Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network, E. Foner [the unexpected everything txt] 📗

Freelance

On The Galactic Tunnel Network

Copyright 2020 by E. M. Foner

One

“Let me make sure I have this straight,” Walter said to the young reporter. “You’re not willing to write about food anymore, but you’re not resigning from the paper.”

“Now you’ve got it,” Georgia said, beaming a smile at the managing editor of the Galactic Free Press. “So we’re all set?”

“Wait. Please, take a seat. I’m still a little lost here.”

“It’s simple. When I first came to work at the paper I was told that everybody has to pay their dues before they can choose their own assignments. Now I’ve paid my dues and I’m ready to become an investigative journalist.”

“I admire your enthusiasm, but we have a system in place,” Walter told her. “I know I say that my door is always open, but you’re supposed to start by bringing new story ideas to your section editor, and then the two of you would present together to the editorial board. We take investigative journalism very seriously.”

“That’s why I want to do it,” Georgia said, making it sound like the managing editor had just stated the most obvious fact in the world. “If there’s nothing else…”

“But you can’t just declare yourself an investigative journalist!”

“Why not? I have a four-year degree in journalism from the New University System on Earth.”

“And we agreed to overlook that particular shortcoming in your background when we gave you a job. Most of our employees get their start writing for student papers via their teacher bots or reporting on the Children’s News Network. In many cases, we’ve already picked up some of their stories through syndication before they even apply here. Our publisher prefers hands-on experience, but I have a soft spot for Earth degrees since I was educated there myself.”

“It’s not my fault I grew up without a teacher bot,” Georgia said. “My parents are anti-alien and they sent me to the commune school. I earned a full scholarship to the New University based on the competitive entrance exams.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that played into our decision to give you a chance, but all of this is beside the point. We try to give our staff the maximum flexibility in determining their work/life balance, but when it comes to reporting, I’m afraid that we’re sticklers for insisting our employees write the stories they’re assigned. The Galactic Free Press is like a giant puzzle,” Walter continued with one of his favorite analogies. “We have over a hundred section editors managing thousands of reporters to provide the information our readers have come to expect. You’re being paid to report on the local food scene, and if you want to run off and do something else, we’ll have to transfer your salary to whoever steps up and takes your place.”

“That makes perfect sense. After all, investigative journalism must pay better than food writing.”

Walter massaged his temples and fought against the urge to put his head down on his desk and simply wait for the young reporter to leave him in peace.

“We don’t have an open slot for an investigative journalist at the moment, but I’d be happy to add you to the list of candidates.”

“No, I want to start now,” Georgia insisted. “I left Earth three years ago and I haven’t been off Union Station since I got here. There are large human populations spread across hundreds of worlds and alien orbitals around the tunnel network, but the farthest I’ve ever traveled to report a story is the distance from the nearest lift tube to a restaurant. The most exciting assignment I’ve had since taking this job was sampling tribute recipes for the All Species Cookbook.”

“But you’re not quitting?”

“Of course not,” Georgia said, looking shocked at the idea. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”

“So you’ll talk this over with your section editor…”

“My editor told me to come and see you.”

“I understand,” Walter said, glancing towards the grandfather clock in the corner as if he hoped that time would run out and save him. “So you aren’t willing to do your job anymore, but you still want to work for us?”

“Right. I’m going to investigate financial fraud. Ever since I read that series of articles about the retired folks who got scammed on Flower, I’ve been spending all of my free time studying up on the history of financial crimes in a self-directed Open University extension course. Libby says that I’m ready.”

“The Stryx station librarian told you to change jobs?”

“Well, she might have said that I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, but it amounts to the same thing,” Georgia insisted. “I’m not leaving this office until you agree.”

“It just doesn’t work that way. What’s this big story you want to investigate?”

“Colony One. The whole thing is a scam. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” Walter said. “You want to investigate Colony One?”

“Exactly. Humans have been going out on alien-owned colony ships as contract workers for decades, and with Flower, we have a Dollnick colony ship working for us, even if she just goes around in a great big circle visiting sovereign human communities. But purchasing a colony ship for ourselves would cost more than humanity is worth.”

“Their goal is to buy a scrapped ship and refurbish it in an alien shipyard. They have the backing of EarthCent, and coincidentally, Colony One advertises their meetings in our paper.”

“Are you saying I can’t move into investigative journalism because Colony One sponsors the free edition?”

“Now you’re conflating two different subjects,” Walter protested. “Let me make this as simple for you as possible. If you’re willing to report the stories your section editor assigns, then you’re welcome to continue working for us as a full-time employee. If you need to go off