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As if on cue, the clown’s voice rang down the corridor. “Dark as a tomb in here, hey, Jayce?” Teddy DeMeo came lumbering around the corner, arms full of an untidy bundle of rolled electronic diagrams.
Lipper tightened his lips and reminded himself once again of that $120 an hour. The worst of it was that, before he’d gotten to know what DeMeo was like, Lipper had unwisely mentioned to him the massively multiplayer online RPG he was involved in: Land of Darkmord. And DeMeo had immediately gone online and subscribed. Lipper’s character, a devious half-elf sorcerer with a +5 onyx cape and a full book of offensive spells, had spent weeks organizing a military expedition to a distant castle stronghold. He’d been recruiting warriors-and suddenly, there was DeMeo, in the character of a slope-faced orc carrying a club, volunteering for military service, acting like his best friend, full of asinine questions and stupid off-color jokes and embarrassing him in front of all the other players.
DeMeo came to a halt beside him, breathing hard, the sweat pouring off his brow, smelling like a damp sock.
“All right, let’s see…” He unrolled one of the plats. Naturally, DeMeo was holding it upside down, and it took him several seconds to right it.
“Give it to me,” said Lipper, snatching it from him and smoothing it out. He glanced at his watch. Still five minutes before the curatorial committee was due to arrive. No problem-at two dollars a minute, Lipper would wait for Godot.
He sniffed, looked around. “Someone’s going to have to do something about this humidity. I can’t have my electronics sitting in a sweatshop.”
“Yeah,” said DeMeo, looking around. “And will you look at this weird shit? I mean, what the hell’s that? Gives me the creeps.”
Lipper glanced over at the fresco in question, depicting a human being with the black head of an insect, wearing pharaonic dress. The burial chamber was creepy: walls black with hieroglyphics, ceiling covered with a representation of the night sky, strange yellow stars and a moon against a field of deep indigo. But the truth was, Lipper liked being creeped out. It was like being inside the world of Darkmord for real.
“That’s the god Khepri,” he said. “A man with the head of a scarab beetle. He helps roll the sun across the sky.” Working on the project had fascinated Lipper, and he’d delved deeply into Egyptian mythology over the last several weeks, looking for background and visual cues.
“The Mummy meets The Fly,” said DeMeo with a laugh.
Their conversation was cut short by a rising hubbub of voices as a group entered the burial chamber: the man in charge, Menzies, followed by his curators.
“Gentlemen! I’m glad you’re already here. We don’t have much time.” Menzies came forward, shook their hands. “You all know each other, of course.”
They all nodded. How could they not, having practically been living together these past few weeks? There was Dr. Nora Kelly, someone Lipper could at least work with; the smug Brit named Wicherly; and Mr. Personality himself, the anthropology curator, George Ashton. The committee.
As the new arrivals talked briefly among themselves, Lipper felt a painful dig in his ribs. He looked over to see DeMeo, mouth open, winking and leering. “Man, oh man,” he whispered, nodding at Dr. Kelly. “I’d climb all over that in a heartbeat.”
Lipper glanced away, rolling his eyes.
“Well!” Menzies turned to address them again. “Shall we do the walk-through?”
“Sure thing, Dr. Menzies!” said DeMeo.
Lipper gave him a look he hoped would shut the moron up. This was his plan, his brainwork, his artistry: DeMeo’s job was rack-mounting the equipment, pulling cable, and making sure juice got to all parts of the system.
“We should start at the begi
They threaded their way back through the half-built exhibits and the construction teams. As they approached the entrance to the tomb, Lipper felt his a
Reaching the God’s First Passage, Lipper turned to face the others. “The sound-and-light show will be triggered automatically. It’s important that people be let into the tomb as a group and move through it together. As they proceed, they’ll trip hidden sensors that in turn start each sequence of the show. When the sequence ends, they will move to the next part of the tomb and see the next sequence. After the show ends, the group will have fifteen minutes to look around the tomb before being escorted out and the next group brought in.”
He pointed to the ceiling. “The first sensor will be up there, in the corner. As the visitors pass this point, the sensor will register, wait thirty seconds for stragglers to catch up, and start the first sequence, which I call act 1.”
“How are you hiding the cable?” asked Menzies.
“No problem,” broke in DeMeo. “We’re ru
“Nothing can be affixed to the painted surface,” said Wicherly.
“No, no. The conduit is steel, self-supporting, only needs to be anchored in the corners. It floats two millimeters above the surface of the paint, won’t even touch it.”
Wicherly nodded.
Lipper breathed out, thankful that DeMeo hadn’t come across as an idiot-at least not yet.
Lipper led the party into the next chamber. “When the visitors reach the center of the God’s Second Passage-where we’re standing now-the lights will suddenly dim. There will be the sound of digging, furtive chatter, pickaxes striking stone-at first just sounds in the dark, no visuals. A voice-over will explain that this is the tomb of Senef and that it is about to be robbed by the very priests who buried him two months before. The sounds of digging will get louder as the robbers reach the first sealed door. They’ll attack it with pickaxes-and then, suddenly, one will break through. That’s when the visuals start.”
“The point where they break through the sealed door is critical,” Menzies said. “What’s needed is a resounding blow from the pickax, a tumble of stones inward, and a piercing shaft of light like a bolt of lightning. This is a key moment and it needs to be dramatic.”
“It will be dramatic.” Lipper felt a faint irritation. Menzies, while charming enough, had been intrusive and meddlesome about certain technical details, and Lipper was worried he might micromanage the installation as well.
Lipper continued. “Then the lights come up and the voice-over directs the audience to the well.” He led them through the long passageway and a broad staircase. Ahead, a new bridge had been built over the pit, broad enough to hold a large group.
“As they approach the well,” Lipper went on, “a sensor in that corner will pick up their passage and begin act 2.”
“Right,” DeMeo interrupted. “Each act will be independently controlled by a pair of dual-processor PowerMac G5s, slaved to a third G5 that will act as backup and master controller.”
Lipper rolled his eyes. DeMeo had just quoted, word for word, from Lipper’s own spec sheet.
“Where will these computers be located?” asked Menzies.
“We’re going to cable through the wall-”
“Look here,” said Wicherly. “No one’s going to drill any holes in the walls of this tomb.”
DeMeo turned to him. “It just so happens that a long time ago somebody already drilled through the wall-in five places! The holes were cemented up, but I found them and cleared them out.” DeMeo crossed his muscled arms in triumph, as if he’d just kicked sand in the face of a ninety-eight-pound weakling at the beach.