Part One Of One
See the text at http://skinner.fm.
Tonight we present a tale of science fiction, originally published at 365Tomorrows.com. It's a story of high level corporate maneuvering in a not so terribly distant future, a story which opens with a simple question of identity.
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 13. Tonight's story, say it ain't so. This evening's episode, and every episode of FlashPulp, was partially inspired by a marvellous bomb. Google it. FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. 400 to 600 words brought to you Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Tonight we present a tale of science fiction, originally published on 365tomorrows.com. It's a story of high-level corporate maneuvering in a not so terribly distant future, a story which opens with a simple question of identity. Say it ain't so, part one of one, written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. So are ya? He's maybe 12, wearing blue shorts and a Mexico City Raptors t-shirt, a leg up on the wrought iron patio fence. My lobster's getting cold. "What?" I ask. I realize he's holding up a thin rectangle the size of a credit card, alternating his squints to get the things pictured to match my face. "CEO Benjamin Crush 'em Hinton!" I remember signing off licensing my likeness to flat media last May, but I hadn't seen the cards in the wild. I ignore him. That might have been the end of it, but a serving girl swings by my table. "You're Bill Mr. Ben?" she says, smiling uncomfortably. "That's what I get for flirting with the wait staff." "It is you! Could you sign my card?" He thrusts the red styles in the card at me. I accept, mostly just interested in checking out the cheap display on the back. There's a rundown of my resume, schooling, management experience, time spent on corporate boards. I tap on new youth limited. Not much of my rookie year, but the second I was apparently one of the Resurrection Seven, a voting block that saved NYL by moving from chemical processes to genetic engineering. I remember the vote, but I don't recall anyone using the snaz nickname. Sliding through the listings, I noticed some of them have been marked up in a child's block script, often with arrows pointing to individual entries. Things like Bob Miv had seniority, but not the votes. "Anywhere?" I ask. "Sure," he says with a sloppy grin. I tap the pen icon. "Is it true that you punched Director Jules Wilson?" Heh, yeah. I mean, Wilson almost came in drunk, but he messed up my presentation of that quarter's preliminary financials. By the time he started pawing at Kathy Reed, I was just looking for an excuse. I look up, wondering if I have said too much for a kid his age, but he seems to be eating it up with moon eyes. "You ever gonna work somewhere huge like cow stock again?" he asks, face imploring. I give a quick scribble with the stylist in hand and back his card. "Maybe." His salsa eyes begin to droop. "Hey," I quickly add. I mean, there's talk that cow stock may revisit their policy and have me back for another term, but it's hush-hush. He brightens. I imagine him lording the harmless secret over his friends for a week. "Tedward" says you got lucky with the Telivi merger because CEO Norma Donald was kicked by Telivi's oversight expert system. "I think he's a craphead. You're so smart. You must've done something." I smile, mentally reliving my best maneuvers. I bought shares in a number of Telivi subsidiaries using various fake names and then put out a lot of crosstalk showing a lack of stockholder confidence. The system got nervous. I paid good money to insert low numbers into that week's financial reports and the system went to red alert. Things would've been fixed as soon as they saw the next round of numbers, but I used the whistleblower hotline to point out a lie on Norma's resume involving her university rowing team. So much bad happening so suddenly, the computer thought the world was ending and booted Norma, the only one who understood cow stock's real intentions. The kid is smiling the whole time I'm talking, but as I finish, he turns and waves to someone. That's when I see the new youth product water mark on the back of his neck. Without looking at me, he says, "Mr. Hinton, call no check, special agent for the Securities and Exchange Commission. It is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest." FlashPulp is presented by http colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of FlashPulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. (upbeat music) [BLANK_AUDIO]
