FROM THE SOCIETY NEWS DESK: AN INTRODUCTION TO YOUR SOCIETY COLUMNIST
By Lady Lulu 'Buffie' Capturfilingham
An Introduction
Hello again dearies!! I have been in the newspaper business for too many years to count. And, if there is one thing I have learned, it is that the only thing that counts in the business is... circulation. Any increase in circulation is cause for a celebration. Therefore, kudos must go out to Hazed and the Illustrious Bella for increasing our circulation. I expect the circulation to increase even more as the days and weeks go by. Only good things can come of this.
Now, to all those new readers who have no idea who this reporter is, let me give you some background on myself. I am the High Society editor for the paper. I am your conduit to all the parties, galas and benefits you only dreamed that you could attend. I also report on the social activities of all of you hard working business people who make the Galactic industries hum. I report all the weddings, small talk (gossip), and who is with whom... well, for today anyway. I love to hear snippets from my gentle readers, as I rely on you to be my ears when I cannot be here. Who knows... your name could even make it past Hazed's ever watchful editing pen. Remember, I cannot do this without your help.
And, on a final note, this reporter will be holding a contest next week in this paper to give away her ever-precious slithy tove. One of my lucky readers will be the new proud owner of a slithy tove! I have no idea what the contest will be about, but stay tuned and good luck!
And, with that, gentle readers, my allotted space has run out for this week. Ta ta for now, Dahhhhhhlings!
INNER WORKINGS: A HISTORY LESSON
by RTG1728
This week once again finds me writing this column just before my deadline and imminent destruction should I fail to produce something printable. I am convinced that I wouldn't look so irresponsible if the rest of the Star's columnists weren't so punctual. Sometimes they even turn in their work early! Can you believe the gall? I'm clearly not to blame.
Although I have a reputation for unreliability, I have yet to miss a deadline – despite the fact that there is obviously someone in the Galactic Administration who is out to get me. What else could explain how my ballad relating the tale of the slithy-scrivener and the duchess could be rejected by the Censors on the basis of gross obscenity? Well, at least it would have been if I had attempted to publish it.
This subject undoubtedly requires something of a history lesson, and I will do my best to make this lesson as tedious as possible, as all such things should be. On Earth, long before the Atomic Revolution – before even the Industrial Revolution – the wealth of the Aristocracy, in places where they had Aristocracy, was for the most part tied to land ownership, and taxes – often in the form of agricultural products and coins of little value – obtained from those who inhabited the land.
The Aristocrats, however, had little use for chickens and coppers. Their lifestyles required that they live in cities far away from their holdings in the countryside, and to coop poultry in one's townhouse was considered uncouth. Furthermore, the price of luxuries was such that they were paid for in silver or gold.
This situation posed a number of problems. Mainly, how to transport wealth from the countryside to the cities, and do so in such a way that it is in a useful for when it arrives. Thus the money-scrivener was born, whose main occupation was to collect the wealth of the country – hams, chickens, and the like – and deliver it to the Aristocracy in the form of credit. Since the credit of the Aristocracy was accepted as if it were actual silver, this system worked, despite no coins actually being exchanged. In this way it is rather like trading futures; it's all a paper transaction.
The money-scrivener would then turn the goods collected from the farmlands into silver; as he dealt with large amounts he could do this more easily than an individual landowner. He would then have vast numbers of valuable coins, and could practice his secondary occupation of shaving the edges from this coins and selling the metal to forgers.
A modern slithy-scrivener serves a similar purpose, operating in the shadowy underworld of the slithy economy by collecting the actual creatures owed, and providing certificates of ownership to the Aristocracy. This system is, of course, only used by those nefarious individuals who wish to avoid using the accepted and regulated slithy system.
Alas! How a slithy-scrivener became involved with a duchess and what events ensued is a story I cannot tell. Moral decency, you know. But next time I'll write all about my knitting!
WHEN YOU CAN'T EVEN SPELL YOUR OWN NAME...
...you know you've got a problem!
It used to be a running joke, a few years ago on classic Fed, that there was a player with such a long and complex name that nobody could type it. Thus, she rarely received kisses or hugs from her friends. That player was called Risadeamoconia.
Fast forward to our amazing announcement last week about free Fed, which brought a lot of old players back to the game, to check out what we were up to. And what should show up on the SpyNet Review, but the following:
Risareamoconia has started playing Federation II.
Risareamoconia has committed suicide. Alas poor Risareamoconia.
Risadeamoconia has started playing Federation II.
Risadeamoconia has promoted to commander.
It seems even Risa herself has problems spelling that long and complex name. Perhaps it's time to call yourself something shorter!
SEIZING... NEW TREND? IT'S UP TO YOU!
by Maggie
Have you been in an awkward social situation and didn't know what to do? Have you ever been asked something and didn't want to say no? I'm pretty sure most of you have. There is a new trend on the horizon in Fed DataSpace to get out of those sticky situations. People have begun to seize when feeling awkward so that they don't have to answer to a question or are afraid to say no to someone.
This new trend was started by Elijah when his Valentine asked him to get her something for that special day. He went right down and began seizing. She became very concerned and forgot all about the question she had asked. When he finished, they moved on to other conversations. He did it again when he asked another awkward question about Valentine's day.
His companion soon caught on and dumped him for a nice 2 ton droid. But she also began using the technique when she didn't want to talk to someone. Others have been heard pondering using seizures as a form of escape... Why don't you try it and see if it works?
BEWARE OF FLYING CARGO
Sometimes, we should be grateful that the stevedores that load and unload cargo are lazy, thieving rascals. Sure, they steal anything that isn't nailed down, and if you have been unfortunate enough to leave goods unattended outside a full warehouse for just a few seconds you will know how fast they can shift a pallet when they are doing what they euphemistically call "unauthorized ownership transfer". But there is one occasion when they provide a useful service, as an Industrialist found out recently.
The Industrialist, who we shall not name to protect his blushes (and because he gave us a hefty bribe to keep his name out of the papers) was moving inputs and outputs from planet to planet, to feed the maws of his insatiable factories. But lack of sleep was affecting his judgement, and he started to make mistakes. He would try to fetch goods that didn't exist in his warehouse, or try to store goods that weren't contained in his ship. No real problems, except that issuing incorrect instructions to the stevedores makes them think you are an idiot.
But the more serious mistake he made was to forget to take his shuttle down to the planet's before he stored his goods. The ship's cargo-handling routines, being primitive, simply opened the cargo bay doors and dumped the goods into space. Our hapless factory-owner lost the goods, and the losses when you do this with a full hold of goods soon mount up. What's more, he did it more than once, while in orbit around several different planets. Oh dear, how careless!
This was obviously a disaster for his bank balance, but it could also have had a much more serious effect. Think of the traffic hazard that would be caused by so many pallets floating freely around in orbit. This could have lead to an accident, and then there would have been a lawsuit, and it would all have ended very messily.
But the stevedores came to the rescue. Scenting unclaimed goods, they flew in and snatched the discarded pallets before anyone else could crash into them. Hurrah! Of course, they didn't return them to the owner... and when the Industrialist queried what the stevedores had done with the rescued goods, the answer he got wasn't very satisfactory: "It may be in Schrodinger's warehouse - but then again it it may not be."
So the result is one Industrialist with egg on his face (or equivalent) and a hole in his bank balance, the spaceways clear of debris, and a bunch of stevedores considerably richer!
Footnote: Schrodinger's Warehouse, or Heisenberg's Warehouse as it is also called, is the subject of an Encyclopedia Galactica entry.
ARTS ABANDONED IN WAKE OF GROAT-GRABBING FESTIVAL
by Kestrana
Two weeks ago this humble reporter mentioned that the Arts Society of Rhea was holding a contest for short fiction about life in the Fed universe. Although the contest designers were eagerly awaiting entries, the horror of what happened has caused the Arts Society to consider closing up shop and moving to a different system as soon as the Interstellar Link is repaired.
Several months ago the Fed II Star office was plagued by a mysterious assailant, who turned out to be a rogue elephant escaped from the mini-zoo on Earth, and by accidentally encountering a rebigulation field in the zoo, was deminiaturized and proceeded to invade the offices in search of peanut butter. Although the damage was cleaned up, the elephant itself was still at large until this week, when the pachyderm arrived in the cargo hold of a ship bound for Rhea. Following its nasal appendage to the nearby cafe, the elephant passed through the Rhea Arts Museum and into the Arts Society office. There, as luck would have it, was the week's contest mail, including a package of peanut butter cookies that had been accidentally mailed to the contest by someone wishing to enter the Venusian Cooking Contest instead.
What happened next is no shock. The elephant seized the mailbag and proceeded to devour the entire thing. Apparently the paper itself was found delicious, as no single piece of mail was spared.
Customs officials did not know what to make of the elephant's presence on Rhea and vowed to take more precautions in the future, when examining cargo holds for life forms.
After eating the mailbag, the elephant proceeded to a large courtyard fountain where it showered itself before it was brought down with a tranquilizer gun by local artifacts trader, Josia Smith. Police thanked Mr Smith for his assistance and then returned the elephant to the mini-zoo.
Now, fortunately, the Arts Society mail log was intact and they discovered upon publication of this article that no one had bothered to enter the contest anyway, so the esteemed judges went to the bar to drown themselves in slithy-bought illegal beverages. They can still be seen there, passed out in the corner booth, with a plate of peanut butter cookies on the table in front of them.
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