Jimmy vaguely remembered the fence from his old life in Disneyland. It had been bland and green, just like this one, with a little sign that was unclear enough to make people think the attraction was just being given basic maintenance. Elbows braced against the top of the barrier and feet on a box of tools, he watched the other Characters of Tomorrowland quietly. The eleven-year-old Carousel of Progress Character wasn't shy, just thoughtful. Unusual, considering his favorite hobby was teasing his older sister Patricia.
No one gave him much notice. There were some sympathetic nods here and there, some consoling words, like, "Oh, you guys will be back up and running in no time! We all go down for rehab every once in a while." But to Jimmy, everyone seemed so unsure when they spoke. It was as if there was some sort of conspiracy!
That morning, his father and mother had "words." Jimmy didn't like "words" because he knew they were always much more serious than any top of the lungs shouting match could be. "Words" always sounded quiet, but couldn't quite pass for calm because some tint of anxiety or worry was there. "Words" made the whole house feel unsettled.
But unlike the usual "argument but not an argument," this time Jimmy could hear hope and excitement within his father's hushed voice. Although the boy couldn't tell what was being said, muffled through doors and walls, it was nice to hear his father have that old idealistic tone again. It had felt like decades since his pop had his old exuberance, that wonderful faith in the future. In reality, it had just been a day, but that had been a long time to go without seeing his father in a good mood.
"The castle looks so pretty at night," a sweet, high voice interrupted Jimmy's thoughts. He didn't have to turn and look to confirm it was his older sister. "I like the blue lights on it best," Patricia continued. "Although the pinkish purple is gorgeous, too. You know what else I love? The fireworks!" Sulkily, she added, "Well, the noise anyway. I wish we could be out when they set them off. Maybe they could put on a special show for us one night. After we entertain the people all day, I think we deserve it, just once. I've never seen the fireworks. I only hear them, right above our roof. They're so close I can just close my eyes and imagine all of the colors and sparks. But I know what I see with my mind's eye can't be nearly as beautiful as the real deal."
Jimmy grinned at her. Her conversations could be interesting when she wasn't babbling about boys. But he knew she was out there for the same reason he was. She was worried.
"Patty," he asked softly, "what do you'll think will happen to us?"
She folded her arms on the top of the fence and rested her chin on her wrist. Sighing, she gazed at Cinderella's castle. Her first reaction was just to say, "It'll be okay." All she wanted to do was comfort him, to give him some hope. But false hope could only add to the pain if the worst should happen. It was like their last days at Disneyland all over again; except this time there was no guarantee they would simply go somewhere else to entertain a new audience. This time, when they were shut down, they might never wake up.
Patricia didn't know what happened to defunct Characters, but every scenario her imagination presented terrified her. Were they dismantled? Simply stuck in another ride somewhere? What if they were put in some dark warehouse, left alone, in the dark, with no one to talk to except for their thoughts?
"Are you okay, Patty?"
She blinked, suddenly realizing she had been staring at the now blue castle. "I'm—I'm fine, Jimmy." Ruffling his brown hair fondly, she smiled as reassuringly as she could. "Honestly, I don't know what they'll do to us. We just have to keep faith. Papa's in a meeting right now, and I bet they've got a plan to keep us safe. You know he won't let anything bad happen."
"Yeah!" Jimmy grinned. "Everything's gonna be all right!"
Knowing she couldn't promise him that in good conscience, she just ruffled his hair again. Hoisting herself up, she put a leg over the fence and climbed down. "Come on!" she called. "Let's go to the arcade and play air hockey!"
"All right!" He scrambled over, landing a bit more roughly. They both laughed as his sister pulled him up, and together they raced to the Tomorrowland Arcade.
They had no idea what lurked in the shadows.
"Where do you think it could be?" Frankie asked, doubtful of this new course of action. She wanted to go back and check out The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh or Peter Pan's Flight. Both of those rides definitely had books in them. But maybe Isaac was onto something. Maybe it wouldn't be that obvious. Or it would be obvious in a way they didn't think was obvious, but upon reflection was really, really obvious.
She rubbed her temples. And if she didn't stop thinking like that, an impending headache was obvious.
"John reads a paper in the Carousel of Progress and a robot reads a magazine in the People Mover," Isaac listed.
"Tomorrowland Transit Authority," she corrected absentmindedly.
He huffed. "It's still the People Mover to me! Now, where to start…"
"Maybe we should ask around. There's a few pe—er Characters on the Indy Speedway." Peering in the darkness at three glowing figures, she affirmed, "It's the hitchhiking ghosts." Blinking her drying eyes, she added, "Stitch is there too. The ghosts look like they're trying to run him off the track."
"Nah," Isaac waved a hand. "I'm sure they're all good friends. What kind of grudges could they have?"
Just then, Ezra shouted, "Off the road, you merchandise hoggin' mutt!"
"Meega naga twista!" Stitch responded, shaking a fist. He then snorted back and hurled a wad of spit at the spirit.
"Ahh!" Ezra cried, trying to shake the goo off. "I've got alien loogie on me!"
"Well, I stand corrected," Isaac admitted, shocked.
As the two cast members walked away from the bizarre spectacle, hoping they wouldn't be noticed by the feuding four, Frankie commented, "I don't think it would be in the CoP. I'm sure John would have recognized it and said something earlier."
"Yeah," Isaac mumbled, chin in hand. Musing aloud, he said, "The Timekeeper would have been the perfect person to hold it. He could have put it anywhere in time for safekeeping. But he's gone now." He gestured to the building that formerly housed the Timekeeper show. Now it was Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor.
"Where do you think they go when they're gone?" asked Frankie softly.
Isaac shrugged. "Probably some warehouse. A bunch wind up in other rides."
"I wonder if the people who take them apart know they're alive. Does it hurt, you think? We only ever thought of them as robots, but what if it is painful having the fake skin pulled off and the wires taken out?"
Isaac involuntarily shuddered. "I never thought of it before." Pondering about it, he was reminded of his favorite former attraction in the Magic Kingdom, the ExtraTERRORestial Alien Encounter. The show had been the most frightening thing Disney had ever created. In it, you had been trapped in your seat as an alien accidentally brought in through a teleportation experiment gone wrong was loose in the theater. Bouncing harnesses had given the impression that it jumped on your shoulders while jets of air and nearby speakers convinced you it was sniffing you. At one point, the alien even "ate" a maintenance guy who had come in to check on you. The droplets of water spilling on the guests below made for perfect blood and spit. In the end, the alien was tricked into going back into the teleport tube and a malfunction caused him to explode, spraying the audience. Stitch's Great Escape was essentially the same, except a lot less dark, a lot less evil, and nobody was eaten alive or blown up.
As usual, whenever he passed by Alien Encounter's former home, Isaac had to pause and pay respects. But this time as he looked down below the Stitch sign and past the Fast Pass machines, he noticed something new. It was a door, a bland, plain door that looked as if it could be an emergency exit or a broom closet. The only thing about it that caught his attention was a freshly painted sign on it. "X-S Tech Leads Only."
He wondered if the sign was just homage. X-S Tech had been the not quite innocent futuristic corporation that had built the teleportation device. But what if it led to something greater than just a bunch of cleaning supplies? He was certain that door had not been there that morning. He had to find out what was behind it! It was as if a seductive voice was whispering in his ear, "Look! Go in! Go in! You'll find your answers here!" In fact, he could have sworn he actually had heard that. It was a sign! A clue!
Grinning, Isaac told Frankie, "Let's check this out! I've got a hunch we'll find something in here." He ducked under the Stitch metal queue rails and jogged over to the door. Waiting anxiously for her answer, he held his hand on the knob, but didn't turn it.
Frankie shrugged and trailed behind. "It couldn't hurt, I guess," she replied, a bit uncertainly. Her unease grew with a simple turn revealed the door to be unlocked.
"Maybe we were meant to find it," suggested Isaac. Frankie couldn't argue with that logic, but her unease grew as they descended down a flight of winding stairs into darkness.
Bricks of faded red looked even duller in the dim lamplight. The red, white, and blue hangings over the first story awning were almost invisible. But one thing shone and shimmered with just the slightest amount of light. Well, four things, numbers, but they made up one date that Liberty would never forget.
"1787," Jake read aloud, looking up at the Hall of Presidents.
"September 17, 1787," Liberty elaborated. "The day the United States Constitution was ratified."
It was strange walking into the waiting area without wearing her pink blouse and blue skirt. The air inside had its usual crispness. Even though she knew every nook and cranny, she still turned on the lights, just in case anything escaped her memory. The clean, blue carpet muffled their footsteps.
"I love the lobby," Liberty sighed. "There's just an air of…pride and dignity here. Just look at all of those magnificent portraits!" She gestured to the painted likenesses of presidents that circled the room.
"Hey, where's Dubya?" asked Jake. "I see paintings of everyone else."
"Oh, he's a bust over there." She pointed to the far left side of the room at a podium that accommodated the resemblance of George W. Bush.
"Two terms and all he gets is a bland, gray bust?" Jake cackled.
Ignoring any political comments, Liberty continued on, almost in a daze. "Just think, presidents have passed through here. Millions have come to hear the voices of the past."
The skipper let out an exaggerated gasp. "Billions of naps have been taken in this very theater!" But he felt a sting of guilt the instant the joke left his lips. It wasn't that Liberty was hurt at all by the comment. In fact, it appeared as if she had never heard it. She was gazing with awe at the case of memorabilia. It was filled with trinkets, photographs, plaques, and newspaper clippings, all things that had been important to understanding the personal lives of the nation's former leaders. The little smile she wore as her eyes took in every object made her glow with an inner light. He knew that glow, had seen it every time she was giving him one of her little historical anecdotes. It shined brightest when she was discussing her greatest passion. He loved it, wishing for the thousandth time that he could make her glow like that.
"We have to go into the auditorium," the redhead said, brushing past him.
"Huh?" Jake blinked, realizing he'd been once again adrift in the tumultuous sea of his thoughts.
With an arched eyebrow and a smirk, she joked, "You know, the place with the robots where people take naps?"
"Right. Sorry." So she had heard him. Feeling ashamed, he caught up with her and wondered if he should apologize or not. He opted to stay quiet. Side by side, they stepped through the navy blue curtains that separated the lobby from the show.
Once inside the theater, Liberty grew cautious. No, not cautious, Jake thought. Shy. Everything came to life once the park closed. That would have to include those men up on stage, hidden behind the shimmering turquoise curtain. Men who Liberty had wanted to have deep conversations with for years. This would be like a dream come true for her, except for the fact she couldn't stay and have all of her questions answered. They had a job to do, after all.
"Hello?" Liberty called out. "Is anyone…uh, sentient? We won't take much time. You see, we just need—"
To their astonishment, the curtain rolled up, its creak-a, creak-a, creak-a echoing in their silence. Once the stage was completely revealed, a deep, clear voice rang out, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Presidents of the United States!" The lights above the stage clicked on and radiated down upon the now breathing, shifting, blinking leaders. True to his usual routine, the narrator continued. "George Washington—"
"Oh, with all due respect, can it man! Or they'll be here all night!" Franklin D. Roosevelt snapped from his chair, grinning without a trace of malice in his voice.
"Visitors?" Teddy Roosevelt excitedly peeked around his comrades, trying to get a good look at the cast members. "Bully!"
"What is it you two young people need?" questioned Millard Fillmore, turning to face them. The gold pendant he wore caught the light, reflecting it off painfully into Andrew Jackson's eyes.
"For God's sake, take that damn thing off! I swear, every show the left half of the audience gets blinded by your bling!"
"Jackson! Watch your language. We have a lady present," Abe Lincoln reprimanded.
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest, angry that he'd been scolded. "You're just jealous that I'm on the twenty and you're only on the penny and the five."
"Yes, well, everyone carries a five dollar bill with no qualms," Lincoln shot back. Rising from his seat, he walked to the edge of the stage and greeted Liberty and Jake. "What can we do for you two?"
Liberty glanced nervously at Jake and he gave her an encouraging smile in return. He nodded gesturing that she should do the honors.
With a small gulp, she stepped forward. "Mr. President…" Every head turned and looked at her. "Sirs, we came to get a very special paper from you," she addressed all of the men on stage. "It's the Scroll of the Scholar. I believe it's hidden here." She was answered with confused, curious expressions, and whispers.
"Scroll?"
"We'd be aware of it!"
"Balderdash!"
"Silly girl doesn't know what's she talking about."
"Would you take off that stupid brooch, Fillmore?!"
But it was George Washington's voice that rang out sharpest. "Quiet, everyone. Give her a chance to speak!" He was sitting at a small, round table, covered in a long, elegant red tablecloth. At his right was an inkwell with a feather quill sticking out of it. He stood and then politely bowed. "What is your name, young lady?"
She stepped up onto the stage and then bowed respectfully in return. "Liberty Madison, Mr. Washington."
James Madison looked up at the mention and smiled smugly.
"And that's my friend, Jake Livingston." Jake waved. "We were sent by the Representatives of the Magic Kingdom to track down some objects. The scroll is the first and I'm sure it's in here." She looked down and then grinned. "In fact, I think I know exactly where it is."
In front of her, on Washington's table, was a sheet of parchment, the audience end of it rolled up slightly. No one could actually see it, even from the front row. For years she, and probably countless others, had just assumed it was the Declaration of Independence. "Excuse me a moment of presumptuousness, sir." Carefully she picked it up to read it. But a second later, her brow furrowed in confusion. "It's blank."
Sadly, Jake offered, "Maybe it's just a prop. I'm sure we can find the real scroll if we keep looking."
"Wait!" Words, written in beautiful calligraphy, slowly began to materialize on the page. As they appeared, shiny as wet ink, she read it aloud. "The words of the true Scholar awakens the Scroll."
"It's voice activated," Jake chuckled.
Liberty laughed, partly at his joke and partly in relief and amazement. "I can't believe it," she whispered, her face aglow in her triumph. Looking up at the others, she breathed, "Thank you."
Washington shrugged. "When that was placed in here years ago, I had no idea what it was."
Lincoln smiled knowingly. "Well Mr. Disney and his team never put in any detail simply for show. Everything has a reason."
Nodding, Liberty quietly agreed. After tonight, no one would need to convince her that Disney magic existed. Turning, she was about to walk off stage, but stopped. "Mr. Lincoln, may I ask you a question?"
"Yes, go ahead young lady."
She stepped up to him. Hardly able to hold it back, she blurted out breathlessly, "I thought you might have a good opinion on this. I mean, you were Walt's favorite president. What's your opinion on the message of the show?" She waited anxiously for his answer.
"Hmm," he pondered it, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "We must always be conscious of people's sensitivities and wants. The great thing about this land is that it is an ever-changing nation, and we try to make amends for our mistakes. But some apologies aren't going to cover everything. Some wounds take a long time to heal. We have to be reminded every so often of our past wrongs, because without those reminders, we'll make the same mistakes again. But, if you do not look towards the future and always dwell in the past, then the future isn't promising and there's no hope for improvement. Yes, it's always wonderful looking at the positive side of everything, but sometimes, the negative must be seen."
Liberty cleared her throat nervously. "That was very insightful, sir, and wonderfully put. But I was, uh, referring to the historically inaccurate bits and the segments that were removed."
"Oh." He blinked. Then he smiled sheepishly. "Well, I have to admit, that was kind of a bull honkey answer, miss. I haven't actually paid attention to the preshow in decades. I always nap until my name is called. I lived through that time. I don't need to have someone tell me what my life was like."
"You want my opinion?" Andrew Jackson asked. "Political correctness sucks!"
"No one asked your opinion!" Harry Truman snapped. "And quit using that stupid modern slang. You say you're trying to be an 'Everyman' but you just come off sounding like a total idiot!"
This started off a round of arguments by the entire two back rows of presidents.
"I think this would be a good time to leave," Liberty whispered to Jake.
"Wait, just one moment. I have a question too." Springing up on stage, Jake stood between Washington and Lincoln, an arm around a shoulder of both. "If you can't tell a lie," he pointed at the first president, "then why are you," he looked at the sixteenth, "called Honest Abe?"
Washington's face went completely blank. "I…I don't know."
Lincoln looked equally baffled. "You got me there."
Jake nodded, content even without an answer. "Thanks gentlemen. That'll be all." He once again joined Liberty on the floor. "Okay, we can go."
Liberty tried to scowl at him but instead found herself laughing. "Come on." She put a hand on his back and led him away. "Let's get Frankie and Isaac. They're probably wondering how we're doing."
Jake nodded, but was only half listening, distracted by his thoughts. She laughed! I made her laugh at a history joke! Keep going Jakey boy. Maybe you can get two in a row! As they walked out into the street, he commented, "I know the roll call is already getting pretty long, but maybe they could add another touch to it."
"Like what?" They stopped under a window with two lanterns on the sill. Both were lit.
"Like, after each name, they could have some little quip that pertains to the president's term. For example, after Truman, they could have a guy shout, 'Give 'em hell, Harry!' That way you could warp the minds of a ton of impressionable children; although Disney would probably just change it to "Give 'em fudge, Harry!" or something." He brightened. "Hey, with that slogan, Harry could have his own stand then outside of the theater. 'Truman's Fudge!' It would give everyone a needed sugar rush after walking out."
He was delighted to hear her laugh again. "You should go into marketing, Jake. Disney would probably cash in on it right away if it meant a few extras dollars."
Even with the lamplight shining down on her, he could tell she was glowing, and she had this smile that he'd never seen before. It wasn't like her usual smile, the one she mostly used around guests, where the ends of her lips went completely up. This smile was slightly more relaxed, with the left side up higher than the right and her eyebrows were furrowed in the middle, giving her this adorable expression. It made his heart flutter.
"You always know how to make me laugh, Jake."
"I love making you laugh."
The streets seemed so dark and calm now, a great contrast to the post party after the park had just closed. Celebrating had died down as Characters went inside their homes to carry on quieter conversations. Jake and Liberty had unconsciously moved closer together in their little pool of light, their foreheads almost touching. For almost of a minute of silence they stood there, just looking at one another, as if each was finally seeing something they had never spotted before.
It was Liberty who shattered the stillness. "We should, uh, get the others and get back to our little quest." She cleared her throat and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
Jake pulled himself up, noticing that he had leaned down towards her. "Yeah." Remembering their find, he asked, "Does the scroll say anything else? A clue for our next objective?"
"Let me see." She took the paper out of her pocket and unrolled it. "There's enough light here and there that I can make it out on our way to Fantasyland." As they passed by the Sleepy Hollow snack stand, she remarked, "It seemed too easy."
"What do you mean?"
"Finding this. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. But usually there's some monster to face or deadly traps. Just seems odd."
"Yeah. Let's not jinx it." Jerking a thumb back to the counter service window, he joked, "What would come after us here anyway? A killer funnel cake?"
"Well that powdered sugar's pretty vicious if you accidentally inhale it."
"Snort!"
"I don't think I've ever heard you laugh so hard you snorted," Liberty jibed.
"I didn't snort," Jake said, confused. "I thought it was you."
"It wasn't."
A sound that made their hair stand on end echoed across the stone path. Clip-clop, clip-clop…As one, they slowly turned, coming face to face with a couple of pitch-black cavernous flared nostrils set in a long snout that led up to a pair of blood red eyes. Craning their necks back, their view continued on to pointed ears and a wild ebony mane. Then the beast's rider towered above all of them, his crimson cape flowing down to his leather boots. At his side dangled a long, glistening, curved sword. His high, pointed collar was where he ended.
"Washington Irving's ghost!" Liberty gasped.
"In a manner of speaking," squeaked Jake.
Coming to the end of the staircase, Isaac stopped, causing Frankie to nearly bump into him. He held his flashlight aloft, rotating his wrist slowly. The room appeared to be some kind underground warehouse. Undecorated, the walls were merely block and the floor was scuffed tile. To the far right were boxes, shelves with what looked like parts of machinery on them, and the start of a trail of wires. Following the red and blue cords, he traced them up and into an all too familiar looking tall, glass cylinder. It had long ago been broken, a gaping, jagged hole left on the side of it. Quicker now, he ran the beam until it came to rest in the left corner of the room.
"It can't be!" Isaac ran forward, Frankie trailing close behind to be near the light. In his excitement he nearly crashed into the counter he was running to. Running a hand over the curving top, around multitudes of buttons and, knobs, and levers, he wiped off a thick layer of dust. "Holy Han Solo! I had no idea this would be down here! I thought it got reused in Stitch!"
Frankie sneezed. Sniffling pitifully, she asked, "What is it?"
Lowering his hand, he illuminated a detail on the front of the desk. Two sharp, intertwining letters spelled simply "XS." "It was from the Alien Encounter preshow. Which means that behind it should be…" He whipped the flashlight up to reveal something slumped over. It looked skeletal, but it had a gold and black metallic form that glittered in the artificial glow.
Frankie peered closely at it. "Is—is it…dead?"
Shaking his head, Isaac briskly stepped behind the limp form. "Not dead, just off." He tried opening up the thing's eyes, but they remained firmly shuttered closed. "I wonder…"
Tentatively exploring the area, the princess found another tube to the right of the counter. Something was curled up in it, but despite pressing her face against the glass, she couldn't make out what it was in the dark. Turning, she could see another cylinder on the other side. "Isaac this place creeps me out!"
"Just a second," he grumbled, his speech muffled. "I think I can get him workin' again!" Holding the flashlight in his mouth, he tinkered in the back of the still robot's skull. "Ha! I've got it! They don't call me 'The Wizard' for nothing!" Holding up two wires, he smugly chanted, "Higitus figitus!" In a flash of sparks as the wires connected, the techno savvy C. M. was flung to the floor in a twitching, coughing heap.
With a whir, the machine jerked to life. It opened its yellow round eyes and surveyed the couple suspiciously. Then it lifted its arms and smoothly waggled each of its ten, long black fingers.
Patting out the smoke coming from the tips of his hair, Isaac wheezed, "Just needed some love!" Proud and grinning from ear to ear, he pushed himself up and sauntered over to the awakened audio animatronic. "How're you doing?"
The metal man dropped his large jaw and droned, "Wel-wel-wel-wel-wel-welcome, to X. S.! Hmm." After working his mouth around for a moment, he cheerfully greeted, "Hello! I'm S. I. R. You might remember me from such past attractions as The ExtraTERRORestial Alien Encounter!" Then he shut his mouth, his mechanics buzzing like a hive of hornets. When he spoke again, it was in a low, British accented baritone voice rather than the upbeat American one. "Oooh," he groaned. "My aching receptors."
Clicking and whirring, he looked at each cast member. "Goodness gracious me! Hmm hmm, visitors! And who might you darling young Earthlings be?" He chuckled, a dark nasal sound.
"Greetings! I'm Isaac and this is Francine. I was wondering if maybe you could tell us where we could find a special object."
Frankie leaned close to Isaac and hissed, "How would be know, though? He's been a defunct animatronic for a few years now."
"Audio animatronic," the robot corrected. "But you can call me S. I. R."
"Sir?" asked Frankie.
Snootily, he explained, "That's S. I. R." tapping the air for each letter. "It stands for Simulated Intelligence Robotics."
A light, shuddering at first but quickly stabilizing, turned on above the first small glass tube. Inside a creature, peach and fuzzy, lay curled up, snoring softly. When Frankie couldn't help but let out a little coo of "Aw!" at the sight of him, he slowly raised his head, revealing a long, elephant like snout. Blinking his big black eyes blearily, he twitched his antenna forward and sat on his haunches. Putting four purple paws to the glass, he squeaked.
"Ugh," S. I. R. groaned, disgusted. "You woke him up."
In a soft burble, the creature mumbled in its squeaky language.
"What do you want, Skippy?!" S. I. R. shouted.
"Eberrt ishIwannagetowt."
"Aww, now why would you want out? Don't you want to stay with me, your best friend?" the ominous automaton gushed.
Shaking his head furiously and shrieking, Skippy waved his four arms in a wild "No!" gesture.
"Oh, look at his enthusiasm!" S. I. R. pretended to ignore Skippy's insult. "Isn't he just precious? I just love little Scrubby so much that I think I'll give him a treat." Searching among the expansive control panel, S. I. R. found a button and pleasantly pushed it, beaming.
"Ah," S. I. R. sighed, "the wonders of the X. S. Tech teleportation technology." In Skippy's tube, the lights began to flash.
"Uh oh!" Skippy burbled.
"This is phase one of the process," S. I. R. explained. "Our little friend is broken down into a mass of molecules, and I send those molecules through the air above your heads, and reconstruct them in the tube over here as good as new." With a screech of protest, Skippy vanished. "Now the disintegration into molecular components." He looked up and Frankie and Isaac did too.
"Wonkavision!" Isaac pointed.
"Oh, poor Skippy!" Frankie cried.
"Don't worry, it's practically painless," S. I. R. assured her right before the invisible, hovering Skippy bits began screaming. "And now the second phase. The molecules are beamed to the receiving chamber where atom by atom we reconstruct our carefree traveler." The other tube filled with smoke and flashing lights. From his feet up, a shadow of Skippy appeared. As his form became more solid, the smoke began to clear.
Now visible, Skippy's eyes were rolling around in his head and he hacked out high-pitched coughs. His peach fur was smoldering and he glowed as if he'd become radioactive.
"And here's the little Skipper now." Somehow managing to look sarcastic without proper mouth muscles or even eyebrows, S. I. R. waved Skippy's whines of pain aside with a casual flick of the wrist. "Don't worry Scruffy, you're not burned; you've just got a healthy glow."
Running over to the clear container, Frankie tried her best to soothe Skippy with a sympathetic look and a caring hand placed on the glass. He put his paw in the middle of her palm and whimpered. "How could you be so cruel?" she demanded, glaring fiercely at S. I. R. "What has this little guy ever done to you? He's got more life and a greater soul than you can ever have, you heartless collection of cogs!"
Isaac looked from S. I. R. to Skippy and Frankie. He'd never thought of the jokes as malicious before. During the preshow, all of the torture at the cuddly alien's expense had been funny to him. These were just machines after all, weren't they? He thought back to their meeting with the Representatives and what Frankie had asked just minutes earlier.
Standing by Frankie's side, he gave Skippy an encouraging lopsided smile. No, they weren't just robots. If John's grief was any indication, yes, they did feel pain. "Hang in there, Skippy."
"Oh, I know what this is!" S. I. R. just oozed condescension. "This is that 'compassion'," he made quote marks with his fingers, "thing you humans are so well known for. Delightful! I'd doubted it even existed." He grinned.
"I'm so moved by this that I'll ask you what it is you need help finding and I'll do my best to get it for you!"
The cast members were too busy thanking S. I. R. to notice Skippy waving his arms again.
"It's a scroll," Frankie explained. "The Scroll of the Scholar. We don't know much about it."
"Well, let me see what I can do for you!" S. I. R. pushed a series of buttons. The lights went off, leaving them with nothing but the flashlight beam. Nearby, there was a low, metal shriek, like a manhole cover being slid aside.
Skippy hid his face under his paws. "Uh oh!"
"What was that?" asked Isaac worriedly.
S. I. R. chuckled, a low rumble in his short, hollow throat. "Oh, I see you shiver in antici…"
Heavy footsteps plodded in their direction, making the two mortals turn, their pounding hearts almost drowning out the thuds.
"Not good!" Isaac's voice cracked. "Definitely not good! Stairs! Head for the stairs!" They booked, pushing the sound of flapping wings out of their minds. All they focused on was the flight to safety.
Merely a couple of feet away from their escape, an eight-foot tall monstrosity landed heavily, its weight making the floor tremble.
"…pation. Oh, dear," the robot drawled, "I seem to have accidentally let out my old friend. My, how did that happen? Oh well."
Lobster like claws snapped in their faces threateningly, a silent assertion that this thing could indeed snap their necks in twain and would love to oblige. Drool dripped down its lower jaw as it hissed and showed off its impressive fangs. Neither the long, reptilian face nor the bright red eyes showed any emotion other than an insatiable primal hunger. Pupils, black and narrow like a viper's, fixated on the two cast members as a low growl rumbled in its brown, shelled chest. Its body was like that of a roach, with multiple strong legs helping to hold its bizarrely lengthy body upright.
The humans stood frozen in fear as the alien bent down and sniffed them. It snorted, splattering Frankie and Isaac. "Mmm." A pointed tongue slid out and licked its lipless muzzle. Chattering like a swarm of cicadas, it opened its mouth again, this time wide enough to show off multiple rows of teeth. Then it suddenly shrieked an unearthly howl, flaring tattered fins that had laid flat against its neck and around its head.
With a claw, it broke the flashlight Isaac held, leaving them in darkness. Then, with another eerie battle cry, launched into the air.
It wasn't content with just a meal. It wanted to play with its prey first!
S. I. R. cackled. "Bon voyage!"
A/N: Kudos to people who picked up the Kingdom Keepers references in the last chapter!
Some of S. I. R.'s dialogue is from the Alien Encounter show.
Although the attraction is now Stitch's Great Escape, Skippy does have a cameo in the preshow.
Trivia Time: Lines specifically attributed to two certain actors are said by S. I. R. in the chapter. One is the late great Phil Hartman, who voiced the character when the show opened. The other is Tim Curry, who voiced the malicious mechanical man after the attraction went into refurbishment in the mid '90s.