I nudged him with an elbow. “Make a hardcopy,” I hissed.
Instead of pitying me, he just airtyped a few commands and pages started to roll out of a printer in the lab’s corner. Anyone else would have made a big deal out of it, but he just brought me into the discussion.
If I needed proof that Lil and I were meant for each other, the designs she and Suneep had come up with were more than enough. She’d been thinking just the way I had—souvenirs that stressed the human scale of the Mansion. There were miniature animatronics of the Hitchhiking Ghosts in a black-light box, their skeletal robotics visible through their layers of plastic clothing; action figures that communicated by IR, so that placing one in proximity with another would unlock its Mansion-inspired behaviors—the raven cawed, Mme. Leota’s head incanted, the singing busts sang. She’d worked up some formal attire based on the castmember costume, cut in this year’s stylish lines.
It was good merch, is what I’m trying to say. In my mind’s eye, I was seeing the relaunch of the Mansion in six months, filled with robotic avatars of Mansion-nuts the world ’round, Mme. Leota’s gift cart piled high with brilliant swag, strolling human players ad-libbing with the guests in the queue area …
Lil looked up from her mediated state and glared at me as I pored over the hardcopy, nodding enthusiastically.
“Passionate enough for you?” she snapped.
I felt a flush creeping into face, my ears. It was somewhere between anger and shame, and I reminded myself that I was more than a century older than her, and it was my responsibility to be mature. Also, I’d started the fight.
“This is fucking fantastic, Lil,” I said. Her look didn’t soften. “Really choice stuff. I had a great idea—” I ran it down for her, the avatars, the robots, the rehab. She stopped glaring, started taking notes, smiling, showing me her dimples, her slanted eyes crinkling at the corners.
“This isn’t easy,” she said, finally. Suneep, who’d been politely pretending not to listen in, nodded involuntarily. Dan, too.
“I know that,” I said. The flush burned hotter. “But that’s the point—what Debra does isn’t easy either. It’s risky, dangerous. It made her and her ad-hoc better—it made them sharper.” Sharper than us, that’s for sure. “They can make decisions like this fast, and execute them just as quickly. We need to be able to do that, too.”