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The power behind my throw wouldn’t have been enough to reach the aircraft. As the diamond warmed, the napkin holder sped up and hit the pilot dead on. He faltered, and began to lose altitude. Then he let go of the plastic bucket he’d been using to hold the darts, and increased his speed. The concourse met another concourse to form a T shape. The pilot turned the corner and went into the other concourse. I ran after him. That concourse had a balcony level. The pilot landed there, ditched his craft, and took off running. I saw it all as I kept running after him, dodging the crowds at my level, until he used a key and entered one of the staff-only doors. I gave up, and stopped to catch my breath. Without Roland, I couldn’t get into that section of the building to take the mystery attacker down.
Roland. I texted him frantically. Then I called him, but he didn’t pick up. As I trotted back to where I’d abandoned Ardis and Damien, I was moving against a tide of attendees who were leaving. Not quite in a panic this time around, because the lights were on and the clerestory windows in a row high up under the roof let in the sun, but definitely fed up or shaken after two events deliberately orchestrated to create crowd unhappiness. Some people dripped tiny rivulets of blood or held makeshift bandages against their injuries.
I finally got hold of Roland and poured out the whole story, but he had no answers. The amazing part was the bicycle-powered aircraft being able to operate—and land—in such a constricted space. I would never have believed it had I not seen it myself. How could anybody bring something that big in here, or launch it? Then again, with this geeky crowd, no one would think twice about a masked man—and yes, the pilot had worn a mask, I’d seen him close enough for a second as I was aiming the napkin holder at him—a masked man who probably brought in the aircraft on a dolly, with some kind of forged special permission.
This had to be planned in advance. It might even be an inside job, although it was hard to imagine what the motive was. A beef with the convention center management? A plant from some rival comicon? Why bother? Comicons were so incredibly popular that promoters didn’t have to fight each other for market share with these kinds of tactics.
What other reason would someone have to want to sow crowd anger and panic? Was Roland correct and the seventy-fifth anniversary of CP Comics being celebrated at this comicon was enough to set off someone who held a grudge? Or was it someone who had it in for comics fans? Or rather, against media fans? Where could that idea lead? Someone was angry because millions of people today wore licensed character t-shirts who had only seen the superhero movies? Did someone question the geek credentials of these hundreds of thousands of attendees?
“He landed the plane and got away,” I reported to Ardis. Damien was still close by her side. Guess he liked her. “On reflection, it might have been a she.”
“A woman?”
“I’m not sure. There was something about the way the pilot moved after he ditched the pedal plane that struck me as odd.”
“They can’t do anything too weird in the movie theater, can they?” Ardis asked.
“You still want to see the Carp! movie?”
“Damn right,” Damien said. “I’m not letting anyone chase me off. If somebody doesn’t like superheroes, that’s their problem.”
“That was some pitch you threw, girl,” Ardis said.
“I didn’t know I had it in me anymore,” I said with completely false modesty.
“You think he—or she—will be back?” she asked.
“Don’t you?” I asked. “Incidentally, where did the bucket go?”
Damien lifted it. “You took it mighty personally. I thought you’d be interested.”
The bucket still held darts. Exhibition staff arrived from the same direction I’d come from. They began picking up the darts. I handed the bucket to them with instructions to give it to Roland.
“This is crazy,” I said to Ardis and Damien. “If you have a problem with something, you don’t try to hurt thousands of people at a time.”
“If you're a terrorist, you might,” Ardis said.
“Terrorists don’t go around calling themselves Mistress Miraculous,” I said. I didn't want to contemplate the possibility that Mistress Miraculous was more than a mean-spirited prankster.
We walked down to the next concourse to see our movie. Lots of other people had the same idea, although many others left.
“These two attacks will put a damper on the evening entertainment,” Ardis said.
“Here only,” I said. “Fantastic Comics is hosting a big celebrity meet-and-greet in a couple of hours at the hotel. It’s a hot ticket; only a few hundred A-list people will be allowed in.”
“I hear CP Comics is having their own bash tomorrow night. They’ve rented out the entire Walker Mansion and its gardens,” Damien said.
“That could be cool. A hundred-fifty-year-old mansion,” Ardis said.
“Were you invited?” I asked.
Ardis and Damien both said “Ha!” at the same moment. They looked at each other in surprise.
“My grandfather got screwed over by CP Comics,” he said.
“So did mine,” Ardis replied.
“We’ll have to talk about what else we have in common,” Damien said, smiling at her with a suggestive glint in his eye.