Set To Kill excerpt: Chapter 16, Fine Dining

The Hugo nominations are due today, but I'm sure that none of my readers need that reminder, right? Heh heh heh. Anyway, I presume that you've made the right nominations -- ie: you nominated the things you liked.

As for me?  66,472 words into the sequel to It was only on Stun!  I'm in the home stretch on the first draft.

This is the point in which Sean Ryan meets a fan artist from online. She is of course based on no one in particular.

Heh heh heh.

* * * *

Sean surveyed the room, and was happy to see that someone took his advice, creating a dais at each end of the room. On one end of the room were all of the Puppies – though he had to correct himself as far as Jesse James was concerned, especially if he didn't care about the Hubbles. James was not on the dais, but nearby, dining with his family. The two teenagers looked more like adults, both girls dressed like young women, and his wife, Barbara, Queen of all things Goth, was dressed in solid black.

On the dais, it was Rachel Hartley, Gary Castelo, Colonel Bradley, and Omar Gunderson. Hmm. Where's Kovach?

Sean spotted Kovach off to the right of the dais, as far into the corner as possible. There was his wife, all red hair and martial artist's body.

Sean fingered his wedding ring, and knew he should call Inna before the night was over.

He looked to the other end of the dais, and the anti-Puppies. In the center sat the publishers of Rot – Patty and Terri Smith-Smythe-Smits – and they both actually looked like a man and a woman instead of two gender-neutral mannequins. S. Tempest Teacup and NKVD sat side by side, on the left of the Rot publishers, and Johnny Prada had the seat to their right.

Sean frowned, noting two empty chairs next to Prada. I can see one being empty, but two? No, there shouldn't even be one. Friedman's chair – if he ever had one – would have been removed. I wonder if Moshevsky had problems getting here. And where's Adler? Sean glanced at his watch. They're both an hour late.

Sean tapped his ear buds. “Someone go to the Hilton, I think that's where I stashed the Puppy-kicker regiment. If we have any Stormtroopers there, I need two to go to the room of Kendall Adler, of Rot publishing, and check on Fred Moshevsky. They're on the top floor with the rest of the guests, and that requires a special key to get to the floor, so talk to the front desk before you go up. Just make sure they're are still alive.”

“Yes sir,” came the answer. “You have a good time at the banquet.”

“Unlikely,” Sean answered. “Who is this, by the way?”

“Moses Lambert, 501^st Stormtrooper regiment, Petty Officer first class, retired, sir.”

Sean gave an amused scoff. “Don't sir me, I work for a living. Let me know if something comes up. I –”

Sean stopped. Limping into the room was Fred Moshevsky, looking something like a dressed-up lab assistant for Doctor Frankenstein. The hump over his right shoulder seemed to be bothering him even more now.

“Cancel the lookout for Moshevsky,” Sean told Lambert. “He just dragged his sorry ass in here.”

“Confirmed,” Lambert said. “Signing off.”

Sean frowned, studying the rest of the room. Moshevsky limped over to his correct area, then hopped onto the dais before taking his seat.

Sean raised a brow. I'm trying to figure out if he's got new orthopedics in his shoes, or has better mobility in some areas than others.

He looked over the rest of the hall. It was relatively calm. He was almost surprised. But then, the room seemed entirely divided into political ideologies. The fun wouldn't start until there was interaction between the two groups.

Then I have to break out my taser.

“Excuse me sir?” came a gentle, lilting voice next to him.

Sean turned. At his shoulder, there was a tiny slip of a woman. She was Asian, with a broad, smiling face. Her deep brown hair was combed back on her right side, and covered her left, going diagonally past her eye. Her glasses were wire-framed, and she had cute, dangly earrings. She wore an outfit too long to be considered a little black dress. Sean was grateful he didn't turn around too fast. She looked like if he had collided with her, he would have broken her. She wasn't even five-feet tall, and a size two, at best.

“May I ask if you are Mister Ryan?” she continued.

Sean turned on his smile, and tried hard to maintain it. He didn't want to be distracted, but playing nice was required. “Yes I am. And you are?”

“I am Cryomancer,” she said, the lyrical nature of her voice made the last vowel turn up, almost as though she was asking a question. “Part of the Puppies?”

“Ah.” Sean gave a slight bow at the waste. “Yes, I had heard of you. I hope you are enjoying your stay at WyvernCon?”

Cryomancer beamed. “Oh, yes, I am. Greatly. I also appreciate your security arrangements for me. The Stormtroopers who have been with me all day have been most helpful.”

Sean nodded, spotting the two guards standing back a ways. It was odd seeing the two guards with a woman who was dressed in a costume that was either Japanese school girl, or Donald Duck's sailor outfit, he couldn't tell. “Good. I didn't want anything should happen to you. Especially since you're the only person here who has a potential direct threat against them.”

Cryomancer nodded a little. “I know. But I cannot imagine Crabs showing up, can you?”

He blinked. “Wait, who?”

“Crabs? John Weir?”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Is that his actual nickname?”

“He has many internet handles, most of which have been banned from commenting at most websights,” Cryomancer explained. “But most of us believe that Crabs suits him best.”

“Can't imagine,” Sean said wryly. “How damaged do you think he is?”

“Very,” she said simply.

“He the only one you have anything to worry about?”

“Only if we have terrorists here,” she said. “Islamofascists do no like me.”

Sean cocked his head. “Excuse me?”

She smiled brightly. “Read my SWATting. It did not quite happen like that, but I live on a military base.”

Sean blinked. This should be interesting. “I'll read it right away.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a quick hug, and darted away.

Sean frowned, confused, then pulled out his phone, and called up Matt Kovach's A Pius Geek blog, and looked for Tearful Puppies Bite Back.