t back.

"We're dozing the FreakZone," Joe said, in a conspiratorial whisper. He put a
spin on _We're_, making sure that George knew he was including himself with the
Island's management.

"Really," George said, neutrally.

"Yeah! We're gonna flatten that sucker, start fresh, and build us a new theme
land. I'm a Strategic Project Consultant! By the time it's over, I'll be an
Imagineer!"

George knew that the lands on Pleasure Island were flattened and rebuilt on a
regular basis, as management worked to stay ahead of the lightspeed
boredom-threshold of the mainland. Still, he said, "Well, Joe, that's marvelous.
I'm sure you'll do a fabulous job."

Joe sneered at him. "Oh, I know I will. We all do just _fabulous_ jobs, brother.
Just some of us _have_ fabulous jobs to do."

George refused to rise to the bait. He could always outwait Joe.

Joe said, "We're thinking of giving it a monster theme -- monsters are testing
very high with eleven-to-fourteens this year. Dragons, ogres, cyborgs, you know.
We may even do a walk-through -- there hasn't been one of those here since the
sixties!"

George didn't know what Joe wanted him to say. He said, "That sounds very nice."

Joe gave him a pitying look, and then his chest started ringing. He extracted a
slim phone from his shirt-pocket and turned away. A moment later, he turned
back. "Gotta go!" he said. "Meeting with Woodrow and Orville, down at Ops!"

Alarm-bells went off in George's head. "Shouldn't Bill go along if you're
meeting with Orville?"

Joe sneered at him, then took off at a fast clip down the midway. George watched
him until he disappeared through one of the access doors.

#

Bill was clearly upset about it. George couldn't help but feel responsible. He
should have called Bill as soon as Joe told him he was meeting with Orville, but
he'd waited until he got home.

He'd been home for hours, and Joe still wasn't back. Bill picked absently at the
dinner he'd made and fretted.

"He didn't say how Orville found out?" Bill asked.

George shook his head mutely.

"Why didn't he invite me?" Bill asked. "I always handle negotiations for us."

George couldn't eat. The more Bill fretted, the more he couldn't eat. It was
long dark outside, hours and hours after Joe should've been home. Bill fretted,
George stared out the window, and Joe didn't come home.

Then, an electric cart's headlights swept up the trail to their cabin. The
lights dazzled George, so he cou