Part 3 (written 13th February 2005)

Radisson Hotel, Sydney.

Lance and Toadie walk into the foyer of the Radisson, carrying their bags. Toadie's is considerably lighter, noticable by the fact that Lance is struggling red-faced with the weight of his.

"You do know we're only around for three nights, right? We haven't come to live here."

"Ha-ha!" Lance answers, unamused.

"What's in those anyway?"

Lance shrugs. "Stuff!" he replies obliquely.

"Trekkie stuff?"

There's a long pause. "Maybe." A queue can be seen at the far side of the foyer, leading out of one of the ground-floor function rooms. A banner above the door proudly displays the OzTrek logo. "Looks like that's where we go in" Lance says, perking up a little.

Toadie smirks. "Ah yes, the gateway to geek heaven."

Lance gives him a stony look. "Are you going to stand there trying to be funny all day, or are you going to get our keys?"

Toadie adopts an innocent expression and moves off to the desk as Lance all but drags his bags over to the lift.

Meanwhile, a young blonde-haired woman wearing a sleeveless grey suede dress over a ruffled leaf-green undershirt passes her ticket over at the registration desk. The ticket is punched, a convention pack handed over and the woman enters the function room. As Klingons, Andorians and Borg mingle around her, she excitedly gazes at the paraphernalia and merchandise tables, wondering where to start.

.

Part 4 (written 18th November 2007)

Room 42, Radisson Hotel.

Lance paces their shared room with impatience. He's been ready for ages. "The first guest's in the assembly hall in ten minutes you know. We're going to miss him."

"Big deal, he's only one of the crew," a slightly muffled voice from the bathroom sounds.

"An Emmy award winning member of the crew," Lance insists, affronted at the dismissal. "He designed the bat'leth."

Toadie emerges in his costume. "Really?" he asks, semi-impressed.

Lance stares at him. "That's what you're wearing?"

Toadie looks down at himself. "What's wrong with it?"

Lance is incredulous. "That's the most pathetic looking Klingon I've ever seen. It looks like you've added a sash over your medieval gear and stuck a Cornish pasty to your head." Lance moves closer, then screws his face up in disgust. "In fact that is a Cornish pasty. Toadie!"

"Hey this is the best I could do at such short notice. You know how much it costs to rent an authentic costume?"

Lance runs a hand over his face. "You do know you're going to get killed by the other Klingons don't you. They're very touchy about being sent up."

"Who said I'm sending them up?" Toadie asks innocently.

"The afro wig kind of gave it away," Lance deadpans.

Toadie folds his arms and grins. "So I'm a cultural minority Klingon."

Lance looks exasperated for a moment, then shakes his head. "I give up! On your own head be it. Now c'mon, let's go already."

Toadie nods his head in the affirm and proudly follows Lance out of the room.

Dealer's Room, OzTrek '99.

"Hey, Dan Curry's on in five minutes, you're going to miss him," a Fleeter in engineering mustard calls over to the woman across the room.

Steph picks up an IDIC pendant and examines it. "The hall's going to be full of Klingons. Overweight guys in battle armour trying to headbutt each other, I think I'll pass."

The Fleeter shrugs and goes inside. The dealer across the table smirks slightly. "Any specific guest you're here to see?"

"The TNG panel looks pretty good," Steph answers with a smile. "I've heard John DeLancie's a riot."

"Yeah? Pity's he's not here, he might've livened things up."

Steph looks up, surprised. "You're kidding!? The ads had him as one of the headliners."

The dealer shrugs. "Word just came through last night. Reshoots on some show or other."

Steph is disappointed, but any dedicated SF fan knows that convention appearances are subject to work commitments. "Do they have a replacement lined up?"

"Er... I heard they're reshuffling things, trying to bring someone in for Sunday night, but it's all pretty up in the air. I've got that in something a bit more flashy if you'd prefer?" he tells her, quickly switching subjects.

Steph looks back down at the pendant in her hand. "This looks okay. Simple, understated. How much?"

The dealer appears to go over the prices in his head. "To you, one-fifty."

Steph blinks. Revising the prices for an easy mark more like. "Dollars?"

"Hey I'm not giving them away," the dealer protests. "That's quality workmanship you know. Pure lead crystal."

Steph snorts at that. "Which turnip truck do you think I just fell off? It's quartz if I'm lucky and I wouldn't even give you fifty, never mind one-fifty."

Some of the other punters are starting to look his way. The dealer shrugs uncomfortably. "Alright, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Straight hundred."

Steph drops the pendant on the display she got it from. "Forget it! I don't deal with Ferengi."

As she walks away, she hears a pathetic "What's a Ferengi?" and shakes her head at the naivity of the normie.

.

Part 5 (written 8th January 2008)

Assembly Hall, OzTrek '99. 12:55pm.

A pained looking Toadie clutches his head as he exits through the double doors.

"Could've been worse!" Lance says without much sympathy as he follows him out.

Toadie glares at him. "He headbutted me!"

"He's a Klingon, that's a routine gesture of brotherhood for them. You're just lucky you didn't meet any serious Klingons." Lance glances down at his events programme again, slightly puzzled at the low turnout for the Q&A. "Maybe they're all waiting for Barbara March tomorrow."

"And he ruined my costume," Toadie grumbles, lowering his hand and examining the crumbly remains of the pasty.

"For the effort of authenticity that went into it, I'd say it's no great loss. You can buy a proper ridge in the dealer's room you know."

"Have you seen the price tag they put on a painted piece of rubber?" Toadie protests. "I'm off to the baker's round the corner."

Lance looks up. "For lunch or a new forehead?"

"Both! Want anything?"

"I'm okay, there's a few things I want to check out first."

Toadie shrugs. "Fine! See you later."

"Mm," Lance says absently, checking the layout plan as Toadie departs. Looking both ways, he moves right, then changes his mind and doubles back.

Assembly Hall, OzTrek '99. 12:57pm.

Steph wanders into the hall and looks around. Three quarters of the seats are empty for the next talk. Unsurprising really as Robert Blackman isn't exactly a household name. As Costume Designer on TNG though, Steph is sure she can learn some tips from him for future convention outfits.

About a minute after sitting down, a woman wearing Starfleet teal with Trill spots down her face and neck enters the room and chooses a seat two spaces away. Glancing to her left, the woman appraises Steph. "Now there's something you don't see every day."

Steph turns her head. "Huh?"

"Ocampa fans," the Trill elaborates, looking amused.

Steph shrugs ruefully. "Someone has to keep the flame burning."

The Trill nods. "Good on ya." She holds out her hand. "Charlotte London, but everyone I know just calls me Dax."

"I can see why," Steph answers before giving her own name and shaking her hand. The woman does bear a fair resemblance to Terry Farrell.

"Here with friends?" Charlotte idly queries.

Steph shakes her head after some hesitation. "I'd never live this down if anyone knew."

"In the closet huh?"

Steph nods shortly. "And I've jammed the door shut," she adds, just before a small round of applause welcomes the next guest on stage.