By the time I came back, the whole gang was there. Debra, Lil, her
folks, Tim. Debra's gang and Lil's gang, now one united team. Soon to be
scattered.
Dan took the stage, used the stageside mic to broadcast his voice.
"Eleven months ago, I did an awful thing. I plotted with Debra to have
Julius murdered. I used a friend who was a little confused at the time,
used her to pull the trigger. It was Debra's idea that having Julius
killed would cause enough confusion that she could take over the Hall of
Presidents. It was."
There was a roar of conversation. I looked at Debra, saw that she was
sitting calmly, as though Dan had just accused her of sneaking an extra
helping of dessert. Lil's parents, to either side of her, were less
sanguine. Tom's jaw was set and angry, Rita was speaking angrily to
Debra. Hickory Jackson in the old Hall used to say, _I will hang the
first man I can lay hands on from the first tree I can find_.
"Debra had herself refreshed from backup after we planned it," Dan went
on, as though no one was talking. "I was supposed to do the same, but I
didn't. I have a backup in my public directory -- anyone can examine it.
Right now, I'd like to bring Jeanine up, she's got a few words she'd
like to say."
I helped Jeanine take the stage. She was still trembling, and the
ad-hocs were an insensate babble of recriminations. Despite myself,
I was enjoying it.
"Hello," Jeanine said softly. She had a lovely voice, a lovely face. I
wondered if we could be friends when it was all over. She probably
didn't care much about Whuffie, one way or another.
The discussion went on. Dan took the mic from her and said, "Please! Can
we have a little respect for our visitor? Please? People?"
Gradually, the din decreased. Dan passed the mic back to Jeanine.
"Hello," she said again, and flinched from the sound of her voice in the
Hall's PA. "My name is Jeanine. I'm the one who killed Julius, a year
ago. Dan asked me to, and I did it. I didn't ask why. I trusted -- trust
-- him. He told me that Julius would make a backup a few minutes before
I shot him, and that he could get me out of the Park without getting
caught. I'm very sorry." There was something off-kilter about her, some
stilt to her stance and words that let you know she wasn't all there.
Growing up in a mountain might do that to you. I snuck a look at Lil,
whose lips were pressed together. Growing up in a theme park might do
that to you, too.
"Thank you, Jeanine," Dan said, taking back the mic. "You can have a
seat now. I've said everything I need to say -- Julius and I have had
our own discussions in private. If there's anyone else who'd like to
speak --"
The words were barely out of his mouth before the crowd erupted again in
words and waving hands. Beside me, Jeanine flinched. I took her hand and
shouted in her ear: "Have you ever been on the Pirates of the
Carribean?"
She shook her head.
I stood up and pulled her to her feet. "You'll love it," I said, and led
her out of the Hall.
========== CHAPTER 10 ==========
I booked us ringside seats at the Polynesian Luau, riding high on a
fresh round of sympathy Whuffie, and Dan and I drank a dozen lapu-lapus
in hollowed-out pineapples before giving up on the idea of getting
drunk.
Jeanine watched the fire-dances and the torch-lighting with eyes like
saucers, and picked daintily at her spare ribs with one hand, never
averting her attention from the floor show. When they danced the fast
hula, her eyes jiggled. I chuckled.
From where we sat, I could see the spot where I'd waded into the Seven
Seas Lagoon and breathed in the blood-temp water, I could see
Cinderella's Castle, across the lagoon, I could see the monorails and
the ferries and the busses making their busy way through the Park,
shuttling teeming masses of guests from place to place. Dan toasted me
with his pineapple and I toasted him back, drank it dry and belched in
satisfaction.
Full belly, good friends, and the sunset behind a troupe of tawny, half-
naked hula dancers. Who needs the Bitchun Society, anyway?
When it was over, we watched the fireworks from the beach, my toes dug
into the clean white sand. Dan slipped his hand into my left hand, and
Jeanine took my right. When the sky darkened and the lighted barges
puttered away through the night, we three sat in the hammock.
I looked out over the Seven Seas Lagoon and realized that this was my
last night, ever, in Walt Disney World. It was time to reboot again,
start afresh. That's what the Park was for, only somehow, this visit,
I'd gotten stuck. Dan had unstuck me.
The talk turned to Dan's impending death.
"So, tell me what you think of this," he said, hauling away on a glowing
cigarette.
"Shoot," I said.
"I'm thinking -- why take lethal injection? I mean, I may be done here
for now, but why should I make an irreversible decision?"
"Why did you want to before?" I asked.
"Oh, it was the macho thing, I guess. The finality and all. But hell, I
don't have to prove anything, right?"
"Sure," I said, magnanimously.
"So," he said, thoughtfully. "The question I'm asking is, how long can I
deadhead for? There are folks who go down for a thousand years, ten
thousand, right?"
"So, you're thinking, what, a million?" I joked.
He laughed. "A _million_? You're thinking too small, son. Try this on
for size: the heat death of the universe."
"The heat death of the universe," I repeated.
"Sure," he drawled, and I sensed his grin in the dark. "Ten to the
hundred years or so. The Stelliferous Period -- it's when all the black
holes have run dry and things get, you know, stupendously dull. Cold,
too. So I'm thinking -- why not leave a wake-up call for some time
around then?"
"Sounds unpleasant to me," I said. "Brrrr."
"Not at all! I figure, self-repairing nano-based canopic jar, mass
enough to feed it -- say, a trillion-ton asteroid -- and a lot of
solitude when the time comes around. I'll poke my head in every century
or so, just to see what's what, but if nothing really stupendous crops
up, I'll take the long ride out. The final frontier."
"That's pretty cool," Jeanine said.
"Thanks," Dan said.
"You're not kidding, are you?" I asked.
"Nope, I sure ain't," he said.
#
They didn't invite me back into the ad-hoc, even after Debra left in
Whuffie-penury and they started to put the Mansion back the way it was.
Tim called me to say that with enough support from Imagineering, they
thought they could get it up and running in a week. Suneep was ready to
kill someone, I swear. _A house divided against itself can_not_ stand_,
as Mr. Lincoln used to say at the Hall of Presidents.
I packed three changes of clothes and a toothbrush in my shoulderbag and
checked out of my suite at the Polynesian at ten a.m., then met Jeanine
and Dan at the valet parking out front. Dan had a runabout he'd picked
up with my Whuffie, and I piled in with Jeanine in the middle. We played
old Beatles tunes on the stereo all the long way to Cape Canaveral. Our
shuttle lifted at noon.
The shuttle docked four hours later, but by the time we'd been through
decontam and orientation, it was suppertime. Dan, nearly as Whuffie-poor
as Debra after his confession, nevertheless treated us to a meal in the
big bubble, squeeze-tubes of heady booze and steaky paste, and we
watched the universe get colder for a while.
There were a couple guys jamming, tethered to a guitar and a set of
tubs, and they weren't half bad.
Jeanine was uncomfortable hanging there naked. She'd gone to space with
her folks after Dan had left the mountain, but it was in a long-haul
generation ship. She'd abandoned it after a year or two and deadheaded
back to Earth in a support-pod. She'd get used to life in space after a
while. Or she wouldn't.
"Well," Dan said.
"Yup," I said, aping his laconic drawl. He smiled.
"It's that time," he said.
Spheres of saline tears formed in Jeanine's eyes, and I brushed them
away, setting them adrift in the bubble. I'd developed some real tender,
brother-sister type feelings for her since I'd watched her saucer-eye
her way through the Magic Kingdom. No romance -- not for me, thanks! But
camaraderie and a sense of responsibility.
"See you in ten to the hundred," Dan said, and headed to the airlock. I
started after him, but Jeanine caught my hand.
"He hates long good-byes," she said.
"I know," I said, and watched him go.
#
The universe gets older. So do I. So does my backup, sitting in
redundant distributed storage dirtside, ready for the day that space or
age or stupidity kills me. It recedes with the years, and I write out my
life longhand, a letter to the me that I'll be when it's restored into a
clone somewhere, somewhen. It's important that whoever I am then knows
about this year, and it's going to take a lot of tries for me to get it
right.
In the meantime, I'm working on another symphony, one with a little bit
of "Grim Grinning Ghosts," and a nod to "It's a Small World After All,"
and especially "There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow."
Jeanine says it's pretty good, but what does she know? She's barely
fifty.
We've both got a lot of living to do before we know what's what.
--
================= Acknowledgements: =================
I could never have written this book without the personal support of my
friends and family, especially Roz Doctorow, Gord Doctorow and Neil
Doctorow, Amanda Foubister, Steve Samenski, Pat York, Grad Conn, John
Henson, John Rose, the writers at the Cecil Street Irregulars and Mark
Frauenfelder.
I owe a great debt to the writers and editors who mentored and
encouraged me: James Patrick Kelly, Judith Merril, Damon Knight, Martha
Soukup, Scott Edelman, Gardner Dozois, Renee Wilmeth, Teresa Nielsen
Hayden, Claire Eddy, Bob Parks and Robert Killheffer.
I am also indebted to my editor Patrick Nielsen Hayden and my agent
Donald Maass, who believed in this book and helped me bring it to
fruition.
Finally, I must thank the readers, the geeks and the Imagineers who
inspired this book.