"What do you mean, you can't find our guest of honor?"

Blonde haired Gloria was sitting at the Registration table for VentureCon 1 as Dean leaned over and whispered his news in her ear. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger. "I can't believe you lost our Guest of honor." Gloria nearly shouted, paused to look around. Nobody seemed to noticed her outburst.

"I haven't lose him," Dean objected. "He's just not where he's supposed to be."

"Did you look for him?"

"Yes," Dean insisted.

"Did you look in the bathroom?" Another voice from down the table asked. Tiffany had looked up from her laptop where she was updating membership data.

"Yes, I looked in the bathroom," Dean said, annoyed that someone would think he hadn't thought to look there.

"Do you know what this means?" Gloria continued, now in a whisper.

"I'm sure he'll turn up."

"Did you look in the kitchen? Maybe he got hungry..." Tiffany interrupted. They both turned to glare at her.

She looked back at them then turned back to her computer. As she typed in another registration card she muttered, "I was just trying to help."

"Dean," Gloria hissed, "Mr. Pettigrew is scheduled to give his first talk in half an hour. Do you know what will happen if he isn't there?" She paused but before Dean could begin an answer she continued. "We'll be ruined Dean. All of us. Because if we can't produce Mr. Pettigrew every last man woman and child at this convention is going to demand their money back, every last bit of it, including the money we already spent putting this convention on. Dean, I'm too young to declare bankruptcy!"

"Actually since Dean was the only one of us old enough to sign contracts he'll be the only one they'll go after." Tiffany's father was a lawyer so little bits of legalism rubbed off on her.

"You're not helping!" Gloria barked at her. "And you're not helping, either," she rounded on Dean. "Keep looking for him. And get that big scary guy you say is your bodyguard to stop frightening people ad help, too!"

"Gary? He's not frightening."

"Just go."

Dean found Gary wandering around in the "Hucksters" area. He wasn't sure why it was called that but Gloria, Tiffany and Heather all agreed that that was what the dealer's area was supposed to be called.

Gary was holding a stapled magazine in his hand. A garish and ineptly drawn cover declares it was "Giant Boy Detective and the Ring of Doom." Dean was talking to a man behind the table, "Arcs? They're fighting Arcs instead of Orcs? And Souron? I really like the idea of a Giant Boy - Lord of the Rings crossover but these name changes to avoid copyright infringement are so cheesy..."

Dean tugged on Gary's light blue jumpsuit and whispered in his ear.

"You lost your guest of honor," Gary exclaimed.

"Shhh! We don't want people to know."

"They'll know soon enough," Gary said. Then with a sigh he asked, "Where did you look?"

"When I couldn't find him in the living room I looked in the kitchen, then upstairs to check the bathroom, and the bedrooms. I checked the downstairs rooms as well as some of the rooms connecting off the living quarters. Honestly, Gary, I've looked everywhere."

"Did you asked your dad if he saw him? Maybe he ran him off."

"Pop was sitting right where Mr. Pettigrew had been sitting, watching TV. He didn't say anything about seeing Mr. Pettigrew."

"Have you looked around the convention, maybe Pettigrew got bored and decided to mingle with his fans?"

"I looked, I couldn't see him anywhere."

"Well, go back and look everywhere again. Maybe Pettigrew was wandering while you were looking and just stayed a room ahead of you. I'll take a look around outside."

"We've got to find him in the next half hour or we're cooked," Dean said.

"Whatever," Gary said, dropped the magazine back on the table and left.

Gary walked out the main entrance and across the service drive to the parking lot and circled it. Pettigrew wasn't in any of the cars. Gary had had half a thought that the man might have returned to the Bentley either to pick up something he'd forgotten or because it represented a familiar quiet spot away from Dr. Venture. But neither seemed to be the case.

He glanced up and swept the length of the buildings. There was a clot of people about fifty feet from the main entrance. He kicked himself for not noticing them sooner. He tried to live each day by the motto "what would Brock Samson do" and Brock, he was pretty sure, would have noticed those people was soon as he'd left the building.

They were, he suspected, out there smoking, but they were all grouped around someone in the middle that Gary couldn't see. Someone who possible could be the missing Pettigrew. He hurried over to the group but as he neared he recognized the brown dress the person in the middle was wearing. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch!

The sight of the woman who had laughed at his confession of love always formed a knot in the pit of his stomach. Even though it had been months before and even though she had explained that she had laughed only to protect him from her husband's wrath, and even though Gary had had a girlfriend since, he couldn't bring himself to forgive her. It was petty and childish but then so were so many other things that drive human affairs.

Still, he was on a mission so he walked up to them. "Excuse me, gentlemen, Lady, but have you seen a short, heavy set man in his late seventies wandering around. He has a small goatee."

"You lost the Guest of Honor!" Dr. Mrs the Monarch blurted out. The others seem to have no idea of whom Gary was looking for. As they were all men on their forties or even fifties, and not all of them were smoking, Gary guessed that these men were all trying to hit on the one adult woman at the convention.

"Not me, Dean."

"Dean!" she echoed. ""He'd lose his head if it weren't attached. Have you looked every where?"

"Yes!" Gary answered with exasperation. "I've got Dean looking through the residence again while I'm doing a reccon of the outside."

"I suppose he'll have to turn up somewhere. This place is surrounded in chain-link fence. He couldn't have gone far." she said.

She took the cigarette out of her mouth and looked at it, decided it was smoked as far as it was going to, dropped it into the pile at her feet and rubbed it would with her shoe. She fished out another cigarette from her purse and had three different lights pushed towards her. She took the nearest one and smiled at the man holding it. Gary could see the man actually straighten up a bit taller under her glance. It reminded him all over again why he hated her.

So as he was turning away to continue looking for Winston Pettigrew he casually mentioned, "She's married, you know. Husband's the real jealous type. Ex-Con." The latter was true. The Monarch had been sent to prison, was technically an escaped convict.

Gary walked a hundred yards done the line of buildings before pausing to look around. He noticed with grim satisfaction that the covey of lecherous fathers had disappeared. Dr. Girlfriend was smoking by herself. He saw her throw the last cigarette on the ground and stomp on it before walking back to the entrance of the convention. Gary smiled and continued looking for the missing man.

But Pettigrew was nowhere to be found outdoors. Gary went back inside, took a walk around the convention room looking for Pettigrew there and when he didn't find him, took the small door that lead to the Venture Residence.

He found Dean in some kind of den below the main level of the residence. Large windows looked out into the depths of a swimming pool. Dean had sunk into one of the low couches there and rested his chin on his hands. He looked up when he heard Gary enter and sighed. "I've looked everywhere, twice! And I still can't find him."

"Did you ask your father?"

"Yeah. He just laughed that I'd lost our guest of honor."

"He's not outside either, but I didn't think he was." Gary thought for a moment. "I think it's time we called on Dr. Orpheus."

Dean paled. "You think Mr. Pettigrew is dead?" he asked.

Dr. Orpheus was a necromancer. Dr. Venture had rented out a wing of the building to him because he needed the cash. Resurrecting the dead was one of the things he did.

"No. It's wouldn't help you any if he were. Can't have zombies giving speeches now can we? No, I just figured that since we've looked everywhere else then, possibly Pettigrew wandered into there. It's the only place we having looked yet."

Gary lead the way up the stairs and through the connecting corridors to Dr. Orpheus's apartment. As they neared the door it swung upon of its own accord while a tremulous voice declared "Welcome to the home of Dr. Byron Orpheus."

They walked through the door which promptly closed behind them. Gary looked over his shoulder just to make sure Dr. Orpheus wasn't standing there behind them playing a practical joke. No one was there.

"Come. This way," the invisible voice directed.

Gary had never been inside Dr. Orpheus's apartment before. The unseen speaker lead them into a large library where the necromancer was intently studying a large and ancient looking book. After a moment. He jotted down a note, placed the note on the open page before closing the book with a loud thud.

"What do I owe this unexpected visit."

"We're looking for a guy, short, heavy-set, elderly with a goatee." Gary explained.

"And you thought I might be entertaining him?" Dr. Orpheus asked with a theatrical flourish. He tended to declaim instead of simply speaking. As if every word was of monumental importance.

"We've looked every where else."

"I am a Necromancer, a speaker to the dead! I wield powers beyond your mortal comprehension, I am not some garden-variety finder of lost keys and guests of honor."

"You've heard about the convention?" Gary asked in surprise.

"Triana mentioned it in one of her 'E-mails'."

Gary turned on Dean, "You told Tirana but you didn't think to tell me?"

"We were afraid that if we mentioned the convention you'd feel honor-bound to tell Pop and he'd tell us we couldn't do it." Dean said.

Gary rolled his eyes but said to Dr. Orpheus, "Anyway we've looked everywhere else so I thought maybe he had dropped in on you."

"I have not been bothered by any unexpected guests before your arrive."

"You're sure about that?" Gary insisted.

"Of course I'm sure. My door would not open to anyone without first informing me."

"You look like you were really busy just now. Maybe he slipped in and you didn't notice it?" Dean suggested. That earned an annoyed glance from the magician. "Oh, very well. One moment while I scan the apartment for other visitors."

He closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers to his forehead. He sat still for a moment then his eyes popped out with a look of alarm. "The closet door is open," he said, then disappeared in a cloud of sulfurous smoke.

"What was that all about?" Gary asked Dean. He was more than a little unsettled that a man could just disappear like that. And what was so urgent about a closet door?

"That would be Triana's closet," Dean said matter of factly. "It's apparently a portal into the Underworld." He lead the way out of the library, up some stair and down a hall to an open door. Inside was a girl's bedroom. Posters of punk rockers were on the wall. A frilly four-poster bed dominated one corner of the room. Hair spray and make-up was piled on dresser tops. And a closet door stood open.

Gary looked inside and was disappointed to find that it open into a small room, six feet deep and four feet wide. A rod ran down the length on one side. A couple dresses were hung on it, dark gothic numbers, like Triana Orpheus tended to wear.

There was no gateway to anywhere else.

"You sure about this being a portal to another dimension?" he asked Dean. "Looks like an ordinary closet to me."

"Triana told me you can't see it unless you're a magic user."

"Really."

"Yes. It used to scare her all the time because she could see the portal but her father never explained what was going on; that she could do magic, you know. Guess he didn't want her to become a magician like him."

Gary felt an itch on his neck and turned his head to scratch it. As soon as he took his eyes off the closet Dr. Orpheus walked out carrying Winston Pettigrew in his arms. "I have rescued your guest from the unseen horrors of the Underworld," he announced as he dropped the unconscious man on Triana's bed.

Pettigrew was waving his arms aimlessly and moaning words that seemed half gibberish.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked, concerned.

"He has seen things which mortal man was never meant to see!" Dr. Orpheus declaimed. "His very sanity is at risk!" And without another word he placed his hand over Pettigrew's head and commanded "Sleep! Sleep!"

Pettigrew's eyes rolled up till only the whites showed. His head flopped to one side and he began to snore softly.

"That's one way to cure insomnia," Gary said, somewhat creeped out by the magician's power.

"How long is he going to sleep?" Dean asked. "He's scheduled to give a talk in" - he consulted his two-way wrist communicator - "fifteen minutes."

"Mr Pettigrew will sleep for half an hour." Dr. Orpheus told him.

"Is there any way to wake him up sooner."

"Do not try to wake him up!" Dr. Orpheus thundered. "The sleep is erasing the memories of the horrors of the Underworld from his mind. If you wake him too soon he will remember some of his journey there - with disastrous results!"

"But...fifteen minutes..." Dean sputtered

"This is a convention," Gary assured him, "Nothing runs on time. Just tell Gloria you've got to stall for fifteen or twenty minutes. I'm sure she can figure something out. And at least we have him now, so things can't get any worse." With a worried look at the unconscious author. Dean went to talk to his co-chair.

"How easy is it to wake him up?" Gary asked Dr. Orpheus. "I'd like to move him down to the Venture's living room, but I don't want to do it if it'll break your spell or whatever."

"Oh. he should be alright as long as you don't go banging his head on the doorjambs." the magician assured him.

Gary hefted the man's body and gingerly make his way through the doorway and out Orpheus's apartment, along some connecting corridors and into the Venture Residence. He found Dr. Venture sitting on one end of the couch but Winston Pettigrew was short enough that Gary had room to lay him out on the rest of the couch.

"So you found your missing author, eh?" Dr. Venture said, flipping aimlessly through te channels on his TV. "Where was he?"

"Wandered into Tirana's closet."

"Usually those type of people are coming out of closets," Dr Venture said unkindly.

"What do you mean by that?" Gary said, angrily. He knew exactly what Dr. Venture meant. Dr, Venture had a habit of saying mean, baldly cruel, and usually bigoted things about people, and when called on it would defend himself by saying he was just telling the truth. Every time he did that Gary lost a little more respect for the scientist.

Gary arranged the short man on the couch so he'd sleep more comfortable. He glanced at Dr. Venture. "You think he's gay, is that it?"

"I only met him the one time this morning but it seemed pretty obvious. The man's flaming!"

"'Flaming'? You think he's 'flaming'?" Gary scoffed, "What about Shore Leave. Now there's 'flaming'. The guy's a one-man 24/7 Gay pride parade, but you know what. He's also one of the best agents the OSI has. He's the only agent they've got that's professional enough to work with Brock Sampson. And you know how Brock hates working with partners! The only thing flaming around here is your red neck. So just put a cork in it!"

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Dr. Venture returned. "I'll have you fired!"

"I don't actually work for you, the OSI actually pays my salary."

Dr. Venture seethed for a minute before getting up "I'd better see what Dean's up to. He should have some idea how much profit this little shindig of his is making by now. From the number of people there it looks like he's raked in a lot. That's my money. Venture property and all." Dr. Venture got up to leave. Gary assumed he didn't like losing arguments. As the scientist was heading for the corridor out to Workroom No. 3 a thought crossed Gary's mind. "You know," he said, "this is probable a non-profit convention. All excess cash at the end of the day has to be plowed into some charitable organization."

"And charity begins at home."

"The IRS is going to want your tax exempt number..."

"Oh, screw the IRS," he complained and hurried through the door. With a shrug Gary settled into a chair facing the sleeping author and waited for Dr. Orpheus's spell to end.

"What do you mean, this is a non-profit convention?" Dr. Venture all but screamed at his son.

Dean always got a little sweaty when his father was yelling at him but he remembered that this was his convention and he had to stand up for it. "We had to organize as a non-profit, pop, it was cheaper on the taxes. we qualified for tax exempt status and all-in-all the regulations were a little looser."

"What about my money? This is all my money. You wouldn't be having this little get-together if it were for Venture Enterprises. And do you know who happens to be Venture Enterprises?"

"You, Pop," Dean agreed sadly.

"Yes. me!"

"But we already agreed to pay you an appropriate amount for room rental and utilities," the blonde-haired girl siting at the registration table next to Dean spoke up. "You don't get all of it. Besides we need starter funds for next year..."

"You keep out of this," Dr. Venture snapped at Gloria. "Next year? You think you're going to hold another convention here next year?"

"It's my convention," Gloria snapped back. "I'm not going to shut up about my convention!"

Dean was going to correct here that this was really his convention then realized that this wasn't the time to argue over who's convention this was. He was spared having to come up with an answer to his father when a voice pipped up behind them.

"Rusty, long time, no see," It was a quavering, older voice and spoke directly behind him. Dr. Venture turned to see who it was, then leaped back with a start. He stumbled the length of the registration table, catching a steadying hold on it just before he ran out of table.

"You!" He cried, then pulled himself up and walked back, extending a hand to the small, elderly man standing there. "Dr. Zinn! - Ah, sorry for the reaction. You caught me off guard. I had a flashback to when I was ten, remember, you snuck up on me..."

"Would that be Marakesh? I think so. We had a glorious time eluding your father. Didn't find Aladdin Cave but we did find a nice trove of Carthagian relics."

"You! You had the grand time playing hide-and-seek with my father. I was bound in a small trunk as I recall!" Dr. Venture pulled a pill box out of his pocket and quickly thumbed through the many different pills there. "Valium, Valium, Valium," he prayed. Finally he found the pill he wanted, popped it into his mouth and swallowed it dry. "So what brings you to Dean's little travesty?" he asked.

"Who's the old geezer talking to your father?" Gloria whispered to Dean.

"That's Dr. Zinn. He's retired now."

"Dr. Zinn? Why is that name familiar? Wait, wasn't there a Doctor Zinn as one of the major villains on the old Rusty Venture Show?" Gloria asked.

"That was just an actor. Dr, Zinn" - he nodded towards the old man - "was still actively trying to steal my grandfather's inventions to play himself on the show. At least that's what Pop says."

"There was a real Dr. Zinn? I thought that show was all made-up, like Superman."

"Oh, no. It was all real. Well, maybe just a little dramatized. Pop's kind of vague about the show."

"Pop? Your dad was Rusty Venture?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No!" Gloria's eyes bugged. "Oh, My God! You're famous!"

Dean snorted. "Hardly."

"Rusty," Dr. Zinn was saying, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with your son and I thought I should come over and offer a little balm on troubled waters." He dragged Dr. Venture back next to where Dean was standing behind the registration table.

"Rusty, my old friend," Dr. Zinn began, "Are you really upset with your son for having the initiative to organization and hosting this wonderful event?"

"He could have asked first," Dr. Venture reluctantly admitted. He felt like a schoolboy being lectured.

"And you would have said 'no' because you always do. I know you, Rusty. We have been enemies for so long we know each other inside and out. But what are you really angry about?" The doctor paused for Dr. Venture to answer. When he did Dr. Zinn continued, this time speaking to Dean Venture. "Your father's anger isn't because you took initiative or did things without permission, but because you didn't invite him to be a part of this inestimable gathering."

Dean gave Gloria a confused look. He wasn't sure whether 'inestimable' was a good or bad thing.

"I think the old man's saying we should have made your father a guest of the convention," she said.

"Oh!" Dean was relieved that someone understood what Dr. Zinn was saying. Then he remembered, "But Pop doesn't like Giant Boy Detective."

"And I can't believe that you do," Dr. Venture said.

"But he's Rusty, Boy Adventure! Who wouldn't want to meet the famous star of the TV show? Perhaps hear of some of his real-life adventures that didn't make it into his show."

"Marakesh,: Dr. Venture grumbled, "locked inside a trunk for a week. Not very entertaining,"

"I'm sure you have happier memories." Dr. Zinn suggested softly.

"Are you kidding? You were personally responsible for my not having happier memories from age 10 through eleven and a half."

"But you were a TV star! You saw all of Hollywood-"

"The insides of trunks, closets, steamer chests, caverns," Dr. Venture interrupted, dourly.

But Dean was beginning to see what Dr. Zinn was getting at.

"Pop, would like to be a guest speaker at our convention. And - and - next year you can be the -"

"-Co-Guest of Honor," Gloria finished.

"Co-Guest of Honor, well.." Dr. Venture straightened up from his usual slouch at the thought.

"VentureCon2 would be a combined Giant Boy Detective/ Rusty, Boy Adventure convention." Dean suggested.

"Well..."

"We can put your on at 4 o'clock today. We ere just going to have the Bitch Session then but I think a lot of people would much rather hear a few words from you." Gloria had never gone fishing in her life but she certainly knew when she had hooked a fish and was busily reeling him in.

"We'll have Heather make the announcement just before Mr. Pettigrew begins his talk."

"Then I'd better get ready, heh, heh,. put together some rough notes. Four o'clock, you say? I'll be there. And Dean, next time I'd better have more than one late panel at the convention!" He left in a rush, a smile on his face. Gary passed him in the corridor as he was bringing a recovered Mr. Pettigrew into the convention hall and wondered what could have happened to make the older Venture look so happy.

Dr. Girlfriend had walked in from her cigarette break still scowling at the dirty trick Gary had played on her. Just because she was married didn't mean she could do little harmless flirting from time to time and it was really flattering to be surrounded by so many nice men, so eager to do anything for her. And as long as the Monarch didn't know about it it wasn't going to cause anyone any trouble. Then Gary had to go and ruin it all.

She was a little surprised that the last panel was still going on. It was a quarter past the hour and Winston Pettigrew should have been up there talking about the origins of Giant Boy Detective. She shrugged. Conventions often ran late. Not that she's ever gone to many, but from things that 21 - Gary - had said, she knew this to be true.

She went over to take a seat in the Parent's Lounge. There was a cluster of wire-frame plastic bottomed chairs in the center of the room where most of the con goers congregated between panels but Dr. Mrs The Monarch preferred a cushiony sofa or couch over them. All the men waiting in the Lounge looked away from her. Apparently word of Gary's comments had spread fast. That just darkened her mood more. Unable to bear the feeling of being a pariah, she got up and left, wandering the floor of the convention somewhat aimlessly.

She saw Dr. Venture striding into the room again and quickly and quietly slipped into a corner where he was less likely to see her. The scientist was making straight for his son and not - mercifully - looking for her. But she feared that it would only be time before the sad little man would coming looking to "put his moves" on her. So it was with some pleasure that she watched Venture almost run from the convention back to his residence.

With an ashy sigh, she drifted towards the back of the programming section of the room and wondered what could be keeping Winston Pettigrew. She was not good as waiting patiently so her scowl must have deepened some more.

"Ah, Good morning, Sheila. And how are you today," She turned to see a small, elderly man approaching her. He was using a cane. His wife was on his other arm, helping. She was kind of scary looking, being somewhere in her eighties but botoxed and face-lifted until she looked a mummified fifty.

"Dr. Zinn! I didn't know you were a Giant Boy Detective fan? How's life treating you?"

"I am an old man. I happen to be alive today so I guess I shouldn't complain." He leaned over to pat her on the arm, "though of course I do. You've met my lovely wife?"

"I think we meet a couple years ago at some Guild function. It's good seeing you again."

"Thank you," Mrs Zinn said. She was foot or more taller than her husband and dressed in a miniskirt and go-go boots right out of Carnaby Street. "We don't get out much anymore but my dear husband was so set on coming here."

"I saw you talking to Dr. Venture," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch said. "What was that all about?"

"Just saying hello. I hadn't seen the boy since his Day Camp endeavor last year. I was a speaker there, which I enjoyed a lot. I realized that I could help Dean out by suggesting that he make his father a guest speaker here. Rusty seemed quite taken with the idea."

"Is that why Mr. Pettigrew late?"

"That I don't know."

"Have you been enjoying it?" Sheila asked.

"Have you? I have been having a ball. I talked with a lad - couldn't be more than eight or nine years old - about Giant Boy continuity - knew everything about the books. Such a bright and wonderful lad. I brought along my very first Giant Boy book." He held up a small, thick brown hardcovered book "Are you going to get something signed?"

She brought out of her tote a different book, a little taller and wider but much thinner with a scruffed and creased cover showing Giant Boy and his friends peering into a cave."

"Ah, the second series. Did you know there was a whole other series of Giant Boy adventures before that?"

"No."

"Than look!" he held out the brown book he'd been carrying, a flipped a couple of pages. "See: Copyright 1931 by the Overholster Syndicate." Overholster was a book packager like the Stratemeyer Syndicate that created Tom Swift, Don Sturdy and the Bobbsie Twins. And like Stratemeyer Roy Overholster would create intricate and detailed outlines for the stories then feed them to some starving newspaper journalist to write out. It's believe that Overholster wrote the first book but most of the rest have been credited to Howard R. Jarvis."

"Really?" Dr. Girlfriend said, amazed at all these history that she did not know.

"Roy Overholster died in 1951 and the syndicate was taken over by his daughter. Ethel. She continued writing the outlines for a while, then in 1962 decided that the series had gotten grossly out of date so she hired Pettigrew to re-boot the series and modernize it. Which he did and has been written it ever since."

"That's like fifty years," Dr. Girlfriend marveled. "He must be ancient!"

"Not as much as me, my dear, not as much as me.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Dr. Girlfriend turned around to find herself being addressed by a very young, and very small girl with a mane of light brown hair. "I'm Tiffany, from the con-com. Dean asked if I'd come over and see if everything was OK with you. He said you were looking unhappy and for some reason Dean though that was - uh - not a good thing."

Dr. Girlfriend looked over to the registration table where Dean was standing behind a couple girl about Tiffany's age. He waved goofily at her but out of habit was keeping his distance from her. "I'm fine" she said. "I just had an unpleasant conversation with Dr. Venture. Dean will understand." And because she was in a good mood because of the convention, she added. "Thank you for asking. It was very kind of you. You can tell Dean that I'm on holiday today. I'm here for the convention and have no more desire for anything to go wrong than he does. If there is any one who might start trouble, it would that gentleman in the blue uniform." She looked around and found Gary huddled in conference with Dean and the other two girls on the committee. She pointed to him. "If you see him heading towards me, could you head him off somehow. He doesn't like me and might use the convention to cause trouble."

"That's Gary, our security leader," the girl said. "I can't imagine him wanting to cause you trouble. He's a pussycat."

"No, he's a pitbull. They can look friendly but never cross them."

The girl looked a little confused by that but nodded and smiled brightly, "Ok, ma'am, I'll do that."

Dr. Girlfriend kind of flinched at the use of 'ma'am.' She wasn't a 'ma'am'. She was still very much a young and vital woman. But then, she reminded herself, when you're only fourteen or whatever years old, everyone looks old.

"I'll tell Dean that you're OK. I'm sorry Dr. Venture gave you a hard time. Did you know he used to be a TV star? He's going to give a talk about it at 4!"

"Indeed," said Dr. Zinn. "His father and I were the best of enemies."

"Best of friends," Tiffany corrected.

"Oh, we were never friends." The small vaguely oriental looking man smiled. "For years I would try to steal all of his best inventions - to advance some personal goals of mine."

"World conquest, wasn't it?" Dr. Mrs the Monarch asked.

"We all have our little dreams. But I'm retired now and in the end, who wants to rule the world. People are determinedly contrary beasts."

"You're a supervillain?" Tiffany asked, with a touch a fear in her voice.

"I'm retired, as I've said, and Sheila's just here for the convention."

"You're both super-villains? No wonder Dean was worried."

"And I told you I'm on Holiday. I'm here for the convention - and nothing else. " Dr. Mrs. The Monarch told her.

"The thing is," Dr Zinn continued, "the reason I called Dr. Venture - the elder Dr. Venture - the best of enemies is that after a time one begins to realize that the only people we see are our Arches. We have no social life except for those we are trying to do an injury to. And so we begin to socialize with ours worst enemies. We come to be on a first name basis, sending cards on birthdays and anniversaries. In a way it's a sick kind of relationship." The old man smiled wanly. "It was at a Guild party that I realized that all we ever talked about was our Arches. We never talked about art or literature, or the last good play we went to. Went we got home that night I turned to my lovely here and said 'Dear, it's time to retire.' I did and I've been happier for it. What about you, Sheila?"

"I don't expect to live to get old."

"No one ever does," Dr. Zinn chuckled.

The panel was breaking up finally. People were streaming out of the curtained off area, some seeking the bathrooms, a few diving for a quick nosh at HankCo. Others just milling on the open area, hooking up with friends before Winston Pettigrew began his talk.

"It was good seeing you, Sheila. I think we should find our seats before all the good ones are taken. I wish I knew were the book signing will be so I can sit as close to that as possible. At my age I'd hate to have to fight a bunch of teenagers for a place in line."

"It was a pleasure talking to you," he told the little blonde girl. "Do assure Dean that we are - for today at least, quite harmless." With a pleasant laugh, Dr. Zinn hobbled off to the panel room.

Sheila was putting her book back in the tote, being careful not to tear the tattered dustcover any more than it was when the first rockets exploded on the workroom's roof.

"What the hell?" she cursed, then looking up to see a portion of cement ceiling material falling directly towards her. "Look out!" she shouted at the girl from the con-com and darted towards the door. Gary, she noticed, was also racing towards the exit. What kind of lunatic, she wondered, would be crazy enough to attack the Ventures in broad daylight. She was afraid she was married to him.