Phule raised his brows. “State secrets? I can’t imagine what you mean.”
Mays leaned forward over Phule’s desk. “Do you deny tipping your journalist friend about Landoor Park?”
“Of course I deny it,” said Phule, leaning back in his desk chair. “Jennie is a good reporter—she can find things by herself, and I suspect that’s all she did here. I won’t deny telling her about New Atlantis Park. Publicity is a big part of the game plan, Colonel. If Taep’s going to repay my loans, his park’s got to get off-planet customers. We’ve got to let the people on other planets know it’s here. What better way than talking to a reporter?”
“And in the process, you force our hand,” said Mays. “If we copy your tactics, we undergo a radical increase in expenses. If we ignore them, you gain the edge in publicity.”
“It doesn’t cost anything to talk to Jennie,” said Phule. “If you hadn’t turned down her interview requests …”
“We are bound by government regulations,” said Eastman. “I would risk a jail sentence for disclosing state secrets. At the very least, I could lose my position.”
“If I were you, I’d get the regulations changed,” said Phule. “The planet’s future depends on it.”
“It is you who have put us in this dilemma,” said Eastman. His face was red, and his voice had risen in pitch. “You will force us to take extreme measures, if you are not careful.”
“Do what you have to,” said Phule. “I’ll do what I believe is best for the entire planet, not just one faction. Now, gentlemen, is there anything else?”
“Not for the moment,” said Colonel Mays, taking Eastman by the elbow and steering him toward the door. “But I can promise you there will be.”
* * *
There are any number of phrases no executive wants to hear, but most of them boil down to “Boss, we got trouble.” Which is what Okidata said as he burst into the Landoor Plaza’s dining room. Phule was halfway through a delicious plate of oysters Landoor—a dish Escrima had happily adopted from the local cooks. Bluepoint oysters had been one of Earth’s most popular exports to developing worlds. They had done especially well on Landoor.
Phule wiped the spicy sauce from his lips and said, “We’ve had surprise inspections and smoke bombs and wildcat picket lines and power outages, and we’ve survived them all. So, unless this new problem is incoming missiles, I suspect it can wait while I finish these oysters. Sit down and have a drink. What kind of trouble are we talking about?”
“The government’s starting a new ride,” said Okidata, sliding into the seat opposite Phule. “And from the look of it, they’re aiming to top the Zipper.”
“Well, you predicted as much,” said Phule, sighing. “We’ll have to see what else the Maestro has in his portfolio.”
“He’d better have something pretty triff,” said Okidata. He was interrupted by the waiter’s arrival. After ordering an iced coffee, he turned back to Phule. “We can’t tell much about the design yet, but the main drop is five meters higher than the Zipper, and they’ve got what might be a double loop, the second one an inverse—that’s gonna be a serious ride.”
“We’ll have to do better,” said Phule. “Learn as much about the new ride as you can. We’ll call in Buster and the Maestro and see what we can come up with. We’re not going to let them have the last word.”
“Yes, sir!” said Okidata, his enthusiasm returning. “This is going to be fun!”
“I suppose it is,” said Phule. “I can tell it’s also going to be very expensive.”
“Why, sure,” said Okidata, beaming. “Isn’t that what fun’s all about?”
Phule shrugged. Whatever it cost, his Dilithium Express card would cover it.
* * *
The new government ride was dubbed the “Beast.” After studying spy-camera holos of its emerging superstructure (partly concealed behind a security screen), Phule’s advisory team began to design a ride to eclipse it: code name “Topper,” developed from one of Maestro Zipiti’s designs. The ride featured an initial drop ten meters higher than the new government ride—insuring an even higher speed and a longer duration than the Beast. With Okidata suggesting enhancements and Buster troubleshooting potential problems, construction began even before the final touches were put on the Zipper. And in accordance with Phule’s conviction that publicity was imperative, press releases went out even before the ground was broken.
Shortly after the framework was begun, a government delegation arrived at the park gate, headed by none other than Boris Eastman, with a team of safety inspectors in tow. “Now, Deputy Eastman, we’ve already obtained permits from the Department of Parks,” said Phule, greeting them at the gate. “There’s really nothing to be discussed.”
“I’m afraid there is, Captain,” said Eastman, smirking. “It has come to our attention that you are building a ride that violates safety regulations.”
“Safety regulations?” Buster was livid. “I’m compliant with every damn safety regulation you can think up, and then some. Tarnation, we doubled the load-bearing specs on every single stress point of this bugger. You show me in the books where I’m violatin’ your regulations.”
“You may not have kept up with current legislation while you were out in the jungle, playing revolutionary,” said Eastman, smirking even more nastily. He handed Buster a thick sheaf of printout. “But now that you are back in civilization, you will have to conform to our laws. The relevant passage is on page fourteen, I believe.”
Buster quickly flipped to the page in question and read it. He looked up and passed the sheets to Phule. “You bastards! You’ve set the maximum legal height for a ride right at the height of your new coaster. And you did this just last week!”
Phule quickly scanned the printout, which verified Buster’s statement. “This is obviously aimed at preventing us from competing with you,” he said, frowning at Eastman. “This is nothing short of restraint of free competition.”
“Call it what you will,” said Eastman, looking down his nose at Phule. “The law is the law. If your ride’s in violation, we intend to shut down your whole park. Now, are you going to comply with the regulations, or shall I send my inspectors to start measuring?”
“I reckon we could beat this in court,” muttered Buster, balling his fists. “Problem is, it’ll take months, and the ride’ll sit there unfinished while we fight the case.”
“We’ll beat it without breaking the regulations,” said Phule. “Deputy Eastman, I thank you for your advisory. But if you think we’re going to let this stop us, you’re dead wrong.”
“Perhaps so, Captain,” said Eastman, grinning. “But remember, we’ll be watching you. Build one centimeter over the legal height, and we’ll padlock the place. Good day, sir!”
“A bad day to you,” growled Buster, but Eastman had already turned on his heel and left.
Phule slapped Buster on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we knew what we were up against when we started this game. We can still top them—and they’ll find out that all they’ve done is make it harder for themselves to come back and top us!”
“I sure hope you’re right,” said Buster. But when Phule explained what he had in mind, a grin spread across his face. “Yeah, that ought to do the trick,” he said at last.
“Good,” said Phule. “Now, all we have to do is turn it into hardware. Come on, we’ve got work to do!”
* * *
Two weeks later, Colonel Mays was at the gate. He brandished a copy of Phule’s latest publicity release. “We’ve got you now, Captain! This park’s being shut down today!”
“Colonel, I suggest you have your inspectors measure the height of the new ride,” said Phule. “You will find that it’s entirely within legal specification.”
“Then you’re guilty of false advertising,” said Mays, He dropped his cheroot on the ground and crushed it under his heel. “Your brochure says the drop on this ride is fifteen meters higher than the law allows! If you can’t deliver on
that, we’ll expose you for the fraud you are—and believe me, Landoorans take these things very seriously. The entire management of Dunes Park had to resign several years ago when one of their rides turned out to be ten seconds shorter than advertised.”
“I’ve heard that story,” said Phule. “But take a look—you’ll see that we’ve cut the top ten meters off the framework, to comply with the new laws. But that’s not all.” He beckoned the colonel, and led him over to the work area.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to put on a helmet to come any closer,” he said, pointing to a rack of hard hats hanging outside the plywood curtain wall surrounding the lower stretches of the Topper’s superstructure. He plopped a helmet on his own head, and waited while the colonel found one that fit. Then he led Mays through a door in the curtain, nodding to the uniformed legionnaire standing guard outside.
Inside, the colonel blinked for a moment as his eyes got used to the dimmer illumination. Then his jaw fell. “This is a travesty! You can’t get around the law this easily!”
“On the contrary, Colonel, we studied the law very carefully before adopting this design,” said Phule. He pointed to the enormous pit into which the tracks descended, adding at least twenty meters to the initial plunge. “The law explicitly limits the height above ground level, but it says nothing about the total height of the drop. This ride is legal, Colonel.”
“You scoundrel. We’ll find some way to stop you,” sputtered the colonel, but Phule continued to smile.
“We want to thank you for making this necessary,” said Phule. “We’ll have a plunge into pitch darkness at the very end of the ride—so they can’t see how far they’re going to fall. We’d never have thought of that without your regulations. Maestro Zipiti considers it his greatest inspiration, all thanks to your government.”
“You’ve won this round, damn you, Captain,” said Mays, snatching off his helmet. “But you haven’t seen the end of us. Good day!” He stomped out of the enclosure, slamming the door behind him.
“Well, wasn’t that special?” said Buster, who’d been watching the tour from a distance. “We’ll see what new wrinkles they come up with now. I reckon we’ve got even more fun in store for us.”
“Buster, you may not believe this,” said Phule, “But there is such a thing as too much fun.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Buster, and he went back to work. Phule sighed, but he knew he’d pay the bills when they came.
* * *
A new ride was rising inside security screens at Landoor Park, and the spy cameras had soon reported on its salient features. It copied the Topper’s underground plunge, increasing the initial drop by another three meters. At that point, the excavation hit bedrock—locally, an extremely tough basalt. Phule’s engineers had already determined that going deeper would be prohibitively expensive. The new ride was given the code name, “Monster.” And unless the government decided to rescind its new regulations, it seemed to establish an untoppable record (at least in this district) for the height of the initial plunge.
Maestro Zipiti was livid. “Zey are creeminals, nozzing bot creeminals!” he roared. “Zey zink zey can fix ze law zo zey have ze field to zeirselfs! Pah! Zipiti showing zem!”
“Well, Maestro, you better pull somethin’ pretty triff out’n yer pockets,” said Buster. “They got us beat up and down, and now all we gots to work with is sideways. Got’ny hot ideas?”
“Just you vait!” howled the Maestro. “Ve vill show zem!” But he didn’t offer any triff ideas, and it began to appear that he was not about to.
Okidata cleared his throat. “Well, there is one idea we haven’t used yet,” he said. “I suppose a real ride purist would call it cheating, though, so maybe we shouldn’t …”
“I’m no purist,” said Phule. “Right about now, the only thing I care about is beating those bureaucratic rule-mongers. If we can get a better ride than they’re offering, I say we do it whatever it takes. What do you think, Maestro?”
“Vot ess zis idea?” Zipiti said, scowling.
“Antigrav,” said Okidata.
“Oh, zat has been done,” said Zipiti, with a flip of his hand. “Eet vas ze grand sensation, until everybody go on ze ride and discover ees boring. Ze riders, zey vant to feel as if zey are falling, not floating.”
“Right,” said Okidata. “We had a ride here that tried it, back when I was a kid. Flopperoonie. Nobody went on it twice. But they did it like you said—floating instead of falling. There’s another way to use it.”
“Eempossible!” said the Maestro, but nobody was listening to him.
“Go ahead, kid,” said Buster, propping his feet up on the empty chair opposite him. “We gotta top the gov’ment’s ride, and they done rigged the game agin’ us. You got a better idea, I’m itchin’ to hear it.”
“OK, here’s the deal,” said Okidata. “The old way was to use antigrav at the top of a hill, to make the riders feel as if the car was flying off the track. Except it didn’t really work—it was too smooth. The way I think we can use it is subtler. We put it on as the car’s going uphill, just enough so the car doesn’t lose all its speed. That way, we can make the later hills just as high as the first, and we get a lot more really steep drops. And we can keep the ride going longer, ’cause it doesn’t slow down as much. You’re using the antigrav not as an effect, but as an enhancement.”
“It oughta work,” said Buster. “’Course, the proof of the puddin’ is in the tastin’ …”
“That’s what our ride-testers are for,” said Phule. “Draw up the design and let’s see it. We’ve got nothing to lose, so let’s give it our best shot.” Privately, he was beginning to wish that the rides could be opened, to help defray the growing cost of construction. But until all the park’s facilities were finished, the gates would have to remain closed—and the bills would continue to mount.
* * *
As with any work of art, a ride was nothing without an audience. Until it had rattled down the track (and it had better rattle—too quiet was no good) with riders aboard, it was still an unproven entity. The ride-testers were there to prove that pudding.
The team included Omega Mob’s two hardcore thrill ride addicts, Do-Wop and Mahatma, as well as Tusk-anini, who had an uncanny ability to spot minor imperfections in the trackwork just by riding over it. The Gambolts, especially Rube, also proved to be good testers; if Rube made it to the end without howling, the ride was far too tame. And to lead the group, Phule chose Brandy, who kept the group focused on analyzing the ride, rather than simply enjoying it.
It was shortly after ride-testing the Topper that Mahatma raised his hand and said, “Sarge, may I ask a question?”
“I doubt I’ll get any peace until I let you,” said Brandy. “What is it this time, Mahatma?”
“The reason we’re testing out rides is to find out whether they’re better than the government’s rides, isn’t it?”
“Got it in one,” said Brandy.
“But Sarge, how can you compare two things when you only know one?”
“Say what?” Brandy’s face took on a particular puzzled expression that Mahatma’s questions often seemed to elicit.
“Listen, Sarge,” said Mahatma. “If you want to compare apples and oranges, you have to taste an apple, and then an orange, not so?”
“Nobody can compare apples and oranges,” said Brandy, furrowing her brow. “You can’t do it …”
Mahatma interrupted her. “Then why does everyone say to me always, You’re comparing apples and oranges, if I don’t do it? If I do it, you can’t say nobody does it.”
“Brandy, Mahatma making sense this time,” said Tusk-anini.
“I’m supposed to take your word for that?” scoffed Brandy. Tusk-anini’s intellect was highly respected by the Omega Mob, but his approach to logic didn’t always match the human model.
“Listen, Brandy,” said Tusk-anini. “We only test our rides. How we know if they better than other rides unless we go o
n other rides?”
“Oh, I get it,” said Brandy. “Well, I guess the question does make sense, after all. Except we can’t go on the government’s rides until they open the park. Which is a shame, come to think of it …”
“Yo, Sarge, I got a great idea,” said Do-Wop.
“Now we’re really in trouble,” said Brandy, covering her eyes in mock horror. “There’s probably no way I can stop you from telling me this brilliant idea, so maybe you better tell me now. But don’t expect me to do anything about it, OK?”
“Ahhh, Sarge, you ain’t gonna hafta do anything about it,” said Do-Wop, grinning. “Leave it to me and the guys …”
“Right,” said Brandy. “I’m not leaving anything up to you until I know the whole story. Spill it, Do-Wop. I expect I’m gonna regret this …”
The idea was exactly what she would have expected. The only problem was, the more Do-Wop explained it, the better it sounded. Almost against her will, she found herself nodding in agreement.…
* * *
The fencing around New Atlantis Park was designed to let the public follow the progress of construction, while maintaining a reasonable degree of security. The idea was to whet the public’s appetite, without giving the competition anything useful. This went against local custom, which treated every detail of a new ride, from its overall height to the color of the seats, as a trade secret. So, when Okidata and Do-Wop pulled their hovercar up to a side entrance for Landoor Park, they were met by a pair of government security guards. The park’s fence was ten feet high, topped with razor wire to prevent anyone stealing a peek inside. Harsh floodlights illuminated the area in front.
“Let me do the talking,” Okidata whispered as the guard approached. “I know most of these guys, and I have the right accent.”
Do-Wop seemed dubious. “OK, man, but if it gets rough, let me take over. I can talk my way out of anything.”
“Yeah, and where’s that gonna leave me?” said Okidata. He elbowed the legionnaire playfully and turned to meet the guards. “Hey, it’s Footsy and Annie! Long time no see.”
“Long time is right, Okie,” said the woman, a tough-looking brunette in a dark green uniform. “Sorry we can’t talk, but this is a restricted zone. You gotta move along.”
The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set Page 78
