Bimbos of the Death Sun by Sharyn McCrumb Page A

year, I’ve decidedthat saints aren’t saints, either. They are just people who happen to enjoy doing things the world approves of. And sometimes I think to myself that if we’d gone to high school together you wouldn’t have asked me out, and it annoys me—still!”
     
    “I’d have been afraid to. You can be rather fiercely feminist sometimes.”
     
    “At the moment, I don’t feel that way at all. Are you sleepy?”
     
    “Not anymore,” said Jay. “In fact, I think I’ll go down to the video room. I heard they were going to show
War Games
at midnight. It has a lot of computer technology in it. Want to come?”
     
    Marion shook her head. I’ll just stay here and take a cold shower, she thought grimly.
     

NINE
     
    M iles Perry could open one eye just wide enough to see a six and a four on his digital alarm clock. That meant he had been allowed at most three hours of sleep. He groped for the shrieking telephone, and managed to find it without making further demands on his eyes.
     
    “Huh—what?” he croaked into the earpiece.
     
    The responding voice advanced him three levels toward wakefulness.
     
    “Yes, Mr. Dungannon! Good morning!—You want what?—Oh. Room service. I’m sure the hotel has it. Would you like me to give you that number? I could look it up.”
     
    He sat up now, wondering where the phone book would be hidden. “What’s that, sir?—Well, no, I don’t suppose the hotel room service would go to Burger King to get you an egg and cheesecroissant.—Oh. I see. Yes, sir. It’ll take me half an hour to get dressed.—Fifteen minutes, yessir. Fifteen minutes to get dressed.—And I should tap on your door to let you know it’s there.—Certainly, sir. I’m on my way.”
     
    To a madhouse, thought Miles Perry, hanging up the phone. Why had he agreed to supervise this con? It was going to be the longest weekend of his life. He just knew it. Of course, he knew exactly why he had agreed to run the con. It would make him very important among the area fen, gain him prestige with the national organizations, and it made him feel delightfully important, something he never felt while managing the grocery produce section at Food Lion. It was an ego trip—but it took its psychic toll.
     
    Marion had almost been awakened by the sound of the shower, but she discovered that if she put her head under both pillows, she could ignore it enough to go on sleeping, incorporating a Tahitian waterfall into her last dream.
     
    Jay Omega pulled back the bed covers. “Wake up, sunshine!” he said, tickling her foot. “Time to commute to fairyland.”
     
    Marion groaned. “May an orc eat you for breakfast.”
     
    Jay Omega pushed a copy of the Rubicon program under the pillow. “Lots of things to do today. No time to sleep.”
     
    “My god,” she moaned, stretching and making a grab for the bedspread. “Not only do you have a Ph.D. in engineering and the ability to fix cars, you’re also a morning person. Or a morning android. The possibility that you are human getsremoter all the time.”
     
    “Flattery will get you nowhere. Get up or it’s the wet washcloth on your neck.”
     
    She looked at him curiously. “Are you that anxious to get to the con?”
     
    “No. It doesn’t start for another two hours. That will give us time to eat breakfast and to visit an auto parts store I know that opens at eight. I need a master cylinder for my clutch. Then, if you insist, we can go to the con.”
     
    Marion threw a pillow. “Shut up, Android, or I’ll unplug your surge protector.”
     
    Jay Omega grinned. “I think you already have.”
     
    “Really?” She sat up, smoothing her hair. “I think we have time for that.”
     
    “Too late. I’ve already showered.” He started to rummage in his suitcase. “Hurry up, will you? I’m starving!”
     
    Marion yawned and ambled to the bathroom. Maybe he really is an android, she thought.
     
    In the video lounge those pulling an all-nighter