Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network by E. Foner (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📗

much. A chunk of what goes in the local papers was always press releases from businesses or stories rewritten from the student teacher-bot news. But lately there are more and more people who write articles about themselves or something they’re involved in, and then pay to get the stories published. Vanity news.”

“But who would want to read that?”

“The papers don’t care because they make their money upfront.”

“I guess the press on Earth must be pretty desperate,” Ellen said. “I suppose the free version of the Galactic Free Press isn’t helping.”

“No, but people here who care about the news mainly watch the Children’s News Network or read the student papers on teacher bots. It’s hard to compete with a billion connected kids who are reporting on the spot. The truth is, most people on Earth choose to watch the Grenouthian news with all the immersive content of things blowing up around the galaxy.”

“Well, at least that explains why you’re the only person from the defunct North American news syndicate who agreed to my invitation. I’ve got meetings with three more journalists scheduled, but they’re all coming in from different continents later on sub-orbital flights.”

“Maybe I could get together with them after you make your pitch,” Bryan said. “First I should find a little privacy somewhere and conference with my colleagues to see how they want me to respond to your offer. We pretty much assumed that you were just here looking for a cheap source of Earth content, but your proposition deserves serious discussion. How long will you be around?”

“I’m on the planet for another three weeks, and then I’m heading to Rendezvous. If there’s a reason to come back after that, I will, as long as I can come to terms with my boss. I’m freelance too, you know.”

Bryan paid for the two stunners, slipped them into his shoulder bag, and headed off to find a place to sit down and contact the other journalists he was representing. Ellen settled cross-legged on the blanket to hawk her wares and wait for her next meeting. A number of shoppers stopped by, and she sold two more stunners at a loss, but nobody was biting on an eighty-cred tablecloth, and she was unwilling to go any lower on what she still considered prime merchandise.

“If I wasn’t getting paid by the Galactic Free Press to be here, I’d be in the red myself,” she admitted to Marshall during a long lull. “I checked the Advantage platform before I left Union Station, and it said that those disposable stunners and tablecloths were a sure thing.”

“I’ve never heard of Advantage, but maybe it’s why there are so many traders here selling the same merchandise,” her neighbor pointed out. “If you look now, it could be saying the opposite.”

“Advantage is a trading conditions platform I joined, but I don’t know how to access it without a Stryxnet connection,” Ellen said. “I wish Earth had modern communications infrastructure.”

“Give your phone here and I’ll see if I can bring it up and set a ringtone for you at the same time,” Marshall said. “Do you have a favorite song?”

“Anything is fine,” she replied, unlocking the cell phone and handing it over. The older man confidently worked his way through the byzantine menus and eventually managed to bring up the Advantage portal.

“You have to enter your account information and password,” he said, handing the phone back.

“It better still be my name and my ship registration number or I’m not going to know it,” Ellen said, filling in the required fields. “Hey, it worked. Let me see if I can find—I can’t believe it.”

“What?”

“The screen came up on the Earth market right away, I guess since it’s the last one I looked at. They’re still showing disposable Dollnick stunners as the top recommendation for trade stock.”

“Can’t you post a correction?”

“It doesn’t work that way. I can only edit the cargo in my own profile, and they have an algorithm that sorts everything and presents the most profitable cargo suggestions based on the wisdom of crowds.”

“Maybe they’re using the wisdom of clowns.”

“Very funny. Look,” she said, brandishing the phone in front of Marshall’s nose. “They’re still recommending Frunge tablecloths in the top-ten list as well.”

“Are you sure they aren’t making recommendations to you based on what you’ve reported in your inventory?”

“No, I bought the stunners and the tablecloths after seeing the recommendation. It’s part of the research I’m doing for a story. Wait a second, I’m going to try something.” Ellen input a search term and surveyed the result grimly. “Not recommended,” she reported. “Apparently there’s an oversupply of Farling medicine for sale on Earth.”

“I wouldn’t put much faith in their suggestions if I was you.” Marshall cast a quick look around to see if anybody was nearby before continuing. “I don’t normally go around spreading rumors, but it seems to me that I’m hearing about more young traders who have been running into financial problems lately. Maybe there’s a relationship there.”

The phone suddenly played the opening bars to the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth symphony. She closed the portal and accepted the call. “Ellen here.”

“Maria Cortez. I’m at the fairgrounds. Could you push me your location?”

“Just a sec,” she responded, and passed the phone back to Marshall. This time he made sure she was watching as he invoked the homing signal. “She’s practically on top of us,” Ellen said, lifting her head and scanning the area. “That must be her looking down at the phone.”

A minute later, a woman with a travel bag slung over one shoulder approached and asked, “Are you Ellen?”

“And you’re Maria. Pleased to meet you,” Ellen said, and the two women exchanged a polite handshake.

“Do I have permission to step on your blanket?”

“Please. I’m not one of those old-fashioned traders who takes it so seriously.”