I want to say some things about cons in general, and Intervention in particular.

Most of you probably don't go to (m)any SF, gaming, comics or anime conventions, especially those of you outside North America or maybe the UK and Australia. But cons are a huge part of my social and professional life.

I mean, this is me away from a con:

And this is me at a con:

Which of these two Robs looks happier? (This is why you should have come to MarsCon, MN btw.)

Cons are wonderful things. I do as many as 20 of them a year. And frankly, though I am usually on the program and I try to give my best to entertain the attendees and make it worth their badge price, I never do the real work behind a con.

Putting on a con is tough. They're mostly done by volunteers who manage the thankless jobs of registration and running websites and checking badges and putting cookies in the con suite and wrangling the guests and printing the program book and hundreds of other needed tasks. Consider this a blanket thank-you to the thousands of people who have put on the hundred-plus cons I have been to. I know it's hard work, and that's why I have never let myself get pulled into it.

But Harknell and Onezumi have. Presenting the first-ever Intervention. Rockville, Maryland. Weekend of September 10-12, 2010.

I could write a book about SF conventions. And if I did, there would be a chapter about the perils of first-time conventions. Here's a story.

In 1998 I went to a first-time event called "Northeast Supercon." This thing was booked to a gigantic resort hotel in the Catskills which has since literally fallen to ruin. But it had like 36 holes of golf and 20 tennis courts and 4 Olympic pools and looked a lot like the place in The Shining.

They got a bunch of TV guests there, John DeLancie, Erin Gray and Gil Gerard, some Voyager and DS9 actors. They said they expected 2000 attendees.

They got around 80 people.

The concomm disappeared at the con. I think they might have just left. The 80 of us had a great time, holding a party in this cavernous bar where the taps were working and nobody gave a shit. We hung out with the actors, who were all pissed, but still kind of amused. Obviously the event never happened again. I can only imagine the financial ruin for the organizers.

So, um, let's not let that happen, okay? That would suck.

See, some cons are decades old. Balticon, where I have been a guest for the last 7 or 8 years, is more than 40 years old. And PhilCon (the longest-running SF convention) was started during the Roosevelt administration. Because of this, they have certain things going for them: organization, experience, a treasury, and an existing base of attendees.

First-time cons have to start from scratch, and the hardest part is just making people want to go there at all. So I am asking you to plan now to attend Intervention if you can, and consider donating to support it even if you can't. Here are some good reasons.

1. Harknell. Ladies and gentlemen, I paid Harknell nothing to create erfworld.com. This entire site exists because he made it and maintains it and develops it, free of charge. When we launched, Jamie and I decided to offer up a small percent of the ad revenue, and I continue to send him that on a volunteer basis, but it's only a little token. It's a tiny fraction of what his time and expertise is worth on the open market. He does this site for much the same reason he and Oni are doing Intervention: for the love of webcomics. They're betting their own financial asses to bring this con to life, and if you like what Harknell has done for Erfworld, it's a good time and way to pay him back for his hard work. Please become an Intervention sponsor now, and/or book your registration.

2. Erfworld Party. I'm planning to do only a couple of these a year, but I think Intervention would be a great place for another Erfworld room party. It's the same hotel as the Capclave party, and that worked out well. I will try to convince Xin to fly in again, and Jamie Noguchi will already be there, promoting his new comic, Yellow Peril. So it may be another chance to get sketches and autographs from all three Erfworld creators. Also, I will have the BOOZOOKA this time:

That is a glowing tube of liquid win on my back. Part of Party Rob's transformation into an actual superhero (or supervillain, depends on who you ask, and how bad their hangover was).

3. It's like the opposite of disaster relief. Look, there's a lot of suck in the world. Lately and always. I continue to contribute (and ask you to contribute) to relief in Haiti and Chile, and to do what you can to help your fellow human beings wherever you can. But I'm not trivializing that when I say that sometimes you also have to play for gains, instead of just covering losses. If you help make Intervention happen, you're adding a bit of awesome into the world that wasn't there before. We're going to have lots of pics and video of the parties and the dances and the panels and the guests up after the event. So even if you can't go, please help make it happen and you can see what greatness you have wrought after the con. Thanks, all.

(Photos by Baron Dave Romm and Davroz)

Following the well-trodden road, they sailed up to Haggar's column undetected. Silently, they passed along its seven-hex length, using veils to blend with the roadside trees.

After relaying full intelligence on the dispensation of Prince Sammy's units to Charlescomm, they settled into positions. Lindsay and Paris ended turn at the head of the column, Miley and Brittany at the rear. Hilary and her partner Avril took up a risky blind, directly over the heads of Prince Sammy's leadership stack. They kept the rising sun at their backs, relative to the warlords, and spent most of their juice to shine out their shadows. It was tricky, but worth it. Nearly everything the Haggar warlords said was relayed through Hilary to the capital.

Charlie himself was not receiving, so the intelligence was handled at the tower by Fox Force Five. Since yesterday, communications through the Arkendish were blacked out, which always put everyone in a bad mood. Hilary missed Charlie more than she ever could have said. It meant so much to know she could call him any time (though of course, she only did so on business). Being cut off, even for a turn, left her with an ache in her chest.

That ache had moved to the pit of her stomach when Sammy ordered the column to restack for maximum veil-spotting. "Watch the skies," he'd said.

She relayed this information with everything else, and even queried the tower for any updates to her orders. But the tower had nothing for her. Minutes passed, with no indication that any veils had yet been blown. Within this hex, Sammy did not even seem to be following his own directive. He rarely glanced up at the sky, and never directly sunward.

It was good. But Haggar's turn would eventually start. That would bring fresh spot checks, and there was nothing they could do about it. With this many scouts and warlords, one of them was sure to be spotted. And Haggar had plenty of archers.

Oh, Charlie... Don't let me go without hearing your voice one more time.

Glowering, Prince Sammy paced around the dirt road in a semicircle around her.

"What's Charlie giving for the release of a captured Archon lately?" he snarled. "What're you worth, huh?"

Hilary's left leg was broken below the knee. This and her other injuries left her in a heap on the ground. She had not been wounded in the fight. When the arrows began to fly and Avril fell, Hilary had unveiled, descended, and surrendered. But that was not good enough for the Prince of Haggar.

She lifted her head and looked at him with her good eye. "Over nine thousand," she said.

Sammy spat on her again.

"So I've spent twenty-seven so far," he said. He slapped his fist into his palm, then shook it at her. "You think I won't make it thirty-six? Start talking!"

She was about to repeat her call-script cue: "Details about my mission, and a wide variety of other intelligence points, are available for a negotiable fee." It would probably get her croaked this time, she felt.

But then, the warmth. The well-being. There was a jagged gap in the front of her smile, but she did smile.

"Please hold for Charlie," she told Sammy in her smoothest neutral/professional voice. With difficulty, she sat upright. Then she held up her fingers, and framed the Prince's beastly head.

This thinkagram was the kind where they could all see and hear. There were diagrams and pretty pictures, little colored bars that were supposed to mean things. Sammy let him ramble. This guy was smooth. He was going on about coalignment of interests or some other claptrap, but Sammy had him. He'd caught this pail of crap in the act, shot down three of his spies and captured one...yeah. And the turn had started early. Good day so far.

"Shut up," he said, partly for the benefit of the warlords standing at his back, but mostly for the pleasure of telling the dude to shut up. His guys snickered. "You don't get it. We're hip to your game, man. Jetstone keeps going on about it. About how you wanna wipe out all the Royal sides. Well they're prob'ly right! You're spyin' on us now...prob'ly have an ambush waiting, right? Got just the right set of these little chick toys waiting up the road when we move. Sucker play, right?"

"Ambush?" said Charlie. He cleared his throat. "Capital idea, Highness. And funny you should mention it." There was a pause, then the image in the Archon's hands flickered, first to a ghostly female face, then to a very familiar scene. Sammy stared at it. The great lighthouse tower, the harbor below, the sun over the water. It was just like the scene on the Royal crest, except that waves were actively rolling in to the beach.

"This is a current view of the City of Haggar, Prince Sammy. The stationed complement in your capital is a bit meager, isn't it? Only one-hundred-ninety infantry, mostly on the outer walls, eighteen heavy units, fifteen small flyers, two warlords, two casters, and seven courtiers. Seaside, you have two level two vessels and a level four, with an available complement of seventy-five infantry, seven small flyers, one heavy flyer, and one more warlord."

Sammy said nothing. But he knew these numbers were exactly correct.

Charlie continued. "Available within one turn's move would be three heavy flyers, twenty-one small flyers, sixteen infantry and no warlords, plus one more level three vessel with twenty four infantry. The next unit the city will pop is a non-heir Royal warlord, in nine more turns. Congratulations in advance, by the way. What do you think of this intelligence assessment so far?"

There was mumbling behind him. Sammy still said nothing.

"Look. To spell it out for you in very small words, Prince: no, I do not want to wipe out all Royal sides. I intend for the Royal Crown Coalition to put Gobwin Knob down hard at the Battle for Jetstone. And you are going to help. Because if I were to plot an ambush against Haggar, do you suppose I would have placed that ambush in the field, where you are strong? Or at your capital, where you are weak?"

Sammy again said nothing, and this time his warlords were smart enough not to, either.

"So. On this turn, you and your forces will do exactly as I order. If you deviate from my instructions, then that picture of the sun rising over your pretty city will happen exactly one more time."

"I was calling to congratulate you, Jillian," said the voice in her head, a clear baritone unaffected by the rush of wind around her helmet. "But I see there's a change of plans in the works? What should I know here?"

Jillian rolled her eyes. "You were calling to congratulate yourself. Your plan, remember?"

"Ah perhaps," said Charlie, with a little amusement. "But my plans don't always work out, especially when I'm taking more of a consulting role."

"Now you tell me," said the Queen.

"At any rate, the spell is cast, and the prize is caught."

Charlie waited for a moment, then added, "In Jetstone's airspace."

When she didn't say anything, he also added, "So I suppose I'm wondering why you're leaving the city."

"I'm not attacking Gobwin Knob's flyers, Charlie. At all."

Duncan, flying close enough to overhear, raised his eyebrows. Jillian looked away from him, but she also felt the Turnamancer's grip on her shoulders shift.

"I see," said Charlie, still calm and casual. "Surprising. Any reason?"

"You wouldn't understand," Jillian mumbled.

"I'm in the business of understanding," said Charlie. His tone was serious, but not unkind. "And also of Thinkamancy. I believe I know what new wrinkle we're talking about here. I just wish you'd said something about it in the planning phases."

"It was none of your business."

"You know that's untrue, Jillian," said Charlie. "This operation and all its parameters are my business exactly."

The Faq forces crossed hexes. She glanced around, but there was nothing remarkable. Just more broad road and a token stack of Jetstone stabbers. She said nothing to Charlie.

"Well," he continued, "I suppose just tell me what you do plan to do next. I'll figure something out from there."

"There's still a column of about thirteen hundred infantry on the other side of the bridge, right?" said Jillian.

"Oh yes."

"Not for long," she snarled.

"You'll need help with that," said Charlie. "And it can't come from me."

Jillian frowned. "Why not? Riding in right now with me would be good for you. The Royals see you wipe out a major ground force, with Stanley's Chief Warlord in it, they'll probably accept you as an okay ally."

"It's not only the Coalition I have to worry about. I also can't let Gobwin Knob know I'm working against them."

"What do you care? Stanley hates you anyway."

"I said 'Gobwin Knob.'" said Charlie darkly. "I didn't say 'Stanley.'"

Jillian tried to think of what he could mean by that. "What, Wanda? I just parleyed with her. If you hadn't had me under nondisclosure I could've turned her. She doesn't hate you, she'd probably work for you."

There was a long, long silence. The stack flew nearly across the entire hex. Jillian thought maybe the Thinkagram connection was broken, but she hadn't felt the usual little pop.

Then she heard Charlie's voice, for the first time sounding stressed. "That's extremely interesting information, Jillian. We'll talk about it later, but I've got a developing situation. Please don't attack the column alone. I'll try to get you some help. Goodbye."

Pop.

And for pure fun, I am giving a little signal boost to this. My friend since 6th grade Geordie Keitt (who produced my first two comedy music CDs) has a daughter in kindergarten with a school project:

Lucy needs your help! Her class is doing a map and globe unit. Her teacher is asking all of the kids' friends and family to send a postcard from where they live and write a note the card telling us why your state, city, or town is the best. Can you help? The address is: Lucy Keitt c/o Mrs. Hecker's Kindergarten, 15300 Bowman's Folly Drive, Manassas, VA 20112, United States of America. Thanks for the help.

Help her out, if you're so inclined. We have Erfworld readers in the Faroe Islands, fer flippin' out loud.

Don had never trusted them. When he took the throne, he had inherited a few advisers and officiants, of course. But after his son's mistake, he'd ordered them off on various diplomatic outings until they'd all been croaked or turned. Slimy bunch.

He had never popped any replacements. It was a risky extravagance to use only warlords for city management, but it was part of his system. You pop a lot of warlords and you encourage them to demonstrate their Duty. You offer them advancement based on merit. Eventually, if they live long enough and get lucky enough, they might find themselves in a semi-permanent retirement, managing a nice Level 2 on the coast. The prospect made everybody try a little harder, think a little more.

That would have been his plan for Caesar, when the heir eventually popped. But Caesar had made it clear he would not exactly view such an assignation as a just reward. Caesar had made a lot of things clear, including why a Royal heir was necessary. Caesar had Duty and Loyalty in abundance, but he lacked the subtlety and finesse that sitting upon the throne called for. Shame, but what could you do? At least having a blind spot for subtlety made him easy to deal with most of the time.

Unfortunately at this moment in his reign, having only casters and warlords for advisers was a problem. For one thing, most of Transylvito's cities were going unmanaged, because the warlords were now in shorter supply. That was not such a big deal, but it did waste Shmuckers. Benjamin was on his case about it.

The bigger deal was Caesar. He was more popular among Transylvito's commanders than Don himself was. Moving him aside once the heir popped would not be easy. A Ruler does not simply disband his top warlord in a time of crisis, or ever. And if a Ruler did disband a popular warlord, it could affect the Duty and Loyalty of all other units on the side. So he would have to work with Caesar, even once the new Prince or Princess was here.

But Caesar had just made that even more difficult.

Don King looked at his Chief Warlord across the map table and shook his head.

When Bunny had delivered the news that the Chief Warlord of Jetstone was captured and converted, Caesar had opened his yap and said more than he probably ought to have about his differences with Don on grand strategy. A large number of the other warlords nodded along.

At that point, Don had sent the nodders out of the room. He'd have a word with each of them individually in due time. For now, it would be best to keep the number of warlords in the room manageable, and deprive Caesar of an audience.

For his part, Caesar shut up fast. The remaining staff speculated about the parley, which Don looked in on via Bat 3. But Caesar stayed sour and silent.

Caesar hated Jillian, of course. He argued all the time that Transylvito should break alliance, croak the Queen, and absorb Faq's cities. He expected Jillian to fail here, and all of Transylvito's investment in the little Queendom to go to waste. He wanted it, Don knew.

But Don could feel, watching her there through bat's eyes, that the investment in Faq was about to pay its first real dividend. She had returned to the tower now, he could see. There was some kind of spell being cast, what was all that...?

With his own eyes, the King glanced at Caesar, who was sullenly gazing at the miniatures on the battle map. He was shaking his head at the hopelessness of the numbers there.

Then he straightened.

He looked up, eyes wide.

"It's our turn," he said. "Ain't it. They ended turn!"

It was as much a surprise to the King as to the Chief Warlord. But Kings don't admit things like that if they don't have to. So he smiled, and nodded with serene confidence, as if he had known this would happen all along.

"Perhaps now, Caesar," said Don, "you will allow my party to continue without further outbursts. Get everyone back in here."

Thanks to all bidders on Talanic's book. The auction closed at nearly $300, which is the kind of encouragement I really could have used when I was starting out. (Maybe I wouldn't have stopped writing for all those years, you know?) So thanks.

Current Rob's Plug is the brand new sketch comedy CD "Cirque du So What," which consists of 4 of my good friends and comedy music peers. I have heard the whole project and it is damned funny. All four of these guys will be performing with me at MarsCon this weekend. You can still get weekend passes at the door, so come out if you can. I go on the main stage at 9 pm Friday. The Erfworld party is in room 1314 Saturday night from 9 pm to the wee hours.

C'mon, support the dreams of an aspiring writer and Erfworld fan, will ya?