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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Lil was working with Suneep, AKA the Merch Miracle. He could design, prototype and produce a souvenir faster than anyone -- shirts, sculptures, pens, toys, housewares, he was the king. They were collaborating on their HUDs, facing each other across a lab-bench in the middle of a lab as big as a basketball court, clutte...
Dan reflexively joined the collaborative space as he entered the lab, leaving me the only one out on the joke. Dan was clearly delighted by what he saw.
I nudged him with an elbow. "Make a hardcopy," I hissed.
Instead of pitying me, he just airtyped a few commands and pages started to roll out of a printer in the lab's corner. Anyone else would have made a big deal out of it, but he just brought me into the discussion.
If I needed proof that Lil and I were meant for each other, the designs she and Suneep had come up with were more than enough. She'd been thinking just the way I had -- souvenirs that stressed the human scale of the Mansion. There were miniature animatronics of the Hitchhiking Ghosts in a black-light box, their skeleta...
It was good merch, is what I'm trying to say. In my mind's eye, I was seeing the relaunch of the Mansion in six months, filled with robotic avatars of Mansion-nuts the world 'round, Mme. Leota's gift cart piled high with brilliant swag, strolling human players ad-libbing with the guests in the queue area. . .
Lil looked up from her mediated state and glared at me as I pored over the hardcopy, nodding enthusiastically.
"Passionate enough for you?" she snapped.
I felt a flush creeping into face, my ears. It was somewhere between anger and shame, and I reminded myself that I was more than a century older than her, and it was my responsibility to be mature. Also, I'd started the fight.
"This is fucking fantastic, Lil," I said. Her look didn't soften. "Really choice stuff. I had a great idea --" I ran it down for her, the avatars, the robots, the rehab. She stopped glaring, started taking notes, smiling, showing me her dimples, her slanted eyes crinkling at the corners.
"This isn't easy," she said, finally. Suneep, who'd been politely pretending not to listen in, nodded involuntarily. Dan, too.
"I know that," I said. The flush burned hotter. "But that's the point -- what Debra does isn't easy either. It's risky, dangerous. It made her and her ad-hoc better -- it made them sharper." _Sharper than us, that's for sure_. "They can make decisions like this fast, and execute them just as quickly. We need to be able...
Was I really advocating being more like Debra? The words'd just popped out, but I saw that I'd been right -- we'd have to beat Debra at her own game, out-evolve her ad-hocs.
"I understand what you're saying," Lil said. I could tell she was upset -- she'd reverted to castmemberspeak. "It's a very good idea. I think that we stand a good chance of making it happen if we approach the group and put it to them, after doing the research, building the plans, laying out the critical path, and priva...
I felt like I was swimming in molasses. At the rate that the Liberty Square ad-hoc moved, we'd be holding formal requirements reviews while Debra's people tore down the Mansion around us. So I tried a different tactic.
"Suneep, you've been involved in some rehabs, right?"
Suneep nodded slowly, with a cautious expression, a nonpolitical animal being drawn into a political discussion.
"Okay, so tell me, if we came to you with this plan and asked you to pull together a production schedule -- one that didn't have any review, just take the idea and run with it -- and then pull it off, how long would it take you to execute it?"
Lil smiled primly. She'd dealt with Imagineering before.
"About five years," he said, almost instantly.
"Five years?" I squawked. "Why five years? Debra's people overhauled the Hall in a month!"
"Oh, wait," he said. "No review at all?"
"No review. Just come up with the best way you can to do this, and do it. And we can provide you with unlimited, skilled labor, three shifts around the clock."
He rolled his eyes back and ticked off days on his fingers while muttering under his breath. He was a tall, thin man with a shock of curly dark hair that he smoothed unconsciously with surprisingly stubby fingers while he thought.
"About eight weeks," he said. "Barring accidents, assuming off-the-shelf parts, unlimited labor, capable management, material availability. . ." He trailed off again, and his short fingers waggled as he pulled up a HUD and started making a list.
"Wait," Lil said, alarmed. "How do you get from five years to eight weeks?"
Now it was my turn to smirk. I'd seen how Imagineering worked when they were on their own, building prototypes and conceptual mockups -- I knew that the real bottleneck was the constant review and revisions, the ever-fluctuating groupmind consensus of the ad-hoc that commissioned their work.
Suneep looked sheepish. "Well, if all I have to do is satisfy myself that my plans are good and my buildings won't fall down, I can make it happen very fast. Of course, my plans aren't perfect. Sometimes, I'll be halfway through a project when someone suggests a new flourish or approach that makes the whole thing immea...
"It's slow, but it works."
Lil was flustered. "But if you can do a complete revision in eight weeks, why not just finish it, then plan another revision, do _that_ one in eight weeks, and so on? Why take five years before anyone can ride the thing?"
"Because that's how it's done," I said to Lil. "But that's not how it _has_ to be done. That's how we'll save the Mansion."
I felt the surety inside of me, the certain knowledge that I was right. Ad-hocracy was a great thing, a Bitchun thing, but the organization needed to turn on a dime -- that would be even _more_ Bitchun.
"Lil," I said, looking into her eyes, trying to burn my POV into her. "We have to do this. It's our only chance. We'll recruit hundreds to come to Florida and work on the rehab. We'll give every Mansion nut on the planet a shot at joining up, then we'll recruit them again to work at it, to run the telepresence rigs. We...
Lil dropped her eyes and it was her turn to flush. She paced the floor, hands swinging at her sides. I could tell that she was still angry with me, but excited and scared and yes, passionate.
"It's not up to me, you know," she said at length, still pacing. Dan and I exchanged wicked grins. She was in.
"I know," I said. But it was, almost -- she was a real opinion-leader in the Liberty Square ad-hoc, someone who knew the systems back and forth, someone who made good, reasonable decisions and kept her head in a crisis. Not a hothead. Not prone to taking radical switchbacks. This plan would burn up that reputation and ...
"I mean, I can't guarantee anything. I'd like to study the plans that Imagineering comes through with, do some walk-throughs --"
I started to object, to remind her that speed was of the essence, but she beat me to it.
"But I won't. We have to move fast. I'm in."
She didn't come into my arms, didn't kiss me and tell me everything was forgiven, but she bought in, and that was enough.
#
My systems came back online sometime that day, and I hardly noticed, I was so preoccupied with the new Mansion. Holy shit, was it ever audacious: since the first Mansion opened in California in 1969, no one had ever had the guts to seriously fuxor with it. Oh, sure, the Paris version, Phantom Manor, had a slightly diff...
What the hell made the Mansion so cool, anyway? I'd been to Disney World any number of times as a guest before I settled in, and truth be told, it had never been my absolute favorite.
But when I returned to Disney World, live and in person, freshly bored stupid by the three-hour liveheaded flight from Toronto, I'd found myself crowd-driven to it.
I'm a terrible, terrible person to visit theme-parks with. Since I was a punk kid snaking my way through crowded subway platforms, eeling into the only seat on a packed car, I'd been obsessed with Beating The Crowd.
In the early days of the Bitchun Society, I'd known a blackjack player, a compulsive counter of cards, an idiot savant of odds. He was a pudgy, unassuming engineer, the moderately successful founder of a moderately successful high-tech startup that had done something arcane with software agents. While he was only moder...
Long after his software company was sold, long after he'd made his nut, he was dressing up in silly disguises and hitting the tables, grinding out hand after hand of twenty-one, for the sheer satisfaction of Beating The House. For him, it was pure brain-reward, a jolt of happy-juice every time the dealer busted and eve...
Though I'd never bought so much as a lottery ticket, I immediately got his compulsion: for me, it was Beating The Crowd, finding the path of least resistance, filling the gaps, guessing the short queue, dodging the traffic, changing lanes with a whisper to spare -- moving with precision and grace and, above all, _exped...
On that fateful return, I checked into the Fort Wilderness Campground, pitched my tent, and fairly ran to the ferry docks to catch a barge over to the Main Gate.
Crowds were light until I got right up to Main Gate and the ticketing queues. Suppressing an initial instinct to dash for the farthest one, beating my ferrymates to what rule-of-thumb said would have the shortest wait, I stepped back and did a quick visual survey of the twenty kiosks and evaluated the queued-up huddle ...