Exoskeleton Blues

Wray Nerely grabbed at the hard black shell of plastic covering his friend's arm as Jack tripped again trying to make his way between booths. "Jack can you even see in that thing?"

"Barely," Jack Moore answered, his voice prickly with annoyance.

"You could have gone with something less than a full Varcan exoskeleton," Wray suggested, "maybe a Phlog suit?"

Jack shook his head, the stiff plastic creaking as he moved. I just want to get a Darth Vader bathrobe," he whined, "but if any part of my body isn't covered, some adoring fan recognizes me immediately. They know my hair, the way I walk, even from behind."

Wray snorted. "Especially from behind. You know there's a whole Tumblr devoted to your ass?"

"Really?" Jack asked, perking up. "Last time I checked, my butt was only rated number eighteen in Hollywood. I must be moving. I suppose being mobbed is the price of fame and having a magnificent body."

"Sure Jack," Wray agreed, rolling his eyes, a gesture invisible to Jack, whose suit completely blocked his peripheral vision. "Hey" there are the robes."

Jack used his claws to peruse the rack of terry garments, pulling out one in brilliant blue. "Do you think this matches my eyes?" he asked Wray, holding the robe in front of him.

"How the hell would I know?" Wray retorted. "I can't even see your eyes under there. Isn't that the point?"

"I thought maybe that episode where we were pretending to be lovers...," Jack mused. "We did spend a lot of time face to face. I remember... never mind. I'll get this one. You have my money in your pocket?"

Wray sighed and pulled out the enviable wad of cash. It equaled about four of Jack's autographs and more than nine of his. Still he wasn't starving; Jack was really good about picking up checks and had just given more to charity than Wray would see in a year. He really did like his friend, when he didn't feel like killing him.

Jack paid for the robe and carefully dangled the bag from his claw. "Listen, let's get to the Green Room. I need to get out of this thing before I die of swamp ass. I can hang around back there until our panel. I need to get another autograph off of Jonathan Frakes, if he's there. I had a girl over a couple of nights ago and Next Generation made her so hot! I gave her mine and - it was memorable.

"I'm sure it will go down in history," Wray commented, thinking about his own nights in motel rooms with cold pizza and colder sheets. "We can cut through here." Wray grabbed Jack's spare claw and led him across the sales floor.

The Green Room was filled with actors from iconic sci fi movies, eighties TV shows, and current CW productions, grabbing a sandwich or just chatting. Wray found a spare corner to start pulling off Jack's outer shell. The head came off easily, as did the carapace and the legs. The left claw slipped free but the right claw refused to budge. "Wray, get it off!" Jack urged.

Wray pulled as hard as he could. "It's not coming Jack," he replied out of breath.

"Do something!" Jack exclaimed. "That's my signing arm and I'll have lines around the hall waiting for me when the panel lets out."

"Now don't panic," Wray advised. "I'll go find a rigger. They have tools. They can get this off."

"Just hurry!" Jack told him "We go on in half an hour."

Wray headed out of the Green Room leaving Jack sitting uncomfortably amongst shed pieces of plastic. A volunteer with a model of the Spectrum hanging from a necklace jiggling over her overly filled t-shirt, sidled up to Jack. "Oh Captain, I signed up as a volunteer just to meet you. Is there anything, anything at all I can do to help you?"

"Have you got a hacksaw?" Jack asked. The girl laughed. "You are funny! You're always so funny!" she gushed.

"I wasn't kidding," Jack insisted. "I'm trapped by a Varcan claw."

The girl took a step back. "Oh, I don't know. I'll have to find somebody."

"That's what Wray was supposed to be doing," Jack muttered.

Jack looked up at the digital clock that counted down the minutes until the start of his panel. Wray came running back, wheezing. "Where's the rigger?" Jack demanded.

"They're all busy," Wray puffed. "The curtains surrounding the stage in the hall came down. They almost took out a couple of people in the audience and one of the Amell cousins. I can never remember which is which. Anyway they're all busy picking things up and trying to avoid a lawsuit. Sorry Jack. I guess you'll have to wear that thing for a while. It will make a funny story for the panel," he offered.

"Yeah but it'll also mean I'll never be able to use this disguise again," Jack complained. "The story will be out on the net as fast as fingers can tweet. But I suppose there's nothing else I can do. Making fun of myself is always a crowd pleaser."

Jacks's eyes widened as a tall man with a gray crew cut ambled up. "Wow, R.D.A. I signed up to get your autograph later. I watched every episode of your show. You are amazing!"

"I'm quite a fan of Spectrum too," R.D.A. returned. "I heard one of the volunteers over there wailing that she couldn't get your autograph because you're trapped in a giant claw. If I can get you out of there, maybe we can exchange signatures. Um, I'd like yours too, Wray," he added hurriedly.

"Deal!" Jack agreed enthusiastically as R.D.A. pulled a huge Swiss army knife out of his pocket. "I always wanted one of those. Where do you get them?"

R.D.A. chose a saw blade. "They're custom made. I can give you the name of the manufacturer. He has a workshop in Winnipeg. He likes the cold."

Wray shivered involuntarily, muttering under his breath about crazy Canadians. "He must."

R.D.A. sawed at the edge of the claw until he created a big enough crack for Jack to slip his arm out, pullimg off a little skin with it. "Ow, this is one disguise I won't be able to use again," Jack lamented. "But thanks for getting me out of it."

R.D.A. snapped the saw blade back into his knife and returned it to his pocket. "Nah, a little black Gorilla Tape on the underside and you'll be all set. The break will never show. You might to spray your arm with cooking spray before the next time you slip it on, though. It'll slide right off."

"R.D.A. and Jack exchanged autographs before R.D.A left to man his table. "Wow, just like the TV show," Jack marveled.

"Well if we don't get going, that crowd is going to get ugly wondering where the stars of our TV show are," Wray pointed out. "And don't tell the fans you want one of those knives. You'll have a thousand of them before Christmas."

"I won't," Jack agreed, "I'll just get one - or three - from Winnipeg. But you know what? As soon as we're finished with the panel, I'm gonna find R.D.A. again. If there is anyone who can help me design the absolute perfect disguise, it's him."

Wray led the way to the panel where he was introduced to polite applause. When the crowd rose and screamed as Jack took the stage, Wray just sighed. "Next time I'll use superglue."