Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom by Cory Doctorow (book series for 12 year olds .txt) đ
- Author: Cory Doctorow
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I stalked off to the Mansion. A choir of zombie-shambling new recruits had formed up in front of the gate, and were groaning their way through âGrim Grinning Ghosts,â with a new call-and-response structure. A small audience participated, urged on by the recruits on the scaffolding.
âWell, at least thatâs going right,â I muttered to myself. And it was, except that I could see members of the ad-hoc looking on from the sidelines, and the looks werenât kindly. Totally obsessive fans are a good measure of a rideâs popularity, but theyâre kind of a pain in the ass, too. They lipsynch the soundtrack, cadge souvenirs and pester you with smarmy, show-off questions. After a while, even the cheeriest castmember starts to lose patience, develop an automatic distaste for them.
The Liberty Square ad-hocs who were working on the Mansion had been railroaded into approving a rehab, press-ganged into working on it, and were now forced to endure the company of these grandstanding megafans. If Iâd been there when it all startedâinstead of sleeping!âI mayâve been able to massage their bruised egos, but now I wondered if it was too late.
Nothing for it but to do it. I ducked into a utilidor, changed into my costume and went back onstage. I joined the call-and-response enthusiastically, walking around to the ad-hocs and getting them to join in, reluctantly or otherwise.
By the time the choir retired, sweaty and exhausted, a group of ad-hocs were ready to take their place, and I escorted my recruits to an offstage break-room.
Suneep didnât deliver the robot prototypes for a week, and told me that it would be another week before I could have even five production units. Though he didnât say it, I got the sense that his guys were out of control, so excited by the freedom from ad-hoc oversight that they were running wild. Suneep himself was nearly a wreck, nervous and jumpy. I didnât press it.
Besides, I had problems of my own. The new recruits were multiplying. I was staying on top of the fan response to the rehab from a terminal Iâd had installed in my hotel room. Kim and her local colleagues were fielding millions of hits every day, their Whuffie accumulating as envious fans around the world logged in to watch their progress on the scaffolding.
That was all according to plan. What wasnât according to plan was that the new recruits were doing their own recruiting, extending invitations to their net-pals to come on down to Florida, bunk on their sofas and guest-beds, and present themselves to me for active duty.
The tenth time it happened, I approached Kim in the break-room. Her gorge was working, her eyes tracked invisible words across the middle distance. No doubt she was penning yet another breathless missive about the magic of working in the Mansion. âHey, there,â I said. âHave you got a minute to meet with me?â
She held up a single finger, then, a moment later, gave me a bright smile.
âHi, Julius!â she said. âSure!â
âWhy donât you change into civvies, weâll take a walk through the Park and talk?â
Kim wore her costume every chance she got. Iâd been quite firm about her turning it in to the laundry every night instead of wearing it home.
Reluctantly, she stepped into a change-room and switched into her cowl. We took the utilidor to the Fantasyland exit and walked through the late-afternoon rush of children and their adults, queued deep and thick for Snow White, Dumbo and Peter Pan.
âHowâre you liking it here?â I asked.
Kim gave a little bounce. âOh, Julius, itâs the best time of my life, really! A dream come true. Iâm meeting so many interesting people, and Iâm really feeling creative. I canât wait to try out the telepresence rigs, too.â
âWell, Iâm really pleased with what you and your friends are up to here. Youâre working hard, putting on a good show. I like the songs youâve been working up, too.â
She did one of those double-kneed shuffles that was the basis of any number of action vids those days and she was suddenly standing in front of me, hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes. She looked serious.
âIs there a problem, Julius? If there is, Iâd rather we just talked about it, instead of making chitchat.â
I smiled and took her hand off my shoulder. âHow old are you, Kim?â
âNineteen,â she said. âWhatâs the problem?â
Nineteen! Jesus, no wonder she was so volatile. Whatâs my excuse, then?
âItâs not a problem, Kim, itâs just something I wanted to discuss with you. The people you-all have been bringing down to work for me, theyâre all really great castmembers.â
âBut?â
âBut we have limited resources around here. Not enough hours in the day for me to stay on top of the new folks, the rehab, everything. Not to mention that until we open the new Mansion, thereâs a limited number of extras we can use out front. Iâm concerned that weâre going to put someone on stage without proper training, or that weâre going to run out of uniforms; Iâm also concerned about people coming all the way here and discovering that there arenât any shifts for them to take.â
She gave me a relieved look. âIs that all? Donât worry about it. Iâve been talking to Debra, over at the Hall of Presidents, and she says she can pick up any people who canât be used at the Mansionâwe could even rotate back and forth!â She was clearly proud of her foresight.
My ears buzzed. Debra, one step ahead of me all along the way. She probably suggested that Kim do some extra recruiting in the first place. Sheâd take in the people who came down to work the Mansion, convince them theyâd been hard done by the Liberty Square crew, and rope them into her little Whuffie ranch, the better to seize the Mansion, the Park, the whole of Walt Disney World.
âOh, I donât think itâll come to that,â I said, carefully. âIâm sure we can find a use for them all at the Mansion. More the merrier.â
Kim cocked quizzical, but let it go. I bit my tongue. The pain brought me back to reality, and I started planning costume production, training rosters, bunking. God, if only Suneep would finish the robots!
âWhat do you mean, ânoâ?â I said, hotly.
Lil folded her arms and glared. âNo, Julius. It wonât fly. The group is already upset that all the glory is going to the new people, theyâll never let us bring more in. They also wonât stop working on the rehab to train them, costume them, feed them and mother them. Theyâre losing Whuffie every day that the Mansionâs shut up, and they donât want any more delays. Daveâs already joined up with Debra, and Iâm sure heâs not the last one.â
Daveâthe jerk whoâd pissed all over the rehab in the meeting. Of course heâd gone over. Lil and Dan stood side by side on the porch of the house where Iâd lived. Iâd driven out that night to convince Lil to sell the ad-hocs on bringing in more recruits, but it wasnât going according to plan. They wouldnât even let me in the house.
âSo what do I tell Kim?â
âTell her whatever you want,â Lil said. âYou brought her inâyou manage her. Take some goddamn responsibility for once in your life.â
It wasnât going to get any better. Dan gave me an apologetic look. Lil glared a moment longer, then went into the house.
âDebraâs doing real well,â he said. âThe netâs all over her. Biggest thing ever. Flash-baking is taking off in nightclubs, dance mixes with the DJâs backup being shoved in bursts into the dancers.â
âGod,â I said. âI fucked up, Dan. I fucked it all up.â
He didnât say anything, and that was the same as agreeing.
Driving back to the hotel, I decided I needed to talk to Kim. She was a problem I didnât need, and maybe a problem I could solve. I pulled a screeching U-turn and drove the little runabout to her place, a tiny condo in a crumbling complex that had once been a gated seniorsâ village, pre-Bitchun.
Her place was easy to spot. All the lights were burning, faint conversation audible through the screen door. I jogged up the steps two at a time, and was about to knock when a familiar voice drifted through the screen.
Debra, saying: âOh yes, oh yes! Terrific idea! Iâd never really thought about using streetmosphere players to liven up the queue area, but youâre making a lot of sense. You people have just been doing the best work over at the Mansionâfind me more like you and Iâll take them for the Hall any day!â
I heard Kim and her young friends chatting excitedly, proudly. The anger and fear suffused me from tip to toe, and I felt suddenly light and cool and ready to do something terrible.
I padded silently down the steps and got into my runabout.
Some people never learn. Iâm one of them, apparently.
I almost chortled over the foolproof simplicity of my plan as I slipped in through the cast entrance using the ID card Iâd scored when my systems went offline and I was no longer able to squirt my authorization at the door.
I changed clothes in a bathroom on Main Street, switching into a black cowl that completely obscured my features, then slunk through the shadows along the storefronts until I came to the moat around Cinderellaâs castle. Keeping low, I stepped over the fence and duck-walked down the embankment, then slipped into the water and sloshed across to the Adventureland side.
Slipping along to the Liberty Square gateway, I flattened myself in doorways whenever I heard maintenance crews passing in the distance, until I reached the Hall of Presidents, and in a twinkling I was inside the theater itself.
Humming the Small World theme, I produced a short wrecking bar from my cowlâs tabbed pocket and set to work.
The primary broadcast units were hidden behind a painted scrim over the stage, and they were surprisingly well built for a first generation tech. I really worked up a sweat smashing them, but I kept at it until not a single component remained recognizable. The work was slow and loud in the silent Park, but it lulled me into a sleepy reverie, an autohypnotic swing-bang-swing-bang timeless time. To be on the safe side, I grabbed the storage units and slipped them into the cowl.
Locating their backup units was a little trickier, but years of hanging out at the Hall of Presidents while Lil tinkered with the animatronics helped me. I methodically investigated every nook, cranny and storage area until I located them, in what had been a break-room closet. By now, I had the rhythm of the thing, and I made short work of them.
I did one more pass, wrecking anything that looked like it might be a prototype for the next generation or notes that would help them reconstruct the units Iâd smashed.
I had no illusions about Debraâs preparednessâsheâd have something offsite that she could get up and running in a few days. I wasnât doing anything permanent, I was just buying myself a day or two.
I made my way clean out of the Park without being spotted, and sloshed my way into my runabout, shoes leaking water from the moat.
For the first time in weeks, I slept like a baby.
Of course, I got caught. I donât really have the temperament for Machiavellian shenanigans, and I left a trail a mile wide, from the muddy footprints in the Contemporaryâs lobby to the wrecking bar thoughtlessly left behind, with my cowl and the storage units from the Hall, forgotten on the back seat
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