adferraro@aol.com (AdFerraro)


Hi all,

     Here it is.  Part 1 of Conwars.  I wrote this several months ago,
but due to a sudden crunch of schoolwork I never got around to posting
it.  (at least I don't think I did.)  This is all done in fun, so all of
you Star Trek fans out there don't take this seriously.  As always,
comments are appreciated, send to AdFerraro@aol.com.

Adam





                                         CONWARS: PART ONE





     Bill Sherman looked around.  The Atlanta Ritz-Carleton was truly a
fine hotel.  Covering more than 10 acres, it was the largest, most
advanced conference center anywhere in the United States.  Upon first
entering the hotel, one was struck by the sheer opulence of it.
     The lobby floor was hewn out of an opaque marble imported straight
from Italy, the walls were thickly layered in rich looking oak and
gilded in gold trim.  Incandescent lighting emanated from silver
chandeliers and bathed the hotel in a soft light that served to increase
the feeling of surrealism.  The rooms were no less sumptuous.  Plush red
carpeting lined the floors, the facilities were first rate, and the beds
were so soft that once one laid down, one did not want to get up.
     Bill smiled wolfishly.  There was no finer hotel anywhere, and it
was theirs for the weekend.  This would be the best damn anime
convention ever held.  Already, over five hundred people had shown up,
with another five hundered expected over the course of the next couple
days.  The entire hotel was at his disposal and he would use it to the
fullest, ACon '98 would be a convention for the history books.

     Casually glancing out the window, he noted the arrival of twenty
Greyhound buses, all of them laden with con-goers.  Pleased, he
continued on his way to meet with his department heads.


     John Hood, con president and self-promoted admiral of the fleet
gazed up at the Atlanta Ritz-Carleton with joy.  To have secured the
creme de la creme of conference hotels for his Star Trek convention was
a stroke of luck.  Backed by a group 1200 strong, they had driven over
200 miles just to be here today, and from the myriad amount of cars
parked in the lot, it looked like several hundred more Star Trek fans
could not wait for the official opening and had already arrived.  As the
buses came to a stop, John stepped out and ordered the rest of the group
to disembark, little realizing the problems he was about to encounter.

     Staring at the motley group of people as they got out from the
buses, Bill couldn't help but feel that there was something different
about this group.  Somehow, they just didn't seem to fit in.
     "CHARLES!" he barked to one of the gofers.  "Find out where that
group of people is from and whether they have pre-registered or not."
     "Just leave it to me Bill," Charles grinned back at him, "I'll take
care of it."
     Bill watched his receding form, then turned his attention back to
Winston and the floor plan.  Winston Smythe was a big jolly fellow and
an organizational genius.  He was responsible for the floor arrangement
of the dealer's room and video rooms.  It was quite true to say that
without him, the convention could not have been held.
     "As I was saying," Winston pointed at the floor plan, "We've
developed a couple of problems.  The Antarctic Press people have refused
to be located next to the DIC booth.  When I asked them what was wrong,
there were a couple of comments about about 'Butchering Bastards', and
then they stormed off."
     Winston paused to take a sip from the glass of water sitting on the
table next to him, the continued on.  "A group of protesters has taken
up position next to the A.D. Vision booth and is accosting anyone who
goes near there, exhorting them to boycott what they call (and I qoute)
"The Whoremongers."
     Winston sighed.  "The people from Viz Comics have failed to show
up, which is either good or bad depending on your point of view.  And,
as if we did not have enough problems already, the man who was supposed
to run the Voyager Entertainment booth has had a nervous break down and
now he thinks he's Ryo-Ohki."
     "Thot's nae all."  Angus McAngus broke in.  A burly Scot who had
moved from his mother country to the US in the late seventies, he had
never lost his thick brogue.
     "The various anime factions 'ave started ta squabble amongst
themselves.  Aaaach, I dinna know why, but you'd think that no one could
'ave their own opinions."  Angus shook his head.
     "Go on," Bill prompted.
     "We've 'ad to seprate tha church o' tha overcute from tha church
o'tha sci-fi.  It was the damndest thing I e'er seen.  A lass o'tha
sci-fi group cull'd Usagi an' Rei "Bloomin Queers", un thot settl'd it."
     Angus appealed to the group as a whole.  "Have you e'er seen wha'
happens when a dozen Sailor Moons and Ukyou's (an not all o'em t'were
women eitha) pounce on three o' four groups o' Priss's an' Linna's?
Ack, I'ave, an I dinna have to tell ye, eet's not a pretty sight."
     "Matters t'were made worse when some monnie dress'd as tha
Overfiend culld'em all bloody pansies, an' swore thot only believers in
"Naughty Tentacles" t'were true anime fans.  It t'was at this point thot
Skuld's Servants and Belldandy's Boosters pitched into the fray,
chargin' tha Overfiend.  Foe a buncha so-cull'd peaceful people, let me
tell ya thot they can be quite vicious.  An durin' all o'this, some
fella was a goin roun' an snugglin up to e'eryone, mewin' tha whole
time."  Angus spat.  "It took me an my crew almos' twenty minutes to
s'prate them, but you know what?"  Angus lowered his voice.  "I dinna
ken think it's over just yet.  Tha was just a wee bit much anger still
simmerin' when I left'em.  Thot tha was."
     Bill shook his head in disgust.  Problems, problems, problems.  The
con hadn't even started yet and already it was shaping up to be a
disaster.  Bill turned his attention to John Barbieri, who was in charge
of running the video rooms and panel programming.
     "Any problems John?"
     John was a small neat man who prided himself on running a tight
operation.  "None at all.  All equipment is functional and all panels
are scheduled.  Biggest problem will be to get the GOH's there on time."
     Bill brightened considerably, here at last was some good news.
Maybe things were finally starting to look up.  Turning to the last
person in line, he stared up at the head computer tech.
     Thick blonde hair cascaded down a delicate aquiline face.  Amy
Morgan was unarguably one of the prettiest girls he had ever known, and
also one of the tallest.  She was a computer genius of the rarest order,
and, more importantly, one of the few girls in anime.  As such, she was
put in charge of all the convention's computer systems.
     "The news isn't so good Bill."  Amy frowned.  "The main computer
has picked up a virus, and all it can do is flash "THEY ARE COMING"
along with the sounds of black helicopters.  I figure someone picked it
up on the alt.government.conspiracy.theorists.  newsgroup.  I'm trying
to purge it, but I'm not having very much luck.  As for the others, a
couple of them had been installed with Windows '95, and now they're
hopelessly screwed up.  If you disregard these problems, than maybe with
some divine intervention, we just might man-"
     "CHIEF, CHIEF."
     Everyone turned at the sound of the frantic voice and saw Charles
running towards them, panic written on his face
     "Yes?"
     All eyes were on Charles as he tried to catch his breath.  Finally
he was able to speak.
     "That group of people who just arrived, they aren't anime fans,
they're Star Trek fans and they claim that they've reserved the hotel
for their convention.  In fact, they're demanding that we leave.
     Everyone stood in stunned silence, trying to digest what they had
just been told.  As usual, Angus was the first to recover.
     "The Rummy Dogs!  They canna do thot!" Angus burst out, his face
turning a deep shade of crimson.  "We'are here first.  Tis'em thot
should be a' leavin."
     "Yeah!"  The gentle Amy cut in, agreeing with Angus, "Who the hell
do they think they are, telling us to leave, lets throw them bastards
out."
     The group started to babble excitedly at one another, each trying
to make his views on the subject known.  Finally Winston tried to calm
the group.
     "Now now gentlemen--oh, excuse me, gentleman and lady," Winston
said, "I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding.  Before we fly off the
handle here, let's let our fearless leader Bill go and talk to the
manager and see what exactly the problem is, and whether or not we can
solve it peacefully.  Violence is never an option.  After all, we are
calm, sane, civilized people.  There is no reason we can't work things
out."
     There were nods of general agreement from the group.
     "Well then Bill," Winston looked at Bill "Let's get started."
     Bill, silent throughout the discussion, looked at his friends and
nodded.
     "A sound plan Winston, let's go find Mr. Bentley.  I'm sure he can
straighten this mess out."


     At that moment, surrounded by a group of clamoring Klingons, Mr.
Bentley was fervently wishing he was anyplace but there.  An elderly man
who had just celebrated his seventieth birthday, he was every bit the
picture of a hotel manager.  Tall, with silver hair and a sharply
trimmed goatee, he was most at home when dealing with businessmen and
businesswomen.  Not Klingons, and certainly not Klingon women, which
through unfortunate circumstance, is exactly where he found himself now.
     The more vocal of the two was a short thickset women with a body
that had the constitution of a dump truck, and a voice to match.  The
other woman stood well over 2 meters tall, and her biceps and thighs
were roughly the size of his head.  On a good day, in their best of
moods, he wouldn't have cared to meet with them, and this was not a good
day.  Nor were they in the best of moods.
     Next to them stood "Admiral Hood", who was patiently trying to
explain his position to Mr. Bentley.
     "I just don't see the problem Mr. Bentley, I'm holding a signed
contract guaranteeing us the hotel for our convention this weekend, and
what do I find when we get here?  Those damn animaniacs.  Now, what are
you going to do about it?"
     Bentley shook his head from side to side as if trying to wake up
from a bad dream.
     "I'm sorry Mr. Hood, there is nothing I can do.  Those "Animaniacs"
as you so quaintly put it, signed their contracts first.  Somehow,
somewhere, a mistake was made.  I assure you that I will do everything
in my power to see that the person or persons responsible for this error
will be reprimanded.  As for your convention <ahem> I understand your
problems, but my hands are tied."
     "That's not the only thing that will be tied if he doesn't become
more cooperative!"
     The shorter of the two women spat in disgust.
     "Me and Becky came all the way from Arkansas to enjoy ourselves at
the convention and what do we find when we get here?  WHAMMO!  There IS
no convention.  This does not make me or Becky very happy."
     Becky nodded.
     "Me Becky not happy."
     Bentley sighed.
     "Madams.  Sir.  There is nothing that I can do.  An unfortunate
mistake has been made and I can assure you that it will never happen
again.  Now, I am going to have to ask you to please either join the
Anime convention or leave.  You are making a scene, and I cannot have
you disturbing my guests.  If You do not do as I ask, then I will have
to call the police and have you rem-UGH!"
     The last "ugh from Bentley occurred due to the singular surprise of
Becky grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground.
     "Becky says you not funny little man.  Becky wants to play
ping-pong with your balls."
     "Now you've done it."  Admiral Hood shook his head, "You've gone
and made Becky mad."
     Fortunately for Mr. Bentley and the impending game of ping-pong, he
was saved by the sudden arrival of Sherman, McAngus, and the others.
     "What are ye doin ye daughter of a motherless Klingon?" McAngus
hollered, "Put heem down this insta', o' by God I'll show ye me Sco'ish
fists o' fury."
     Hood nodded to Becky and she slowly put Bentley down.  Visibly
relieved, he promptly placed himself out of arms reach.
     "As I was saying to Mr. Hood earlier,"  Bentley addressed Bill, "It
appears that there has been a mix-up, but there is nothing that I can
do."
     "Your contract," he motioned to Sherman, "Is the proper one, but
they insist that their's is the correct one and they refuse to leave.
     Bill looked at the Star Trek group.
     "Who's in charge here?"
     "I am."
     Hood stepped forward.
     "John B. Hood.  Con president and Admiral of the Fleet.  And you
are?"
     "Bill Sherman, con president."
     Bill looked over Hood, all the while thinking furiously.  The Star
Trek fans were obviously very belligerent and self righteous, and not at
all averse to violence as the incident with Mr. Bentley had
demonstrated.  Any attempt to have them moved would probably create more
problems than it solved.  This left only one solution, and he knew the
others would not like it.
     "Mr. Hood."
     Everyone looked at Bill.
     "Since you have come such a long way, and since an honest mistake
has been made, I see no reason we can not do our best to try and be
understanding."
     He took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he would say
next.
     "If our positions were reversed, I know that I would be quite
upset, as I'm sure you must be.  So in the interests of peace and
harmony, and as one group of fans to another, we'll share the hotel with
you."
     He ignored the stunned looks on his friend's faces.
     "As I see it, we can divide the hotel into half.  We'll hold our
convention in the right wing of the hotel, and you can hold yours in the
left wing."
     "So, what do you say?  Is it a deal?"
     A tremendous smile lit up Hood's face.
     "That's mighty decent of you Mr. Sherman, sure it's a deal."
     The rest of the Star Trek fans let out a hearty cheer.
     "Now If you'll excuse me," Hood said, "We have a Trek convention to
put on."
     Hood practically skipped away.  Following him were a sullen and
still grumbling Becky and Anna.  Once they were out of earshot, the
protests broke out.
     "You can't be serious Bill!"
     "Mon, you've gone daft!"
     "Say it ain't so Bill.  We have to share our convention with those
freaks?"
     "This will wreak havoc with the video and panel programming."
     Bill waited for the protests to die down.
     "Let's show a little compassion here fellas.  If it had happened to
us, wouldn't you want someone to take pity on us?"
     "Naw."
     "No Way!"
     "Pity?  I'd ruttha die first."
     "We're going to have to reschedule several events."
     Bill could not believe what he was hearing.
     "Jeez, that's some great Christian spirit there guys.  Look, in the
long run, we WILL be better off for it.  It will show to the world that
anime fans are a cut above the rest."
     The silent faces told him his point had reached home.
     "Now let's get back to work!"
     All of them shuffled off muttering under their breath.  All except
for Winston.
     "Bill?"
     "Yes Winston?"
     "I understand why you did what you did, but still, mixing Star Trek
fans and anime fans?  That's like mixing oil and water."
     Bill laughed
     "Come on Winston, you act as if we're at war.  Sure we have our
disagreements from time to time, but we're all fans right?  Besides,
What could possibly go wrong?"
     "Yeah", Winston thought morosely as Bill left to go help with the
relocation, "If that's true, then why do I feel as if I'm Custer and
this is his last stand?"



Next chapter the goings really become zany as the conventions wind into
full gear, and tempers fray.  Also be on the lookout for a special
appearance from William Shatner's toupee and the followers of T ' Hair.
Unfortunately I can't say when it will be out, but never fear it will
come out.  Also, be on the lookout for my SM fanfic "a study in murder"
with chapter one soon to be released.

Adam