“I’d think that if he was carrying whatever had that gem on it, I’d feel it,” Barbara pointed out.
“I don’t know whether to hope he does any of those things at the con or hope he doesn’t,” Donahue said, seriously. “This assumes he’s even at this convention. But let’s go register and sort of look around.”
“Welcome to KaliCon.” They had been in the registration line for about half an hour and Janea had already collected a legion of followers; the male con-goers kept running into walls as they passed. It wasn’t a very long line but there was only one person giving out badges and “Black Kitty,” or so her badge read, seemed prepared to chat with each person or group. Black Kitty was a short, wide woman in her fifties with thin reddish hair and a broad smile that gave her face prettiness that was belied by her overall looks.
“Donahue, Janea and Barbara E,” Greg said. “We only registered last week.”
“Well, let’s hope we got them done in time,” Kitty said, digging into the box that held the badges. “Sure enough,” she continued, pulling out badges and slipping them into holders. “Have you been to the con before?”
“Not this one,” Greg said. “I’ve been to a couple and Janea has been to several. Barb is a con virgin, though.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” Kitty said, handing over the badges, which had pins to stick them on a shirt. “We’re a very laid back con. There will be some room parties you might enjoy, though.” She looked at Janea and a frown momentarily crossed her face. “There’s a DragonCon party on Saturday I hear.”
“We’re mostly here to see Miss Goldberg,” Barbara said, smiling. “I’d really like to meet her.”
“Well, stop by the Wharf Rats suite,” Kitty said, smiling again. “She spends a good bit of time around them and if she’s not there you might find out where she is hanging out. She’s very good about visiting with the fen. For the rest,” she continued, handing over a pile of schedules, “she has a couple of panels and a signing.”
“Is there a LARP going on?” Janea asked, smiling disarmingly. “I like to LARP.”
“It’s in the schedule,” Kitty said, nodding. “Underworld, I think.”
“Oh, good,” Janea said, bouncing in happiness. “I love being a Hunter! It’s like I live it!”
“Goldberg doesn’t have a panel until tomorrow morning,” Donahue said as they walked down the hallway. “And the Dealers’ Room doesn’t open until six. I think it’s time for dinner.”
“When’s the LARPing start?” Janea asked, seriously. “I’d like to take that side of the investigation and Barb might enjoy it.”
“There’s a meeting tonight at nine after opening ceremonies,” Donahue replied. “So do we eat in or out?”
“Well, I’m always up for eating in,” Janea said in a sultry voice, waggling one eyebrow. “But let’s eat out,” she added, more normally. “We’re probably going to be immersed in fandom for the rest of the weekend; one last normal meal would be prudent.”
“Okay,” the FBI agent said, looking at Barbara. “You okay for that?”
“For the time being, I’m just along for the ride,” Barb pointed out.
“Out it is,” Donahue said, heading for the parking lot.
There was a nearby Outback Steakhouse which wasn’t completely overflowing. However, they did have to wait. The interior was crowded so they wandered outside, despite the falling temperatures, ending up sitting between a group of obvious fen and a group of much more obvious mundanes, a pair of couples, the men in slacks and golf shirts and the women in informal dresses. The fen were chatting loudly about something that had happened at another con. Barbara couldn’t make heads or tails of it and she more or less tuned it out until the group got up to go to their table.
As the last of the group entered the restaurant one of the women next to Barb’s group shook her head.
“I wonder where the Klingon costumes are,” she said, cattily. “I don’t think they could fit in them anyway.”
“You gotta wonder what they do when they’re not here,” one of the men said, laughing. “I think I saw one of them working in a Seven Eleven yesterday.”
“Well, the balding guy in the leather jacket is a New York Times bestselling author and scriptwriter,” Greg replied, turning to look at the foursome. “One of the women owns a software development company that’s just short of Fortune five hundred. And one of them is an out-of-work graphic artist. I didn’t know the other three.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the man said, sharply.
“No, but you were talking loudly enough to be heard by everyone out here,” Greg responded, coldly. “Ergo, you were trying to denigrate them generally instead of specifically within your group. What I’ve never understood is why.”
“Tribal instinct,” Janea answered, ignoring the group but speaking loudly enough that they couldn’t ignore it. “Also fear of social status. Maintenance of social status for a high status person is a full-time job. People like these four have status to maintain and these days they have to live in fear of the oddballs that control things like computers and information technology. Since suits can rarely figure out how to turn on their computers, much less do anything more complicated than a simple spreadsheet, they increasingly fear geeks.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” one of the women snapped. “I can figure out a computer just fine.”
“Yes, but use the word ‘router’ around you and you think it’s something used in a woodworking class,” Janea said, turning to her and smiling thinly. “But primarily it’s a throwback to primitive society where the higher status got to eat the better parts of the mastodon. And they’d eventually get kicked out of status and end up eating the knees. Keeping people in their place was important for them. Now, they go through high school and college in a comfortable in-group and then, upon exiting into the real world, find that they’re dependent upon the people they denigrated in both areas. It has to be terrible for you,” she added with mock caring.
“I hadn’t realized you were with them,” the man who had made the Seven Eleven comment said, tightly. “Sorry.”
“We’re not with them,” Greg said, turning away. “But we are of them.”
“And what do you do?” one of the women asked Janea, smiling but with a very bitchy tone.
“Greg is an FBI agent, Barbara is a nice little homemaker from Mississippi who has somehow fallen in with evil companions,” Janea answered, smiling pleasantly. “Me, I’m a very expensive call girl. Don’t worry about me stealing your men, though. I’m far too expensive for anyone who dresses up to go to Outback. And I only do men like your husbands for free if they’re likeable,” she added, smiling happily and bouncing enough to cause a nice jiggle.
Barb half hid her face and shook her head as silence descended upon the area. Fortunately, the group of mundanes were soon called to their table.
“I hadn’t expected you guys to go picking fights,” Barbara said as the group left.
“I shouldn’t have,” Greg admitted. “But that sort of catting really pisses me off.”
“I’ve done it myself,” Barb admitted. “Trying to fit in to an in-group in a new school. Geek bashing isn’t really a full-time job for groups like that, they’re much more focused on cutting each other down.”
“Maintenance of status in any group is a full-time job,” Janea said. “You can’t believe the sort of status games you get in stripping.”