Quozl (39 page)

Chad stared at him. “You're not just crazy. You're certifiable.”

“There is no such place,” Mindy said with finality.

“Oh but there is, sweets. A place where everyone blends in. A place where the out-of-the-ordinary doesn't stand out. Not even a Quozl.

“A place called—Disneyland!”

XIX.

M
INDY STARED AT
Chad. He considered his sister. That left Arlo to do the talking.

“It's a park,” he explained to the puzzled Quozl. “A special kind of park. People there dress up in costumes, like your scarves and jewelry, only more so, to look like imaginary characters. Don't you get it? You're already known as animated characters from the
Quozltime
show. The humans who go to this place expect to see something like you walking around. Everyone will assume that you're short skinny humans in special costumes. They'll have to, because they can't assume anything else. You can ask whatever questions you want to ask, act however you like, without anyone even suspecting that you're visitors from another world. The only problem you'll have is that little kids will want to have their pictures taken with you.”

“We're not visitors.” Runs-red-Talking corrected him politely but firmly. “I was born here. Shiraz is my world too.”

“Shiraz, yeah. I like that. Has a swell exotic feel to it. What do you say? Ready to go?” He concluded with a prideful flourish. “I can even get us comp tickets.”

Runs-red-Talking pondered several minutes before turning to Chad. “What do you say, old friend? What do you think we should do?”

“I think it's the craziest thing I ever heard of.” He took a deep breath. “I also think it might work.” Arlo looked vindicated. “If there's one place on the planet where Quozl might be able to walk around incognito, as it were, Disneyland's it. The only problem is that your English is almost
too
good.”

“That's right,” said Mindy. This is wild, she thought, absolutely wild. She regretted having missed the exact moment when they'd crossed over into unreality. “You have to talk like this,” and she forced herself to speak in a high, childish squeal.

Seams-with-Metal listened carefully. “I have studied broadcasts from many parts of your country, but that is an inflection I do not recognize.”

“It's not a human accent. It's the way the Quozl sound on my show.”

“It sounds ridiculous,” said Seams with great dignity. “It is too loud and too sharp. Another Quozl would find it degrading and impolite.”

“But you're not going to be talking to other Quozl. You're going to be talking to humans. Kids will expect you to talk like that. It'll help you maintain your anonymity.”

Seams-with-Metal's expression twitched. She considered thoughtfully, then said something in a perfectly puerile comic voice. “Is that what you had in mind?”

“That's perfect, that's remarkable!” exclaimed Mindy. “Even better than the professionals who do the show.”

“How about that?” Chad's tone was desert dry. “Maybe they can even get a job doing voices for you.” He wondered if his sister realized they were dealing with a galaxy-sized incongruity. “They're very good mimics.”

“I can talk that way also.” Runs promptly demonstrated. “Tell me, do I sound sufficiently like a Quozl?”

Mindy was properly abashed. “All right, lay off. Though I suppose I had it coming.”

“I'll drive.” Arlo headed for the garage. “My Eldo's got smoked windows.” He smiled at the two Quozl. “You guys can sit in back and look out without anybody spotting you. Once we get there it won't matter.”

It was a weekday and the gigantic parking lot was more than half empty. Mindy and Chad exited the car full of apprehension, but Arlo was in high spirits. Runs-red-Talking and Seams-with-Metal joined them, having put aside their camouflage clothing.

As they emerged from the car, a station wagon overflowing with two families cruised past, the driver hunting for just the right parking place. Children gestured in the direction of the Cadillac and its occupants. One mother smiled and waved.

“See,” Arlo told them delightedly. “Everybody accepts you for what you look like, but nobody knows you for what you really are. It'll be like that all day.”

They picked up their special tickets at guest relations, which enabled them to enter quietly without having to stand in line at the regular turnstiles. One guard eyed them uncertainly but allowed them to pass without comment at a whisper from Arlo. Chad was sure he could feel the man's eyes on his back as they passed beneath the train bridge and into the park proper.

Seams and Runs were beginning to relax. They found the park fascinating but less so than its inhabitants. For the first time they were surrounded by humans, and they were trying to absorb everything at once. Languages and colors, shapes and sizes, actions and reactions. Despite Chad's warnings Seams-with-Metal finally couldn't stand it any longer. She extracted her recorder from her belt and began making records of their surroundings.

His concern proved unnecessary. No one paid her any attention, though she did draw an occasional curious glance from one or two camera buffs since the device she was using more closely resembled a crystal ashtray than a camcorder.

“Everything in your culture is repressed,” Runs commented. “There is no place for proper sublimation except in your games. As these involve actual physical contact they would not be suitable for Quozl. They are in any event insufficient for your psychological needs because they truly help only those who participate in them. You must listen to our philosophers, Chad. They can help your people.”

“Great idea!” Arlo was watching the crowd, reveling in the success of his suggestion. “We'll get your philosophers a show of their own, prime time. They'll put Dr. Ruth and Donahue on the sidelines.”

“Slow down.” Chad didn't share the other man's enthusiasm. “Formal contact has to come first, then wider public exposure.”

“Wrongo, Chad. You got it backward. Don't you know anything about popular culture?”

“Only what I read in the papers and see on the tube.”

Arlo was satisfied. “Precisely my point.”

By that afternoon even Chad was starting to relax a little and enjoy the excursion. From time to time Seams-with-Metal would seek out a secluded corner. The others would screen her while she relayed up-to-date details of their progress back to the Council in Idaho. The failed episode with the bomb had already been discussed and discarded. Perhaps some on the Council regretted her failure, but they did not linger on it. The Quozl accepted, and moved on.

Her communicator seemed much too small to Chad to be capable of linking with a communications satellite high in orbit. Runs explained that the technology involved utilizing any nearby reflective surface to boost signal strength. Metal was best but glass or plastic would do.

As Arlo had predicted, passing children squealed delightedly when they caught sight of two of their favorite characters. They swarmed over the Quozl, deluging them with questions, running their tiny fingers through short soft fur, and demanding to have their pictures taken with them. Parents smilingly obliged, marveling aloud at the detail and quality of the two costumes.

“Aren't you hot in there?” one asked Runs-red-Talking.

“In where?” Runs looked frantically to Chad for help.

“In that costume.” The plump, red-faced visitor from Iowa kept trying to see behind Runs, squinting in his search for invisible zippers and fasteners.

“He's used to it,” said Chad hastily. “He's from a hot climate.”

“Yeah, well, I hope he's getting paid right. Looks pretty uncomfortable from here. A real tight fit.”

“It is,” Runs admitted agreeably.

Later they stood and relaxed beneath the trees of the central square. The crowd swirled around them. Seams-with-Metal had put up her recorder.

“I think they truly like us.”

“Of course they like you.” Mindy was holding Arlo's hand. “Most of these kids have been watching you cavort on tv for years. They know that all Quozl are cute, cuddly, and helpful.”

“And stupid,” Chad couldn't resist adding.

His sister frowned at him. “Not at all. It's a kids' show, so the Quozl portrayed have to function on a level kids can understand.”

They did have trouble with one middle-aged man who stared long and hard at the Quozl while his three children briefly clustered around them. As his wife led the kids away, he lingered behind. Chad noticed him staring and sidled over to him as Arlo and Mindy walked off with Runs and Seams.

“Something interesting?”

“What?” The man blinked at him, then nodded in the direction of the retreating Quozl. “Did you get a look at those two costumes?”

“Oh, the Quozl? Yeah. My friends and I know the actors wearing them.”

“You do? Well, you tell them those are the best damn costumes I ever saw. I'm in makeup and effects professionally. I watched them while they were talking and I've never seen an oral prosthesis that good, not even Rick Baker's stuff. You can see right down their throats.”

“They are good jobs, aren't they?” Chad's voice fell to a whisper. “Don't say anything to anybody, but we're trying out some new things, to see how acceptable they are to kids. You know, how well they fool them, like that.”

“They fooled me.”

A voice made him turn, reluctantly. His wife was yelling at him to come and help with the kids. He vanished in the opposite direction, still looking over his shoulder as his family tugged him away. To Chad's great relief they did not encounter him again.

As it turned out it wasn't someone well versed in makeup or costuming who finally confronted them later that evening as they entered the fantasy animal world of Adventureland. He wore a large safari suit, immaculately cleaned and pressed, and was accompanied by a slimmer gentleman who looked out of place in suit and tie. They came up quietly on Chad and his companions as they studied the bric-a-brac for sale in one of the innumerable gift shops.

“Excuse me? Are you all together?”

Startled, Mindy eyed the man in the business suit. “Yes, we are.” Her brows drew together. “Who are you?” She noticed the large individual in the safari suit. He was standing behind them, screening the encounter from the rest of the crowd.

“We're with park security.” The man's tone was courteous, his demeanor pleasant. “We'd appreciate it if you'd come with us.”

Chad looked around, panicked, but there was nowhere to run. Not that it mattered. If they did bolt, park security could be all over them in minutes. And the same fence that kept people from sneaking into the park would surely be adequate to prevent anyone from slipping out.

Runs-red-Talking and Seams-with-Metal could easily outrun any human, but they would hardly be better off lost in the wilds of downtown Anaheim. What Chad couldn't figure out was what had gone wrong.

“Excuse me, sir, but have we broken some kind of law?” Arlo stepped forward. “We're not doing anything wrong here that I can see. We're just enjoying the park like everyone else.”

“Not quite.” The security man pointed at Runs and Seams. “These two are supposed to be Quozl, aren't they?”

To his credit Arlo didn't hesitate. “Well, sure. Lots of kids like to dress up. So do these two. Something wrong with that?”

“
Quozltime
,” the man explained as solemnly as if he was reading out a writ for murder, “is not produced by or in any way connected with the Disney organization. Quozl are not licensed Disney characters. Consequently we feel they are more than just out of place in the park.”

“Geezus.” Arlo slapped his forehead. “I didn't think of that.” He turned on Mindy. “How come you didn't think of that, sweets?”

She stood numbly, unable to formulate a reply.

“We'd appreciate it if you'd come with us, please,” the security man was saying. “Quietly, so as not to disturb any of the other patrons.”

“Hey, we're sorry, we apologize.” Arlo was talking fast but Chad feared it would be neither facile nor fast enough. “We didn't think this would upset anybody, really. Why not just let us leave?”

“I'm afraid it's not quite that simple. You've been under surveillance for a while. We've observed children run up to you asking for autographs and to have pictures taken with you. We need to find out why you're here, if you're doing this on your own or if there's some commercial purpose to your presence. Promoting another studio's production on our property, for example.”

“Hey, it's nothing like that, really,” said Arlo desperately. “We're just here because …”

The voice that interrupted him was high and squeaky. “We didn't give any autographs,” Runs insisted.

The security man eyed him strangely. “That's very good, but you don't have to stay in character any longer.”

“We're not promoting anything,” Mindy insisted.

“No?” The man in the safari suit pointed at Seams-with-Metal. “What do you call those?”

“Quozl,” said Seams, trying to help and not knowing what else to say.

“Really quite good.” The other man murmured to Arlo. “I have to insist you come with us.”

For once Arlo had nothing to say. Chad stepped forward. “Okay, we'll come with you. I'm sure we can clear all this up in a few minutes.”

The security maven smiled again. “I'm sure we can.”

They were escorted through the crowd to a back room, thence down a set of stairs into an underground passageway. Crowd noises were replaced by the sounds of workers chatting and the soft hum of electric carts moving supplies and people from one end of the park service complex to another. Runs-red-Talking whispered to Chad.

“Very pleasant. Barren, but otherwise not unlike parts of my Burrow.”