Botober 4: Benefit Stream
Oct. 4th, 2020 10:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alfvaenFour days into Botober and I haven't weaseled out yet. Today's prompts are:
- Things: Intergalactic space ferrets
- Concepts: Robot riding bicycle
- Advanced: Cat fish delivering mail using a jetpack
- Terrible: A collection of teeth
Benefit Stream
"Hello, I'm Plato Sheward!" he said.
"And I'm Fabia Porada," she said.
"And welcome back to the Benefit Stream for the refugees of Kamalkali VI, whose planet was destroyed by a rogue black hole over a megasecond ago."
"1.6 megaseconds," Fabia interrupted.
Plato kept the grin on his face with a force of effort. If she interrupted him one more time… "Yes, that's right. Now the pinned post on the stream details all the transaction platforms currently accepting donations for this worthy cause, and the corresponding account codes. Now I hope you've been enjoying all the acts from all over the galaxy that have been giving their time to this stream, including—well, what was that last act, Fabia?"
"The Servomotors," Fabia said, picking up her cue promptly this time. "This all-robot bicycle stunt team come from the former mining colony of Bilge, attaining sentience after gigaseconds of living on their own, and carving out a home for themselves on a moon abandoned by the rest of the universe."
"What a heartwarming story," Plato read off the holoprompter. "In fact, I believe the planet's Commerce Unit recently sold its rights to the Cybrox streaming service, and a dramatization is currently being assembled by their best DeepReal[TM] brand AIs."
"I can't wait to see it," Fabia said with a smile of her best faked sincerity. "But now it's time for our next act. Their latest song cycle is dominating the charts in every whorl of the spiral arm, and they're about to start on a hyperspace tour. Please welcome…Intergalactic Space Ferrets!"
They stared into the cameras with fake smiles until the indicators went off, then half a second longer just in case, before their expressions returned to Resting Host Face.
"Nobody cares that it was 1.6 megaseconds, Fabia," Plato said.
"Well, excuse me for wanting a little accuracy in the broadcast for a change, Play," she said.
"Don't call me that," he said automatically. He glanced over at the monitor, where Intergalactic Space Ferrets were playing their latest hit. Or at least pretending to. He was pretty sure that the music was all prerecorded, and the band was just the latest Cute-Furry-Animal band created by the usual corporate AI music factories. His children were all huge fans, though, and he knew they were all going to ask if he could get pawprints from all of the Ferrets. He made a note to ask his assistant how much that would cost. He should have a little left over from the Cybrox advertising kickback.
"Incoming," Fabia said tersely, nudging him and pointing at the proximity radar screen.
Plato furrowed his brow. The show was all assembled electronically—their studio was on a small island close enough to the orbital beanstalk to be convenient, but far enough to be out of the shadow of the megacity at its base. Literally nobody else was here but the two of them and their staffs. But there it was, a whiskered catfish-like creature skipping over the waves with a solar jetpack. It flopped to the landing pad outside the studio and levered itself clumsily along using its fins. Plato messaged his assistant. "Avner?"
"Yes, sir, I'm on it," Avner said. Indeed, Plato saw them step out onto the platform, exchange a few words with the catfish-thing, receive a package, hand over some kind of tip, and then head back inside. The catfish itself slipped back into the water and bobbed away at a more sedate pace than it had arrived.
A few minutes later, Plato received a text from Avner. It's from Nishioka.
Plato paled. Crap. "How long we got?" he asked Fabia.
"Half a kilosecond. They've still got another couple of songs to do."
"Good, I gotta take a break, I'll be right back." He disconnected himself and left the booth.
He was sweating when he met Avner with the package. They handed it to him wordlessly. Plato took it into a recording booth, set it for full privacy, then unlocked it with his security key and played the recording within.
A hologram of Nishioka appeared, and Plato almost flinched backwards like he always did. Nishioka's trademark necklace of teeth, which Plato had heard him brag about far too many times for comfort (they were all from different species, and there were new ones every time) rattled as he leaned back from the vid pickup. "Mr. Sheward," he said in his deep voice, in accented Galactic English. "I'm afraid that it's going to be time, very soon, for you to carry out that favour you owe me. To that end, I'm going to need you to be on Jidlaph before 4640.3. Once you're there, I'll be in touch and we can discuss the remaining details." Nishioka leaned forwards again, teeth rattling, and the vid ended.
Plato sat for a few seconds digesting, then broke the privacy seal and paged Avner. "Calculate travel time to Jidlaph," he said. "What's the earliest I'd have to leave to be there before 4640.3?"
"Checking," Avner said. It only took a few seconds, then they said, "You'll have to leave the planet about 80 kiloseconds from now, about a local day, so you'd have to leave here a few kiloseconds before that."
Avner didn't say it, but they were both aware that Plato's contract with the Benefit Stream held for at least two more local days, with an option to renew. And substantial penalties for breaking it. But he didn't have a lot of choice, given what Nishioka had on him. "Arrange it," he said. "And see if I can weasel out of this contract somehow."
"No promises, sir," Avner said.
Plato made it back to the booth with seconds to spare. His smile was plastered to his face again by the time he said, "And that was Intergalactic Space Ferrets!"
"Hello, I'm Plato Sheward!" he said.
"And I'm Fabia Porada," she said.
"And welcome back to the Benefit Stream for the refugees of Kamalkali VI, whose planet was destroyed by a rogue black hole over a megasecond ago."
"1.6 megaseconds," Fabia interrupted.
Plato kept the grin on his face with a force of effort. If she interrupted him one more time… "Yes, that's right. Now the pinned post on the stream details all the transaction platforms currently accepting donations for this worthy cause, and the corresponding account codes. Now I hope you've been enjoying all the acts from all over the galaxy that have been giving their time to this stream, including—well, what was that last act, Fabia?"
"The Servomotors," Fabia said, picking up her cue promptly this time. "This all-robot bicycle stunt team come from the former mining colony of Bilge, attaining sentience after gigaseconds of living on their own, and carving out a home for themselves on a moon abandoned by the rest of the universe."
"What a heartwarming story," Plato read off the holoprompter. "In fact, I believe the planet's Commerce Unit recently sold its rights to the Cybrox streaming service, and a dramatization is currently being assembled by their best DeepReal[TM] brand AIs."
"I can't wait to see it," Fabia said with a smile of her best faked sincerity. "But now it's time for our next act. Their latest song cycle is dominating the charts in every whorl of the spiral arm, and they're about to start on a hyperspace tour. Please welcome…Intergalactic Space Ferrets!"
They stared into the cameras with fake smiles until the indicators went off, then half a second longer just in case, before their expressions returned to Resting Host Face.
"Nobody cares that it was 1.6 megaseconds, Fabia," Plato said.
"Well, excuse me for wanting a little accuracy in the broadcast for a change, Play," she said.
"Don't call me that," he said automatically. He glanced over at the monitor, where Intergalactic Space Ferrets were playing their latest hit. Or at least pretending to. He was pretty sure that the music was all prerecorded, and the band was just the latest Cute-Furry-Animal band created by the usual corporate AI music factories. His children were all huge fans, though, and he knew they were all going to ask if he could get pawprints from all of the Ferrets. He made a note to ask his assistant how much that would cost. He should have a little left over from the Cybrox advertising kickback.
"Incoming," Fabia said tersely, nudging him and pointing at the proximity radar screen.
Plato furrowed his brow. The show was all assembled electronically—their studio was on a small island close enough to the orbital beanstalk to be convenient, but far enough to be out of the shadow of the megacity at its base. Literally nobody else was here but the two of them and their staffs. But there it was, a whiskered catfish-like creature skipping over the waves with a solar jetpack. It flopped to the landing pad outside the studio and levered itself clumsily along using its fins. Plato messaged his assistant. "Avner?"
"Yes, sir, I'm on it," Avner said. Indeed, Plato saw them step out onto the platform, exchange a few words with the catfish-thing, receive a package, hand over some kind of tip, and then head back inside. The catfish itself slipped back into the water and bobbed away at a more sedate pace than it had arrived.
A few minutes later, Plato received a text from Avner. It's from Nishioka.
Plato paled. Crap. "How long we got?" he asked Fabia.
"Half a kilosecond. They've still got another couple of songs to do."
"Good, I gotta take a break, I'll be right back." He disconnected himself and left the booth.
He was sweating when he met Avner with the package. They handed it to him wordlessly. Plato took it into a recording booth, set it for full privacy, then unlocked it with his security key and played the recording within.
A hologram of Nishioka appeared, and Plato almost flinched backwards like he always did. Nishioka's trademark necklace of teeth, which Plato had heard him brag about far too many times for comfort (they were all from different species, and there were new ones every time) rattled as he leaned back from the vid pickup. "Mr. Sheward," he said in his deep voice, in accented Galactic English. "I'm afraid that it's going to be time, very soon, for you to carry out that favour you owe me. To that end, I'm going to need you to be on Jidlaph before 4640.3. Once you're there, I'll be in touch and we can discuss the remaining details." Nishioka leaned forwards again, teeth rattling, and the vid ended.
Plato sat for a few seconds digesting, then broke the privacy seal and paged Avner. "Calculate travel time to Jidlaph," he said. "What's the earliest I'd have to leave to be there before 4640.3?"
"Checking," Avner said. It only took a few seconds, then they said, "You'll have to leave the planet about 80 kiloseconds from now, about a local day, so you'd have to leave here a few kiloseconds before that."
Avner didn't say it, but they were both aware that Plato's contract with the Benefit Stream held for at least two more local days, with an option to renew. And substantial penalties for breaking it. But he didn't have a lot of choice, given what Nishioka had on him. "Arrange it," he said. "And see if I can weasel out of this contract somehow."
"No promises, sir," Avner said.
Plato made it back to the booth with seconds to spare. His smile was plastered to his face again by the time he said, "And that was Intergalactic Space Ferrets!"
