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Germaine and Soto were given a separate, smaller apartment above the park fire station while their benefactor “got all this sorted out.” Dan received medical detention at a, to hear him tell it, completely automated medical facility somewhere under the park. He was delivered back to the fire station after a day or so.
Hey, if Mrs. Devereaux wanted to sleep in the executive suite, her undead in-law lurking under the floorboards, that was okay by Germaine. They weren’t necessarily confined to quarters, but the complex required some heavy-duty viscera cleanup. Their onetime employer claimed the automatons would identify them as friendlies, but Dan was certainly in no mood to test that assurance.
It was on the second night of this that Germaine went stir-crazy. He stayed up, staring up at a gaudily decorated ceiling until thereabout four in the morning. Then, restless, he went outside to stretch his legs.
The cleaning robots worked twenty-four/seven. Didn’t have to stop for shift changes. Or stop at all, save for a brief charge cycle.
Amazing that the corporate raiders hadn’t thought to capitalize on an unceasing workforce. Perhaps maintenance costs would have cut into the fiscal year-end profit margins?
Germaine swore that he recognized one of the sweepers. Shot at it once or twice during their time fleeing from the Futureplex. It still had the bullet holes. It stared at him, eyes glowing a gentle green.
“Hey there, partner. The park will be closed for at least the next two weeks to clean and renovate after a recent corporate change of hands.” The robot’s voice box crackled with a folksy accent. “Come back soon. And please do not interrupt your friendly neighborhood sweeper bots while we work.”
Germaine gave the ‘bots a wide birth. He walked along abandoned avenues until he reached his destination: the hall of mirrors.
The doors were unlocked. Sweeper bots would let themselves in on occasion, and the entranceway was designed to open automatically as they approach.
Interior lights remained on even at night. When you have your own nuclear furnace burning off in the swamp somewhere, electricity comes cheap. Germaine wondered if that power plant was automated as well.
The circular rotunda, false-night façade, and scale model was the exit platform of a more traditional dark ride. The buggies constantly filed in on a continuous loop.
Most of the lenses were unlit, dark, as if whatever magic touch they’d once had was lost. Only one remained with a slight shine around it…
Germaine peered in. The world on the other end of the glass was likewise in a pre-dawn darkness. Its centerpiece was more of a traditional castle in some Germanic style. Theming was different here and there, but it looked very much like the same park. Cleaner, maybe a bit happier…
Indeed, Germaine leaned closer. So close he was almost over the railing. For just a moment, it was as if he were there.
He looked around, a full three hundred-sixty degrees. It was just past four-thirty in the morning, and he was standing in another world. Everything was a little bit brighter. The rides were immaculately maintained, as if they’d never seen a day without regular use and tune-up.
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“You a guest?” asked a janitor – a human janitor, dutifully sweeping the street. He did a double-take at Germaine’s grisly getup. “Or security? Park shouldn’t be open for another three hours or so…”
“Uh…” Germaine opened his mouth to speak. Only, nothing came out. He blinked, and in an instant, he was back in the diorama.
As if he’d never left.
Cool air conditioning tingled against his skin where moments before he’d been able to feel a stifling humidity. The feeling proved freakishly familiar to him.
“By Golubev's ugly liver spot, what in the hell was that!?” Germaine managed, short of breath. “Whew. That was... odd.”
Near total silence reigned over the diorama. So quiet that Germaine could hear his own heartbeat.
This last lens was growing dim. As if it, too, would be going dark the next time Germaine found time to come to this place.
Huh. I swear I recall the tagline calling it the most magical place on the planet Germaine thought, struggling to recall some childhood memories. This is a little more literal than expected. Maybe Deveraux was on to something. Certainly not going to mock him about the whole frozen head thing anymore.
The Futurist certainly had more tricks up his sleeve than Germaine would have thought, for a dead guy and all.
“Hell. Imma do that again,” Germaine said.
Not like anybody would believe me anyway. At least have to come back with a souvenir. Besides, that place doesn’t look half bad. Looks… stable.
The merc hyped himself up, hyperventilated a bit, then peered once more into the lens…
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Some days later, Vic came to retrieve Dan and Soto. They were granted numerous vouchers – apparently worth millions in Devereaux World stock.
The park was spruced up, squeaky-clean as the day it first opened. While the monorail required repair, the outer grounds and vineyards were being renovated as well. A self-driving car took the pair back to the Futureplex by an overland route.
Flights were coming into the executive airport almost hourly. Each flight brought in construction equipment utilized by a newly automated cleanup crew. Miss Diaz had by all indication planned these supply runs in advance.
Vic drove the salvagers through the easternmost neighborhood, which had been burnt in its entirety by the invading militia. It would be a while before repairs came to this district; who would want to move in here?
“We going to talk about where Germaine ran off to?” Dan asked eventually.
Soto shrugged. “The man sneaks off all the time. I’m sure we can wire his share of the cut to his family back home. They’ll know where to keep it until he shows up.” Soto looked out the window at the old orange orchards.
And so, Dan and Soto were left at the gate of the complex. Another, less threatening animatronic waved to them alongside the road. It only had one hinge, in the arm, that it used to wave back and forth. At once inviting and unsettling.
“I hate those things,” Dan said as he gathered his effects.
“Can’t help but feel we should’ve gotten more of a cut,” Soto said. “You nearly died! We installed the new Devereaux as the only real power between Miami and Georgia. The Lord’s Resistance so-and-sos are halfway to Macon by now. Word is they now believe animatronics to be powered by the Devil. We’re kingmakers.”
Dan shook his head. “Queenmakers, technically.”
“Still, this is an awfully defensible position.” Soto eyed up the front gate. “Could vacation here, in another place and time. Maybe if they got rid of the ‘bots.”
Dan shuddered as the waving animatronic gazed upon him with cold, bulbous eyes.
The grinning animatronic had a box of flyers in its spare hand. Germaine took one, for the road.
“Whoa.” Soto whistled. “Miss Devereaux is offering massive stock options to anyone who used to live in the Futureplex. A union. Profit sharing, apparently.”
“Guess we know why Vic signed up,” Dan said rather glumly.
“Still, we should get a bonus, for damages. Wear and tear.” Soto said.
Dan socked Soto playfully in the shoulder. “Can it, Soto, or I’ll leave you to the ‘bots. It’s Devereaux’s World, we’re just living in it.”
As they gathered their things and began the long walk back to Canaveral, the animatronic initiated its wave cycle.
“See you real soon,” the automechanical said, then let out a synthetic chuckle.
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