Maestro Zipiti nearly exploded. “Zese provincial bunglers cannot match ze least of my designs! Ve vill build zem all!”
“Maybe you should jes’ set tight, Maestro,” said Buster. “The kid’s got the right of it, says I-and I been goin’ to ride parks longer than he’s been born, so I oughta know.”
“We’ll wait and see,” decided Phule. “With all our workers concentrating on one ride, we should have the Zipper up quickly enough, and then we’ll know which direction we need to go in.”
“Zis is schtupid!” muttered Zipiti, but he was outvoted. And, as it turned out, he was wrong.
16
Journal #426
One who had never embarked on the construction of an amusement park would undoubtedly consider it a simple proposition. One needs to erect a few rides, set up areas where customers may purchase food and souvenirs, and then open the gates and watch the money roll in. Even I, who tend to see shoals of difficulties where others see only smooth sailing, had no idea how complex the undertaking would become. Fortunately, neither did my employer, or he might never have embarked on the project.
As always, he made it a point to obtain expert advice from all over the galaxy. His connections, augmented by those of his family, gave him access to a range of talent few others could call on. It was therefore no surprise to anyone who had seen him in action that within days of signing the agreement with the rebels, several leading lights in the world of entertainment and of amusement park design in particular had joined our camp. Of course, Maestro Zipiti was on hand to supply his expertise in thrill rides. Lex came in from Lorelei to oversee the plans for a series of indoor and outdoor stages for live entertainment.
From within the ranks of Omega Company, Phule detailed Escrima to draw up plans for the food service areas, with an eye to providing gourmet treats in mass quantities. And the rebel camp had its own array of talent-Buster turned out to be a top-class engineer, with an uncanny ability to turn almost any blue-sky idea into functioning hardware. And Okidata had a surprising fund of useful knowledge.
And, of course, the government insisted on sticking its own oar in, whether or not anyone wanted it…
It was somewhere near midafternoon on the second day of construction work on the Zipper that the Landooran government appeared on the scene. A small fleet of black hovercars delivered Boris Eastman, Deputy Minister of Development, to the park entrance. Eastman had a team of inspectors in tow. Phule was there to meet him at the gate.
“What a pleasure to see you, Deputy,” said Phule, grinning as if he meant every syllable of it. “We aren’t set up to entertain visitors yet, but of course you’re always welcome.”
“This is no social visit, Captain,” said Eastman, turning a stony glare on the beehive of activity going on all around him. “It has come to my attention that you have begun this project without obtaining the necessary permits.”
“Oh, quite to the contrary, Deputy,” said Phule, holding up a hand. “I made sure we had all the relevant permits before we turned the first shovelful of earth-the military has given me plenty of experience dealing with regulations, and so I make it a point to fulfill all the requirements before I find out I can’t do something I want. If you’ll step over to my office, I’ll be happy to let you inspect them.”
“I would be very interested to inspect these permits,” said Eastman, his eyes narrowing. “As of this morning, my department had no record of their being issued.”
“Undoubtedly the normal bureaucratic backlog,” said Phule. He made a gesture as if to usher the deputy toward the temporary building housing his office. “If you’ll follow me…”
“Very well,” said Eastman, sniffing. “We shall soon see what is in proper order and what is not.” He and his flunkies fell in line behind Phule.
Chocolate Harry, who had paused from setting up the ground-clearing machines to watch the conversation between Phule and the ministers, broke into a grin at the sight. “Check it out, man-this is the first time I ever seen the chickens line up to follow the fox into his own hole.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Buster, scratching his bearded chin. “Them government fellers got the look of career criminals to ’em. If that deputy don’t at least triple his salary in bribes, I’d be disappointed in him.”
“Don’t you be worried,” said Chocolate Harry. “By the time the Cap’n’s done with these dudes, they’ll swear he’s got every permit they ever thought of, and a few spare, blank ones. He’s even figured out how to bribe somebody so they stay bribed, and I thought that was against the laws of economics.”
“Economics, hell-that’s against the laws of physics,” said Buster, picking up the wrench he’d set down when the inspectors arrived. “But if he’s as good as you say, I guess we might as well go right on ahead with the job.”
“Might as well,” said Harry, and they went back to their task. After a while, Eastman and his inspectors emerged from the office building. They marched straight back to their hovercars and departed for the city. If there had been any deficiency in the permits, it certainly was not serious enough to cause any delay in the project-at least for the moment.
“Zere design-eet ees garbage,” said Maestro Zipiti. He put a strong accent on the second syllable of the last word, as if it rhymed with garage. “Here”-he pointed to the diagram showing the first, long climb-“zey make ze quick drop, go to ze left instead of straight, zo as to zeem more the dangerous. But Pah! Eet ees a trick even a child could zee t’rough. Gar-bage!”
“Sure, Maestro,” said Buster, very patiently. It was the fourth or fifth time he had heard Maestro Z criticize the shortcomings of the rival park’s showpiece roller coaster. “We don’t want no garbage in our park. That’s why we brought you in to design this here ride for us.” He shifted another blueprint to the top of the stack and pointed. “Now, remin’ me again, what’s the load on these-here crossbraces?”
“Zat ees all written out!” said the Maestro, flinging his long locks of hair back over one shoulder. “‘Ave you no read ze plan?”
“Over an’ over,” said Buster. “By now, I may understand it better than the feller what drew it up. What I want to know…”
“Merde! Un’erstan’ eet better zan Maestro Zipiti! Per’aps you ‘ave ze eye of ze mechanic, but zat is nozzing, nozzing! Ze soul of a genius…”
Buster’s voice didn’t change. “Yeah, I know you’s a genius ’cause you done told us so. Now, maybe you can tell me what’s gonna be holdin’ up this here stretch of track when a car full o’ people’s settin’ on top of it. It looks real pretty the way you draw it, but I gotta build the damn thing. Figure we got twenty-four people in a car, average weight of a hundred ten kilos apiece…”
Zipiti was outraged. “Zat is too high! I design eet for ninety-five!”
“An’ what happens if you get a fat people’s convention?” drawled Buster. “We gonna shut down all the rides? I figure we gotta have at least…What the hell?”
The latter exclamation was prompted by a loud explosion, followed by frantic shouts. A cloud of smoke was rising from near the park gates. “‘Scuse me, Maestro,” said Buster. “I reckon I gotta go see what’s up.” He turned and sprinted off toward the growing commotion.
Maestro Zipiti peered off into the distance, his face turning red. “Cretins!” he shouted. “Salauds! You sabotage my beautiful rides, I keel you! I keel you all!” The smoke kept rising, and somewhere in the distance a klaxon began to sound. It was the start of another typical day.
The holovision picture showed men and women in hard hats in the background, running heavy machinery. A framework of girders, bent into intriguing curves and dips, loomed against the skyline. Up front stood Jennie Higgins, interviewing Le Duc Taep.
“New Atlantis Park will be the vindication of our free way of life,” Taep was saying. “It will embody the traditional Atlantean values of self-determination, free enterprise, and hard work. And it will be a wonderful vacation experience for the whole family.”
“How would you compare it to the new park the government is building, Landoor Park?” said Jennie.
“The government has a false vision of what the people want,” said Taep, puffing himself up as if the additional air would add conviction to his words. “They follow the old formula of bread and circuses, empty entertainment. But they care nothing for the soul of the Atlantean people. We will present the heritage of our nation, something to inspire the people and to show the galaxy our rich indigenous culture.”