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“Somebody was playing a trick on us,” Germaine said as the tram took off at a moderate clip above the Florida wetlands.
“The industrial park was empty. They didn’t even have cameras.” Soto said.
“Didn’t have cameras that we know of. I’m saying there was someone wearing those suits. They’re back at the station laughing about it.”
The monorail continued at half-speed above an alternating scene of wetlands and a swampy pine-tree canopy. The long perimeter wall still shadowed the monorail’s track a mile or two east.
Germaine checked the window in the pilot’s cabin, trying to get a peek at where they were headed.
“Why’re we going so slow?” he asked.
“Approaching residential area,” Vic said. “Speed is automated. Can’t make it go faster.”
The swamp gave way abruptly, though there was no perimeter fence or other boundary to keep it out. An endless lawn like a well-manicured golf course awaited. Sidewalks meandered about, empty but well-maintained. The lawn gave way to a series of modern art exhibits built into sandy divots in the ground.
“There used to be water features,” Miss Diaz explained. “Attracted too many gators.”
Barren pits where ponds once stood were the sole blemish on the lot, like sand traps slowly being overrun by grass. Artificial hinterland gave way to modest one and two-story family dwellings.
It was like a neighborhood throwback to the late fifties, with tan stucco replacing midcentury vinyl. Neither cars nor white picket fences were present, having been ceded to a web of pedestrian sidewalks and one long community lawn.
A secondary series of tracks ran below and in parallel to the monorail. Smaller, open-air trams ran automated routes up and down the street. With no stops for the monorail, these served as a smaller scale-auxiliary route. Elevated stations between every fourth and fifth house allowed residents of each tower access to the rail network that spanned the complex.
Blocks passed before they found any signs of life. A lone pedestrian marched up the stairs to one of the lower tram’s stops. The figure was in no hurry to meet this tram, which slowed but did not stop as it neared the station. Still, the man made it in time, and then hopped onto the tram as it passed the station at snail’s pace.
The mini tram accelerated shortly after it passed the walkway, well before this mysterious pedestrian was able to get seated. But the monorail was already well past that stop and clearing the stops after that.
Four towers lined the monorail route, with the smaller pedestrian-focused rails venturing into the closest two towers around floor three. These towers maintained a veneer of midcentury aesthetic, but this mirage wore off upon closer inspection:
More windows were open than not, and half of those had their blinds partially torn or missing entirely. Within these modest chambers there were hoarded piles of furniture, random clumps of fabric built up like a hornet’s nest, and occasionally bare rooms stripped of all appliances.
Still, judging by the unkempt beds in the less cluttered rooms, there were still inhabitants.
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A domed superstructure awaited beyond the towers. There was a wall approaching, five stories high easily. Windowless, this wall nonetheless was porous; rows of glass doors allowed for foot traffic, while gashes higher up allowed access to both the smaller pedestrian trams and the monorail itself.
The tram went dark and decelerated significantly as they traveled into a hole in the fifty-foot perimeter wall. Unlit exhibits passed in a flash. Within a minute, the tunnel opened into a glass-roofed pavilion. Below were two stories of segmented plazas and walkways filled with stalls and alcoves of all kinds. Stairwells in various configurations crisscrossed the pavilion like Picasso’s rendition of a chutes and ladders board.
The monorail continued in a long loop around the circular enclosing.
“Surprised this train can fit in here,” Germaine wondered aloud.
Despite the scenic route, they’d only really skirted the exterior of this space. The place was easily larger than any football stadium. Tens of thousands, possibly over a million, tourists, could fit comfortably under the dome.
“There should be a comms system,” Vic said, fiddling with buttons in the cockpit.
“W-w-welcome to the City of Tomorrow,” the intercom croaked and echoed.
“Pedestrian people movers shepherd commuters from the suburbs to our city center, where they are gainfully employed in the Careers of Tomorrow. Every store clerk in the commerce square, food worker in the Produce Pavilion, and interpretive dancer on International Boulevard lives and works on-site.”
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The monorail came to a stop at an elevated station just north of the “city center”. Four towers filled in a circular “core” and spread out in a line along the dome’s radius, partially segmenting the pavilions into halves. The station was built into the third story of one of the smaller buildings.
“Ask us about business or immigration opportunities in… the City of Tomorrow!”
The doors slid open just as the speakers died in a fit of sparks. The crew exited the monorail.
“Here is… where exactly?” Dan asked.
A miniature food court awaited behind two ornamental columns. Signs here and there offered directions to on-premises hotels, the south-bound monorail, and the exhibits mentioned on the intercom.
“No lights.” Germaine gave a head-nudge towards an inert chandelier. “This had better be done before dark.”
“It’s summer. We have ten hours,” Miss Diaz said. “We’ll be on our way before flashlights become necessary.”
Until then, natural light would guide their path, streaming through the glass ceiling. Sunlight was less oppressive here than outside, evidence of tinted windows. A stifling humidity proved a scarcely acceptable trade off.
“This way,” Miss Diaz and Vic took off down a right-hand walkway that ran parallel to the monorail.
No map was needed from this high vantage point. The whole compound was laid out in an easy-to-navigate grid. Bright primary coloring denoted separate “districts.” Blue and Green was more common further south, while the pavilion directly below them trended towards red.
All this stood in contrast to the towers, which maintained their more professional façade of once-trendy art deco and stucco. The Futureplex looked like the kind of place that was built in the sixties. Maybe it was renovated once, in the early eighties, but even that renovation was now long in the tooth.
“Our target is city hall.” Miss Diaz pointed towards a cluster of towers that soared out and over the dome through a gap in the glass façade. “That’s a bit of a euphemism – it’s the local command center of sorts, where park operations for this site were handled. Two among us need to go flip a circuit breaker to try and fool the security system into thinking it’s opening day again.”
Miss Diaz pointed to Germaine, then Soto. “The circuits are in the maintenance area behind this log flume ride. Any objections?”
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“Objections? What objections?” Germaine grumbled.
Soto and Germaine waded through knee-high, brackish log flume water.
“We’re stuck here until we get paid, dude.” Soto said.
“And until then we have to walk through, well, whatever ride this is?”
A pink and blue queue sat right on one of the Futureplex’s main thoroughfares. It was dubbed “One Big World to Share: The Flume of Panhuman Unity” on the map. Germaine pretended to know what Panhuman meant.
The log flume wasn’t running, and there was scarcely enough room to walk alongside the flooded-over pathway. Hence why the pair were shimmying along through the water, boots in their hands, feet rubbing against hard ceramic.
All along the banks sat hundreds, even thousands of pint-sized animatronics. They were inert, hunched over and lightless. Awaiting a signal to come to life again and entertain ride-goers who were no longer present. Shining the flashlight on them for too long gave Germaine the creeps; better to focus on anything but from the creepy porcelain faces that surrounded them, leering, staring constantly and yet also inert.
“Hey, Soto, what do you think of the mission?”
“What about it? I’d rather be paid in cash, sure.”
“What about this place? This Futureplex. It’s… off.”
“A more thorough reconnaissance phase would’ve been nice,” Soto said. “Going in blind, and with that militia right at the gates? Keep thinking something new is about to crop up to complicate things.”
Germaine sighed. “Nevermind.”
Up ahead, a glowing red “Exit” sign ruined whatever themed illusion this tunnel was supposed to provide. The duo dried their feet off, then threw open the door.
The maintenance room consisted of a small circuit breaker in a glorified closet. Stairs led up to an emergency access walkway, blocked by a hefty fire door.
Soto reached for his radio. “Which circuit do we flip, over?”
There was a pause. Their companions should be waiting near the towers.
The radio crackled in a hiss of static, out of which came the voice of a late thirties-something woman. “All of them!”
“Not sure why we asked,” Germaine said, then flipped the switches in one swoop.
There was a flurry of sparks from a floodlight back in the ride. Ancient speakers came to life mid-song, all while the din of ten-thousand miniature whirring gears spun up right outside the door.
“It’s working! Now, head to-”
But their employer’s report was drowned out by an automated song imploring the pair to think about the universality of the human experience.
Germaine’s migraine was back with a vengeance. A ringing in his ears grew loud enough to overtake the ride’s music.
“This doesn’t make sense. This isn’t even the right park!”
“What?” Soto asked, dry and deadpan.
“I… I dunno.” Germaine shrugged.
A log-shaped boat slowly came into view. Rather than walk back through the water, where live wires may have just activated, they wisely took the flume.
Miniature animatronics moved about in a handful of pre-programmed skits. Now fully lit, the dolls were dressed in a variety of stereotypical outfits throughout the globe, all hugging like one big happy family. A Spanish bullfighter held hands with a Peruvian sheep herder, who waved to a geisha, and so forth.
“You okay?” Soto said.
The migraine was still there and wasn’t going away. That incessant noise blaring from the speakers wasn’t helping.
“It’ll be fine. Soon as the ride ends,” Germaine managed.
The log flume proceeded at glacial speed as the show around them continued in a constant loop. In time the song blended into the background, Germaine’s migraine waned, and he was at least able to focus on the present as it was, rather than how his mind insisted it ought to be.
The boat came to a stop at the tail end of a traffic jam – all the other boats were idled at the entrance, waiting forever for crowds that would never arrive.
No problem – Soto and Germaine just got out of their seats and clambered from boat to boat.
“About that song,” Germaine said once they were on dry land.
“What about?”
“Oh, it’s just – I’m sure twenty years ago it was an ode to the universality of the human spirit. But now it just seems hokey, right?”
Soto squinted. “You’re losing me.”
“Nowadays everyone’s going to look at it like a parade of walking stereotypes, with subtle cultural traditions filed down to a silly caricature. Maybe in another twenty years it’ll be back to celebrating international friendship despite everyone’s differences. Like, a cyclical trend. I dunno, ask someone who graduated high school.”
“That’s oddly astute for you.” Soto squinted. “You sure you’re okay, dude?”
Germaine nodded, then reached for his radio. “Detour’s over, are you in?”
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