If the ship performed a video dump at night, sending the 365 to the company’s studio, the huge bandwidth requirements could diminish the quality of Amanda and Jess as DHIs. Philby was trying to figure things out in order to avoid complications.
Bob touched his ear. “Did not copy!” The man listened intently. “Roger that.”
He looked at the two boys quizzically. “Okay, so what’s going on?”
The boys offered only puzzled expressions.
“If it was an accident, I need to know that right now. If it’s found to be vandalism and you’re trying to pull my chain, heads are going to roll.”
“We don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” Philby said.
“Don’t mess with me.”
“Not happening,” Finn said. “No clue.”
Bob studied them. “The condition of the Buzz Lightyear balloon the last time you saw it? And I advise you to think carefully before giving me your answer.”
The boys stared at each other, dumbfounded.
“If I’m hearing you,” Philby said, “you’re telling us something’s happened to the balloon?”
“The longer you mess with me,” Bob said, “the deeper the hole you dig.”
“We’re not messing with you,” Finn said. “Give us a lie detector test or whatever, but when we last saw that parade balloon it was inflated and secured to the ceiling backstage.”
“Why?” Philby said. “Your guy found Chernabog?”
“My guy found a deflated balloon, cut—not torn—from one end to the other with a sharp object. That’s a five-thousand-dollar prop. As in dollars,” Bob added for their benefit. “You’re trying a clever plan to pretend someone else did this and get yourselves off the hook.”
“So we dreamed up Chernabog,” Philby said, allowing fatigue and anger to color his voice. “We dreamed up a plane landing on Castaway. Yeah!” he said, sarcastically. “We did that to make sure you wouldn’t bust us for popping your Buzz Lightyear balloon.”
“You be careful with that mouth of yours, son.”
“We’re in danger here, Dad. You’re under attack and in trouble, and we’re apparently the only ones trying to keep your ship from being overtaken by people—by things—you will not believe. When you finally do, it’ll be too late.”
Bob’s face was scarlet.
“We were told we could work with you,” Finn said. “Wayne Kresky told me you were the one person we could trust.”
Mention of Kresky’s name stood Bob up a little taller. The rogue designer, the man accused of running a secret agency within the Imagineers. Who were these kids to tell him about Wayne Kresky?
“You will answer for the damage to this balloon,” he said.
“Seriously? You think we’re that clever? To turn ourselves in at three in the morning in order to take suspicion off of us?”
“I wish we were that smart,” Finn said.
“Return to your rooms. You’ll hear from me.”
“Chernabog is gone,” Philby said. “You guys have got to find him!”
“I acknowledge that you and your friends are special guests aboard this ship, young man”—Bob directed this at Philby—“but I will determine what I have to do. Not you. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
A BOY WALKS DOWN a dark tunnel. A shadow climbs the wall to the left, runs along and rolls down the rocks like a snake. There are sounds—his feet? Someone else’s?
The sound of rapid breathing suggests danger lurking. The boy is afraid, deathly afraid. Yellow light leaks into the confined space.
The boy continues through a square tunnel of some kind. A park attraction? There are no lights, no music, no sounds other than water splashing.
Something is chasing the boy. It’s monstrous. It makes hideous, guttural sounds that drive the boy forward, deeper down the tunnel.
Whatever is back there, whatever is coming—it means business.
It means to kill him.
Jess’s eyes snapped open. She was looking at the underside of a mattress, held up by wire mesh. Her natural instinct at such moments was to reach for her sketchbook, switch on the battery-operated book light, and take the pencil out from the binding. She did just that and started to draw the image of a frightened boy in a square stone tunnel, knowing that Amanda was so attuned to her process that at any second her head would come over the edge of the upper bunk.
And it did.
Amanda knew better than to speak. Nothing could come between Jess and whatever images lurked in her thoughts. The dream needed to be preserved. Jess’s premonitions contributed to the Keepers’ efforts like information from a spy. The more detailed and accurate her drawing, the better.