Immediately past the greeter robot is a stage with red closed curtains and a prominent coin slot. My grandmother digs out a quarter and plugs it in. Instantly, the red curtains are drawn aside, revealing two human-shaped robots with jointed bodies and long, fluffy skirts, and a third that started out human-shaped but has now been set up with two extra sets of arms and is playing a banjo, a harmonica—which it plays with a bellows—castanets, cymbals, and a shaker of bells. The one-man-band robot starts playing a fast, cheery song that was the background music for more than a few Fast Girls Detective Agency chase scenes (more often the ones that took place on, say, electric scooters instead of in actual cars), and the other two robots do an energetic dance to it that involves a bunch of skirt swishing.
“It’s a pun,” CheshireCat tells me. “They’re doing the cancan. Because this used to be a factory that made cans.”
Farther in, there is in fact a robot that makes cans; it takes circles of aluminum, bends them into a cup shape, and then stretches the cup shape into an actual can. We start encountering mobile robots a minute later. There’s one mopping the floor, which is normal enough, but right behind it is a robot with about twenty arms, using four to walk and the rest to hold drinks. People place orders verbally, and it fetches their drinks from the bar. Another wandering robot will dispense a tiny plastic toy if you give it a quarter, but you have to actually hand it the quarter. There’s a set of robots that look like the horse equivalents of my doglike robot giving people rides around the perimeter of the room, and there’s a robot mixing drinks in the bar.
I mean, I had a class taught by a robot and I’ve ridden in self-driving cars plenty of times, but I still stop and stare at the multiarmed drink-serving robot. It’s simultaneously extremely cool and extremely creepy.
My phone buzzes with a text, either because it’s loud in here and hard to hear or because there’s something CheshireCat doesn’t want to say out loud.
I believe that the other AI is controlling many, if not all, of these robots.
How can you tell? I ask.
The drink-serving robot just dropped a drink to catch someone who’d tripped.
If you need to take them over to protect us, can you?
That’s my plan if Rajiv tries to stop you from leaving.
“Right,” I say out loud. “If my mother is here, where is she likely to be?”
“Probably not in the actual amusement park,” Rachel says.
“There is an entrance to an office suite at the south end of the building,” CheshireCat says. “Rajiv’s phone location suggests he’s somewhere in the amusement park at the moment and not in the offices.”
It’s a weekday afternoon, but there are a lot of people here. We make our way through the crowd in the direction CheshireCat gave for the office entrance, passing the roller coaster, which is coming to a stop. WELCOME TO THE SPACE GARDEN, reads a neon sign over the entry point. The roller coaster is designed to look kind of like a vintage rocket ship. I pause for a minute to look up at the rail overhead, at the glowing flowers and moving stars that surround the track.
“Welcome to Wonderland,” a voice says behind us.
I turn. It’s Rajiv, with a robot on either side of him. They’re like large-dog-size versions of the robots CheshireCat keeps buying, four-limbed with a head that turns into a tool. Glenys is staring at them with real alarm, and Rajiv says, “Fall back. These are friends.” The two robots back up four steps, moving in perfect unison.
“So,” Rajiv says, when none of us speaks. “Would you prefer to talk in my office, or to step into the bar?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t drink,” I say.
“We have a lovely selection of craft mocktails I would be delighted to show you,” he says. “And if you feel safer in a crowd than alone with me, I imagine you’ll be more comfortable.”
My drink has bubbles like bubble tea, but glowing.
Glenys looks genuinely alarmed. “Are you sure you should drink that?” she whispers. “Isn’t this the guy you think kidnapped your mother?”
Given that this was served up from behind the bar (by yet another robot), either the drinks are safe, or he keeps lethal ingredients on hand for occasional poisonings. That’s enough of a possibility that I stir the drink but don’t actually drink it. My grandmother orders a martini but doesn’t drink any of hers, either.
“I’ll have a Coke,” Bryony says, “but I want it in an unopened can.”
“I literally have a robot that makes soda cans,” Rajiv says. “You passed it on your way in. If I wanted to poison you with soda, I could definitely hand you something that looked like a perfectly ordinary can of brand-name soda.”
“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I mean, you came here—worrying about your drinks seems absurd. I didn’t kidnap your mother, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t know where she is. This has been true for most of the last twelve years, so I can’t say it surprises me.”
“So are you responsible for the Catacombs and the Mischief Elves and all the rest?”
“I don’t micromanage my staff,” Rajiv says. “Including the AI. It has assignments. It’s working on them.”
“How did you wind up with an amusement park?”
“You have your AI friend, I have mine. Have you considered asking yours to buy you an amusement park? It just might.”
“Why were you so intent on getting me in here?”
“Your mother was one of my best friends, before Michael turned on both of us. I am trying to keep you safe as the world gets increasingly dangerous.” He raises one hand, snaps his fingers, and the TV above the bar switches
