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"Comics."
"Hold on," said a large bald man whose costume was a simple black T-shirt that said his job (or name or personal motto) was Security. "Are you an exhibitor?"
"No—"
"Do you have an exhibitor’s badge?"
They didn’t.
"Back of the line, then."
"My friend can’t stand out in the sun like that," said Jay. "He has really sensitive skin. See?"
Jay lifted the hood of Doug’s poncho just slightly.
"Christ," whispered the man. He lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth. "This is Craig at D stop. I got a situation."
The walkie-talkie squawked something only Craig could understand. He said, "Copy" and returned it to its holster, all the while staring fixedly at Jay.
"It’ll just be a minute."
"Okay," said Jay. "Thanks."
Craig nodded. "So…he likes comics?"
"Yeah."
"He speaks English, too," said Doug.
Craig was joined by another big man in identical clothing, apart from a black baseball cap that said HEAD. Doug thought it seemed awfully literal.
The man said, "I’m head of security, boys."
Oh.
"What’s the problem?"
"These two want in early," said Craig, "on account of this kid can’t be out in the sun."
"Oh, yeah," said the head of security, looking under Doug’s poncho. "He’s got some kind of skin thing, right? They can wait in the lobby."
"You’re not surprised?" said Craig.
"Surprised? Hell, no. This is the big comic book weekend. If the freakin’ boy in the bubble rolled up here, I wouldn’t be surprised. Hey, watch this."
He called out to the queue. "Anyone lose an inhaler?"
About one in ten checked his pockets.
"See?" said Head, loud enough for anyone to hear. "Look at that lineup. It’s like all the kids picked last for every kickball game in America."
"Hey, screw you!" shouted a boy in a Gorillaz T-shirt. "I’m on my high school swim team!"
"Ooh." Head laughed. "Swim team."
"We went to state last year! What’d you ever do, fat ass?!"
"Hey!" said Head. "Watch your mouth or I’ll watch it for ya!"
"He wants to watch your mouth," said another boy.
"Yeah," said a third attendee, one in his twenties, "because that is all he does, right? That’s his job. Watching things. Whereas this line is full of geniuses and software engineers."
"Maybe I’ll hire you to watch my mansion someday, dick-pipe!" someone shouted.
"That’s it! Back of the line!" said Head.
"Maybe I’ll hire you to clean my pool!" said someone else.
"Back of the line! All of you!"
"Can we go in?" Jay asked Craig.
"Knock yourselves out," said Craig.
In minutes they were in a zigzagging line of low curtains, and they slalomed through it, alone; right, left, right, toward a row of tables manned by seated, serious women. Each woman looked like she was someone’s least-favorite aunt. Each woman had something to bestow on Doug and Jay, and the two boys walked in procession and received each of their tokens in turn.
Marjorie gives the Guide to Programming, your companion to the kingdom that awaits.
Wendy grants to each an Official Badge, which Mustn’t Be Lost.
From Ellen comes the Bag of Holding, filled with buttons, key chains, and all manner of promos.
And from Madge, the Book of Coupons. A thirty-dollar value.
Then, part the thin gray curtains and step, if you’re ready, into the Great Hall and taste of all its—
"Jesus," said Doug. "Look."
Almost immediately a girl sauntered by dressed as Femininja — which is to say, in a black bikini with a sword.
"Huh," said Jay.
"My spidey sense is tingling," Doug whispered, and looked over at Jay, who possibly hadn’t heard him. He’d spent an afternoon several weeks ago thinking of funny comic book things to say when girls passed. He had a notebook full of them.
The exhibit space on the ground floor was like three football fields of stands, booths, and tables, behind each of which was something to want, or someone to want, or someone to want to talk to. Directly in front of them now was the original captain’s chair from the set of Gastronauts, a book-brick bunker of manga and imported action figures in packages dashed with Japanese, and Lou Ferrigno.