All that could be done was being done. John's people would try to find and
secure all copies of the pictures and warn everyone about dire consequences,
etc..., but Mandi seemed to lack faith that his efforts would be enough.
She'd known and accepted the risk of complete exposure, of course, but she'd
also hoped strongly against it. Another sigh escaped her as Cade put his stuff
back in his backpack and zipped it shut.
Without looking up from the desk, she muttered, "Now we wait to see whether
I'm going to become a TV star tonight. I've got a feeling that my privacy is
about to be shot to hell."
"Not necessarily. Vegas is full of great-looking, leggy blondes. If anyone
says you look like you, just thank them for the compliment and move on."
For a moment Mandi staringly said nothing, then she quietly asked, "How the
hell did you know I live in Vegas?"
"I saw you there," said Cade. "Back in 1996."
Sitting up and turning around to give him an exasperated look, Mandi
replied, "1996? After all these years, you're absolutely sure it was me you
saw?"
"Yeah," Cade said with a shrug. "I am. Mind if I make a suggestion?"
Tossing the pen she'd been fiddling with onto the desk, Mandi almost
shouted, "Oh, sure! Oh, hell, yes! Why not?"
Thumbing at the door, Cade said, "Could be that John's people will square
this away. If not, you might as well enjoy your last few hours of anonymity,
right? I'm just saying, 'business as usual and hope for the best'. And we have
about fifteen minutes to get to that writer's panel."
Mandi almost laughed at his last words, but she realized he was probably
right. What the hell; might as well. She stood up and picked up her purse,
putting her sentiment into words.
"What the hell; we might as well." Pointing at his shoulder holster, she
asked, "Do you really think you need that?"
"I'm on standby. I think John would take it poorly if I had to say, 'Wait
one while I run upstairs and get my gun'."
Nodding with a chuckle, Mandi said, "Yeah, I guess he might, at that."
Cade got the door for her with a gentlemanly flourish and they headed for
the elevator.
"Ed," said Mandi, "Most people are full of questions when they first meet
me."
Nodding, Cade said, "Yeah, that seems likely," and nothing more as they
approached the elevator.
He pressed the 'down' button and stood beside her as he'd stood before;
silent to the extreme. Mandi suddenly realized that she hadn't noticed his
footsteps in the hallway, either.
"Why are you so quiet?" she asked.
"Just a habit, I guess."
For once, the elevator arrived quickly and they boarded. As Mandi stepped in
and turned around to face the door, a brief and almost complete silence occurred
around her and she wondered if her pictures had already somehow been leaked.
As the con-related chatter resumed around her, she heard two teen guys
whispering in the back.
"Wow! Check her out, man!"
"You think I'm not?! Jesus! I'd lick my way up to her..."
A woman said, "One more word, Tim. Go ahead. One more."
"You aren't my mom, Jackie. I can... Ow!"
"If you don't knock it off, I can tell your mom what a wonderful little
gentleman you weren't at DragonCon. Now can the crap or I'll pinch your other
tit, you little twerp."
There were snickers and giggles and a snort of laughter. Mandi glanced at
Cade with a grin and Cade returned it as the elevator doors opened and they
stepped into the lobby.
As the woman herded the two teens past them toward the escalators, Cade
said, "There goes your adoring public."
"Oh, wow," Mandi said in a flat tone. "Be still, my heart."
They set forth toward the Orchid Ballroom as Cade said, "Most men never grow
out of that stage, you know."
Grinning, she said, "I've noticed that now and then."
Sighing dramatically, Cade said, "I feel so transparent."
Mandi laughed, looked at him, and laughed again.
"Ed, you're probably one of the most un-transparent people I've ever met."
"The word for that is 'opaque', ma'am."
After a quick, sharp glance at him, Mandi gave him a wry grin as she said,
"Yes, I know. I wasn't sure you would."
"Gee thanks. That, by the way, was an 'antiphrasis'."
Mandi stopped and looked intently up at him for a moment, nodded, then
continued walking.
As they reached the escalators that led to the ballrooms below, Cade asked,
"You had to look that one up, didn't you?"
When Mandi didn't answer, Cade said in German, "I'm very sure you have been
told often that you're a very beautiful woman."
Without a hint of hesitation or unnecessary modesty, Mandi replied in
German, "Yes, I have."
Nodding, Cade said, "Kinda thought you could do that."
"Why?"
"You wouldn't have been sent here unprepared."
Giving Cade a sidelong glance, Mandi asked, "What makes you think I was sent
here?"
"You aren't a product of normal anthropogenesis and nobody on Earth could
create you in a test tube. You were manufactured somewhere else." He glanced at
her and added in French, "And whoever did it did a damned fine job."
Mandi grinned and returned in French, "Thank you again," with no regional
accent. It was schoolbook French; the precise, formal kind you learn only in
classrooms from people who've never walked the streets of France.
"You had a good teacher," said Cade. "Human or machine?"
As they entered the Orchid Ballroom, Mandi said, "My language teacher was a
computer about the size of this hotel."
"I'll bet most of it was empty space; mostly just places for people to hook
up to it or whatever."
Choosing a pair of chairs in the third row, Mandi said, "You'd win that
bet."
A woman tapped on a water glass to start the panel introductions. Reps from
two small presses and three self-published authors gave their names and credits,
then the moderator -- a woman who'd written two PG-13 novels and self-published
them -- opened the floor to questions.
The first question came from a woman in row two, who asked, "Why is it that
women in science fiction are always portrayed only as victims, goddesses, or
demons?"
One of the small-press reps, a guy named Donovan, said, "They aren't,
actually. Most women in sf are used as support characters, just as they are in
movies and music videos. It's a trend that should be rectified."
"Rectified how?" asked a woman in the seventh row. "Even most female authors
tend to use male lead characters."
Donovan shrugged and said, "If you're really an author, you'll write your
characters your way."
"But if I buck the trend, will I ever be published?"
"Ninety-nine percent of all manuscripts aren't published when they don't
buck trends, so all you can do is try, like everybody else."
The rest of the session was about the same. Nobody asked any questions that
couldn't be answered in about the same manner, and one of the small-press guys
gently ranted about how expenses and tight budgets made publishers extremely
selective about what sorts of manuscripts were accepted.
One of the self-published authors used the small-press guy's rant as a
springboard for extolling the virtues of being your own publisher, citing total
control and other aspects.
Someone asked him how many copies of his book were sitting in his garage,
waiting to be sold, and how many copies had been sold. The self-pubber's answer
was rather vague, but it didn't actually seem evasive; in fact, it seemed to
Cade that the guy had simply been unprepared for the question and really didn't
have the actual numbers at hand.
A guy in the fourth row asked if epublishing could be considered a valid
form of being published.
Donovan took that question, too, and opined that -- as far as he was
concerned -- 'real' books were made of paper. It was a wholly predictable
response from a guy who made his living as a paperback publisher.
Cade raised a hand, and when called upon said, "Since 1999, I've paid taxes
on nearly thirty thousand dollars that came from ebook sales on the Internet.
How are books that people pay for and read not 'real' books?"
Glancing to his left and right as if for solidarity with the others of the
panel, Donovan said, "Let's make one thing clear, sir; you've been selling
computer files, not books."
"That's why they call them 'e'-books. My question stands."
The moderator said, "This is off-topic. This panel is about 'Women of
Science Fiction', not methods of publishing."
"You could have said that earlier," said Cade, "When the second or third
question wasn't about 'Women of Science Fiction' and before thirty minutes were
spent on off-topic topics. Let Mr. Donovan answer my question, if he will."
"He won't," said Donovan. "She's right; this is off-topic and we should get
back to the reason for this panel."
Cade's chuckle earned him a curious glance from Mandi and a few others
nearby as the moderator, herself, rather ineptly tried to manufacture a
topic-related question to force the panel back on track and get it rolling
again.
As Mandi and Cade headed back to the escalators, she said, "Only one percent
of manuscripts being published doesn't offer authors much hope of making a
living from their work."
"Those people want to see their name on a paperback. For them, it won't be
about money unless they get published. Most of them don't even have a realistic
concept of how much -- or how little, actually -- published authors truly earn
from their books. Today they'll bitch about stacks of rejection slips, wasted
time and postage, and stupid editors who can't see the value in their work. If
they happen to get published, they'll wind up bitching about being screwed by
their publishers over rights and book returns from chain stores."
After a short laugh, Mandi asked, "Then why do you go to these panels?"
Grinning, Cade said, "Sometimes they stay on topic."
She shrugged and said, "I feel as if I've just wasted an hour with that one.
Don't you?"
"Nope. I can usually find some way to use even an experience like that in
one of my ebooks."
Mandi was about to say something when her cell phone chirped. She and Cade
stepped out of the flow of foot traffic as she answered the call.
"Angel here."
"Alan. We found Hamad Marjeel and two of his people right across the street.
The Rivage seems to be getting all their business today. Instead of running,
they grabbed a couple of hostages in 831 and they're demanding media coverage."
"Meaning you want me to go in as a reporter?"
"It's all we can come up with. We're staging up in 835."
Mandi said, "I'm on my way."
"You'll be holding a mike and handling the interview," said Cade. "You'll
need a cameraman."
"You're volunteering?"
Shrugging, Cade said, "Well, if you'd prefer to have one of the younger guys
in there with you... You know, one of the guys with a wife and kids..?"
Mandi gave him a wry look and nodded, then said, "Alan, I already have a
cameraman."
"Cade?"
"Yes. We'll be there shortly."
She put her phone away and gestured for Cade to hurry along as she took the
escalator steps three at a time, weaving her way upward past some very startled
people.
Cade followed at a somewhat more sedate pace, taking only two steps at a
time and easing past the other riders. The terrorists wanted media coverage and
they had hostages as leverage, so they weren't going anywhere right away.
At the front doors, Mandi was waiting for him.
"You sure you're up to this?" she asked.
"What's the hurry?" asked Cade. "They'll be there. Where do we get news
credentials and hardware on short notice?"
As they started across the sidewalk to the street, Mandi said, "That's
Alan's job."
"Might want to give him a ring and see what he's doing about that."
"I already know what he's doing about it. He's doing whatever he has to."
As it happened, that's exactly what Alan was doing when they walked into
room 835. The two newsies from Channel Nine and the three from WNN were already
there, arguing about who'd be going in to talk to the terrorists.
Alan handed the video camera he was examining to Cade like an unwieldy
football and asked, "Do you know how to operate one of these?"
"I aim it at the bad guys while I press the trigger button."
"You've got it."
John came into the room and asked, "What's the plan so far, people?"
"They'll act like reporters," said Alan, nodding at Mandi and Cade. "If they
can disarm the situation, they will. If not, they'll continue to act like
reporters and we'll try something else."
A man came trotting into the room to hand Alan a couple of laminated press
badges. He stood by as Alan examined them, then he led the real newspeople out
of the room.
Handing one of the badges to Mandi, Alan said, "You're Mary Winston,
intrepid reporter for WNN." Handing the other badge to Cade, he said, "And
you're Grant Parker from Channel Nine. This will be called a cooperative news
effort."
Turning to John, he said, "If anyone was watching, they saw the real Grant
and Winston rush over here."
Nodding, John said, "Okay, then. Check the gear and confirm the feeds to WNN
and Nine. There'll be some deliberate static in the first few seconds and an
excuse will be made about adjusting the signal, then we'll switch the feed to an
in-house loop. While our terrorists are watching themselves being interviewed on
TV, anyone outside will be taken back to whatever was on before."