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ERIC AND MATT, ALONG WITH TEN OTHER PEOPLE, took the elevator to the second floor of the hotel. It was a Holiday Inn, reasonably well appointed and apparently bustling.
“I can’t believe our piddly town is actually hosting a Star Trek convention,” said Matt, fingering through his brochure for the umpteenth time that morning. “I mean people flying in and all, to come here. Here.”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “It is weird,” agreed Eric, stepping out. “I didn’t think the tri-state contingent could pull it off. Although I fully expect the thing to be third rate. You heard who the guests of honor are, right?”
“Seska from Voyager. And Garak from DS9.”
“Exactly. Who gives a crap about them? Although André Robinson isn’t too shabby. But where’s Chris Pine? Zachary Quinto? Zoë Saldana? They want us to fork out for their movies without a little legwork? ”
“Gene Roddenberry is probably turning over in his grave,” laughed Matt. Then more seriously, he asked, “Was he buried or cremated?”
“He and his wife were cremated and are to be launched into space. I don’t know if they did it yet. You didn’t know that?”
“I guess not,” said Matt. “I wouldn’t mind being launched into space myself. Better than buried and turning to wormy soup in a box.”
This was Eric’s fourth sci-fi convention, the first two in cities he could drive to; for the third he’d had to fly. In addition to being part-time art director of an online magazine, he did freelance illustrations for sci-fi mags, book covers and games. His crowning glory was a cover for Analog. However, his income was variable and sometimes he barely made his rent.
“Relax,” said Matt finally. “You know someone always turns up by surprise at these things. It’s a tradition. Besides, a couple of people from Battlestar are coming.”
“Battlestar? Why the hell would they be here?” said Eric.
“What’s the matter with you? You love Battlestar.”
“This is a Star Trek convention, period the end. Plus, you know it’ll be someone from the original series, some dried up has-been, grateful for anything he can get.”
“You know,” said Matt, “you’ve become extremely cynical. What’s eating you?”
Eric looked at his friend. Matt possessed a charming, perpetually sunny disposition, which matched his butter blond hair and wide blue eyes. Eric, on the other hand, was dark and fox-like in appearance, which fit, he imagined, his own suspicious and wary nature. He supposed he needed Matt to balance his life; otherwise he might slip into existential despair.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I’m a little down.”
“When was the last time you got laid?” asked Matt.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Everything doesn’t boil down to that.”
“Yeah? Well, it helps. You have to admit.”
“It’s been a while,” said Eric. “You know damn well. Since Marcie Green. Before that nothing for eight months and that was the psychotic stalker woman from the bookstore. And nothing before that since Colette.”
“Ah,” said Matt, “Colette.”
They signed in and looked at their floor plans. “The new Trek stuff is on the other side,” said Matt. “You wanna go there first?”
“Not right now, but go if you want to. I’m feeling a Next Generation urge.”
“Ah, NG nostalgia, I dig it. But let’s get something to eat first, I didn’t have any breakfast,” said Matt. “Then we can split up if you want.”
Two Klingons and a Borg passed them as they approached the food court.
“You don’t think she’ll be here, do you?” said Matt, after they got their orders.
“Who?”
“Colette,” said Matt, biting into an egg Mac Muffin takeoff.
That hadn’t crossed Eric’s mind. As far as he knew, Colette now lived in Seattle. She would hardly come all the way out here for this minor league affair.
“God, no,” he said, mouth full. But his heart made a nauseating leap. It had been almost three years since he’d seen or spoken with her. The last time was on the phone and ended badly. Amazing, he thought now, how someone you were married to, so intimate with for four years could suddenly become a complete stranger that you could no longer approach, let alone laugh with or caress. What did that mean? That love was an illusion?
“I can’t believe our piddly town is actually hosting a Star Trek convention,” said Matt, fingering through his brochure for the umpteenth time that morning. “I mean people flying in and all, to come here. Here.”
Gene Roddenberry is probably turning over in his grave...
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “It is weird,” agreed Eric, stepping out. “I didn’t think the tri-state contingent could pull it off. Although I fully expect the thing to be third rate. You heard who the guests of honor are, right?”
“Seska from Voyager. And Garak from DS9.”
“Exactly. Who gives a crap about them? Although André Robinson isn’t too shabby. But where’s Chris Pine? Zachary Quinto? Zoë Saldana? They want us to fork out for their movies without a little legwork? ”
“Gene Roddenberry is probably turning over in his grave,” laughed Matt. Then more seriously, he asked, “Was he buried or cremated?”
“He and his wife were cremated and are to be launched into space. I don’t know if they did it yet. You didn’t know that?”
“I guess not,” said Matt. “I wouldn’t mind being launched into space myself. Better than buried and turning to wormy soup in a box.”
This was Eric’s fourth sci-fi convention, the first two in cities he could drive to; for the third he’d had to fly. In addition to being part-time art director of an online magazine, he did freelance illustrations for sci-fi mags, book covers and games. His crowning glory was a cover for Analog. However, his income was variable and sometimes he barely made his rent.
“Relax,” said Matt finally. “You know someone always turns up by surprise at these things. It’s a tradition. Besides, a couple of people from Battlestar are coming.”
“Battlestar? Why the hell would they be here?” said Eric.
“What’s the matter with you? You love Battlestar.”
“This is a Star Trek convention, period the end. Plus, you know it’ll be someone from the original series, some dried up has-been, grateful for anything he can get.”
“You know,” said Matt, “you’ve become extremely cynical. What’s eating you?”
Eric looked at his friend. Matt possessed a charming, perpetually sunny disposition, which matched his butter blond hair and wide blue eyes. Eric, on the other hand, was dark and fox-like in appearance, which fit, he imagined, his own suspicious and wary nature. He supposed he needed Matt to balance his life; otherwise he might slip into existential despair.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I’m a little down.”
“When was the last time you got laid?” asked Matt.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Everything doesn’t boil down to that.”
“Yeah? Well, it helps. You have to admit.”
“It’s been a while,” said Eric. “You know damn well. Since Marcie Green. Before that nothing for eight months and that was the psychotic stalker woman from the bookstore. And nothing before that since Colette.”
“Ah,” said Matt, “Colette.”
They signed in and looked at their floor plans. “The new Trek stuff is on the other side,” said Matt. “You wanna go there first?”
“Not right now, but go if you want to. I’m feeling a Next Generation urge.”
“Ah, NG nostalgia, I dig it. But let’s get something to eat first, I didn’t have any breakfast,” said Matt. “Then we can split up if you want.”
Two Klingons and a Borg passed them as they approached the food court.
“You don’t think she’ll be here, do you?” said Matt, after they got their orders.
“Who?”
“Colette,” said Matt, biting into an egg Mac Muffin takeoff.
That hadn’t crossed Eric’s mind. As far as he knew, Colette now lived in Seattle. She would hardly come all the way out here for this minor league affair.
“God, no,” he said, mouth full. But his heart made a nauseating leap. It had been almost three years since he’d seen or spoken with her. The last time was on the phone and ended badly. Amazing, he thought now, how someone you were married to, so intimate with for four years could suddenly become a complete stranger that you could no longer approach, let alone laugh with or caress. What did that mean? That love was an illusion?
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About Margaret Karmazin
I am an official Old Fart now, yet retain my wild and borderline crazy imagination. With my husband and two cats, I live by a lake surrounded by woods, bears, coyot... <read more>
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