_The Gravity Gang was a group of
geniuses--devoting its brilliance to
creating a realistic Solar System
for Disneyland. That was the story,
anyway. No one would have believed
all that stuff about cops and robbers
from outer space._
My job, finished now, had been getting them to Disneyland. The problem
was bringing one in particular--one I had to find. The timing was
uncomfortably close.
I'd taken the last of the yellow pills yesterday, tossing the bottle
away with a sort of indifferent frustration. I won or lost on the
validity of my logic--and whether I'd built a better mousetrap.
The pills had given me 24 hours before the fatal weakness took hold;
nevertheless, I waited as long as I could. That left me less than an
hour, now; strangely, as I walked in the eerie darkness of an early
morning, virtually deserted Disneyland, I felt calm. And yet, my life
depended on the one I sought being inside the Tour building.
I was seeking a monster of terrible potential, yet so innocuous looking
that he'd not stand out. I couldn't produce him, couldn't say where in
the world he was. Nevertheless he was the basis, the motivation second
only to mine. I took the long, hard way--three years--making him come to
me.
Two years were devoted to acclimatization, learning, and then swinging
this job: just to put the idea across.
Assigned to Disneyland Public Relations in the offices at Burbank, I'd
begun with the usual low-pay, low-level jobs. I didn't, couldn't mind;
at least I had a foot in the right door. Within six months, I reached a
point where I could present the idea.
It had enough merit. My boss--35 years' experience enabled him to
recognize a good idea--took it to his boss who took it to The Boss.
Tomorrowland is the orphan division of Disneyland, thrown in as sop to
those interested more in the future than the past. My idea was to sex up
Tomorrowland: Tour the Solar System.
Not really, but we'd bill it that way. The Tour of the Solar System
Building was to be large. Its rooms would reproduce environments of
parts of the System, as best we knew them.
* * * * *
I'll never forget the first planning session when we realists were
underdogs, yet swung the basic direction. By then, the Hollywood Mind
had appeared. The Hollywood Mind is definitely a real thing, a vicious
thing, a blank thing, that paternalistically insists It knows what the
public wants.
There was general agreement on broad outlines. Trouble began over Venus.
"Of course," said one of the Minds, "we'll easily create a swampy
environment--"