She took a moment to reference the corresponding computer file.
“You’re right,” she said, “but I see the problem…” She spun the terminal around so Finn could see also. “This kind of stuff happens from time to time.”
The kind of stuff she was referring to was a pixelated image in the frame.
“They cropped it,” she explained, “for obvious reasons.”
Finn felt his fists clench. The boy’s blackened, hollow eye sockets turned his stomach, but it was the face that startled him. Greg Luowski’s hologram was turned sideways to the camera, his chin over his left shoulder. His green eyes were not eyes at all, just black holes in his piggish face. He’d turned to avoid having his picture taken, but too late. Captured there was the disintegrated image of the school bully who’d endlessly tormented Finn, had nearly poisoned him in his own home, had Tasered Maybeck’s aunt. There was no question of his being a DHI to anyone who knew of such things. The photographers could promote all the speculation they wanted as to why the boy was transparent; Finn knew.
Lousy Luowski was, at the very least, being projected by the Overtaker’s secret server; at the worst, he was physically aboard the Dream.
Finn glanced over both shoulders, eerily aware of his own paranoia.
“May I get a copy of the whole picture, please?” He spun the monitor back to face the Cast Member. He couldn’t have imagined he’d be asking to pay for a photo of Greg Luowski. But Philby would know how to study the photograph, to confirm what Finn already knew.
“Mailbox one thirty. It’ll be about an hour.”
“Thank you.” Finn handed over his room card for the sake of charges.
Clearly impressed by its unique color that indicated his celebrity status, she smiled slightly.
“I thought I recognized you. The Disney Hosts, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s your cruise.”
“Not exactly.”
“Pretty much,” she said.
“Just working, same as you.”
“Must be cool.”
“Yeah, I suppose. We have a…good time.”
“And the stories—like the Overtakers and everything?”
“You know Disney. The story comes first!” He tried to make it sound fanciful.
“That’s exactly what I would say,” she said.
They met eyes, and Finn realized there were no secrets anymore. Their story was out. Deny it or not, people knew. It was almost as if by denying it he just made it all the more true.
But what if the stories hadn’t been true? What if like other celebrities people just made up anything they felt like and people believed it? Rumor was poison. He’d learned to stick with the facts.
“Not every story is true,” he said. “Not every rumor is false.”
“I appreciate what you’re doing,” she said. “You and the others. If they’re stories, they’re good stories.”
She was at least five years older than Finn, but he had the feeling that if he’d asked her to hang out she’d have agreed. Without knowing him. On reputation only. He measured that against having been invisible to girls only a few years before, wondering how to act, who to be. All of a sudden he wanted off the ship; he wanted his mother back, his life back.
“Okay, then. Mailbox one hundred thirty.”
“One hour.” She sounded disappointed.
He hated disappointing anyone. Everyone. Much of what he did and the way he acted was for his mom. To meet her expectations of him. Though he’d been raised to be giving and considerate, there were times he wanted to do what he wanted to do, not what someone else wanted him to do. Like this.
“See you then?” he asked.
She brightened with excitement. “I’m working until six. Yeah. Absolutely.”
They both knew the rules—Cast Members couldn’t interact with passengers. But was Finn a Cast Member or a passenger?
He had no idea who he was.
Luowski, he reminded himself. Don’t get distracted. Stay focused. The enemy is out there.
The enemy is on the ship.
* * *
“We have to cover for the girls!” Maybeck said behind clenched teeth, hoping only Philby and Finn would hear him. Events had progressed rapidly. Upon returning to their staterooms, the Keepers had found notes outside their doors and messages on their Wave Phones asking that, due to the change in itinerary, the Disney Hosts participate in the Beach Blanket Barbecue welcome on the beach stage at seven. Short scripts to be memorized were included in the envelopes. The request presented myriad problems, foremost of which was that Willa and Charlene still had not been heard from. The most likely explanation was that the Overtakers had captured them, a terrifying thought given that the ship was set to sail in a matter of hours. Another problem was the not-so-small matter of staking out Tia Dalma’s cabana in order to figure out who was being delivered to her and why.
Compounding it all was Maybeck’s discovery of the propane tank rigged to the bug-killing black tubing. Philby claimed that from what he’d heard it hardly added up to a bomb—“the tubing is porous, after all, like soaker hose”—and that its remote location, on the far side of the abandoned runway, meant it wasn’t a threat to passengers or Cast Members. In fact, he wondered if it wasn’t meant as a distraction or diversion, a line of bursting flame to turn the heads of passengers at a particular moment.
“Another attack on us during the welcome?” Finn had said in their brief meeting outside the Cove coffee shop. It seemed similar to the effort by Jack Sparrow during the Sail-Away.
“It feels like it, doesn’t it?” Philby said.
“I wish they’d stop trying to kill us,” Maybeck said. The boys couldn’t tell if it was meant as a joke or not.
“So here’s what we do,” Finn said. “First, we’re going to be in our DHI costumes, so I don’t see how you’re going to get backstage.” He said this to Maybeck.
“Leave that to me. I can put the coveralls over my DHI look. Why?”
“If the diversion wasn’t meant for us—and how could it be, given that when the propane was hooked to the tubing there was no Beach Blanket Barbecue planned?—then I’m thinking it was supposed to distract the island Cast Members long enough for someone to get backstage and do something in the Cast Member area.”
Philby said, “Because on a typical day they’d be the only ones on the island at that point.”
“Exactly.”
“So you want me,” Maybeck said, “to get backstage at the same time I’m supposed to be onstage? How’s that going to work?”
“We don’t know when the propane was supposed to go off. Not at seven o’clock, that’s for sure. It’s still daytime. It had to be planned for dark.”
“So after nine thirty-two,” Philby said.
Maybeck and Finn gave him a look.
“What?” Philby said defensively. “It’s what I do!”
“Second,” Finn said, “we need to stake out the cabanas.”
“You can handle that the minute the welcoming stuff is over,” Philby said to Finn. “We’re all on Wave Phones. We can text or call. Anything else?”
“What about you?” Finn asked.
“I need to get back aboard the ship after the welcome and check the server. The OTKs came after me as holograms. What if the girls have been projected without us knowing it?”
“The Syndrome?” Maybeck gasped.
“All I’m saying is, it’s possible.”
Finn said, “At least one of us is going to have to stay behind on the island until the final all-aboard is called to try to counter whatever the propane was supposed to do. Remember, whoever planted that probably doesn’t know it’s not going to work.”
“That would be me,” Maybeck said. “Backstage, like you said.”
“You can’t miss the ship,” Philby warned. “They won’t wait for you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And the girls?” Philby speculated.
�
�We tell them the girls are on their way,” Finn said. “You know girls and getting ready. Sound good?”
“Sounds real,” Philby said. All three boys laughed. It was the first laugh for Finn in some time.
“If they miss it completely, we mock them. And remember, Philby’s keeping an eye out for the DHIs that attacked him, and we’re all looking for Luowski.”
“We need to find that server,” the Professor said. “We take out the server, we take out their DHIs, and maybe put them into the Syndrome at the same time.”
“I like that idea,” Maybeck said.
Now they were on the pier alongside the Dream in a stream of passengers and Cast Members headed to the beach. A lone seagull glided along the shore far in the distance, then flew lower and landed out of sight. They were dressed in the same shorts and shirts as their in-park DHIs. They nodded politely to passengers who recognized them. Kids waved hello, and they waved back.
“Has it occurred to either of you that now that 2.0’s in beta, the Imagineers will be looking for new models?”
Finn stumbled and recovered. “What?”
“We’re high schoolers,” Philby reminded. “Our DHIs have been in the Magic Kingdom for a long time now. We barely look like our DHIs anymore. We haven’t recorded any new lines in over a year, so our DHIs are saying the same old stuff as they always have. That’s gonna change.”
“And you wait until now to bring this up?” Finn said as they walked along among hundreds of cruise passengers. “Wayne would have told me.”
“You think he’s as connected as he once was?” Philby asked. “His whole attention’s on the OTs. He’s not in the loop on the park stuff.”
“They’re going to replace us?” Finn gasped. Would Wayne do that to him?
“Then why install us in Disneyland?” Maybeck asked Philby.
“It’s beta. You know how any beta program testing works. You run it for a while to get the bugs out. Then you ramp up and deploy the real thing.”
“We’re guinea pigs?” Maybeck said.
“We’re beta testers,” Philby answered. “They run us under 2.0 before introducing the next-generation DHIs. They won’t want the new DHIs bugging out all over the parks. They’ll leave that for us.”
“We’re history?” Finn said. He didn’t know whether to feel relief or anxiety.
“Toast,” Philby said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“What a buzzkill,” Maybeck said.
They continued onto the island amid the hordes of passengers, Finn’s mind drifting for a moment. First he thought of his mother and the green eyes staring back at him in the car. It gave him chills. He wondered if Storey Ming’s friend could help him determine if his mother was aboard. He’d seen her at the terminal, after all.
But he also thought about being replaced. There had certainly been times he did not want to be a DHI, but now that Philby said it was more than likely going to happen, he wanted it back. He didn’t want it to stop. More than that, he didn’t want some other guy to replace him. Just the thought of it ran his blood cold. Did Wayne know about it? Did he intend to do anything about it?
The Beach Blanket welcome lasted only a few minutes and was run by Cast Members who seemed not to notice the girls were missing. Typical Philby—he’d memorized the girl’s lines as well; he simply recited them where they belonged in the script, and it all went off without a hitch. The entertainment director had wisely kept it all brief and amusing; it was over practically before it began. Maybeck then slipped off toward the island’s Cast Members–only compound, Finn to the cabanas, and Philby back to the ship.
Once inside the Radio Studio, Philby connected to the onboard DHI server and downloaded its log. Nothing. Not a single byte of bandwidth used since his own return following the fight in the staterooms. The discovery came as a huge relief—he’d been harboring fears the girls were stuck in the Syndrome. As a precaution, he instigated a return for both girls. Checked the log: still nothing. He was about to sign off the secure session when one last thought occurred to him. He typed a command string. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard. What he was about to do was not without risk. To cross over someone unsuspecting was to throw them into a virtual nightmare that they couldn’t wake up from. The shock of being crossed over when unexpected could be psychologically disturbing. But the situation offered too great a possibility not to try.
He punched the ENTER key. Within seconds he was out of the Radio Studio and practically flying downstairs toward the crew break room. He had to see…
* * *
Maybeck tried to see any difference.
His artist’s eye gave him a distinct advantage; he could visualize things in ways others could not.
He stood on the sand-covered asphalt roadbed leading into the island’s maintenance compound, his eye comparing what he saw now to what he’d seen only hours earlier. It was like a game to him: spot the difference. Two Pargos had moved; another was gone from its charging spot. Three bicycles were now parked outside the concrete-block administrative building where he’d met Tim. A garden hose that had been neatly coiled was now uncoiled and had been left in a tangled mess. What else?
Some plants had been watered, the soil darker. The recycling and garbage bins were now brimming; they’d been empty before.
More? The sun was fading; it had been bright sunshine earlier. Shadows were at different angles and stretched longer. A window on the side of the Quonset hut was now open.
It drew him, this window. Pulled him toward it to peer inside and uncover mysteries he was certain lay on the other side. Ten yards away and closing, he passed a corrugated-tin maintenance shed and stopped. Its padlock hung unlocked.
He hesitated, unsure how to proceed. He had no business being backstage. The island Cast Members handled a hundred tasks at once; he could not interrupt them without drawing attention to himself. But with the Beach Blanket Barbecue under way, the island headquarters appeared deserted, everyone off doing something, so why would a shed be left unlocked? If there was any time to lock a shed it was when guests were on the island; certainly when there was no ship docked the rules changed on Castaway Cay. The hanging padlock intrigued him, as did the open window on the Quonset hut.
With the window easier to check out, he hurried over and carefully peered into the dark hut. He could make out a tractor and other large machinery packed in neatly at the far end. Closest to him was a machine shop containing an industrial drill, a band saw, and grinders. No light. No activity. Only the strong odor of paint—the open window suddenly explaining itself: ventilation.
He crossed back to the small tin shed. It had no windows, but there was a large gap between the top of the wall and the eave of the roof allowing for airflow in the tropical climate. Standing perfectly still, he heard faint sounds from inside. They might be explained by an animal, he thought. Or a person. The more he listened, the more the sounds seemed less random and more ordered. A keyboard? Valves?
Maybeck slipped around front and put his eye to the door. He could see inside, but only a sliver of the shed’s grayish interior was visible. Not enough to see what was going on. Maybeck lacked the urgency of some of the other Keepers, but he possessed a wily cunning that served him well. He was in no hurry.
A minute passed. Two…five. A leg appeared—a human leg, from the knee down. A man’s hairy leg, or a grown boy’s. Dark shorts. A black flip-flop. Sight of the leg confirmed his earlier suspicion, but it was neither the leg nor the shorts (which should have been khaki if worn by a Cast Member) nor the flip-flop (which should have been a canvas deck shoe if worn by a Cast Member) that sounded the alarm in Maybeck’s head. It was the lack of tan—the pale, reddish skin that revealed itself even through the limited light. There was no way—no way—that a resident of this island could have skin so pale.
Pale reddish skin…Maybeck knew whose leg it was. He studied the door’s rust-colored hinges. Any metal on the salt-wind island was in a constant state of decay. He knew the hing
es would squeal when he opened the door. He licked his finger and applied spit to each of the three hinges. He tugged the door gently, moving the hinges only slightly, and worked his spit into them. Then he eased the door open and slipped inside.
He recognized him immediately: Greg Luowski.
* * *
New Age music—wood xylophones, a bamboo flute, and brass bells—floated in the air along with the scent of jasmine, cinnamon, and musk oil. Finn crouched among the wide elephant’s ear plants outside the first of the dozen massage cabanas. With the shutter open, candlelight flickered through the open-air window. A shadow swept past on the sand. On all fours, Finn crawled beneath the occupied cabana, paused, and scurried across moonlit sand to the next. It was occupied as well, and the soft music suggested a massage session here as well.
Finn kept moving and was squarely beneath the fifth cabana before he identified it as the one from the night before—Tia Dalma’s cabana. He’d moved too quickly—been in too much of a hurry.
A rope was coiled around the cabana’s stilt. Finn moved to examine it, but too late. It began moving as he turned his head. Uncoiling like a snake. It slithered into the sand, stood up, and became rigid. A staff with a cobra’s head. Its eyes flamed red and glowed hypnotically. Jafar’s staff.
Finn felt the movement of sand against his knees and shins. He tried to look down to confirm he was being dragged toward the staff, but couldn’t take his eyes off the cobra. It had some kind of grip on him, physically and mentally. The murmur of voices came from above. A man and a woman speaking. Jafar and Tia Dalma. Overtakers. Jafar’s staff had been left to keep watch.
Long ruts in the sand behind Finn. He’d slid five…now six…seven feet closer to the rigid staff. He fought to break eye contact, but it was little use—the cobra owned him. He struggled to open his fingers, and he scooped up sand as the thing drew him closer. The spinning eyes grew larger and their effect more powerful; the gravitational force increased, and he sped up as he moved across the sand. The voices above him sounded as if they were arguing.
Flexing his arms felt as if he were trying to curl an impossible amount of weight in the school gym. He slid closer still, the glowing eyes now the size of the sun. There was a universe in there—he wanted to travel inside.
Kingdom Keepers V Page 24
