Ridley Pearson - Power Play

Zero bars: no service.

“Oh, perfect,” he said.

Maybeck understood his assignment: keep an eye on the two pirates; stop the system if it restarted. Piece of cake. What Philby had only vaguely mentioned was that on-site engineers might seek immediate answers to their trash system shutting down. Despite the casual, playful, magical impression the Parks had on visitors, in truth they were run more like a NASA mission. There were teams of experts to tackle and instantly solve any kind of problem-from the lettuce in a restaurant going brown, to the intricacies of staging the three o’clock parade each day; the evening fireworks; the street bands; the stage shows. There were enough maintenance employees to form a small army. Two of these men were radio-dispatched by Engineering Base to investigate an emergency stop at URS-3-Utilidor Refuse Station #3.

Luckily, Maybeck heard them coming before they saw him. They were complaining to each other about what kind of knucklehead would pull an emergency stop on the trash system. They were just on the other side of the trash area’s plywood barrier as he heard them. He turned, dropped to his hands and knees, and burrowed deeply into the pile of cardboard recycling.

He stared out from his hiding place as the two maintenance guys inspected the door that sealed the trash drop, as well as the electronic box that housed the red emergency stop override.

“I don’t see nothing wrong,” said the shorter of the two. He was thick-boned and heavyset and had a voice like a dog growling.

Philby had said the system would be restarted the first time remotely from Engineering Base. He’d been wrong-a rarity.

“Nah,” said the other, a taller, leaner man. “Some wise guy’s idea of a practical joke.”

The short guy grabbed his radio. “Good to go URS-three. Repeat: green light for URS-three restart.”

“Roger, that,” came a woman’s voice over the radio.

A moment later, Maybeck felt a thunk underfoot.

The system had restarted.

Willa, her DHI riddled with static, moved carefully through the backstage area behind France, taking care to screen herself behind trailers, vehicles, and pieces of staging. Hypersensitive about how she stood out wearing pajamas, she wanted to avoid being seen as much as possible. If kids recognized her, she’d be mobbed and she’d have to role-play as a Disney Host. Another Willa guide-dressed in lederhosen-was currently somewhere in Epcot, which could explain her own current projection problems. Willa’s own hologram would likely improve once Epcot was closed and the regular DHIs were turned off for the night, but she didn’t want to wait. She had a few hundred yards to cover in order to reach the pin-trading station by the fountain. The Return. The most direct route was to join the sea of Park visitors, but the idea terrified her.

She knew that if she looked scared and out of place, she would appear vulnerable: If she looked confident and comfortable, despite the pajamas, she would fit right in. After all, newlyweds went around the Parks in mouse ears and bridal veils. On a scale of 1 to 10, pajamas barely registered.

She briefly hid behind a Food and Wine Festival station, gathering her courage. Then she stepped out and confidently joined the hordes. She was in a courtyard in France, the lake straight ahead. There were shops to her right and a French bakery. Benches to her left. Trees and raised islands of flowers in the center of the oblong, cobblestoned plaza. Music filled the air-pieces of the sound track to The Hunchback of Notre Dame . It had an inviting and calming effect. The music surrounded her and made her feel at peace. She loved the Parks when they were open and filled with families and brimming with happiness. Her toes and fingers tingled. Her blue line grew solid-she was pure DHI.

In her euphoria, she failed to look where she was going, and walked right through a raised flower bed, coming out the other side. Some kids recognized her immediately and approached, crowding her, asking for photographs and autographs. She had to agree or risk making an even bigger scene as visitors complained. She posed for some photographs, explained politely that as a hologram she couldn’t sign autographs, and hoped to get away. Camera flashes blinded her. Kids bubbled with enthusiasm.

“Over here!” a mother called out.

Willa looked in that direction-toward the bakery. Above the woman’s shoulder she saw a court jester in a green felt costume and clown makeup. The jester stared at her, but not in admiration. More like a policeman watching a suspect.

As she heard the organized sounds of synchronized marching approach, she knew she was in trouble. Epcot was not a place for goose-stepping soldiers. Twelve costumed cathedral guards appeared from around the corner. Judge Frollo’s guards, she thought. Overtakers . They marched straight for her.

“Excuse me,” she said to a group of kids, “but I have to go. I hear those guards will give you candy if you hold onto them and don’t let go.”

The kids squealed and took off, shouting at the guards.

Willa walked quickly toward the bridge leading to the United Kingdom. The rhythmic footfalls stopped as the kids assaulted the guards. Again, she heard her name ripple through the crowd as more people identified her. Things were going badly. What had seemed like such a short distance now felt like miles. Spaceship Earth looked so tiny and distant all of a sudden.

Behind her, a French-accented guard called out, “Clear the way! Clear the path!” Apparently, not all of the guards had been sidelined by the kids.

Disney visitors were too polite: they cleared a path behind her.

Willa glanced back; the guards were gaining ground.

The crowd ahead now grew thicker as the walkway narrowed. She dodged her way through pedestrians, but wasn’t increasing her lead. Behind her, Frollo’s guards continued their relentless pursuit.

Only as she lost her balance and bumped into a baby carriage did she realize the value of her being a DHI. A moment earlier she’d walked through the flower island; she needed to get to all clear .

She allowed the music to own her, let it carry her away to where she’d been only moments before; music was the elixir for her; music was her cure. The tingling of her fingers signaled her transformation, and she broke into a sprint, running through anything in front of her-people, strollers, it didn’t matter. With her approach, startled guests jumped back, only to have her run right through them. Kids cheered. Adults shouted startled complaints.

But she left the guards behind. No matter how they tried, they weren’t going to catch her. Twice more, she settled and focused on the music. Twice more, she went all clear .

Willa passed the Canadian pavilion, still a long way from the Return, but gaining with each step. Her confidence increased: she was going to make it.

The fountain and plaza came into view. Almost there! But then, appearing from around the fountain, a half-dozen Segways-not CTDs, but Park Security.

Her hologram’s blue outline had faded slightly. She couldn’t allow them to scare her, couldn’t allow her DHI to weaken-to become even fractionally mortal. The path split just ahead: directly in front of her, the fountain; to the left, a pathway leading behind Innoventions West, with access to The Land and The Seas. She took this alternate route, hidden from the Security team.

From behind her came the steady tromp, tromp, tromp of the cathedral guards.

She reminded herself that she only needed to reach the Return. Willa cleared her thoughts and watched her blue outline grow more solid. If she could trust her DHI she could charge the pin-trading station, grab the Return, and send herself back. So close now.