San Diego 2014 Read Free Page B

her she was looking at a time anomaly on the green screen, and most of all, because the ratings went up every time the writers found a good reason for her character—the fetching chronoforensic analyst Indiction “Indy” Rivers—to take a deep breath. And all of this meant that when she sat on a panel, at least half the questions from the audience would be thinly veiled excuses to tell her how pretty she was.
    At least the convention-supplied moderators managed to block the marriage proposals and offers of private dinners. Mostly. When they didn’t stop the questions from being asked, the moderators hurried the questioner away before he—or sometimes she, although that was rarer, which was amusing, all things considered—could expect an answer. And all of that was secondary to the fact that they were about to be late.
    Elle cleared her throat, trying to be polite about it, and aware that no matter how polite she was, there was a good chance she would be interpreted as another spoiled starlet trying to throw her weight around. “Um, excuse me?” The two men continued arguing. “Excuse me?” They still gave no sign that they’d noticed her. Elle sighed before stepping forward and tapping her handler on the shoulder. “Hello?”
    “Ms. Riley?” The handler turned to face her. He’d been doing this job long enough to be very good at hiding his irritation, but Elle had been doing her job long enough to catch it anyway, reading his displeasure in the way the muscles tensed around his eyes. Still, his tone was completely professional as he asked, “Is there a problem?”
    “I’m sorry to interrupt, and I really appreciate the way you’re trying to take care of me, but we’re going to miss my panel if we don’t start moving about five minutes ago.” Elle grimaced apologetically. “I think they sort of want me to be there.”
    Her handler’s eyes widened as he looked down at his own watch. Then he swore—too softly for her to make out the exact words, but the tone was enough to make his meaning clear—and said, “Ms. Riley, if you don’t mind, I think we need to start moving if we want to get you to your panel on time.”
    Elle bit back several caustic responses before settling on a neutral, “Yes, that’s probably a good idea. Are we taking the service halls?”
    Her handler nodded. The convention center security guard shook his head. Her handler frowned, but appeared to realize that it was long past the time to stop arguing and start moving. “No, ma’am, we’re not. It’s late enough that we need to cut through the convention center floor. If you’d just follow me, I’ll get you to your panel before they even start seating your costars.”
    Privately, Elle doubted that this was physically possible, especially if they were taking the route through the middle of the main floor. It might be Preview Night, but if the doors had opened while her handler was arguing with the security guard, there would be literally thousands of comic book and television aficionados crammed into the single cavernous room. Once upon a time, before Space Crime Continuum had come into her life, a girl named Elle Riley would have been out there with the rest of them. And given how her teenage self would have reacted to a real live television star suddenly popping into view, this would be like trying to play through the final boss level of a modern-day version of Frogger . Only this game would have autograph chasers in place of alligators, and large clots of fans taking pictures of a woman dressed like slave-girl Princess Leia in place of trucks.
    And there was absolutely no point in arguing about it, because they were out of time. Elle put on a sunny smile. “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s get moving.”
     
    * * *
    5:45 P.M.
    “Ladies and gentlemen—and Browncoats who refuse to tie themselves down to a single option—I declare the 2014 California Browncoats booth open for business!” Rebecca flung her arms open in