4010: The 2068th World Science Fiction Convention

by dossier

Notes & Warnings

I was unaccountably excited about Worldcon this year, and I couldn't tell you exactly why. I had personally attended over a hundred and viewed upwards of fifteen hundred from the comfort of my flat (wherever that might be at any given moment).

It was nice to be able to lounge around in my jammies and keep tabs on the gang via interactive vid (I had even been chairman once or twice from my living room), but every so often I really just had to throw on the costume dujour and walk the mile or so to the transport station. I usually only physically attended when there was a consensus among my friends, which was silly because I could literally step onto the platform and see any of them at any given moment, but after so many years, it was a pleasure to gather them together at Worldcon, and let our hair down.

It's really hilarious, but the format for Con hadn't changed appreciably over the last two thousand years: there were still self-important conferences being held in stuffy rooms, favorite films still played to patrons slumped in uncomfortable chairs, and merchants crammed into halls filled with long tables. You'd think that a bunch of visionaries would have, well, envisioned something else, but there's a comfortable tradition that must be obeyed; witness the disaster when X tried to experiment in three ought. Three hundred thousand irate fans is not a pretty sight!

The real event was gathering in the hall and watching the Hugos being awarded. The room was filled to the rafters, and untold thousands more watching via vid.

"Hey, is that...?"

"Yeah, it is."

He stood up in the audience when he was singled out, and a sweet girl tossed him a necklace New Orleans style, but it transformed in mid-flight, so that he caught a hat. He put it on his head, waved and sat down.

"What's he doing here?"

"I have no idea—catching up on his roots?"

I snickered. "Looks like he forgot his roots, and everything else," I snickered as his silver hair gleamed underneath the giant bead hat.

My companion giggled. "I guess he's trying to make a statement or something."

"Yeah—that he's older than *me*. I was just a kid when--"

"Yes, yes, we all know. Quiet, I want to hear this."

The honors were passed out, and speeches made. As we stood up, I saw him throw the beaded hat back to his benefactor, and it changed back into beads just before she caught them. "Nice trick."

Candy and I walked back to the transport station together. It was a gorgeous sunny day in Vancouver; blue skies as far as you could see. I had a near miss with a construction bot, it nearly ran me down with a load of whatever it was carrying—I was too busy having my life flash before my eyes, and at my age, that's a lot of flashing.

I escaped certain death (again) and the transport home was as disconcerting as ever, but damn it was convenient.

The con was replaying on the wall when I walked through the door. My husband of the last three hundred years looked up. "Hey, isn't that. . ."

I interrupted him. "Yes, that's exactly who that is."



Fandom: None

Category/Rated: Gen/S for Silly

Year/Length: 2006/~580 words

Author's Notes: Yeah, no excuse for this but a bizarre dream after the 64th World Science Fiction convention in 2006. p.s. It was Harrison Ford.

Beta: You're kidding, right?

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