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The convention had hit a scheduled break between sessions, and the hallways needed a better congestion control algorithm. Waiting outside the Hudson room where the crime scene unit was inspecting Marsupial’s body, Dale almost got trampled by an impressively authentic 1970s Cylon whose gleaming chrome helmet destroyed his range of vision. The cosplayer’s voice shifter added menace to his apology. Thirty seconds later Dale got body-slammed by a hurtling tween of indeterminate gender, costume, or species. Dale didn’t recognize the colorful outfit, but the spiky hair looked sort of anime-ish. The kid ricocheted on without a word after bouncing off Dale’s gut and triggering a fresh load of indigestion.
After that, Dale tried to meld into the wall as he waited for a police officer to come o
