the fabric under her chin where her breath has frozen on it. Her sleeve has the words
Street Proctor
sewn on, right