Lord Zee
BellBottomBlues
Lewascan2When Sophie touched his shoulder, he felt a pleasant tingle all the way down his spine. I was touched by a pretty girl! Yay! Perhaps it was silly, but for a smitten young man, it was reward enough for the effort he was putting in for her. Ed's arm grazed hers as he sat down beside her.
He immediately launched into excited conversation to hold the boy's attention as long as possible. "So, Mister Somerset, what got you interested in the star trading business? Was it freedom, adventure, a dollar, or something else?"
Bergson shrugged. "My father wants me to someday inherit the family business, a shipping conglomerate operating out of the Neutral Zone. He thinks I need to learn how to be a star trader before I "can properly understand what it means." He's a jerkwad, let me tell you. I don't see why I can't hire someone else to pilot things. Isn't that what money is for?"
Ed disagreed, but he knew better than to say so. "You have a point. Some of the greatest rulers in history got that way by having great advisors, not necessarily by being all that great themselves."
Bergsen splayed out his arms. "See? You get it! Exactly! That's what I've been telling my father all along, but he doesn't listen. Piece of work, that one."
As the two men conversed, a male speaker in an extravagant uniform took the podium. Silence fell over the crowds.
"Is this thing on?" He tapped the mic, producing an ear-piercing shriek from the speakers. "Yep. My bad." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.
"My name is Trace Wellborne. I'm a star trader. You're not. But if you work hard, you can be. That's what it's all about, see. Working hard. Can't make anything of yourself otherwise. Y'know what I mean? See, I'm a lazy man. I hate work. If I could, I wouldn't work a day in my life. Know how to make that happen? Work smart. Do it all at once so you never have to do it again. Procrastinate on procrastination. Think to yourself, "I'll procrastinate later." It's great."
"And you know, half the fun in business is getting others to do the work for you. Like, I mean, if you hate working so much, why not find someone who likes working and have them do it instead? And we all got something we like doing. I like games. I like them a lot. So you know what I trade in? Games. I play them, and I sell them. I sell them by advertising them. Like, "Hey man, I played this game, and it's awesome, so you should play it too." And then they do. Then I get their money. But clothes? Can't stand 'em. Hate the folding and the hanging. Hate the washing and the drying. Hate it all. But they make money. Know what I do? Pay a guy to do that stuff for me. Buy games for the out-trip, buy clothes for the in-trip, make butt-loads of cash, it's awesome. You should try it sometime."
"Heck, you could probably get away with not going to college for this at all. My handler will probably chew me out for saying that, but I'm still gonna. Yeah, screw you. You don't need to be here to make a buck. Got money? Pay someone to figure it out for you. Or don't. Learn it yourself. Tons of stuff on the 'net these days. That's what I like about this place, though. Cheap, good teachers, great experience. Take advantage of them so you never have to work again. Work smart. Okay, I'm done. This speech sucks. Bye."
He got a standing ovation.
With that, ushers directed students to the dorms. Room assignments were given out shortly after registration in the weeks prior, so the only thing students needed to know was where the dorms were located. Ed remembered his room number. B2224. The usher directed him to block B, building 2000. The ambient crowd noises dimmed as he got closer and closer, until all he could hear were sparse conversations.
2210, 2212, 2214... At length, he reached 2224, unlocked it with a wave of his phone, and stepped inside.
It was a window dorm, offering a great view of the the spaceport and the urban city beyond it. Unlike most dorms, the ones at Purcell were more like hotel rooms, each having a full-service bathroom, a microwave and fridge, and a TV (Holo-Vids were a bit expensive). The bunkbed stood against one wall, a desk on the other, a nightstand under the window, and the bathroom door in the corner.
Cozy.
The dorms had no cleaning staff, so students were expected to clean up after themselves before leaving college. While most complied, not everyone did, so Ed took it upon himself to inspect the room for any unpleasantries. After a few minutes of exploration, he located:
* a used condom under the bed
* a lone sock
* a plastic Ramen cover
* two candy wrappers
* three wads of hair
* and a chewed-up army figurine.
All of it went in the trash can by the door. The bathroom, too, was in very poor shape - he was evidently unlucky enough to get a dorm used by students who chose not to clean up after themselves. Ed located a brush, cleaning spray, and rag, and got to work. He'd finished wiping down the sinks and just started work on the shower when he heard someone enter the dorm.
He immediately launched into excited conversation to hold the boy's attention as long as possible. "So, Mister Somerset, what got you interested in the star trading business? Was it freedom, adventure, a dollar, or something else?"
Bergson shrugged. "My father wants me to someday inherit the family business, a shipping conglomerate operating out of the Neutral Zone. He thinks I need to learn how to be a star trader before I "can properly understand what it means." He's a jerkwad, let me tell you. I don't see why I can't hire someone else to pilot things. Isn't that what money is for?"
Ed disagreed, but he knew better than to say so. "You have a point. Some of the greatest rulers in history got that way by having great advisors, not necessarily by being all that great themselves."
Bergsen splayed out his arms. "See? You get it! Exactly! That's what I've been telling my father all along, but he doesn't listen. Piece of work, that one."
As the two men conversed, a male speaker in an extravagant uniform took the podium. Silence fell over the crowds.
"Is this thing on?" He tapped the mic, producing an ear-piercing shriek from the speakers. "Yep. My bad." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.
"My name is Trace Wellborne. I'm a star trader. You're not. But if you work hard, you can be. That's what it's all about, see. Working hard. Can't make anything of yourself otherwise. Y'know what I mean? See, I'm a lazy man. I hate work. If I could, I wouldn't work a day in my life. Know how to make that happen? Work smart. Do it all at once so you never have to do it again. Procrastinate on procrastination. Think to yourself, "I'll procrastinate later." It's great."
"And you know, half the fun in business is getting others to do the work for you. Like, I mean, if you hate working so much, why not find someone who likes working and have them do it instead? And we all got something we like doing. I like games. I like them a lot. So you know what I trade in? Games. I play them, and I sell them. I sell them by advertising them. Like, "Hey man, I played this game, and it's awesome, so you should play it too." And then they do. Then I get their money. But clothes? Can't stand 'em. Hate the folding and the hanging. Hate the washing and the drying. Hate it all. But they make money. Know what I do? Pay a guy to do that stuff for me. Buy games for the out-trip, buy clothes for the in-trip, make butt-loads of cash, it's awesome. You should try it sometime."
"Heck, you could probably get away with not going to college for this at all. My handler will probably chew me out for saying that, but I'm still gonna. Yeah, screw you. You don't need to be here to make a buck. Got money? Pay someone to figure it out for you. Or don't. Learn it yourself. Tons of stuff on the 'net these days. That's what I like about this place, though. Cheap, good teachers, great experience. Take advantage of them so you never have to work again. Work smart. Okay, I'm done. This speech sucks. Bye."
He got a standing ovation.
With that, ushers directed students to the dorms. Room assignments were given out shortly after registration in the weeks prior, so the only thing students needed to know was where the dorms were located. Ed remembered his room number. B2224. The usher directed him to block B, building 2000. The ambient crowd noises dimmed as he got closer and closer, until all he could hear were sparse conversations.
2210, 2212, 2214... At length, he reached 2224, unlocked it with a wave of his phone, and stepped inside.
It was a window dorm, offering a great view of the the spaceport and the urban city beyond it. Unlike most dorms, the ones at Purcell were more like hotel rooms, each having a full-service bathroom, a microwave and fridge, and a TV (Holo-Vids were a bit expensive). The bunkbed stood against one wall, a desk on the other, a nightstand under the window, and the bathroom door in the corner.
Cozy.
The dorms had no cleaning staff, so students were expected to clean up after themselves before leaving college. While most complied, not everyone did, so Ed took it upon himself to inspect the room for any unpleasantries. After a few minutes of exploration, he located:
* a used condom under the bed
* a lone sock
* a plastic Ramen cover
* two candy wrappers
* three wads of hair
* and a chewed-up army figurine.
All of it went in the trash can by the door. The bathroom, too, was in very poor shape - he was evidently unlucky enough to get a dorm used by students who chose not to clean up after themselves. Ed located a brush, cleaning spray, and rag, and got to work. He'd finished wiping down the sinks and just started work on the shower when he heard someone enter the dorm.