Doctor Pete answered on the third ring, audio-only. In the background, Iheard a chorus of crying children, the constant backdrop of the MagicKingdom infirmary.
“Hi, doc,” I said.
“Hello, Julius. What can I do for you?” Under the veneer of professionalmedical and castmember friendliness, I sensed irritation.
Make it all good again. “I’m not really sure. I wanted to see if I couldtalk it over with you. I’m having some pretty big problems.”
“I’m on-shift until five. Can it wait until then?”
By then, I had no idea if I’d have the nerve to see him. “I don’t thinkso—I was hoping we could meet right away.”
“If it’s an emergency, I can have an ambulance sent for you.”
“It’s urgent, but not an emergency. I need to talk about it in person.
Please?”
He sighed in undoctorly, uncastmemberly fashion. “Julius, I’ve got importantthings to do here. Are you sure this can’t wait?”
I bit back a sob. “I’m sure, doc.”
“All right then. When can you be here?”
Lil had made it clear that she didn’t want me in the Park. “Can youmeet me? I can’t really come to you. I’m at the Contemporary, Tower B,room 2334.”
“I don’t really make house calls, son.”
“I know, I know.” I hated how pathetic I sounded. “Can you make anexception? I don’t know who else to turn to.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll have to get someone to cover for me.
Let’s not make a habit of this, all right?”
I whooshed out my relief. “I promise.”
106He disconnected abruptly, and I found myself dialing Dan.
“Yes?” he said, cautiously.
“Doctor Pete is coming over, Dan. I don’t know if he can help me—Idon’t know if anyone can. I just wanted you to know.”
He surprised me, then, and made me remember why he was still myfriend, even after everything. “Do you want me to come over?”
“That would be very nice,” I said, quietly. “I’m at the hotel.”
“Give me ten minutes,” he said, and rang off.
He found me on my patio, looking out at the Castle and the peaks ofSpace Mountain. To my left spread the sparkling waters of the SevenSeas Lagoon, to my right, the Property stretched away for mile aftermanicured mile. The sun was warm on my skin, faint strains of happylaughter drifted with the wind, and the flowers were in bloom. InToronto, it would be freezing rain, gray buildings, noisome rapid transit(a monorail hissed by), and hard-faced anonymity. I missed it.
Dan pulled up a chair next to mine and sat without a word. We bothstared out at the view for a long while.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” I said, finally.
“I suppose so,” he said. “I want to say something before the doc comesby, Julius.”
“Go ahead.”
“Lil and I are through. It should never have happened in the firstplace, and I’m not proud of myself. If you two were breaking up, that’snone of my business, but I had no right to hurry it along.”
“All right,” I said. I was too drained for emotion.
“I’ve taken a room here, moved my things.”
“How’s Lil taking it?”
“Oh, she thinks I’m a total bastard. I suppose she’s right.”
“I suppose she’s partly right,” I corrected him.
He gave me a gentle slug in the shoulder. “Thanks.”
We waited in companionable silence until the doc arrived.
He bustled in, his smile lines drawn up into a sour purse and waitedexpectantly. I left Dan on the patio while I took a seat on the bed.
107“I’m cracking up or something,” I said. “I’ve been acting erratically,sometimes violently. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I’d rehearsedthe speech, but it still wasn’t easy to choke out.
“We both know what’s wrong, Julius,” the doc said, impatiently. “Youneed to be refreshed from your backup, get set up with a fresh clone andretire this one. We’ve had this talk.”
“I can’t do it,” I said, not meeting his eye. “I just can’t—isn’t there anotherway?”
The doc shook his head. “Julius, I’ve got limited resources to allocate.
There’s a perfectly good cure for what’s ailing you, and if you won’t takeit, there’s not much I can do for you.”
“But what about meds?”
“Your problem isn’t a chemical imbalance, it’s a mental defect. Yourbrain is broken, son. All that meds will do is mask the symptoms, whileyou get worse. I can’t tell you what you want to hear, unfortunately.
Now, If you’re ready to take the cure, I can retire this clone immediatelyand get you restored into a new one in 48 hours.”
“Isn’t there another way? Please? You have to help me—I can’t lose allthis.” I couldn’t admit my real reasons for being so attached to this singularlymiserable chapter in my life, not even to myself.
The doctor rose to go. “Look, Julius, you haven’t got the Whuffie tomake it worth anyone’s time to research a solution to this problem, otherthan the one that we all know about. I can give you mood-suppressants,but that’s not a permanent solution.”
“Why not?”
He boggled. “You can’t just take dope for the rest of your life, son.
Eventually, something will happen to this body—I see from your file thatyou’re stroke-prone—and you’re going to get refreshed from yourbackup. The longer you wait, the more traumatic it’ll be. You’re robbingfrom your future self for your selfish present.”
It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed my mind. Everypassing day made it harder to take the cure. To lie down and wake upfriends with Dan, to wake up and be in love with Lil again. To wake upto a Mansion the way I remembered it, a Hall of Presidents where I couldfind Lil bent over with her head in a President’s guts of an afternoon. Tolie down and wake without disgrace, without knowing that my loverand my best friend would betray me, had betrayed me.
I just couldn’t do it—not yet, anyway.
108Dan—Dan was going to kill himself soon, and if I restored myself frommy old backup, I’d lose my last year with him. I’d lose his last year.
“Let’s table that, doc. I hear what you’re saying, but there’re complications.
I guess I’ll take the mood-suppressants for now.”
He gave me a cold look. “I’ll give you a scrip, then. I could’ve donethat without coming out here. Please don’t call me anymore.”
I was shocked by his obvious ire, but I didn’t understand it until hewas gone and I told Dan what had happened.
“Us old-timers, we’re used to thinking of doctors as highly trainedprofessionals—all that pre-Bitchun med-school stuff, long internships,anatomy drills… Truth is, the average doc today gets more training inbedside manner than bioscience. ‘Doctor’ Pete is a technician, not an MD,not the way you and I mean it. Anyone with the kind of knowledgeyou’re looking for is working as a historical researcher, not a doctor.
“But that’s not the illusion. The doc is supposed to be the authority onmedical matters, even though he’s only got one trick: restore frombackup. You’re reminding Pete of that, and he’s not happy to have ithappen.”
I waited a week before returning to the Magic Kingdom, sunning myselfon the white sand beach at the Contemporary, jogging the WalkAround the World, taking a canoe out to the wild and overgrown DiscoveryIsland, and generally cooling out. Dan came by in the eveningsand it was like old times, running down the pros and cons of Whuffieand Bitchunry and life in general, sitting on my porch with a sweatingpitcher of lemonade.
On the last night, he presented me with a clever little handheld, a museumpiece that I recalled fondly from the dawning days of the BitchunSociety. It had much of the functionality of my defunct systems, in apackage I could slip in my shirt pocket. It felt like part of a costume, likethe turnip watches the Ben Franklin streetmosphere players wore at theAmerican Adventure.
Museum piece or no, it meant that I was once again qualified to participatein the Bitchun Society, albeit more slowly and less efficiently thanI once may’ve. I took it downstairs the next morning and drove to theMagic Kingdom’s castmember lot.
At least, that was the plan. When I got down to the Contemporary’sparking lot, my runabout was gone. A quick check with the handheld109revealed the worst: my Whuffie was low enough that someone had justgotten inside and driven away, realizing that they could make more popularuse of it than I could.
With a sinking feeling, I trudged up to my room and swiped my keythrough the lock. It emitted a soft, unsatisfied bzzz and lit up, “Please seethe front desk.” My room had been reassigned, too. I had the short endof the Whuffie stick.
At least there was no mandatory Whuffie check on the monorail platform,but the other people on the car were none too friendly to me, andno one offered me an inch more personal space than was necessary. I hadhit bottom.
I took the castmember entrance to the Magic Kingdom, clipping myname tag to my Disney Operations polo shirt, ignoring the glares of myfellow castmembers in the utilidors.
I used the handheld to page Dan. “Hey there,” he said, brightly. Icould tell instantly that I was being humored.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Oh, up in the Square. By the Liberty Tree.”
In front of the Hall of Presidents. I worked the handheld, pinged someWhuffie manually. Debra was spiked so high it seemed she’d nevercome down, as were Tim and her whole crew in aggregate. They weredrawing from guests by the millions, and from castmembers and frompeople who’d read the popular accounts of their struggle against theforces of petty jealousy and sabotage—i.e., me.
I felt light-headed. I hurried along to costuming and changed into theheavy green Mansion costume, then ran up the stairs to the Square.
I found Dan sipping a coffee and sitting on a bench under the giant,lantern-hung Liberty Tree. He had a second cup waiting for me, and pattedthe bench next to him. I sat with him and sipped, waiting for him tospill whatever bit of rotten news he had for me this morning—I couldfeel it hovering like storm clouds.
He wouldn’t talk though, not until we finished the coffee. Then hestood and strolled over to the Mansion. It wasn’t rope-drop yet, andthere weren’t any guests in the Park, which was all for the better, givenwhat was coming next.
110“Have you taken a look at Debra’s Whuffie lately?” he asked, finally,as we stood by the pet cemetery, considering the empty scaffolding.
I started to pull out the handheld but he put a hand on my arm. “Don’tbother,” he said, morosely. “Suffice it to say, Debra’s gang is number onewith a bullet. Ever since word got out about what happened to the Hall,they’ve been stacking it deep. They can do just about anything, Jules,and get away with it.”
My stomach tightened and I found myself grinding my molars. “So,what is it they’ve done, Dan?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Dan didn’t have to respond, because at that moment, Tim emergedfrom the Mansion, wearing a light cotton work-smock. He had athoughtful expression, and when he saw us, he beamed his elfin grin andcame over.
“Hey guys!” he said.
“Hi, Tim,” Dan said. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Pretty exciting stuff, huh?” he said.
“I haven’t told him yet,” Dan said, with forced lightness. “Why don’tyou run it down?”
“Well, it’s pretty radical, I have to admit. We’ve learned some stufffrom the Hall that we wanted to apply, and at the same time, we wantedto capture some of the historical character of the ghost story.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Dan put a hand on my forearm.
“Really?” he asked innocently. “How do you plan on doing that?”
“Well, we’re keeping the telepresence robots—that’s a honey of anidea, Julius—but we’re giving each one an uplink so that it can flashbake.
We’ve got some high-Whuffie horror writers pulling together aseries of narratives about the lives of each ghost: how they met their tragicends, what they’ve done since, you know.
“The way we’ve storyboarded it, the guests stream through the ridepretty much the way they do now, walking through the preshow andthen getting into the ride-vehicles, the Doom Buggies. But here’s the bigchange: we slow it all down. We trade off throughput for intensity, makeit more of a premium product.
“So you’re a guest. From the queue to the unload zone, you’re beingchased by these ghosts, these telepresence robots, and they’re reallyscary—I’ve got Suneep’s concept artists going back to the drawingboard, hitting basic research on stuff that’ll just scare the guests silly.
111When a ghost catches you, lays its hands on you—wham! Flash-bake!
You get its whole grisly story in three seconds, across your frontal lobe.
By the time you’ve left, you’ve had ten or more ghost-contacts, and thenext time you come back, it’s all new ghosts with all new stories. Theway that the Hall’s drawing ’em, we’re bound to be a hit.” He put hishands behind his back and rocked on his heels, clearly proud of himself.
When Epcot Center first opened, long, long ago, there’d been an uglydecade or so in ride design. Imagineering found a winning formula forSpaceship Earth, the flagship ride in the big golf ball, and, in their driveto establish thematic continuity, they’d turned the formula into a cookiecutter,stamping out half a dozen clones for each of the “themed” areasin the Future Showcase. It went like this: first, we were cavemen, thenthere was ancient Greece, then Rome burned (cue sulfur-odor FX), thenthere was the Great Depression, and, finally, we reached the modern age.
Who knows what the future holds? We do! We’ll all have videophonesand be living on the ocean floor. Once was cute—compelling and inspirational,even—but six times was embarrassing. Like everyone, once Imagineeringgot themselves a good hammer, everything started to resemblea nail. Even now, the Epcot ad-hocs were repeating the sins of their forebears,closing every ride with a scene of Bitchun utopia.
And Debra was repeating the classic mistake, tearing her way throughthe Magic Kingdom with her blaster set to flash-bake.
“Tim,” I said, hearing the tremble in my voice. “I thought you said thatyou had no designs on the Mansion, that you and Debra wouldn’t be tryingto take it away from us. Didn’t you say that?”
Tim rocked back as if I’d slapped him and the blood drained from hisface. “But we’re not taking it away!” he said. “You invited us to help.”
I shook my head, confused. “We did?” I said.
“Sure,” he said.
“Yes,” Dan said. “Kim and some of the other ............