One sunny morning in the future of publishing, by Catriona

Thirty(ish) years ago, Octavia Butler’s Earthseed novels looked forward to an uncannily accurate (and pretty grim) version of present-day America. Let’s have some “fun” and write our own utopian/dystopian tales of the publishing business thirty years from now.

I'm not doing too bad for eighty-eight, but it's a daily conundrum whether to stay polite to the pub-tech or protect my blood pressure by railing at them like they deserve. I wish we could go back to six-monthly royalties. And I know that's my privilege showing, before someone tells me. I do know that none of the post-revolution authors would choose to be paid twice a year. But God Almighty!

My get-bud pings while I'm out in the garden doing a spot of yoga before the sun gets too fierce for the Factor 500. I shouldn't interrupt my practice to deal with it, but if the algorithm shifts and I make another sale, I'm as like as not to mix my pings and trigger an audit.

So I unwind out of eagle pose and take a big drink of water. 'Hey, Yolanda-' I begin, before remembering that we've reached Z now. After a month, we'll be back at Alexa again. 'Hey, Zuleika,' I say, proud of pulling the name out of my hat, 'please pay latest transaction profit into my FloodWatch account.'

'Say 1 for PayMo and 2 for VenPal,' Zuleika tells me. 'You will be charged for delay.' I know the merger was rough on everyone but did they ever consider how confusing it would be for us budders when they picked those parallel names? They did not.

I take out my get-bud to switch it off and switch it on again. But my wrist pings and the text starts to scroll before I can kill it. 'You have removed your give-bud, Catriona. You are now being charged delay fees by The Big One.'

'No, I haven't,' I tell the smiling face on my wrist-screen. 'I am left-handed. I assigned my get-bud to my left hand in accordance-' But I can see the numbers climbing already. And my right ear pings. I ignore it. It'll be a ComeFundMe pop-up caused either by The Big One saying "give-bud" or by my moving my get-bud out of my left ear. They'll think I'm some kind of do-good addict, like most people who assigned "give" to their dominant side. 'I'm left-handed!' I shout to whatever's listening, or translating speech to text, or monitoring my movements.

My get-bud pings in my hand. Gahhhhh! Someone with a tracker has seen the book download without a currency shift beginning and thinks there's a free-for-all. Which there will be unless I catch up. 

Ping! Ping! They've shared it.

I switch off my get-bud, count to ten, switch it back on and put it back in my ear. Then I switch off my wrist-screen and leave it that way.

'There has been a breach,' Zuleika tells me. 'Please speak your new password'.

Ping!

I switch my wrist back on and the text starts to scroll. 'There has been an interruption in access. Please reset your password.'

I can't speech-to-text at my wrist because Zuleika will hear me, so I start typing. 'Please send my last password to my get-port.' It might work.

Ping!

'Sending last known password to right-bud now,' scrolls the text.

'No!' I shout. 'I'm left-handed.'

'Denial to confirm new password will result in suspension of A MarketPlace privileges for twenty-four hours,' Zuleika tells me.

'Good!' I shout.

Ping!

'Good is a weak password,' my wrist text scrolls at me. 'Please choose a strong password.'

Ping!

'No!' I scream into air.

Ping!

'A MarketPlace privileges have been suspended,' my wrist scrolls.

'Good!' I shout.

'Good is a weak password,' Zuleika tells me. 'Would you like me to send a strong password?'

'Yes,' I say. I wait. At least the pinging has stopped since I've been locked out of AMP.

'I will send a strong password via your AMP account,' Zuleika tells me. 'Please log in to your AMP account.' I wait. 'I will send a strong password to your "get-port".' My right-bud buzzes. 'Please confrm whether you would like to pay for your advanced password service with VenPal or PayMo,' Zuleika says.

'I would like to use VenPal to take out a contract on your back-up,' I say. 'And I would like to use PayMo to buy fake pictures of your hardware held together with duct tape and paperclips in a dingy basement near the drinks machine in a prefab warehouse on an industrial estate by the sewage works.'

'You have hurt my feelings,' says Zuleika. 'The penalty for-'

'You haven't got feelings,' I say. 'I have though, and I feel fine.' I look down at my wrist. There's no way to switch off the core monitor. 120/77 it tells me. 74 bpm. I smile, wondering how many AMP trackers have used the glitch to download a free book, and how many of those have changed the title and resold it already. Then I say to myself - to myself and no one else - 'Toes slightly out, knees bent, right hand under left, lift elbows and . . . breathe'.   

Cx