wandering around the lobby, many of them greeting each other.
At the top of the escalator, Mandy got out of the way of the traffic and struck a pose.
“Go for it.”
The guy fumbled with a digital camera for a second, then snapped a photo.
“Would it be okay if I…took one of your friend?”
“Uh…” Doris said nervously.
“You can do it,” Mandy said, firmly. “Stand here, do the same thing I did.”
Doris stood up straight, got a frozen rictus of a grin on her face and tried not to panic as the kid took her picture.
“Thanks,” the gamer said, grinning happily. “Thanks.”
“Why did he just take our picture?” Doris whispered as they walked towards a bar.
“That’s what guys do at Dragon*Con,” Mandy said. “Well, and game and party and drink and go to panels hungover and talk and…Well, that’s what guys do at Dragon*Con, take pictures of costumes and pretty girls and especially pretty girls in costumes. The one with the most pictures of hot babes wins.”
“So why did he take my picture?” Doris asked.
“The one with the most pictures of hot babes wins,” Mandy repeated. “I’m just wondering why he took mine. Probably so I’d talk you into getting yours taken, come to think of it.”
“Oh,” Doris said, still puzzled. “What do girls do at Dragon*Con?”
“Oh, all the other stuff,” Mandy said as they got near the bar. “And see how many guys take their pictures. The one that gets the most pictures taken of her wins.”
The bar was separated from the lobby only by a two-story wall and was already starting to fill up. Doris stopped in shock as a Wookiee came around a table and, with the help of a friend in street clothes, slowly negotiated his way onto the main lobby floor.
At the bar was a stormtrooper, his helmet sitting on the bartop, drinking a Guinness and talking with a guy in Jedi robes while a rather heavyset woman in a Princess Leia slave-girl outfit listened in. Two of Monty Python’s knights were sharing a beer at a table, Bedevere constantly having to lift his face-shield to take a sip.
A slightly overweight and -age Fantastic Four were at another table, Mister Fantastic fumbling with a floppy arm, trying to pick up a drink while the other three ignored him. Wolverine, on the other hand, was pointing a claw and laughing from not far away.
There were at least five times as many people in street clothes as the costumes, but it was definitely the costumes that stood out.
“Fun, huh?” Mandy asked. “Seen enough? We’re going that way,” she added, pointing to the glass back wall.
Glass doors led to a twenty-by-twenty partially covered patio where a couple of groups were already gathering to smoke. One was parked in a corner by the door and had not only seized most of the tables but all the chairs.
The members were mostly in their thirties or forties and seemed to be centered around a man wearing a pair of shorts and a fishing shirt.
“Mandy hath arriv’ed,” the man said. “And she brings new blood. Quite pulchritudinous blood, I might add.”
“Be nice, Folsom,” Mandy said. “She’s a con virgin. Her name’s Doris. She’s from Chattanooga.”
“Ah, the Mountain City. Almost lived there once,” Folsom said, his brow furrowing.
“Almost lived there?”
Doris wondered for a second who had asked the question and then realized it was her.
“Yes,” Folsom said. “Almost moved there. Not sure quite why I didn’t, but water over the bridge, as they say. And what is your quest at Dragon*Con, my dear?”
“Oh, not a quest,” Doris said, shifting her feet uncomfortably. The attention was starting to scare her.
“The lady needs a chair,” Folsom said, gently. “And a drink, methinks. Nonalcoholic, for the nonce,” he added, pulling out a twenty. “The surrenderer of a chair does not get the drink.”
A bearded man smoking a pipe stood up and waved for Doris to sit. Another took the twenty and went inside.
“Everyone is on a quest,” Folsom intoned. “Always. People say that they have no goals. Pish. Everyone has goals they just haven’t looked closely enough at themselves. Mandy’s goal is to get her shit straight, although I think she underestimates herself. Todd’s is to become Bill Gates or somesuch, whether he internalizes that or not.”
“And yours?” one of the group asked, grinning.
“To have people say ‘Harry who? I’m dying for the next Folsom Duncan book to come out,’” Folsom said, grinning disparagingly. “An unlikely goal to attain, I’ll admit, but a worthy one nonetheless. Forget trying to find an old bone or two, seek the damned Holy Grail! You may fail, probably will based on historical record, but you’ll fail grandly! And undoubtedly find an old bone somewhere on the way. So, what is your quest, young lady? What do you want from Dragon*Con? Think before you answer, take a deep breath and expound. We are muchly ears.”
He pulled a thin cigar out of a breast pocket, lit it and leaned back unthreateningly. He seemed to be actually interested in the answer.
She thought about it for the first time. Really thought about it. Why was she here? What did she want from the con? Well, practical first.
“I need to find a ride home,” she admitted.
“Alas, I don’t know anyone going to Chattanooga,” Folsom said. “And it would have to be a trusted source. That problem shall be solved in time, I’m sure. But what do you want from the con? Why are you here? Not how are you to leave.”
“I want to find people like me,” Doris said.
“Ah, now we get to some really interesting answers,” Folsom said, happily. “Because they beg more questions. Todd, throw me a question to that answer?”
“Uhm…Who are you?” Todd said. “I mean…To find people like you, you need to know who you are?”
“Exactly,” Folsom said. “Ever read military science fiction?”
“I don’t think so…” Doris said, uncertainly.
“Interested in the military?”
“Not really.”
“Know a platoon from a company?”
“No.”
“Then we are not people like you,” Folsom said. “That is not rejecting you. Far be it. I do so desire lovely ladies around but, alas, few of my books appeal to the fairer sex in large numbers. I misdoubt that you will remain long in our company, not because you shall be cast out, but because you will find your own path.
“However, we might help to put your feet upon it. To show you the beginning of the yellow brick road to both who you are and who are your people. Both, I assure you, can be found at Dragon*Con. The Dragon has something for everyone, even the occasional mundane that wanders in. To do so would be a corporal work of mercy, and I need those to my credit. So we must find your needs, wants and desires and perhaps steer you in an appropriate direction. But I do have one suggestion of an interesting true quest, if you will. One that, from my reading of your personality, would be a far jump on that yellow brick road.”
“Yes?” Doris said, totally confused.
“Have you, perchance, looked at the cover of the program book?” Folsom said, grinning.
“No?”
“Might I suggest you extract it from the bag and do so,” Folsom replied.
Doris pulled out the program book, a thick, magazine-sized booklet, and looked at the cover. The cover art was of a red-haired girl in a green bodysuit, leaning against a mirror. Behind her was what looked like the leg of a gigantic monster. On the face reflected in the mirror were either three tears or a tattoo of them.
“Okay,” Doris said. “I looked at it.”
“Like the young lady on the cover, have you looked in a mirror lately?” Folsom said, gently.
“I don’t look anything like her,” Doris insisted.
“Au contraire,” Folsom replied. “The difference is a bit of makeup and a costume. I have never seen such a
