The Return: Disney Lands

by Ridley Pearson

  But for what? For whom? And most importantly: why?

  Casting her eyes about the crowd, Willa caught a glimpse of a stranger’s wristwatch. Twenty minutes had passed since Finn’s disappearance. She surveyed the area again, spotting a pair of men she knew to be Cryptologists, members of a secretive Imagineering group. Responsible for monitoring the Overtakers, their presence at the carousel could not be considered coincidence. Neither could their staring at her.

  They, too, were awaiting Finn’s return.

  This made things more complicated. First, the appearance of an Overtaker threat in Mr. Toad’s. Now, Finn’s allies wanting a piece of him. It all seemed to support Finn’s claims, claims that she and the other Keepers had been mocking for weeks. Months!

  Riven by guilt, feeling like the worst of all possible friends, Willa schemed out what to do next. As much as she and the Keepers valued the Cryptos, she wanted to protect Finn from them. Hurry up! she urged silently, shouting the words in her mind, sensing time was working against them. She’d left Mr. Toad’s devil none too happy. If he were keeper of the carousel, he might have plans of his own for Finn.

  When one of the Cryptos started toward her, Willa moved away. The Keepers weren’t allowed to use DHI technology without the Imagineers’ permission. Philby had been crossing them over for years illegally. He’d even built them their own Return for these manual crossings. At a distance, the Crypto wouldn’t be able to ascertain Willa’s current state, but if he got close enough, the faint blue 1.6 outline would give her away. Everyone would be in trouble.

  Waiting parents and families formed a human apron around King Arthur Carrousel, providing Willa with good cover. She moved between people, using them like tree trunks in the forest, keeping screens between herself and the Crypto coming after her. All this while still rising frequently to her tiptoes to keep an eye on Jingles.

  A flash of movement—as if there weren’t enough on her plate. Pain and Panic were visible in the near distance, also circling in toward her. Minions of Hades—a.k.a., the Devil—she couldn’t recall ever having seen them as characters in the parks. So why now? Willa was fairly certain she knew the answer, but it wasn’t an answer she wanted. If her DHI could be made to panic, she would be vulnerable.

  Willa dealt with these many variables as a juggler would—she kept her eye on one thing, allowing practice to take care of the rest. She kept her attention on Jingles, and her optimistic expectation that Finn would soon return.

  UNSEEN BY WILLA, behind her the Crypto gestured broadly to his partner, indicating Pain and Panic. The presence of the two characters in the park raised the alarm. Any unusual sighting held significance. Having nearly reached Willa, the Crypto changed course to intercept Pain and Panic. His co-worker did the same.

  “Can I help you?” the Crypto called out.

  Pain and Panic turned.

  “Help?” Pain asked. “We are the ones who give the help! Never the other way around!”

  Panic nodded cartoonishly. “Yup. Yup.”

  Pain engaged his counterpart. “Has anyone ever offered to help us? And by ‘ever,’ I mean ‘on any occasion, under any circumstances, on any account?’”

  “Nope. Nope.”

  “Then don’t you think we ought to thank the man?”

  “I think we ought to thank the man.”

  Before the Imagineer could step back, the two minions grabbed him at the same time. His eyes went wide with fright, shockingly large in his instantly bloodless face, and he shivered under a rush of pain so intense his vocal cords locked and his lungs froze. Silently, he dropped to his knees, Pain still grasping him by the arm. As the character released him, he keeled over.

  When Panic reached down and patted his cheek like a caring mother, the Crypto shook head to toe. Quickening their pace, the two characters closed the distance with Willa. Their smiles were nothing short of pure evil.

  THE AIR SHIMMERED LIKE OIL above the carousel horse. A crack tore open the air like a black scar. Finn appeared, straddling the rump of Jingles. He rode just behind a young pigtailed princess.

  To Willa, Finn looked like a person awakened too quickly from a deep sleep. Disoriented. Dislodged. She could see him try to collect his bearings, to make sense of it all.

  A woman—most likely the princess’s mother—cried out, and tried to pull Finn off Jingles. Her hand moved right through the young man. She froze in disbelief. Her second try caught a compromised DHI. Made mortal and material by confusion, Finn was knocked off the horse. The woman snatched her child in her arms, and ran.

  A Crypto headed in Willa’s direction. She couldn’t locate the man’s partner. Worried he was about to blindside her, she took the offensive.

  “Look!” she called out loudly. “An Imagineer!” She pointed at the Crypto. The crowd responded, enthusiastically. It surrounded her pursuer, slowing him. Willa took a calming breath and pushed her DHI through every obstacle in her way, starting with the people, and then a planter and finally a railing. She timed it well, pulling a woozy Finn up off the floor of the slowing carousel. She hauled him off, and into the crowd.

  There were whispers of “Kingdom Keeper,” her name and Finn’s. Faint applause. The Imagineer called for her to stop.

  “You good?”

  Finn nodded, still dazed.

  “Faster!” she urged.

  Finn got his feet under him and began running on his own.

  Willa caught a glimpse of Finn’s left forearm, pumping furiously as he ran. If they weren’t being chased by an Imagineer (she was), and he wasn’t being pursued in turn by a pair of evil cartoon characters (he was), she might have stopped Finn to study the additional writing on Finn’s arm.

  She managed to pick out numbers—1313 and 471.

  But that was all. The rest would have to wait.

  As she and Finn reached Disneyland’s Central Plaza, their pursuers nearly upon them, Finn looked at her, puzzlement still muddying his eyes.

  “I remember stuff!” he said.

  She stopped him at the base of the Partners statue.

  Fingerprints of an artist’s touch encompassed every surface of the statue, the castle looming behind.5 Wrapping one arm around him, she did something that—amazingly!—she’d never done before.

  She pushed the button.

  THE KEEPERS MET in the local skateboard park Finn had frequented as a middle schooler. Finn hadn’t told his mother he was leaving the house, but it was before his curfew of eleven p.m., so technically he didn’t feel he had to.

  Like Finn, Willa was still in the clothes she’d been wearing when they’d crossed over. Philby’s loose-fitting gray T-shirt, shorts, and sandals made him look like a surfer dude. His red hair was tousled, his smile a little forced. They stood under one of the bright lights that lit the park in silver cones. Mist hung in the cool evening air.

  “Can I see it?” Philby asked, taking Finn’s left arm before his friend could grant him permission. “Bizarre,” he said softly, tracing his fingers across the words written there.

  set to 1313

  bring file IAV-471

  “Weird, right?” Finn said. “And I know what you’re going to say, but I’m telling you: that’s not my handwriting.”

  “It was there on his arm when I pulled him off Jingles,” Willa confirmed. “Wherever he was, whatever happened to him, he came back with that message.”

  “Which means we owe you an apology.” Maybeck stepped from the shadows and joined them under the light. He and Finn exchanged fist bumps, but the familiar ritual was more solemn, somehow. “I thought you’d gone mental, man. Seriously.”

  “How did you—?”

  “I called him,” Willa said. “I told him about Mr. Toad’s Nearly Fatal Ride, the Cryptos. Pain and Panic.”

  “We…I…the thing is…” Maybeck stuttered, seeming to not know what to say.

  “No problem.” Finn took mercy on him. “This may sound strange, but I didn’t want to believe it, either. Not really. To go throug
h everything we went through, to lose Dillard and Wayne, and then to have it all start again? All I wanted…but forget it; we’re past that.”

  “We were jerks. We are jerks,” Maybeck said. “So much for one-for-all-and-all-for-one. We left you hanging.”

  Philby still held Finn’s left arm. Again and again, he traced the blurry letters, his eyes distant. “IAV. I know that tag. ‘Imagineers Audio Visual.’ It goes way back. Hasn’t been used since the nineteen sixties.”

  “So what’s in file four-seven-one?” Willa asked.

  “No idea. But someone needs that file.” Philby sounded concerned.

  “What’s with ‘bring’?” Finn chimed in.

  “You’re the only one who can answer that. What happened to you after you got onto Jingles?”

  “I actually do remember some stuff,” Finn said. “A stage. Lights. Audio-Animatronics. A guy older than us but too young to be anybody important. I think maybe the guy wrote it on my arm. I’m not sure.” He checked with Philby. “This is where you’re supposed to think I’m crazy.”

  “Your mother made sure that wouldn’t happen,” Philby said. “Now, I don’t know what to think.”

  “I remember being rescued by Willa. Thank you for that, by the way.”

  Willa shook her head. “You were gone for more than twenty minutes.”

  “Seriously? No real memory of that.”

  “The lint?” Philby asked Willa.

  She nodded. “Yup. Both times, leaving and returning. It’s much more vivid in person.”

  “Oh, man. Are we talking time travel again?” Maybeck asked. He was with them, but only so far. “It’s gotta be an illusion. Right? A magic trick! Think about magicians. They can make elephants disappear. Finn would be a piece of cake.”

  “And the loss of memory could be the result of hypnotism.” Willa sounded relieved, excited.

  “It is a much more reasonable explanation,” Philby said.

  “So, you’re saying Wayne did all this so I could be hypnotized,” Finn said, raising an eyebrow. “The hypnotist, this magician guy, wrote something on my arm, and meanwhile the Overtakers put on a little show just so Willa wouldn’t be bored?”

  “Well, if you put it like that,” Philby said, “it sounds plain stupid.”

  “I’m doing it again, huh?” Maybeck said. “Not believing you.”

  “I did not write this message,” Finn said, meeting their eyes one by one. His look was calm, steady. “I don’t even know what it means. And I don’t think my vanishing off that horse was an illusion. Yes, hypnotism could erase my memory—but dang, you guys, aren’t we past that?”

  “We need to find this file,” Philby said, finally releasing Finn’s arm.

  “Thirteen thirteen is the street address of Disneyland.” Willa paused, then added, “I’m just saying.”

  A prolonged silence spread through the four friends.

  “It’s Wayne,” Finn said. “Don’t ask me how, but it’s definitely Wayne.”

  “We need to find the file.” Philby’s firm tone left no room for argument.

  “I’ll bet Amanda and Jess would help,” Finn said. “Especially if you asked, Philby. They’re out there. They’re part of the company now. They find it, I deliver it.”

  There had been a time when Finn might have struggled with confronting Philby, might have worried it would start a turf war between the two. Not any longer. Since the epic battle in Disneyland, the Keepers had forged what had felt like an inseparable team. The rest of them bailing on Finn had scarred his heart, but his faith in the team as a whole had not waivered.

  “I’ll contact Amanda again,” Philby said. “I agree. That keeps it a business relationship.” He directed this at Finn. “You sure that’s okay?”

  Finn winced a smile. “I’m not sure of anything.”

  TIM SOUNDED LIKE a game show host. “Amanda, I’d like you to meet—”

  “Emily,” Amanda said, interrupting Tim. “We met earlier, you idiot! In the library.”

  Tim rolled his eyes at her name-calling. Ignoring him, Amanda spun around in the center of Emily’s bedroom, taking in the fantastic space. “It’s so pretty!” she cried.

  “Thanks.”

  Decorated in colorful fabrics, Emily’s dorm room created the effect of being inside a sultan’s tent. Parachute silk draped a dome light. Scarves and pieces of clothing were hung as art on the parachute walls. The only paper art was a Catching Fire poster on the wall beside Emily’s roommate’s bed.

  “It’s called wearable art. And that’s my deal,” Emily said.

  “Including new fabric technologies,” Tim said, nudging her.

  “For Tim,” Emily said, rolling her eyes, “everything’s technology.”

  “Let’s say,” Tim eased the door shut and spoke cautiously, “that a person or persons had good reason to want to get past some video cams. Could a certain other person, who just happened to have chosen enrollment in DSI over a Defense Department job, be able to help?”

  Emily looked suddenly serious. “I think the certain other person would want to know what the person or persons had in mind. For instance, what kind of trouble would she be in if they get caught? Robbing a bank for instance, is just plain wrong.”

  “No banks,” Tim said.

  “It’s a file, a very important file, that a friend of mine, a good friend, was told is in the school archives,” Amanda explained. “His name is Dell Philby. He’s one of the Kingdom—”

  “Keepers? No way! You know those guys?”

  “I do. Which is why it’s super important.”

  Tim stayed silent, but he looked impressed as well. In spite of herself, Amanda felt pride tickling the base of her spine, pushing her to smile. At the DSI, no heroes were more lauded and admired than the Kingdom Keepers.

  Fighting back a smile, Amanda explained. “Jess and I have met them a couple times.” She downplayed the depth of their relationships for now. “Philby knows I’m here at DSI. He spoke with Becky—”

  “Cline. Studio Archives. Are you some kind of VIP or something?” Emily sounded overly impressed. This was what Jess had wanted to avoid—the star treatment phenomenon.

  “Not me. Them. The Keepers. Becky told Philby the information we need is almost certainly stored here in the dorm basement, but that it’s part of a classified file she can’t get.”

  “So we’re going to steal classified files?” Emily asked.

  “I like that ‘we’ part!” Tim said.

  “I’m going to borrow them,” Amanda said. “I’ll either take photos or copy them, and then put them right back.”

  “And you’re going to take this risk because…?”

  “What are friends for?” Amanda forced a smile. “Actually, the Keepers pretty much saved the life of a friend of mine. I kind of owe them big time.”

  “Jess,” Tim stated, though in a private, caring way.

  Amanda didn’t answer.

  Emily didn’t look convinced. Crossing her arms across her chest, her face shadowed by pink light shining through the fabric dome, she addressed Tim. “Why me?”

  “The Chameleon project.”

  “No way.”

  “Em, we have to. Have you ever heard of a three-ninety?”

  “The robots?” Emily asked. “Of course. We studied those. They were decommissioned.”

  “Yeah, well, apparently, not all of them. Amanda and I met a few earlier. Highly modified.” Tim showed her the red mark on his arm where he’d been shocked. “Highly dangerous.”

  “You’ve been down there?” Emily stiffened, suddenly seeming more interested. “The three-nineties have video, right?”

  “Yeah, but lo-res. They do have lateral servos but they can’t see much below two feet off the floor.”

  Keenly interested in the information Tim was supplying, Emily moved to her desk and started punching keys on her open laptop. “Okay. The lighting down there?”

  Tim said, “Fluorescent and compact fluorescent.”

&
nbsp; Emily typed. “No LED or incandescent?”

  “Nope.”

  Emily clicked through several links. “The specs conform.”

  “What’s going on?” Amanda asked.

  “A little something Em calls ‘Chameleon.’” Tim looked impossibly self-satisfied.

  “I could explain it,” Emily said, “if you’d completed the Applied Physics and Electrical Dynamics course.”

  “Last semester, first year,” Tim explained, and then added mock condescendingly, “You’ll get there.”

  “Chameleon,” Amanda repeated.

  Emily pursed her lips. “The current rage is smart textiles: weaving electronic and optic fibers into wearables.”

  “Em’s specialty,” Tim said. “Her term paper was Weaving the Past Into the Future.”

  “I didn’t know you’d read my paper.”

  “It was used for our final exam in Expressions of Light. Robertson called it ‘brilliant.’” Tim smiled, showing his teeth. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

  “I’m still not getting it,” Amanda said.

  “The concept’s easy.” Emily spun her laptop so Amanda could see the screen and computer art of a full bodysuit made of hundreds of small gray disks. It looked like something a scuba diver would wear. “Cameras, good cameras, have shrunk to the size of pinheads. Think about the backup cameras on your parents’ car.”

  “I don’t have parents.” Amanda blurted it out. It had become habit, though she immediately regretted it as it sounded like she was playing the pity card.

  Emily looked as if she might say something in response, then returned her attention to her laptop. Amanda appreciated that. “The going theory is, you integrate a few cameras with imaging technology. Thanks to fiber optics, it all happens at close to the speed of light. What a camera sees on one side of the suit”—she tapped the trackpad, setting the animation in motion—“is instantly projected to the other.” With a click of the mouse, the suit all but disappeared, taking on the pattern of the wallpaper behind it. A gray smudge remained on the side, from the armpit to below the hips. “Now, it would be pretty simple technology if human beings were two dimensional, but seeing as we’re not, it takes pretty sophisticated algorithms to ensure that whichever side the object is seen from”—the suit rotated to a side view and the gray smudge became more solid, like a gray line drawn down the wallpaper pattern—“the background is projected correctly. It is less than perfect at the moment.”