Robots vs. Fairies(6)
The tunnel shifted as they neared the top of the stairs, turning translucent, less like coral and more like the delicate shell of a chambered nautilus. It was designed to let ambient light through; during the day, the whole structure seemed to glow. Clover didn’t point any of those things out. This was a standing structure, and its costs had already long since been absorbed by the Park’s overall budget. Unless Mr. Tillman was going to call for closing the Mermaid Grotto entirely, the schematics of the entryway didn’t matter.
They stepped outside, onto the viewing platform. The ground here was textured rubber, designed to look as much like sand as possible while providing a no-slip surface for the guests. A coral “wall” surrounded the central pool, tall enough that even the most ambitious of climbers would be caught before they could go over, low enough that all but the youngest guests could see the water. Holes were drilled toward the base for the very youngest, providing them with a mermaid’s-eye view. Pearls glittered everywhere, embedded in the walls on all sides, gleaming like stars.
At the center of the pool was a faux-coral island, colored pink and orange and purple, like some sort of childhood dream. And on the island were the mermaids.
There had been a few complaints about the Park mermaids. That they were “difficult to tell apart,” which made it harder for children to find their favorites: all eight had skin in varying shades of blue, with tails scaled in shades ranging from pearly gray to deep purple. Their hair was uniformly white, and their faces, while pretty, were not quite human. They fell solidly into the uncanny valley for many adult guests. The children loved them, and couldn’t spend enough time standing in the Grotto, staring openmouthed at the figures darting through the water.
Even Mr. Tillman seemed taken aback when he saw them, stopping in his tracks and staring. He recovered quickly, however, and demanded, “What are those? They don’t look like Franklin Company mermaids.”
“Skin tones don’t hold up well underwater; they start to look artificial within a week, due to algae buildup,” said Clover. The mermaids continued to lounge on their island, although several cast barely concealed looks at the pair. Stay where you are, Clover prayed. “And the hair is made up of microfilament wire. It moves in a natural way, without getting tangled the way that real hair does.”
“You could save a great deal on maintenance costs by replacing the microfilament with molded plastic,” said Mr. Tillman, making a note on his clipboard. He still seemed oddly shaken. Maybe he was one of those humans who’d seen a mermaid when he was young and had never quite managed to forget the experience. “Most amusement parks of this size use sculpted hair for their animatronics, to avoid the expenses that you’ve been incurring.”
Clover’s heart sank. She tried not to let it show as she said, “Most amusement parks don’t put the focus we do on realistic animatronic interactions. When children leave Dreamland, we want them saying that they’ve seen real mermaids, not that they saw a pretty robot that swam like a fish.”
“But they are pretty robots. Whether they swim like fish, I couldn’t say, since their AI is apparently inadequate.” Mr. Tillman fixed her with a cool look. “Don’t forget that what you’re crafting here is not reality, Miss . . . ?”
“Clover,” she said. “Just Clover. If you’d follow me, please?” She turned on her heel and stalked away without waiting to see whether he was coming. Mr. Tillman glanced back at the mermaids, apparently unsettled, before hurrying after her.
The mermaids turned and watched him go.
*
In short order, Mr. Tillman declared the Unicorn Meadows “a waste of both space and resources,” the Mythical Creatures Petting Zoo “unrealistic and unhygienic,” and the Sphinx’s Library “a dull accident of overambitious design.” Privately, Clover thought he would have found the Library substantially less boring if the resident sphinx had been awake, but as she’d get in trouble if she didn’t bring him back alive, she hadn’t pressed the alarm.
Finally they were approaching the Pixie Glen, and Clover’s last chance to make this soulless bean counter understand the wonder the Park was designed to invoke. If he didn’t understand when he saw the Mother Tree, he was never going to.
They passed through the curtain of branches that kept the pixies from getting out and spilling throughout the Park, and stopped. Clover snuck a glance at Mr. Tillman’s face and was relieved to see him wide-eyed and staring at the brightly lit little figures flitting around the tree. None of the pixies were on fire, even, which was a nice change.
Then his expression hardened. “It’s the butterflies all over again,” he said. “Why do they need to fly so far from their base? They’re adding nothing to the area, but the expense has got to be—”
Clover couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded. She spread her arms, trying to indicate the whole Glen at once. “How can you stand here and not see how magical and important this place is? Our guests come here to get their sense of wonder and joy renewed.”
“Yes, and if we take out three of these attractions, the guests will be able to have their sense of wonder and joy renewed by a seven-story drop and a high-speed roller coaster. Attendance is down. I’m going to find ways to fix that. Unicorns are not the answer.”
If you’d said that while we were still in their part of the Park, you’d be finding out just how much of the answer a unicorn can be, Clover thought, almost dizzily. Aloud, she asked, “Is that what you’ve been writing on your little clipboard? That we should be ripping out our attractions and replacing them with some mechanical monstrosity that will break down all the damn time, just because it might give guests a thrill?”