Page 19 of Spark Transform

“No.” She gave Vasil a gentle smile. “I appreciate the honest question.”

Vasil nodded. “I always ask. That way, I don’t say the wrong thing.” A frown marred their delicate-featured face. “Sometimes, the question is the wrong thing.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Charrascos feelingly. “Politicians especially get very spiky about it. I think it’s the answers they don’t like.”

“I’m thinkin’ you’ll no’ be high on the CPS’s Solstice Day good-wishes list this winter.” That was Rustom, an ex-Jumper with a classical Albion accent that made him sound like he’d stepped out of a historical vid.

He was taller than the average citizen but short for a Jumper. Wide shoulders and impressive upper-body strength paired with his cybernetic legs. His early Level 4 waster’s sometimes made him walk slower than a hull-repair bot, but it hadn’t stopped him yet.

Rustom smiled. “The piece you did on how the CPS’s takeover of the Council Headquarters construction project ended up losing thirty thousand local jobs was beaut’. Must have left wossname, the woman who’s leading it, feelin’ especially spiky about ya’.”

“CPS Planetary Administrator Jane Pennington-Smythe. You’re right — she’s not a fan.” Charrascos beamed at him. “Thank you for reading. Most of my readers complain about the financial stories.”

Rustom made a rude sound. “They’re not the sorry sods looking for work again.” He slapped his thighs. “As soon as I get the upgraded batteries the CPS has been promisin’ for five feckin’ months now, all this stinkin’ planet will see of me is my flux trace when I go transit to anywhere but here.” He chugged his water pouch like he was in a drinking contest, then balled up the container and lobbed it perfectly into the recycler.

Soleil made a note to check into the battery rollout. She’d gotten hers eighteen months ago, and she’d been on an insular planet with one tiny base that housed a single active Jumper battalion group. Mabingion was far older and had five times the population, not to mention being the home planet for the most Jumper brigades outside Spires on CGC Prime, the galactic government’s capital. Mabingion should have been in the rollout’s first wave.

Little ten-year-old Giselle, who followed fifteen-year-old Fish like an invisible cord connected them, tugged on Charrascos’s pant leg. “Why is your hair so dark?”

“I was feeling sad at the time.” She pushed the loose braid back over her shoulder. “I’ll probably change it again soon.”

“I could get you a discount,” said Vasil earnestly. “My aunt works in a body parlor.”

She smiled gently. “That’s a kind offer.”

As far as Soleil could tell, Charrascos seemed to be telling the truth about everything. No wonder people trusted her.

Haseem sidled closer to Charrascos as he dropped his empty pouch in the recycler. “I create poetry-vids as a hobby. How do freelance writers make money?” His fingers fluttered, and his expression turned wary. “Apologies if it’s none of my business.”

Charrascos shrugged. “It’s not a secret. Residuals, mostly. Journalists get paid for publication and views. I’m independent, so I license articles and vids to planetary media companies. Because I travel a lot, I also pay galactic syndicators for high-quality translations to deliver to readers and collect the fees. I price short articles low so media companies pick them up for filler. Vids and the longer articles are higher because they get more opens and upsell opportunities. Bombshells can spark a bidding war.” She chuckled. “I’d like a few more of those, just to see how I like luxury suites on interstellar cruise liners.”

Haseem frowned. “What’s to stop companies from copying your work from another source, or just remixing the vid or retranslating the words to avoid the tracers?”

Charrascos smiled. “Smart question. Pattern matching and hidden watermarks. Scanning services scour the net, looking for stolen material. If they find unlicensed usage, they snapshot it and send the offending company a bill for the full licensed rate, plus a penalty fee that the service keeps. Reputable publishers avoid all that by paying the license fee up front. Shady ones hope they don’t get caught after they’ve changed the stolen work just enough to fool the algos. If they’re jerks, they try to register the altered work as their own to get the residuals. If they’re platinum-plated pissants, they backdate their version, claim your work copied theirs, and demand a percentage of your residuals.” Her expression turned sour. “Ask me how I know.”

“What can you do about it?” Solomon had a weakness for taking on bigger fights than she could handle. She put her fists on her hips, glaring at the world on Charrascos’s behalf.

“Me? Nothing. That’s why I subscribe to a dozen AI services, each with different algos. Cost of doing business.” Charrascos shook her head. “It’s an arms race, like the pharmas versus the blackmarket drug cloners.” Her eyes widened, and she laughed. “Except journalists don’t send a platoon of mercenaries to attack the thief and accidentally sink an entire island, like on Nila Marbela a couple of years ago.”

The adults chuckled at that. The story had memorably topped the newstrends for a ten-day. Fish jumped down off the counter, clearly uninterested.

Charrascos glanced up at the big clock display, then slid off the counter and turned to look up at Soleil. “Boots on or off for the next section?”

Soleil cocked her head a little. “Do you have any fight training?”

“None worth mentioning. I net-learned a few slow-style meditation forms, mostly to keep moving. I don’t usually stay in any one place long enough to join an in-person class, much less find one that fits. In the past, my security didn’t want me getting cocky or in their way.” She tilted her head toward Brenner, who had drifted to within a meter of her. “I don’t know what Chief Crankyboots wants.”

Brenner’s irritable scowl seemed not to faze the small woman in the slightest.

Chapter 9

Planet: Mabingion • GDAT 3242.191

Soleil dropped onto the large, well-padded couch and let herself bounce closer to Josh, her tall, sometimes shy, always sexy lover.

Their leased high-rise luxury flat, courtesy of Josh’s wealth, had eclectic furnishings courtesy of their friend Tuzan, a man of many talents. She’d personally sourced key items to fit tall people with long limbs. “Hi there, handsome. Missed you in class this morning.”

“Hi.” He smiled and kissed her. “Sorry. I’m a slug.”