Chapter 4 — Space Gun
And thus begins Chapter Four.
Now, children.
There I was.
Wave pool.
Floating.
Playing.
Merging with manufactured ocean.
For how long?
Unknown.
Future Nuo would eventually develop more sophisticated systems of chronology.
Joint chronology.
Cigarette chronology.
Coffee chronology.
How many songs have played?
How many dogs have been encountered?
Children.
Story Nuo was twelve.
Story Nuo possessed one clock.
The Fun Meter.
The council nods.
Simple system.
Is this fun?
Yes.
Continue.
Is this still fun?
Yes.
Continue.
Has fun stopped?
Leave.
The council raises a hand.
So you stayed in the wave pool for the entire school trip?
Children.
No.
Sit down.
The council gasps dramatically anyway.
I know.
Shocking.
The sacred wave pool was abandoned voluntarily.
But I had a reason.
A valid one.
A structural flaw.
An unforgivable engineering compromise.
Children.
The waves
stopped.
The council goes silent.
Stopped?
Yes.
Apparently wave pools operate on cycles.
Wave duration.
Then
no waves.
Wait.
Then waves return.
The council looks offended.
Exactly.
What is a wave pool without waves?
Children.
A pool.
Worse.
A warm soup of piss from a thousand strangers.
The council recoils.
I was having none of that.
Wave pool without wave?
False advertising.
The Fun Meter dropped immediately.
So
exit.
I climbed out.
Water dripping.
No group.
No teacher.
No friend.
No schedule.
And in front of me
three paths.
The council leans forward.
Directions?
Unknown.
Signs?
Probably existed.
Did twelve year old Nuo read them?
Children.
They all looked the same.
Path One.
Path Two.
Path Three.
No objective.
No preference.
No map.
The council waits.
So?
Choose one.
Obviously.
I picked a path.
Why that one?
No idea.
Maybe left.
Maybe right.
Maybe middle.
The Archive does not preserve such administrative trivia.
What matters is
I followed it.
No destination.
No expectation.
Just somewhere to go while the wave machine reconsidered its commitment to being a wave machine.
The council nods.
Temporary objective:
Pass time.
And so
onward.
A ride appeared.
Land ride.
I joined.
Fun.
The normal amount.
The council pauses.
Normal amount?
Yes.
Children.
Not every experience must rearrange the soul.
Sometimes a ride is simply:
Wheeeee.
Good.
Done.
Next.
So I got off.
Continued.
Another ride.
Also fun.
Some movement.
Some screaming.
Maybe spinning.
The exact machines blur together.
The Fun Meter approved.
Then
water slide.
The council perks up.
Engage.
Up stairs.
Wait.
Slide.
Down.
Splash.
Good.
Children.
The system was working beautifully.
Find thing.
Do thing.
Evaluate.
Move.
No adult committee required.
No timetable.
No:
Everyone wait until Rahul finishes tying his shoe.
Just Nuo,
alone,
inside an amusement park,
letting whatever appeared next become the next event.
The council grows quiet.
Then
clock.
A giant one.
Useful.
I looked.
Children.
Still time before the wave pool came alive again.
The council sighs.
Wave hiatus ongoing.
Exactly.
So
continue.
I walked.
Past something.
Around something else.
And then,
from a distance
I saw it.
The council narrows its eyes.
A machine.
Large.
Tall.
Suspicious.
Something about it immediately caught me.
The structure.
The movement.
The fact that people seemed to be attached to it in ways no sensible mammal would voluntarily agree to.
Children.
Space Gun.
The council nods knowingly.
We know Space Gun.
Story Nuo?
Story Nuo looked at it and thought:
What fresh hell is this?
The council laughs.
Because I did not know what it was.
I only knew it looked
interesting.
And curiosity?
Children.
Curiosity has historically defeated self preservation by a humiliating margin.
So naturally
I approached.
Watched.
The thing swung.
Rotated.
Lifted people absurdly high.
At certain points,
humans appeared upside down against the sky.
The council looks at twelve year old Nuo.
Surely you walked away.
No.
I stood in line.
The council collapses.
Of course.
Children.
This is important.
I did not know I was brave.
I was not brave.
I was curious enough to temporarily hide the fear from myself.
Different mechanism.
Line moved.
Slowly.
People got on.
People screamed.
People got off.
Still alive.
Promising data.
Eventually
my turn.
I entered the ride ecosystem.
The council becomes solemn.
There is a particular moment in amusement parks
when something stops being a spectacle
and becomes a contract.
Before:
Look at that insane machine.
After:
Please sit here.
The council nods.
I took my seat.
A nice gentleman approached.
Harness.
Restraint.
Click.
Locked.
Children.
At this point,
I was still excited.
Very excited.
The gentleman checked the restraint.
Walked away.
And for approximately
three seconds
life was magnificent.
Then fear arrived.
The council erupts.
RELEASE ME.
Exactly.
Children.
Suddenly the restraint was no longer a safety mechanism.
It was imprisonment.
I had made a terrible legal agreement.
I wanted out.
Immediately.
“I surrender my seat!”
The council pauses.
You shouted that?
Something to that effect.
Children.
The message was clear.
There has been a misunderstanding.
Another citizen may have this experience.
I withdraw consent to the sky.
No response.
The council looks toward the ride operator.
He had likely heard this speech before.
Probably.
The machine moved.
The council freezes.
No.
Yes.
Children.
Too late.
First swing.
Small.
Fine.
Back.
Forward.
Higher.
The council grips the armrests.
Back.
Forward.
Higher.
Children.
Every pass gained altitude.
The ground withdrew.
The horizon moved.
The entire world began tilting in increasingly criminal directions.
I screamed.
Possibly words.
Possibly vowels.
The Archive does not distinguish.
Higher.
Back.
Forward.
Then
up.
Up.
And
stop.
The council goes silent.
Children.
I was upside down.
Suspended.
High above the ground.
Fifty feet?
Maybe.
It felt like several kilometres.
Story Nuo had no measuring equipment.
Story Nuo had only:
WHY IS THE EARTH ABOVE MY HEAD.
The council nods.
Horror.
Absolute horror.
The restraint pressed against me.
My body understood gravity.
Gravity was now making threats.
Below
or above
depending on your relationship with orientation
Wonderla.
Tiny humans.
Paths.
Rides.
And me,
hanging in the sky like badly stored luggage.
The council whispers.
Release me.
Too late.
And then
something happened.
Not to the ride.
To my brain.
A thought.
Clear.
Surprisingly sensible.
Children.
This is an amusement park.
The council pauses.
Yes.
A major one.
A business.
An entire industry built around attaching people to machines,
terrifying them,
and returning them to the ground alive enough to buy snacks.
The council listens.
Surely
they know what they are doing.
Silence.
Children.
It sounds obvious now.
But that thought changed everything.
I did not need to understand the bolts.
The mechanics.
The engineering.
The restraint.
The forces.
The procedures.
None of it.
Someone else understood.
Many someone elses.
Engineers.
Operators.
Inspectors.
Adults.
The people whose job it was to prevent twelve year old Nuo from becoming a ballistic event.
The council nods slowly.
And I realized
I could outsource self preservation.
The council erupts.
Again?!
Children.
This may be one of my oldest recurring life strategies.
You are responsible for my survival?
Excellent.
I resign.
The council laughs.
I had bought a ticket.
Or school had bought a ticket.
Someone had bought a ticket.
And built into that transaction was an implied promise:
You may feel like you are going to die.
We will make a reasonable effort to ensure you do not.
The council nods.
Acceptable.
So I stopped fighting it.
Not physically.
There was nowhere to go.
But internally.
The fear loosened.
The ride began moving again.
And suddenly
children.
FUN.
Not ordinary fun.
Not:
nice little land ride.
Adrenaline.
Pure.
Wild.
The drop.
The swing.
The upside down sky.
The momentary weightlessness.
The speed.
Children.
Now that I had outsourced survival,
I could enjoy almost dying recreationally.
The council sighs.
That is not
Emotionally accurate.
The machine swung.
I screamed.
But now?
Happy screaming.
The kind where terror and joy become indistinguishable at sufficient velocity.
The council smiles.
Higher.
Faster.
Sky.
Ground.
Sky.
Ground.
And every time the machine moved,
the Fun Meter detonated.
Children.
This was magnificent.
Eventually
it slowed.
Swings smaller.
Smaller.
The world returned to the correct orientation.
Machine stopped.
The nice gentleman returned.
Harness released.
Freedom.
I stood.
Legs possibly uncertain.
Brain absolutely certain.
The council leans forward.
What next?
I walked away.
For approximately however long it took to locate the entrance.
Then
got back in line.
The council erupts.
AGAIN?!
Again.
Children.
The fear had been solved.
Not removed.
Solved.
The machine was no longer:
What fresh hell is this?
It was:
Do that again.
The council watches.
Line.
Seat.
Harness.
Swing.
Scream.
Joy.
End.
Exit.
Then
line.
Again.
The council begins counting.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four?
Children.
I do not know.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The exact number is lost.
The pattern survives.
I had discovered something.
A ride that could compete with the sacred objective.
The council gasps.
The wave pool?
Children.
Calm yourselves.
Let us not speak blasphemy.
Wave pool remained love.
Wave pool remained sacred.
Wave pool was not dethroned.
But
Space Gun had climbed onto the throne beside it.
The council looks alarmed.
Co regency?
Exactly.
The Wave Pool.
And Space Gun.
Two sovereigns.
Different kingdoms.
One
water.
Comfort.
Play.
Merge with waves.
The other
terror.
Adrenaline.
Outsource mortality to engineering.
Become temporary sky object.
Children.
Balance.
The clock?
Forgotten.
The scheduled return of the waves?
Forgotten.
The original plan of:
Just kill some time until wave pool resumes
gone.
Because that is the danger of wandering.
You leave one thing temporarily.
Find another thing accidentally.
And suddenly the temporary detour becomes the main event.
The council nods.
Story Nuo did not think that.
Story Nuo thought:
Again.
And he stood in line.
Again.
Children.
This was no longer a school trip.
Not in any meaningful way.
The school existed somewhere else in the park.
The group existed somewhere else.
The schedule continued without me.
And I?
I had developed my own itinerary.
Except itinerary is too dignified.
The Fun Meter had developed policy.
Wave pool fun?
Yes.
Stay.
Waves stop?
Not fun.
Leave.
Ride appears?
Try.
Space Gun?
Holy shit.
Again.
The council laughs.
This was navigation through pleasure.
Nothing more complicated.
No plan for lunch.
No thought about meeting points.
No concern yet about what the teachers might be doing.
Just
what next?
And for a while,
the answer kept being:
Space Gun.
Children.
A twelve year old had discovered adrenaline
and immediately requested refills.
The council nods solemnly.
Dangerous information.
Eventually,
of course,
the Fun Meter would move again.
It always did.
Something would stop being interesting.
Something else would appear.
And onward Story Nuo would go.
But for that stretch
I belonged to the machine.
Seat.
Harness.
Fear.
Trust.
Sky.
Scream.
Joy.
Repeat.
And somewhere across Wonderla,
the wave pool continued producing waves without me.
The council looks shocked.
You missed waves?
Children.
For Space Gun.
Acceptable sacrifice.
The council reluctantly records it.
And thus,
the sacred wave pool gained a companion.
Not a replacement.
Never.
Let us maintain theological accuracy.
Thus concludes Chapter Four.
The Fun Meter.
The Wave Free Piss Soup.
The Three Identical Paths.
The Aimless Detour.
The Water Slide.
The Clock.
Space Gun.
The Three Seconds Of Confidence.
The Immediate Surrender.
The Upside Down Crisis.
The Outsourcing Of Self Preservation.
And The Birth Of The Co Regency.
Children.
I entered the line thinking:
What fresh hell is this?
Three seconds after being strapped in:
Release me.
Thirty seconds later:
Surely the billion dollar amusement industry prefers customers alive.
And when the ride ended
again.
The council nods.
A powerful argument for delegated responsibility.
