Bimbos of the Death Sun Read Online Free Page A

of meeting rooms used for conventions within the hotel. Small white cards attached to the hotel’s printed map, labeled the Pocahontas Room “Hucksters,” the adjoining Powhatan Room “Art Gallery,” and the Thomas Jefferson Room at the end of the hall was marked “High Tech,” indicating the computer display area. Past the vending machines and the rest rooms, a smaller meeting room, the Patrick Henry Nook, had been labeled “Private,” and was reserved for the use of Miles Perry and his fellow convention officials.
     
    “These rooms are for the permanent exhibits,” Dief explained, “The seminars and gaming sessions are scattered throughout the hotel in smaller meeting rooms, and tomorrow night’s banquet willbe upstairs in the auditorium. You’ll find a map on the back of your program in case you need it.”
     
    He led the way into the art room, where six freestanding partitions had been set up, each holding a collection of paintings and sketches, which were framed or mounted, and bore the artist’s name on an index card below.
     
    Jay stared up at a picture of
Star Trek’s
Mr. Spock changing into a werewolf on a chessboard in space. Not Salvador Dali, he decided.
     
    “I like this one,” Diefenbaker remarked, pointing to an oil painting of a unicorn beside a waterfall. “My taste in art is rather Victorian, I fear.”
     
    Jay Omega was staring at an orange spaceship arching above a red and silver planet. “I don’t think the perspective is quite right on that one.”
     
    “Probably not. It’s one of Eric Bradley’s, and he’s only fourteen. But very promising, don’t you think? Part of the proceeds from Rubicon go toward an art scholarship.”
     
    “Umm.” Jay Omega thought they might do well to invest in some psychiatric counseling as well, but he reminded himself that if he had any fans, these were they, and that charity was in order.
     
    “Sometimes we have a professional artist come to the con as a special guest. Of course, we can’t afford Boris Vallejo, but we did try to get Peter Seredy. He did your cover, you know. His style is unmistakable.”
     
    Omega nodded. Certainly is, he thought, but my book advance won’t cover the price of a hit man.
     
    After a long and thoughtful inspection of the metal-band sculptures, the Yoda soap carvings, and the pen-and-ink sketches of dragons, Jay Omega followed his guide into the more commercialsphere of … he had heard the term “fandom,” but could one say “condom?” He snickered. One had better not.
     
    “Hucksters’ room,” announced Diefenbaker with a wave at the chaos before them. “This is where you feed your habit—or wear it,” he added, as a monk-robed individual brushed past them.
     
    The guest author solemnly contemplated the colorful chaos of weapons displays, movie posters, comic books, and a thousand lurid paperbacks scattered across a dozen metal tables, each surrounded by an assortment of elves and aliens.
     
    “I thought you said there were electronics exhibits,” he said at last.
     
    “Different room. We’ll get there. I thought you might like to see if any of the dealers have your book. It would be kind of you to autograph their copies.”
     
    “I never know what to write,” sighed Jay Omega.
     
    “Oh, just a signature would do,” Dief assured him. “But it would be very kind of you to put their names and the date in as well. Of course, I’ve never written a book, but if I did, I think I might write ‘Thank you for reading me.’ If anyone ever asked me to autograph it, that is.”
     
    Jay Omega thought it over. “‘Thank you for reading me.’ Yes … that would be good.” He remembered Marion’s stern lectures about publicity. He certainly hadn’t received any promotion help from Alien Books. Even the mall in his parents’ town hadn’t been told about him. Marion said that Alien Books ought to be in charge of national defense, because they were so good at keeping secrets.
     
    He