“I wouldn’t know. We wear the same thing every day.”
“You should see the laundry on the Dream,” Maybeck said, having seen it himself. “It’s all computerized. A freak show. You show up, they read the stuff you’re turning in, and it automatically tells them what to give you next. They gave me this,” Maybeck said, indicating his garb.
“Yeah? Well, welcome to the insanity. What’s your assignment today?”
“Trash,” Maybeck said without hesitation. He had to figure anyone joining an established staff would start at the bottom.
“Figures.”
“No kidding.”
“My advice,” the guy said, “rebag it the second you take it out of the can. The crabs get in there somehow—don’t ask me how—and chew holes in the bag.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Be glad you got trash duty. I have to walk the CO2 lines looking for breaks.”
“The what?” Maybeck said.
“Mosquito control. They’re attracted to carbon dioxide.”
“I didn’t know that. I always thought it was heat.”
“Carbon dioxide coming through your skin. Anyway, the way they control them here is this network of tubes all over the island that emit the gas. The mosquitoes go for the tubes, which are poisonous, and they’re snuffed. Pretty slick.”
“I’ll say.”
“But we’re having problems with the tubes, so yours truly has to walk the lines checking valves. And by ‘walking the lines,’ I’m talking about every swamp and bog on the island.”
“You do something to deserve that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Got my degree in entomology. I’m the guy in charge of the system.”
“You’re a what?”
“A bug guy. I majored in bugs.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t get me started. Six years of college serious.”
“Carbon dioxide?”
“Saves spraying the island with toxins. The company is way greener than people know. This island is heading to full solar and wind.”
“What would cause the problems with the tubes?” Keepers were trained to be alert to unusual changes in the parks, or problems; that extended to Castaway Cay. “Something chewed through it?”
“No, that’s the thing. We have pressure sensors all along the system because of its miles of tubing. The computers log the sensor reports. We had incidents of pressure loss followed by normality. Two o’clock in the morning, the thing stops working for an hour. Right when we need it. We go out and check it the next morning and it’s fine. Makes no sense.”
“Different locations?” Maybeck asked.
The guy looked at him curiously. “Why do you care?”
“I’m a problem solver,” Maybeck said.
“You’re trying to get off trash duty.”
“That too,” Maybeck said, allowing a faint smile. “Could you use an assistant?”
“I’ll tell you what: there’s nothing to do on trash duty until after lunch. I can get you back by then.”
“For real?”
“If you want to. It’s not pleasant. There’s a lot of muck and mud—”
“And mosquitoes,” Maybeck said.
“The size of sparrows,” the guy said.
“I’m in.”
* * *
Following the instructions on the note he’d received, Finn stood at the edge of the stingray beach, wondering if he was really going to do this. The idea was to wade in, knee deep, and approach a Cast Member at one of the many stations where you could pet and feed stingrays. He was okay with the wading part, not so thrilled about the touching the fish part.
But the girl at the left station was Storey Ming, and she was staring right at him. Finn had told no one about the meeting, honoring her request in the note. Now reluctance tugged at him. Why couldn’t she have picked the waterslide or the Jet Skis? Why’d it have to be here?
There were guests waiting in line to wade out to the stations. Dressed as a Cast Member, Finn had the privilege of jumping the line. Storey Ming’s eyes bore into him, imploring him to do just that. He relented, stepping into the cool water and wading out.
“I’m training you,” Storey Ming said softly, “just in case anyone should ask, which they won’t. So look awestruck. I’m a very good teacher.”
There was a white plastic track just below the surface. The stingrays were trained to enter the track and move station to station, where they were fed and petted. Being fed kept them interested in entering the track. It was a good system for all concerned.
Finn petted several—it felt way cooler than he’d thought it would. Then Storey Ming handed him some pellets and told him to hold his hand very steady, palm up. The next stingray swam over his arm and he felt a sucking, kissing sensation on his hand. The food pellets were no longer there when the stingray moved on.