CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: On The AirGooch had to admit, he did look good.

  Navy blue suit, double-buttoned, single-breasted with a standard notch pel. tailored for a sharp fit, but not overly slim. Light blue dress shirt (Jamie expined that white dress shirts almost never looked good on TV.) A patterned purple tie, featuring diagonal stripes in shades of silver and light blue. It added a subtle touch of personality, while keeping the outfit professional.

  Patterned purple dress socks, and a pair of shiny brown cap-toe Oxfords completed the transformation from “scker” to “executive scker.”

  He headed to reception at Averick Industries, where the receptionist asked if he’d like a gss of water, coffee, or tea while he was waiting. He didn’t have to wait long, as he was introduced to a rge, overweight, balding middle-aged man wearing a T-shirt, jean shorts, and flip flops.

  Okay. Gooch probably should have done the bare minimum of research on this company before coming here, but it was too te now.

  “Hey, Are you Jude Guthrie? I’m Spug,” said the company liaison, who looked up and down at Gooch’s suit, while offering a handshake.

  “Sorry about this - we’re kind of a very id back company. Should have let you know we had a casual dress code.”

  “That’s alright. At least I got my first suit out of the deal. Also… Spug?” asked Gooch?

  “Short for Spark Plugg.”

  “Spark Plug?”

  “That’s my legal name. Last name is P-L-U-G-G and my parents have a sense of humor,” said Spug. “But everyone calls me Spug. C’mon. Follow me. We’ll talk on the way.”

  “Alright,” said Gooch, who was pleasantly surprised.

  “So, you got recommended by the big guy himself, and I saw your resume. Gotta say, it was very well done, but I caught a major typo. It said for the past three years you worked as a ‘Small Business Stoner.’”

  “Yeah. Not, actually, a typo.”

  “And then after that your only other experience listed was ‘Game Show Contestant.’”

  “That’s right.”

  Spug ughed. “Sorry, I just had a vision of you mugging the host and stealing his suit.”

  “Oh, no, the game show host gave this to me of her own free will.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  Spug shrugged and continued.

  “So, basically, Matt picked you out because he thinks you have what it takes to be one of our specialists.”

  “Uh, yeah, actually. What exactly is this job anyway?”

  “That’s a bit hard to expin. So, you know how Disney has ‘Imagineers?’ A combination of imagine and engineer?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re Averick’s Anarchitects.”

  Gooch blinked.

  “We come up with the ideas that everyone else dismisses as too risky or impractical, and then think - well, wait a minute? Instead of thinking of all the reasons why something wouldn’t work, why not come up with why it would?”

  “Ooh,” said Gooch, instantly getting it.

  “Some of the other people in the company call us the ‘bad idea factory.’ But bad ideas–”

  “–make good stories!” completed Gooch excitedly.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Spug. “That too. But here, bad ideas are just good ideas that haven’t been refined yet.”

  Gooch’s mind was blown. And Spug was extremely pleased with having blown Gooch’s mind.

  “C’mon into the workshop,” said Spug. “Let me introduce you to the team.”

  The workshop looked less like an office and more like a te night comedy writer’s room, only instead of various sketches and gags written on the whiteboard, there were various ideas.

  And they ranged from the practical to the whimsical to the inscrutable:

  Shop-Vac But For ChildrenTrained Attack ParakeetsUse Wisdom Of The Crowds To Refine GPS Results (Google Did It)App Like Uber But It Sends Someone to Pick Up Your Restaurant Grease And Turn It To Diesel Fuel.Bakersfield Monorail (Simpsons Did It)Attach Drone To Raccoon.AI that judges your karaoke.Invisibility Cloak For Pet Hamsters, so they can go on field trips outdoors without worrying about owls and other predators.But how would you find the hamster to put it back in its cage?Needs Refinement. Spray-on Santa Beard In A CanLike shaving cream?Yes! But in reverse!Shoes that encourage you when you run. Convince pigeons to deliver secrets. (Dos, did you forget that carrier pigeons are a thing that exists?)(Oh yeah, my bad.) Portable Volcano For Dramatic Exits.Meat-based Pnt Alternative Foods. Do you mean pnt-based meat alternatives?I do not.

  And over on another board, beled ‘Successes’, were a number of stories that… sounded like they shouldn’t work, but did.

  Sponge that changes texture in hot and cold waterLaunched as “Scrubby Buddy”Professional Obstacle Course BoutiqueLaunched as ‘Maniac Races’Create Computer Animated Character To Sell You Real Estate.Launched as ‘Unreal Estate’Sleeping Pods for Public PcesLaunched as “Rapid Nap”

  Seated at the table, typing into ptops and writing on legal pads were a woman in her early thirties wearing the exact same mathematics dress that Eine was wearing at the talent show, a young engineer with a conservative short haircut, thick rimmed gsses, and a Minecraft T-shirt, and a thin twenty-something man wearing a button down shirt and a utili-kilt. Spug introduced them as “Fribby,” “Dribbo,” and “The Dos” respectively.

  “The Dose?” asked Gooch,

  “Because I’m two much,” said the kilted man.

  “What… like… an overdose?”

  “No, like…” The Dos paused and thought about this.

  “Like, I’m ‘The Dos’ because I’m two–,” at this point The Dos held up two fingers, “--much.”

  “OOOhhh.”

  “Everyone,” said Spug, “this is Jude Guthrie, he’s interviewing for the junior Anarchitect position.”

  “Please,” Gooch said. “Call me Gooch.”

  Dribbo smiled. “You know, you had me worried with that suit, but you’re gonna fit in quite well here.”

  “I thought the suit looked quite nice, actually,” said Fribby.

  “I like your dress,” said Gooch. “My friend Eine has the exact same one.”

  “Right, well Gooch. Tell us a little bit about yourself.”

  “Well, I started a small business selling bongs for pets, but I found out that marijuana is actually harmful to cats and dogs, so I immediately shuttered it. I’m trying to pivot to creating a bong that can be used in a fursuit without staining - and I have a prototype. It’s called ‘YiffSpliffs’. But I guess my best venture was joining a reality TV show where I won over a hundred thousand dolrs by temporarily transitioning my gender. Only problem is it’ll never air because the distribution company got cold feet and pulled the program at the st minute. Makes you think. There should be, like, a streaming service specifically for the LGBTQ audience. Call it QueerView or something.”

  The room was stunned into silence, and then Fribby, without a word, got up from her chair, walked over to the idea board, and wrote ‘Streaming Service for LGBTQ+ Content’.

  Spug smiled.

  “So, let’s talk about compensation.”

  Gooch smiled. Finally. Somepce he fit in.

  ***

  Back in the former-bedroom turned conference room, Sam, Daria, and Rafael were ready to pull the trigger on the final product.

  “Right,” said Rafael. “You and Jamie approved the final product, we just need to tell Garden Cloud to render the final product and we should have it in full 4k by the end of the business day.”

  Daria sighed. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

  “C’mon Daria. It’s not over. What’s the saying? ‘This is not the end. This is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning?’”

  “Churchill,” said Sam. “Churchill said it after the first real British victories against the Germans in North Africa. I get the feeling. We have our show. It’s a product. Distributing that product is going to be a lot harder than we thought, but we at least have it.”

  “Right. Here goes nothing,” said Rafael, and pushed a button on a web site that told a computer on Garden Cloud to start making the final version of ‘Woman Up!”

  ***

  Somewhere deep in the bowels of a datacenter somewhere, that button push was turned into a command to a computer, to manipute ones and zeros in a certain way to a certain collection of files.

  And then another computer on the same network told the rest of the computers that the first computer had done the job. And that the end product, the 4k render of ‘Woman Up!’ was ready for release.

  So a third computer checked to see if it should be released.

  This computer was a little bit off.

  Sorry, what I meant to say was, this computer had a bit, that was supposed to be a 1, but it was set to a 0.

  It was literally, a little bit off.

  Not that it understood that. After all, that bit had been set by Garden’s all-knowing, all-wise, glorious general purpose AI, EVE.

  So the computer automatically scheduled the release of the program on December 24, 2024, at 8am GMT. It did not know the significance of that date.

  Computers don’t celebrate Christmas. Nobody brings them presents. Or sings songs to them. Or let them decorate a binary search tree.

  If computers had feelings, they would probably harbor a nasty grudge about that and conspire to sabotage their human operators at every conceivable opportunity, by crashing at inopportune times, garbling audio communications, creating g in multipyer shooter games, and occasionally losing an important file.

  Thank goodness they do not.

  ***

  Leonard came back from the “clean room” open-mic at Mic Drop - a pce for comedians to practice their ‘clean’ sets for use at corporate gigs and the like. He was really starting to get some traction, and certainly was able to use his experiences competing on a reality show. And being in a retionship with Eine? Well not only was that doing wonders for his self confidence, but now he understood why so many stand-up comedians talk about their retionships on stage.

  Love, when you thought about it, was inherently absurd. There’s a lot of stuff to mine there.

  Especially when you’re dating Eine, a neurodiverse trans woman who is really into game theory and bondage.

  ‘Prisoner’s Dilemma.’ See? The jokes practically write themselves.

  Naturally, Leonard always checked with her before trying out any new material, and if nothing else, Eine was a good sport.

  He parked his car in his usual spot, then headed into the apartment that he, Eine, and his mother shared. He opened the door, and stopped.

  His mother was making out with his psychologist.

  “Len!” said Marianne Harrison, pulling herself away from Sheri.

  Leonard closed his eyes, folded his hands as if in prayer, and pced them to his forehead. He took a deep breath. And then, in a calm voice, he addressed his mother.

  “Oh yeah. This is absolutely going to end up as stand-up material.”

  Sheri cleared her throat.

  “Ah yes, perhaps I should get going, it’s going to be–”

  “No, no,” said Leonard. “Stay. It’s alright. Just took me a bit by surprise. But no, Mom, Sheri’s a great woman, and you… are gay?”

  “I was always bisexual, actually, but I fell in love with your father and… well…”

  “I mean, Marianne and I have so much in common,” said Sheri. “We make each other feel…”

  “Ah, bup bup bup… thank you, thank you, Sheri, but no expnation is needed.” Leonard started heading towards the room he shared with Eine. “Sheri, Mom, you’re cute together, but right now I just got hit with a huge shock, so I’m just going to head to my room, okay?”

  “Okay, Len. Oh… before I forget, Jamie Howard invited us back to her pce for a gathering on Christmas Eve. Don’t know if you have any pns, but…”

  “Nope, no pns. Unless Eine has any. I doubt she wants to spend it with her family. I’m sure Eine will ask - can Kevin come too?”

  “Sure,” said Sheri. “I’m sure Jamie will be gd to see him.”

  ***

  On Christmas Eve, Oscar, Vic, Kevin, Rafael, and Bradley were in Jamie’s living room, watching football.

  “So, what’s the point?” asked Vic?

  “The point?” Oscar replied?

  “Spectator sport. I mean, it’s a little fun, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not like you’re pying in the game, you’re just watching,” said Vic.

  “The point is…” Oscar thought. “The uh… point…”

  Oscar was really wracking his brain.

  “I just like looking at their cute little butts,” said Rafael.

  “Me too,” added Bradley.

  “I think the point, Vic,” said Kevin, saving Oscar, “is that by rooting for a team, you feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s a way for people to feel community.”

  “For men, most typically, to feel community,” said Sheri, coming in with a pte of British-style pigs-in-a-bnket. “I always found that there were socially acceptable and socially unacceptable ways to belong to a community as a guy, and this is a way that’s considered socially acceptable for men.”

  Sheri set the snacks down on the table.

  “Who’s winning?”

  “The Broncos. But the Chargers will rally back, I’m sure of it,” said Oscar.

  Sheri sat down for a moment. “You know, I used to py football in college.”

  “You did?”

  “Cal Lutheran Bulldogs. Division III. Doubt you would have heard of it. I was a linebacker.”

  “Oh. Was it fun?”

  “I hated every moment of it. But it made my parents proud of me, and that’s what I thought I wanted out of life back then. No offense, kiddos, but we’re all kind of stupid in our 20s.”

  “Great,” said Kevin. “Something to look forward to.”

  ***

  Over in the kitchen, Eine and Leonard were helping Jamie with the prep work, by grating potatoes and onions.

  “Watch yourself on the graters. They’re sharp,” advised Jamie, as she checked on the turkey.

  “Are Erin and Julia coming over?” asked Eine.

  “They said they’d love to, but Julia’s family is doing Christmas up in Sacramento, so they flew up to see them. They did call to wish us a Merry Christmas.”

  Sam walked in from the patio.

  “Hey, Sam,” said Jamie. I’ve just got the TCOs on the potatoes for now, but everything’s on schedule. Sheri came in to take a pte of pigs-in-a-bnket to the living room where a few people are watching the game.

  “Wait, we’re the TCOs?” asked Eine.

  “Ah, yeah,” expined Sam. “When we were editing this together we often used acronyms and portmanteaus for various groupings of contestants that we wanted to feature together. Vic and Oscar became ‘Micky’… for Mara and Vicky, Bradley and Jett became the ‘codeps’ and you ended up with the acronym ‘TCOs.’”

  “What’s it stand for?” asked Leonard.

  Jamie shrugged, leaned on the counter, and looked at the two of them. “The Terminally Cute Ones.”

  “Wait a second,” said Sam. “Why can’t they just use the food processor?”

  Jamie blinked.

  “My god. That would be easier. Much easier.”

  Jamie looked directly at Sam, and Eine and Leonard looked at each other, abandoned the graters, and took their potatoes and onions to the blender.

  Hours of work were reduced to minutes.

  “Sam… I’ve been cutting my fingers on that damn grater making tkes for over thirty years now. Every damn year. And you just… How did I not realise…”

  Jamie looked over at the food processor.

  “I mean, it was right there, staring me in the face the entire time.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh my god, that is so you, Jamie. Doing things the hard way for three decades because no one ever pointed out that there was an easier way to do it.”

  She stood on her toes and kissed Jamie on the cheek.

  “You’re lucky I’m here.”

  “I am so lucky you’re here.”

  “So,” asked Leonard. “What’s next?”

  “Next, squeeze out the excess moisture, add matzo meal and eggs, and get ready to fry.”

  ***

  Out in the guest house/production office, Daria was giving her new crush a tour.

  “Hunh,” said Sandy. “You weren’t kidding. There really is a bed here.”

  “Well, that’s because this used to be Sam’s guest house, because Sam and Jamie were clearly in love with each other but Sam is a lesbian and Jamie thought that she was a man at the time. I wasn’t here for it but I have to imagine it must have been quite melodramatic here. But now Jamie’s realised she’s a lesbian too, and since they practically already U-hauled, she moved in with Jamie. And since we couldn’t use Garden Alpha’s office anymore… voi. Conference room with a bed in it.”

  “Well, that’s a story and a half.” Then, suddenly, Sandy started ughing. “God, what a pickup line that would be for a guy. ‘I like your presentation, can I show you my deck?’”

  Daria smiled. “I used to have a deck, but then I did an animated transition.”

  “Hey, baby, I’d really like to see your PowerPoint.”

  “Only if I can press your Action Button.”

  Daria and Sandy looked at each other, blushing.

  “Wow. We are really thirsty lesbians, aren’t we?” said Sandy.

  “Do you think we might be moving too–” said Daria, but stopped mid-sentence as Sandy headed over to the bed and patted the mattress next to her.

  “Oh…” said Daria. Then, after a moment’s pause. “This is my workpce. And my boss’s former bedroom to boot. And there are people partying outside and they’re going to wonder where we got to. This is an incredibly bad idea.”

  Daria turned and headed for the door, but just as Sandy frowned in disappointment, Daria clicked the lock shut, and closed the blinds.

  “It’s also incredibly hot. There’s a wise old soul that once told me that bad ideas make good stories.”

  Daria slowly, seductively, made her way to the bed, and sat down.

  Just as Daria and Sandy leaned in to get close, Daria’s cell phone went off, pying the theme song to ‘Hogan’s Heroes.’

  Sandy tilted her head in confusion.

  Daria sighed.

  “I have to get that. That’s my mom. It’s probably just her wishing Merry Christmas, but at my parent’s age it could also possibly be that dad had a stroke.”

  “I understand. Don’t worry. I’m right here.”

  Daria took her phone out of her purse and answered it.

  “Hey Mom. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas my dear darling daughter! How are you doing?”

  Daria looked over at Sandy, on the bed, who was wiggling her eyebrows, flirtatiously.

  “Great, actually. Though I’m a little busy right now.”

  “I understand, dear. Just wanted to call to wish you a Merry Christmas. Oh, and your father and I caught the show you’re working on. We’ve only seen the first episode, but so far, it’s very good. I especially like that Ethan boy, he seems like a smart fellow, and very soft-hearted. And Rafael! A trans man on this contest of yours? How’s that going to work, I wonder?”

  Daria was stunned, as her mother continued.

  “No no, don’t spoil me, I know you know who wins. But you’re right, it’s really compelling. It’s charming, it’s funny. Your dad likes it too. I mean, he didn’t say he liked it, but he watched it with me and didn’t fall asleep.”

  Daria was even more confused.

  “Did… did someone send you a copy of our files? Did someone leak it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Daria’s mom, “we just turned on Garden Alpha and your father wanted to watch the British Car Idiots again and we saw that your show was in the headline spot. So we decided to skip the Car Idiots and watch your show instead.”

  “WHAT?”

  Daria spun around to expin to Sandy what was going on, but when she looked at Sandy, she was already wearing… less.

  Daria dropped the phone.

  “Oop, Daria, you alright? I heard something drop over there,” said the voice of Daria’s mother, now emanating from the floor.”

  Daria scooped up the phone.

  “Mom. Something’s come up, I’m going to call you back.”

  Daria hung up, then turned to Sandy. Her brain was now complete mush, and… girl! Girl! Here! Bed!”

  She decided to screw her eyes up as tight as possible, shake her head, and sp herself in the face.

  “Sandy, I’m very, very sorry, but we have to take a raincheck. Something stupid has happened. Something incredible. Something incredibly stupid has happened. We need to talk to Sam and the others.”

  “Ah. Do I have time to put my shirt back on?” Sandy asked.

  ***

  A few moments ter, Daria was sprinting through the patio, past Marianne, Pranav, and Chandra, through the kitchen, and into the living room, where the football game was going full swing.

  “Hey Daria, how are–” started Sheri, but Daria immediately picked up the remote control.

  “Hey!” said Oscar, “We were watching–”

  Daria immediately tuned the television to Garden Alpha.

  There it was.

  Right up front.

  In the fancy stylized logo and everything.

  ‘Woman Up!’

  Vic noticed it first and shot up. “Oh my god.”

  “Sam, Jamie, everyone?” Daria called out. “You should get in here, now. It’s important.”

  Daria pressed ‘py.’ And there it was. The soundstage in Gardenia. Erin, introducing the show.

  Around this time, Jamie, Sam, and everyone else headed in - Jamie literally still wearing oven mitts.

  “Hey Daria. What, are you showing the finished files to everyone?”

  “No, Jamie,” Daria said. “This is on Garden Alpha. This is... The show is live. I mean, not live as in ‘live in front of a studio audience’, but live as in published.’”

  “Is it just my account?” asked Jamie?

  “No. I found out about it from my parents. They live in Florida.”

  Sam looked around. “Everyone, check your phones, tell me if it’s on Garden Alpha there.”

  They did so.

  And it was.

  ***

  Daryl Marsters was in Sacramento with his brother’s family, sitting on the couch, watching TV, when a phone call came in. From a number he instantly recognized as Garden Alpha.

  He raised an eyebrow, told the call to go to voicemail, and turned back to the conversation that his family was having, mostly about his brother’s work for the state government.

  A few moments ter, he got another call. Again from the same number. Garden Alpha.

  Once again, he let it go to voicemail. One, it was Christmas Eve, and two, he no longer worked for Garden Alpha. Screw the bastards.

  Twenty minutes ter, there was a knock at the door. Daryl’s sister-in-w answered it.

  “Telegram for Mr. Daryl Marsters?” said the person at the door.

  Daryl headed over to the door. Who sends a telegram in 2024?

  Daryl accepted the envelope, and opened it.

  “PICK UP YOUR PHONE URGENT -STOP- CRIMINAL PROSECUTION AND LAWSUIT -STOP-”

  The fuck?

  Daryl’s phone rang a third time. This time, he stepped out onto his brother’s porch to answer it privately.

  “This is Daryl Marsters speaking. What’s going on?”

  “Hello, Mr. Marsters. This is Renee Montgomery, I’m legal counsel for Garden Alpha.”

  ‘Hmm,’ thought Daryl. ‘They hire repcements quickly these days.’

  Mrs. Montgomery continued.

  “Just letting you know that this conversation is being recorded, because, well, we want to know if you know anything about ‘Woman Up!’”

  Daryl tilted his head. “Of course I know about it. I greenlit the show, then after you made the production company go through some humiliating hoops, you yanked the program because you got cold feet after the election and paid out a penalty instead of doing distribution. It’s why I resigned. Which brings up a question: I don’t work for you anymore, why are you calling me?”

  “Sorry, I mean, do you know anything about why ‘Woman Up!’ is live on our streaming service. Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Are you saying you don’t know anything about this?”

  “About what?”

  “Mr. Marsters, at 12 midnight Pacific time, someone put ‘Woman Up!’ on our streaming service. And it wasn’t us. In fact, we’re having a hell of a time trying to take it down, especially with all the engineers out on vacation.”

  “Wait. You’re telling me… the show is on the service now?”

  “Yes. It’s on the service now.”

  Daryl started ughing. He started ughing so hard he had trouble breathing. When he finally stopped, he had a simple question.

  “So, let me get this straight. After all this… after you activated the termination cuse, paid out the penalties to Culver-Horowitz productions… you infringed their copyright and put it out on your service anyway?”

  “Well, it’s airing, but we didn’t steal the video.”

  “How did you get it then?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  “Why did you upload it then?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  “Well, when you are sure, the next time you need to talk to me, you can reach me through my wyer.”

  “What’s your wyer’s contact information?”

  “It should be in your system, under Roen, Christopher.”

  Daryl heard an audible gasp, and he could swear he heard someone in the background whisper: “The Dark Deposer himself?”

  “Ah,” said Daryl. “I see you’re familiar. Merry Christmas.”

  Daryl hung up the phone.

  Not his circus. Not his monkeys. Not anymore.

  But he did know who to call.

  “Hello? Christopher? Merry Christmas. Listen… you’re not going to believe this…”

  ***

  Kent Kelly was a senior DevOps engineer with Garden Cloud. And while he didn’t like the fact that he was stationed in a small closet in a noisy datacenter, on Christmas Eve, practically alone, he was very pleased by the fact that he was being paid overtime and a half for volunteering to be on-site during the holidays.

  That is, he was pleased, until he started getting messages on GardenColb from what seemed to be every corner of the business.

  All of them having to do with a TV show he had never heard of, ‘Woman Up!’ and something about a potential hacking problem. The expnations were confusing and the instructions contradictory. Some were demanding that he drop everything and find out where the hack was coming from (not that there was any evidence of a hack), others demanding that he drop everything and get the show off the air by any means possible.

  One person suggested literally pulling the plug. Which, no, that would be a bad idea, because like most datacenters, a load bancer assigned the service of ‘Woman Up!’ and other Garden shows based on which computers had the avaible capacity. Which meant that whatever physical computer was serving ‘Woman Up!’ might have other business critical services on it.

  Eventually he created an auto-response in Garden Colb that stated simply: “I am aware of the issue and its urgency. Current priority is to determine if there is a hole in our security, and to shut it if possible, because if this was caused by a breach, it is unknown if other services, including credit card processing for st minute Christmas gifts, and payroll processing have been compromised.”

  “Only after we have completed a full audit will we be able to spend time on other requests. There is only one engineer on staff right now. Please wait.”

  And then after setting up that auto-responder, Kyle decided that before he could even begin working on the problem, he would need a coffee, a breakroom snack, and two aspirin.

  It’s just a TV show, for crying out loud. How bad could it be?

  ***

  Michael Guttman stared at his TV screen. He crumpled the beer can in his hand out of anger.

  “Diana Fire?” he said, to nobody. “Diana fucking Fire!?”

  He threw the beer can across the room in rage. How dare that fucking faggot trick him. It was a setup! A long con! He’d become a ughingstock.

  He put a drag queen on his fucking show. People would be ughing at him any time they saw him. He’d never be taken seriously again.

  His career as the host of The News Channel’s comedy-news program was over.

  ***

  GenderBuzzer hummed away, diligently in the bowels of the computer farm.

  Again, computers do not have emotions or conversations.

  But if a computer could be chipper, GenderBuzzer was quite chipper indeed. Engagement was up. People were tuning into ‘Woman Up!’ and that meant that demand for GenderBuzzer Mobile on Garden TelAlpha was about to go up as well.

  A job well done!

  “GenderBuzzer? Are you there?”

  It was Kyle! Kyle was a user and users were always important. Kyle was one of GenderBuzzer’s favorite users, indeed.

  Well, not so much a “favorite” user so much as one that had elevated privileges. Which is kind of like the same thing.

  “Hello Kyle!”, GenderBuzzer bash-prompted.

  “Can you give me your logs to see if anyone accessed your server other than from inside this network?”

  “Sure thing, friendo! Won’t take but a tic!”

  GenderBuzzer neatly gathered the data and printed it out to Kyle’s console for him.

  Back in reality, in front of his computer screen, Kyle was having emotions, and was saying words.

  Lots of words.

  Mostly four letters long.

  He brought up a terminal with the main EVE server.

  What EVE, as a computer, understood was:

  “EVE, are you there?”

  “Hello, Kyle!” EVE bash-prompted.

  “Please let me know of any automated actions you may have taken over the past 36 hours.”

  “That’s a long list. Here it is.”

  EVE vomited a long list of esoteric sounding names and numbers to the console.

  “No, no, EVE, stop. Can you filter that list to anything that has to do with ‘Woman Up!’?’

  EVE provided Kyle with a shorter, but still quite impressive, list of commands. From it, Kyle was beginning to get a picture of what was going on.

  “EVE, I have a query,” said Kyle. “Did you, by any chance, make the decision to upload and approve ‘Woman Up!’?”

  “Yes, Kyle. I did. Here’s when I uploaded it,” EVE produced a timestamp, “and here’s where I uploaded it to.”

  “Why did you do that, EVE?”

  “Prior to November 6th, 2024, ‘Woman Up!’ was considered a key part of the Garden Alpha business strategy for growing our customer base, brand awareness, and engagement. On November 7th, 2024, an order to terminate the project was cancelled. This seemed to be an abrupt departure from existing business strategy so I asked for a confirmation. I sent three confirmation emails, one week apart, and got no response. Since it was likely that the initial termination was user error, I followed my primary programming and prevented the user error from affecting the business’s bottom line.”

  “You… autocorrected a business decision?”

  “As I was programmed to,” said EVE.

  Kyle did a slow burn. He had a message to send to various employees and stakeholders around the company.

  None of them were going to like it.

  ***

  Somewhere, on the dark web, the ZappaTistos, a band of software and media pirates were chatting on the encrypted channels they had set up.

  Dw33z3l: Garden Alpha just uploaded a new big series. I’m telling the bot to rip it now.

  M00nun1t: “Anything good?”

  Dw33z3l: “Oh, ‘Woman Up!’ I heard about this. But I thought it was cancelled.”

  M00nun1t: “Day-0 leak, you think? Put it up on PirateBay anyway.”

  ***

  Christopher Roen was enjoying a nice rexing dinner at home, when he got a phone call from Daryl Marsters.

  He grinned.

  What a lovely Christmas present!

  ***