The Attack of the Killer Convention Affair
"Napoleon, Napoleon, slow down," Illya said excitedly. "Did you see who that was?"
"Who what was?" Solo replied, looking over his shoulder in the direction Illya was pointing.
"The dark haired man you almost ran into. Really, Napoleon, you must pay better attention to detail."
"I didn't see him because I was paying attention to detail. The details on that woman's...hey!" he grunted as Illya smacked his shoulder.
"You'll never change," Illya chided.
"So..." Napoleon continued.
Solo sighed. "Who was it? The man in the hallway?"
Illya grinned, catching Napoleon off guard.
"Mr. Spock!" Illya said, impressed.
"The baby doctor?" Solo asked, puzzled.
"No, no, no. Not Dr. Spock, Mr. Spock."
Napoleon looked thoroughly confused because he was.
"You know. The alien on 'Star Trek,'" Illya prodded.
"Oh, right. The guy with the pointy ears. From Voltron."
Illya sighed a long-suffering sound. "Not Voltron, Napoleon. Vulcan," he explained patiently.
The two men walked down the hotel corridor and turned into the main lobby. Napoleon was horrified to see hordes of people, mostly teen-agers, milling about, some with hand painted signs, and many in weird costumes. He glanced sideways at his partner, and grimaced.
"Your kind of people?" he jibed.
Illya snorted and read some of the placards. "I Grok Spock. Beam Me Up, Scotty. He's dead, Jim." He laughed out loud and looked at his shocked partner.
"They're Star Trek fans. They are my people," he teased and walked over to the reservation desk.
"I would like a room for two, please."
The clerk looked at him for a second. He then asked rather impatiently, "Do you have a reservation, sir?"
Illya glared at his partner and replied, "No, I'm afraid someone forgot to make one in advance."
Napoleon coughed and suddenly found the linoleum tile pattern at his feet fascinating.
The clerk glared at Illya and said, "I'm sorry, but we are full up. I have eight hundred hormonal teenagers running around the hotel looking for Dr. Spock and..."
Illya interrupted him with a quick admonishment, "Mr. Spock."
Napoleon groaned under his breath.
The clerk sneered at him and continued, "and I have nothing available." He moved down the counter to check in a blue-skinned Andorian.
"Hey, don't look at me. I just got this assignment, too," Napoleon explained.
"Yes, and how are we supposed to complete it without a hotel room?" Illya countered.
Napoleon opened his mouth to reply when a man dressed like a rock (?) ambled over to him.
"Hey, man, I hear you need a place to crash?" he (it) said.
Completely bewildered and a little frightened, Solo looked at Illya for enlightenment.
"He's a Horta," he said as if that explained it.
"Oh." Napoleon said, clear as mud.
He turned to the 'Horta' and said, "Thanks, but we're just leaving."
The man shrugged. "Suit yourself, man. Just looking to save some bread." He slunk off, joining a group of green skinned women and tried his line on them.
Shaking his head, Solo turned back to Illya who was sitting in an armchair.
"Well, don't just sit there. Do something."
"You seem to be doing just fine on your own. You've already made a new friend," he kidded.
"With friends like mine," he looked sharply at Illya, "who needs Thrush?"
"Come on, Napoleon. There are other hotels."
The two men walked to the lobby doors. Illya stopped to read the sign on the stand. "TODAY ONLY, it read. MEET MR. SPOCK. IN PERSON. Tickets $5.00 at the door."
He looked wistfully at the convention center entrance but put his game face on when his partner drew up beside him.
Napoleon took one look at him and smiled. He grabbed the Russian's arm and pulled him across the room. Illya gaped at him when he took out a ten-dollar bill and said, "Two, please," to the attendant.
"Napoleon, what are you doing? We are on assignment."
"Right," he replied. "And our assignment is to be on the lookout for any strange activity at this hotel, Thrush or otherwise." He grinned at Illya and at the look of astonishment his friend had on his face.
"I don't think we'll find anything stranger than what's in that room."
Illya resisted for a second longer. Then he caught a glimpse of Mr. Spock heading for the podium. He looked at Napoleon and beamed.
"You're the senior partner, Napoleon. Whatever you say goes." He walked into the room without a backward glance.
"Since when?" Napoleon groused, as he followed the blond man into the throng.
Napoleon Solo watched the bright head of his partner weave its way through the press of fans to the middle of the room. Picking an aisle seat for easy getaways, he sat down and smiled a lopsided grin at the American. Napoleon couldn't remember when Illya had looked so happy, at least not in recent memory. Come to think of it, he was never happy: he preferred to perpetuate the dour Russian stereotype.
Well, right now he was anything but dour and Napoleon smiled back at him. Lowering himself into the folding chair, he heard a small squeak and jumped back up when he felt something furry beneath him. A round fluffy ball of fur was deposited squarely on the seat.
"Hey, that's my tribble you just sat on, mister," complained a young man with very green hair. He snatched the hairball off the chair and glowered at Napoleon.
"I can't take you anywhere," Illya declared.
"Me?" Solo said shocked. "I'm not the one willingly consorting with freaks."
"We are not freaks, we are nerds. There is a difference," Illya pouted.
"Not any that I can see," Napoleon complained, taking in the odd assortment of humanity surrounding him.
"Shh," said a woman with antennae glued to her head. "He's here!"
"Ah, who's here?" he asked obliquely.
"Dr. Spock," Illya deadpanned. Solo gave him a look.
A tall thin man in a blue shirt tapped the microphone and said, "Live Long, and Prosper!"
The throng cheered and moved as one to their feet, giving him an ovation. Solo stayed put, not wanting to find another life form under his rear.
The green haired boy gave him a dirty look.
Illya applauded and glanced down at Solo. He rather sheepishly took his seat next to his partner.
The crowd quieted and sat, and Solo looked around. Within his immediate vicinity were two military looking men with facial hair and an entire family of lizards. Lizards? He pointed them out to Illya and raised an eyebrow.
"Klingons and Gorns," he said dryly.
"Of course they are."
A Q & A session began, and since Napoleon didn't understand any of the questions or the answers for that matter, he tuned it out. Illya was paying rapt attention and sat at the edge of his seat.
The familiar wheedle of his communicator made Solo start. He grasped it quickly, but not before six sets of eyes turned to look at him. Rolling his own skyward, he sighed as he pulled out the pen and opened the circuit.
"Solo here," he whispered.
"Mr. Solo," Waverly's voice spoke. "How is your assignment going?"
Napoleon closed his eyes and said, "It's out of this world, sir."
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Solo?" his boss asked.
"Nothing, sir. We are ...keeping an eye out for suspicious activity."
"Report back to headquarters immediately. Something pressing has come up."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." You have no idea. "Solo out." He closed the circuit and placed the pen back in his jacket. Six faces were staring at him with open adoration. Green Hair was grinning at him like an idiot.
"Wow, did you see that thing?" Lizard Boy asked Lizard Girl.
"Yeah, it was just like a communicator, only smaller."
"Hey, mister, are you with the show?" Green Hair asked.
Illya was trying, none too successfully, to stifle a laugh, and Solo shot daggers at him.
"Yes, actually, I am. I, ah, work in the props department," Solo lied easily.
"Wow," Green Hair said eloquently.
"Groovy," said Lizards One and Two.
Napoleon placed his hands over his face and sighed.
Illya got up and walked to the aisle. The man on the stage was raising his hand in some weird salute. Illya returned it impeccably and turned on his heel before Solo could react.
"I'll get the car," Illya said and walked toward the exit.
Five minutes later, Solo slid into the passenger seat. He stared at his partner for long minutes and then shook his head wonderingly.
"You just never know about people, do you, Illya?" he joked.
"Know what?" Illya returned.
"Just that when you think you know somebody..." he trailed off and grinned at his friend.
"Next time, let me pick the hotel, o.k.?" Napoleon chided.
"Next time, the convention will be at the Waldorf," Illya related.
Solo raised an eye at him.
"I picked up a schedule on my way out."
"I picked up something myself," Napoleon admitted. He threw a package at Illya and laughed.
Illya looked down at his lap. A pair of pointed ears lay there.
"Wear them in good health, partner."
"Why, Napoleon, I would have never suspected."
"You Grok Spock!"
Napoleon groaned and smacked Illya on the arm. "Come on, space boy, our Uncle is waiting."
Illya smiled and pulled away from the curb. It had been a very good day.
Green Hair and Lizards One and Two waved reverently from beneath the hotel awning.
"Who the hell were those guys?"
Laughing hysterically (well, trying not to be hysterical, actually) Robert Vaughn looked at his friend and snorted, "Thrush?"
"Very funny, Robert. Can you get your hands loose?"
"'Fraid not, little friend. I'm as trussed up as my grandmother's Thanksgiving turkey."
"Who are you calling little? I'm only one inch shorter than you are," David McCallum pouted.
"Two inches, at least. I get to be taller. It's in my contract."
"Well, speaking of contracts, did you happen to demand, ah, ask for a raise recently?" the blond inquired.
"Er, now that you mention it..."
"I knew it! It would seem the executives at MGM aren't too pleased with you right now."
Vaughn ruminated for a minute and replied, "Well, I have heard their bean counters can get a bit demonstrative, but this is ridiculous."
He looked over at his co-star and shrugged. They were tied to identical chairs in their hotel room, having been left there by their kidnappers.
"I guess that 'security detail' wanted us really secure," Robert joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"We should have taken our chances with the autograph seekers," David mused.
"You know, bondage is rather under-rated as a, ah, diversion," Robert posited.
David sighed. "You know, you're starting to sound more and more like Napoleon every day. Stop it!" he groused.
"At least Napoleon would come up with some way to get out of these ropes. Come on, think, dammit. How did I, ah, he get out before?"
"He had his 'little friend' do it for him, " David replied acidly.
Robert glared at David, then stared at his shoes.
"You don't happen to have anything from the prop department on you?" he asked hopefully.
"Sorry, no. I left my exploding shoelaces in my trailer."
David thought a moment and said, "And speaking of trailers, why is yours three feet longer than mine?"
"It is?" Robert asked.
"I measured it," David said.
"Uhm, that's in my contract, too." he mumbled.
David was about to reply with something really snappy, but stopped when he heard the doorknob being jiggled. Both men stared and waited, holding their collective breaths.
A sharp acrid smell burned its way across the room as the lock mechanism melted and the door burst open.
A small blond man entered first, crouching and pointing a gun in their direction. A taller, darker man who was as ill-mannered as his companion immediately followed him.
Two weapons were trained on the hapless actors, and they turned to look at each other.
"Friends of yours?" they asked at the same time.
The gun-toting blond man turned to his companion and said, "I told you I saw two agents come out of this room."
"Oh, you mean the two rather dense men in ugly suits?" Robert inquired.
"Yes," Illya answered.
"They grabbed us down in the lobby and brought us back to our room. We thought they were security, and before we knew it we were, ah..." Robert stopped, embarrassed by the outcome. He flushed and looked at the two men and added, "Well, they did have guns."
David snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, well." Napoleon stared at one man and then the other, and elbowed his partner. "Do you notice anything...familiar about those two?"
"In what way?" Illya asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Don't you think the blond one looks a bit like you?" Solo questioned.
"Me? No, he's much shorter than I am," Illya replied indignantly.
David groaned and dropped his head.
"What's wrong with him, is he hurt?" Solo worried.
"Just his pride," Robert answered gleefully.
"You know, partner, I rather think the other one looks a bit like you, myself," Illya added.
"Hmmm, I just don't see it," Napoleon said.
"Really? I think the resemblance is quite striking."
"Look, I'm sorry to break up the mutual admiration society, but could you untie us, please?" David groused, a bit grumpier than need be, Robert thought.
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other rather sheepishly and walked over to release the captive men.
"Sorry, we just weren't expecting civilians." Napoleon offered.
Robert and David rubbed their respective wrists and glanced at each other.
"Not that we aren't appreciative of the rescue, but who are you men?" David asked.
Napoleon looked uncomfortable and replied, "We're, ah, with the hotel. We sometimes provide security." Illya looked at him, but said nothing.
"Then who were those guys from before?" Bob asked.
"Thrush," both agents replied in unison.
Robert choked and turned bright red. David pounded him on the back until he could breathe again.
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," he said weakly to David.
Illya looked concerned and asked his counterpart, "Did he receive a blow to the head?"
"No, he's always like that." David stifled a grin.
Robert shot David a killer look and said, "Look, I just want to go downstairs, sign my required 300 autographs and get the hell out of this hotel."
Illya brightened at the word 'autograph' and asked politely, "Are you celebrities of some sort?"
David smiled and said, "Yes. We star in a very popular spy drama."
Napoleon snorted. "I never watch television spy shows. Too unrealistic."
Robert was about to make his own snappy comeback when Illya grabbed his arm and propelled him to the door.
"Yes, well. We can't have your fans waiting for you, now can we?" he reminded the stars.
David, followed closely by Napoleon, walked into the hallway.
"Let's go fulfill our contract, Robert, and get out of here. I could use a drink," David suggested.
Napoleon and Illya watched the two men wave at them and walk down the hall, the blond one saying as he went, "And speaking of contracts, I want to talk to you about that trailer..."
Robert looked over his shoulder at the agents and shrugged.
Napoleon stood thinking in the hallway a minute. "Strange pair," he said, puzzled.
Illya grinned at him and offered simply, "Actors."
Napoleon grinned back. "Spy drama. What a crock."
They walked down toward the elevators together.
Napoleon said, "Still, the one guy was pretty good looking, don't you think?"
"Who, the little blond?" Illya inquired.
"No, no, the dark haired one," he said indignantly.
"Oh, not so I noticed, no."
Napoleon sighed at his partner. "Let's go see if we can find those Thrush agents before they cause more trouble."
"I wonder what they wanted with those two actors, anyway," Illya pondered.
"Who knows where Thrush is concerned?" Napoleon answered.
Illya looked pensive for a moment and turned to Napoleon. "You don't think they thought that those actors..."
The two agents stared at each other for a minute and considered.
"Nah," they chorused, in unison, and walked down the hallway.