One of the most common weak spots I see in submissions is the lack of a real story arc or character arc.
Unfortunately, this is a frequent reason I reject stories.
Often, what I receive is not actually a full story but a scene. Something happens. It may be vividly written. It may even have an interesting premise. But the protagonist is not really challenged, doesn’t (or can’t) struggle against any significant conflict, and does not change in any meaningful way.
The protagonist should want something, face obstacles, and have to figure something out, fight against something, or make a meaningful choice. The plot should put pressure on the protagonist. Their actions should matter. By the end, something should be different: externally, internally, or, hopefully, both.
Many of the submissions I see feature a protagonist who is simply carried through events. Things happen to them, but they do not take part in shaping the outcome. As a result, the piece can feel static, even when the writing and premise are strong.
Story Arc:
To me, a story arc is the shape of the plot that happens around the character. There is a school of thought that there is really only one plot line: the Hero’s journey. I have mentioned the Hero’s journey before and that’s a topic deserving of a whole blog post of its own.
Character Arc:
A character arc is should be thought of in terms of personal growth. How did the events change the character by the end of the story? What did they learn and how are they different? In the Hero’s Journey the hero comes home at the end but is changed and often sees the familiar world they came back to in a different light.
Great stories have both a strong story arc and a strong character arc.
And if I have rejected a story you submitted for one or both of these reasons, don’t feel bad, This is understandable because many stories start getting written when the author has a general scene or idea in mind. But the next step should be to ask more of your creation. What does the protagonist want? What stands in the way? And, most importantly, what will this experience cost them or teach them?
Without that, a piece tends to feel like an interesting scene rather than becoming a fully realized story.
Three Key Questions to Ask yourself about what you just wrote
What does my protagonist want, and why can’t they have it? (Tip of the hat to David Mamet for this one) A story needs desire and opposition to create what I like to call “driving conflict.”
Does my protagonist make choices or take actions that affect the outcome? The protagonist should have an opportunity to shape the events of the story. They should not be merely a victim (Note that a lot of horror stories I see end up this way. If you are writing horror make sure your protagonist has at least a glimmer of hope to win.)
How is my protagonist changed by the end of the story? Character change does not have to be positive (maybe they become morally worse for the experience) but something about them should change by the end of the story.
Hopefully this helps you to look at your writing from a new perspective. If you take the time to really understand story arc and character arc, it will absolutely make your stories stronger and more engaging.
One of the most satisfying things about a short story should be the ending. We want the protagonist to win in a unique and fulfilling way (or die trying) and we want the villains to get what they have coming to them.
Unfortunately, the ending can also be the most disappointing part of the story if not done correctly. Curiousfarmer and I often talk about how Stephen King tends to leave us wanting with his endings. He does a great job with character and clear, digestible, writing, but often tapers off when it comes to closing out the story.
During the first draft I usually write an ending that is the most obvious ending. There isn’t anything necessarily wrong with the ending and I typically do a good job of wrapping up any loose threads, but I have learned that there is usually a better way for me to end my stories.
The first idea for an ending is very rarely the best and most rewarding ending for the reader.
This is where putting down the story for a while and spending some time thinking about it pays off. I have a relatively long commute to work, so I will leave the radio off and just think about the story from a plot and logistical standpoint – turning things around, moving chunks, introducing twists and surprises to see what it could be.
David Mamet talks about going through all of the possible endings and when you get to the most outrageous one that is still plausible, that is usually the one you want to go with.
I do agree that having a certain amount of surprise in an ending can be very rewarding. Mamet likes to use the terms “Surprising and inevitable” when it comes to story endings. I have become a big fan of this concept as it rings true for me.
Another way that I have found to determine if I have a justified and suitable ending is to look at all of the characters and ask: “Did they get what they wanted? And did they deserve it? Meaning, is their final situation justified?” This also helps to highlight any loose threads I may not have closed out.
Some people like to look at the conclusion of their stories from a thematic or lesson standpoint. I tend not to put a lot of emphasis on the message a story is trying to send or what the reader should learn from the story. My approach is much simpler in that I am looking for the story to be entertaining. That may make me less literary than most, but I am okay with that.
Let me know how you determine whether your story has the right ending?
I have been working with Google’s Antigravity code development tool recently. And while that seems like a strange thing to open with for a writing blog, here is why I think it might matter to us:
Antigravity is a development environment for coding that has AI built in so that instead of writing all of the lines of code yourself, you can “vibe code” which is basically talking with the program in plain language and telling it what you want.
While “programming” with Antigravity I found that the more detailed and deliberate I was with my description, the better the results. This made me realize that our talents as fiction writers will be very useful when working with AI now and in the future.
AI can do a lot of very amazing (and scary) things but it needs us to be able to describe in detail what it is that we want it to do. The better we are at that, the more useful we will be when working with AI, which I suspect will be a very desirable skill in the near future.
As I try to follow the rapidly changing landscape of AI, I find this a refreshing thought that gives me a glimmer of hope.
Here are ten common tropes that have been used so often they’re usually better avoided. Also, I have to admit that most of these are seen more in movies, but I still consider that storytelling so, let’s just go with that and let me get away with it this one time. Thank you.
1. Crawling Through Air Vents
This one shows up constantly in action movies and thrillers. A character escapes or infiltrates a building by climbing into the ventilation system and crawling through ducts like they’re made for human travel.
In reality, most air ducts are thin sheet metal that won’t support a person’s weight. They’re also cramped, and if they are heating ducts would get pretty hot and probably cause you to pass out.
Once you think about how unrealistic this trope is, it becomes hard not to laugh when you see it.
2. The “Knock Someone Out for a Few Minutes” Trick
This is where a character knocks the guard unconscious with a punch to the head. The victim wakes up later with nothing worse than disorientation or a mild headache.
In reality, a loss of consciousness lasting more than a few seconds is a serious brain injury. If your character regularly knocks people out this way, they’re probably leaving a trail of permanent neurological damage behind them. I would much rather see some chloroform on a rag get held in front of the guards mouth and nose, or a taser disable them for a moment.
3. The Conveniently Overheard Conversation
Your protagonist just happens to walk past a door just as the villain is revealing his entire plan.
No effort required. No investigation. Just perfect timing. (see also my post on what role luck should play in fiction)
This trope removes agency from the main character and replaces it with coincidence. Information in a story like this should come from effort, not luck.
4. The Villain Explains the Entire Plan
This works for me in the Bond movies because it sort of “is what it is” in those. I feel like those movies define the whole trope and I give them a pass for it. But even then it’s still clear that this kind of exposition exists purely as an information dump. If these were real villains, monologuing their evil plans would be very careless. There is really no advantage to doing that, unless you want to compromise the 4th wall and let the audience (or in our case reader) in on something.
5. The Countdown Clock
A bomb is set to explode in exactly ten minutes. We can tell this from the red LED display conveniently visible to the hero. Being a very technical person, this one has driven me crazy for years. Bomb timers based on old-style alarm clocks where the alarm goes off and there is a physical contact closure built into the bell mechanism, yeah, that makes practical sense. Spending extra money and design time to put a digital LED read-out into something that will blow up seems like a lot of unnecessary cost and work. It’s good to have a metaphorical ticking clock that provides pressure for the protagonist but it’s doesn’t have to be a real one and it rarely makes practical sense to have a LED display.
6. The Instantly Hacked Computer
A character types furiously for ten seconds and announces:
“I’m in.”
Complex computer systems do not collapse instantly under a few keystrokes. Real intrusion involves research, social engineering, and patience.
I also see this kind of instant solution when a character in a movie goes to hotwire a car – they put two wires together and have it running in a matter of seconds. I guess we are just supposed to ignore the fact that it would take more wires than that and the fact that the steering wheel is usually locked.
7. Guns That Never Run Out of Ammo
You see this when characters fire dozens of rounds without ever reloading. I have to admit this has gotten better in movies lately but you do still see it. The new foul is that they change magazine so often now you wonder where they were keeping all of that heavy ammo when the chase scene was happening.
In fiction, running out of bullets is often times more interesting than having an infinite supply.
8. The Totally Useless Security Guards
In many stories, guards exist only to be knocked out or distracted.
They rarely communicate with each other, never notice obvious problems, and seem completely unaware of their surroundings.
A competent security system has multiple guards, cameras, procedures and can create much more interesting obstacles for your characters than the cardboard cut-out guards we usually see.
9. The One-Line Medical Miracle
A character receives a serious injury but is fine after a quick bandage and a few minutes of rest.
Broken ribs, stab wounds, and gunshots tend to have a much longer recovery times than a few minutes. Think about the last time you were injured in anything more than an inconvenient way and how much that slowed you down. I literally had my back go out when I was turned wrong and sneezed one time and I was basically disabled for three days, bordering on tears when I went to put my socks on. I have to imagine being shot in the stomach would slow me down quite a bit more than that.
Injuries that actually affect a character’s abilities make stories much more believable and raise the stakes.
10. The “It Was All a Dream” Ending
Few endings frustrate readers faster than discovering that the entire story didn’t really happen. Now, I did just see the Wizard of Oz at the sphere (which I equate to Disneyland in the expense and “gotta see it at least once” factor) and I am giving that movie a pass at this but for every other piece of fiction, you have to realize that dream endings are a cheat. They erase consequences and invalidate the emotional investment the reader made throughout the story.
Unless the dream itself is the point of the story, this trope almost always a bad idea.
The Real Problem with Tropes
The problem comes when tropes becomes so familiar that the stop feeling like a story choice and start feeling like lazy writing.
Readers enjoy stories where events happen for believable reasons, where characters solve problems through effort and skill and where the world behaves in ways that feel authentic.
If you find yourself reaching for one of these tropes, ask a simple question:
“What Could really happen instead?”
The answer is often surprising and far more interesting than the cliché. Spend a bit more time thinking through potential endings and as David Mamet would say, “make them surprising and inevitable.”
Writers often let luck play a hand to move their story forward. A flat tire strands the hero in the wrong town. A missed phone call leads to a disastrous misunderstanding. A dropped key exposes a secret. Bad luck is one of the handiest storytelling tools we have as it can instantly create conflict.
But there’s an important rule experienced storytellers follow:
Luck can get your character into trouble. It should never get them out of trouble.
Why Bad Luck Works
Bad luck is a powerful tool for fiction because it creates problems.
Stories thrive on obstacles and conflict that drive rising tension. Often times back luck comes when we think everything is going to turn out fine. This creates what some call the “all is lost” moment, which is a situation that seems impossible for a character to get out of.
Bad luck makes the situation worse, which is great for storytelling.
Why good Luck is cheating
Now imagine the opposite. Your hero is cornered by the bad guys and escape seems impossible. Then suddenly:
An police officer randomly comes by to help.
The power goes out at the exact moment our hero needs it.
One of the bad guys suddenly turns on the main villain, shooting him dead.
Sure, these things could happen. But if you work the protagonist out of a scrape this way, readers will feel cheated because the protagonist didn’t earn the victory.
As readers, we want to see the character struggle, then work their way out of a problem. If random good fortune solves the problem for them then the story loses its emotional payoff.
The Satisfaction of an Earned Solution
Satisfying endings happen when the protagonist escapes trouble because of something they did.
A good rule of thumb is to let bad luck create problems, but make your hero solve them.
Storytelling is a promise between writer and reader. Don’t let the improper use of luck take the reader out of the story just when it is getting interesting.
When I first started learning how to submit fiction, I recall these terms confusing me. For a while I naively thought they were the same thing.
Understanding the difference can save you from annoying an editor or getting your story rejected before it’s even read.
Simultaneous Submissions
A simultaneous submission means sending the same story to more than one market at the same time.
Example: You send your short story The Last Robot at the Party to:
Magazine A
Magazine B
Magazine C
All three markets are considering thesame story simultaneously.
This is common and fairly handy because response times can be long for some markets (I just checked Analog on the Submission Grinder and they are averaging 90 days for a rejection and 140 Days for an acceptance).
However, not every market allows this.
Many submission guidelines will say something like:
“Simultaneous submissions are allowed, but please notify us immediately if the story is accepted elsewhere.”
If a magazine does not allow simultaneous submissions, it means they expect you to wait for their response before sending the story anywhere else.
Some editors dislike simultaneous submissions because if they spend time reading and deciding on a story, only to find it has already been accepted somewhere else, their effort was wasted. You don’t want to be remembered as the person causing them this kind of grief.
I actually do not submit simultaneously just to make my submission record keeping easier. I tend to have a lot of stories out at one time.
Multiple Submissions
A multiple submission means sending more than one story to the same market at the same time.
Example: You submit three different stories to the same magazine:
The Last Robot at the Party
My Neighbor’s Wife’s Time Machine
How Not to Build a Dragon
That’s a multiple submission.
Some markets allow this. But many, if not most, restrict writers to one story under consideration at a time.
A typical guideline might read: “Wait until you receive a response before sending another.”
Editors often prefer this because it keeps their submission queue manageable. In my experience, I think it is also a tool for keeping overzealous writers at bay, particularly if they are turning out bad fiction in short order.
The lesson here is to always follow the submission guidelines.
Editors include those policies for a reason. Ignoring them signals that the writer may also ignore other instructions and be someone who is hard to work with, which is certainly not the impression you want to make.
Simultaneous = same story, different markets.
Multiple = different stories, same market.
Maintaining that distinction will help you look like a Pro to editors.
Stories vary in the amount an author receives for publication. One of my stories, The Right Answer, has provided a lot in return for the amount of time it took me to write it. And that return has been more than just financial.
The financial side was good, as far as 3000-word fiction goes anyway. I initially published it in Alex Shvartsman’sUFO 3 anthology (still available on Amazon, BTW) then later as an audio “reprint” on Escape Pod and Tall Tale TV. I received a small payday each time it went live.
This is pretty good considering I wrote the story in one sitting. I did do a bit of editing later and then had to reshape it based on the feedback the market provided but as stories go, this one had a lot less of my time into it than some of my stories that have never been published.
But the most rewarding “return” I got was being able to see the feedback from those who read it. I recall a highlight for me when it was initially published: A woman from Australia emailed me to tell me how much she enjoyed the story. She was eating cereal while reading it and nearly shot milk out of her nose at one funny part. It’s an indescribable experience to know that I tickled the funny bone of some stranger, on the other side of the planet, so much that they felt they needed to reach out to me.
Only recently did I notice that Escape Pod has a discussion forum (and do check this out) for stories they publish. It is thrilling to see people talking about the words I have put together. There were a few people that didn’t like the story, which an author never likes to see, but there are many more who enjoyed it very much. The story is [meant to be] a comedy and tastes can vary quite a bit, so I do expect there to be some that give it a thumbs down.
Let me know in the comments down below what your experiences have been with feedback from those who have read your work.
First off, I am not an attorney, so this is not legal advice but rather my understanding of what “First Serial Rights” generally means with regard to writing.
If you are like me, I care a lot less about what rights I am giving up and more about just getting my stories out there. I do realize that isn’t the best attitude. It may not matter to me as much when most of my short stories fetch less than $100, but if Netflix ever stumbles onto something I’ve written and wants to serialize it a la Love, Death & Robots style, I’d be very concerned about what rights I’ve given up.
My understanding of first rights make me mentally fall back into my days as a landlord:
I own the property, but the lease agreement (contract) gives someone the right to use it for a given amount of time.
The “first” part is like saying “This property is newly created and you will be the first to live in it.”
For authors, once a story is published, the “first” part is used up so you can no longer sell “first rights.” When selling it again later, you need to market the story as a reprint.
Note: for a story to be considered unpublished, that usually means it has not been previously publicly available anywhere. This includes blogs and social media.
The term “serial” comes from the nature of periodicals being published repeatedly on a schedule. It may not come into play on something like an anthology, but I suppose it’s also possible you would still see that language.
Location:
If you just see “First Serial Rights,” you should probably assume that covers publication anywhere in the world, unless territorial language calls out an area specifically. This, as opposed to, something like “First North American Serial Rights ” where you could potentially sell the story to a non – North American market simultaneously.
Exclusivity period:
Watch for this term in the contract. It calls out how long the story is “locked up” before you can sell it as a reprint elsewhere.
Words to watch out for:
Look for language that could lock up the story indefinitely. Terms such as: “All Rights”, “perpetual exclusivity”, and transfer of copyright or transfer of ownership language.
First Serial Rights vs. First Publication Rights:
This can imply broader control of your work and may include publication in other forms outside of online or print, such as audio rights, translation rights, and inclusions in anthologies. This doesn’t necessarily make it something you should reject outright, but is something you need to be aware of. Personally I would be thrilled if a story I sold for online publication also made it into a print anthology, but this language could mean you might not get paid any more for it to be in the anthology.
Common Add-ons:
Depending on the publication, you might see some of the following terms and language.
Electronic rights – Now typical for online publication
Archival Rights – They are able to keep the story live on-site indefinitely. Often seen in sites that allow people to see back issues. I have this in my contract as I continue to host the stories I publish on my site.
Audio Rights – There are some online site that publish audio only or, as in the case of Tall Tale TV, audio within YouTube’s video platform. This is normal if it’s their native format, but if it’s normally an online “print” format and they are asking for audio rights, just be aware you are giving away something more.
Translation Rights – Can be common for some markets that have a worldwide presence.
Excerpt rights – This allows the publication to use small bits of your story for promotion.
First Serial Rights means you’re selling a publication the right to be the first to publish your work, but not to own it forever
As long as you are OK with the exclusivity window, and avoid any tricky language that lets a market hold onto your story indefinitely, first serial rights is typically a standard, author-friendly deal.
I have been binge-watching the James Bond movies on Netflix. I am mostly going in sequence, starting with 1962’s Dr. No and having worked my way up to 1979’s Moonraker. Watching these movies in quick succession has allowed me to see how quickly culture changes. In 1962, there were still segregated bathrooms. While that isn’t apparent in the Bond movies (that I could tell, at least), what I did notice was how the attitude toward and portrayal of women changed over those films. Early Bond had no qualms about backhanding a woman across the face, then later making what could most generously be described as aggressive advances toward the same woman, who ultimately gives in to her uncontrollable passion for Bond—cut to post-coital pillow talk.
There is also a feeling of the power of feminine sexuality in those films. I suspect some would say this is an example of objectifying women, but to me it feels more like something empowering.
It is interesting to see how the female roles became more assertive and less passive over time, in my mind culminating with the angry power of Grace Jones as May Day in 1985’s A View to a Kill. Yes, James still takes May Day to bed, but as he goes to do so, she deftly flips him over so she is on top. While I may be reading into things, this felt like a nod to the changing role of women in the Bond films. No longer would they be relegated to serving as handy plot devices that provide 007 with information and titillation.
This seems to continue to hold true in 1979’s Moonraker, as the main female character is a CIA agent, every bit as capable and seen as an equal to Mr. Bond. Old habits die hard, however, and she did carry the suggestive name of “Dr. Holly Goodhead.” According to AI, this is the first mention of a leading female character with a PhD in a Bond movie.
Another interesting bit was how they showed the kill shots of pheasants being hunted in Moonraker, clearly showing the birds being shot and falling from the sky. I suspect this would not be seen in any movie today. Brutally murder 100 guys in an action scene? Yes, please. Show the kill shot during bird hunting? Sorry—way too offensive.
I admit to feeling a sad nostalgia for these times gone by. Those values and norms have changed and will never be seen again. I say this from a mental standpoint of trying to withhold judgment. It is easy for us to look back and decry the unfairness and ignorance with outrage, but for the people of that time, this was the world they lived in. It felt “right” to them at the time. It was the world they knew, whether we like it or not.
I do think we have changed for the better… but then again, I am looking at that from my current mental framework of social values—just like we all are. There is no way around it. I suspect people have always felt the very same way: things are so much better than they used to be.
I also find it interesting to think that the stories we write today will inevitably capture the cultural mores of our time.
Which makes me wonder: will our writing be considered antiquated and offensive later on?
Almost certainly. But when it comes to writing, much like martinis, shaken is better than stirred.
Today’s story comes to us from Martin Lochman of Malta.
Martin’s story was previously [Mistakenly] rejected by 5 venues: Interzone, Not One of Us, Clarkesworld, Cryptic Frog Quarterly, and Pulp Asylum.
Bio:I am an emerging Czech science fiction author, currently living and working as a University librarian in Malta. My flash fiction and short stories appeared (or are forthcoming) in a variety of venues, including New Myths, Kzine, Theme of Absence, XB-1 (Czech SFFH magazine), and others. My debut space opera “All Quiet in the Milky Way: Ray M. Holler’s Adventures vol. 1” was published in 2023. You can find me at: https://martinlochmanauthor.wordpress.com/, Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Martin-Lochman-SF-Author/61552596028127/, or Twitter: @MartinLochman.
When I asked Martin what he loves about this story, this was his response:
First and foremost, this is one of those stories that I improvised from the beginning to the end (unlike most of my work, which is usually meticulously outlined and planned out before I even write the first word). What actually inspired me to write it was a dream I had one night – my memories of it were (naturally) quite fuzzy the next morning, but I distinctly remembered stands, vendors, and a pond with a giant crocodile in it. My overactive imagination filled in the rest and The Market was born. Another thing I love about the story is the fact that, despite being self-contained, it provides only a quick peek into the world within – which means I can explore it in subsequent writings.
The Market, by Martin Lochman
The sun had barely peeked out from behind the horizon, but the market was already filled with people. Locals and tourists alike moved from vendor to vendor, examining merchandise, negotiating prices, or committing to a purchase, all the while doing their best to stay out of each other’s way.
David stood at the edge of a stall on the outskirts of the market, frowning at a crate writhing with pitch-black insects the likes of which he had never seen. Every so often, their numerous limbs or antennae poked at the one-way force field at the top of the container, producing a semi-transparent, yellowish ripple.
They were about fifteen centimeters long and best resembled an oversized flying ant. The problem was that they possessed five pairs of legs, a twin elongated stinger, and what could be best described as half-formed claws on the upper thorax, just below the head. In a nutshell, they looked like something straight out of a B-horror movie concept art.
“Titanomyrma gigantea,” the vendor answered from behind a small counter before David could ask, enunciating slowly as if talking to a child. He was a thin, lanky man with a thick mustache and almost unnaturally blue eyes.
“They are the largest species of ants to have ever existed on Earth. If you’re interested, they are ten credits a piece, but I’ll give you a ten percent discount if you buy ten or more.”
“No, they are not.”
The vendor narrowed his eyes.
“Pardon me?”
Someone bumped into David from behind, causing him to lose his balance. Instinctively, he stretched his arms out in front of him… and nearly ended up burying them in the pool of the mysterious insects. Fortunately, he managed to land his hands on the opposite edges of the crate at the last possible moment.
Presumably, the same someone mumbled a half-hearted “Sorry!”, but by the time David steadied himself, they had already disappeared in the crowd.
Relief turned to irritation as he looked back at the vendor and saw the corners of his mouth curved up in amusement.
“What I mean is that these are not Titanomyrma gigantea,” David said coldly.
The man’s gaze hardened.
“I think I would know what I am selling. I collected them myself.”
David folded his arms across his chest.
“The real Titanomyrma was at best half the size. Didn’t have that many legs or a dual stinger. And don’t even get me started on whatever it is growing right under their heads.”
A hint of alarm flashed in the corners of the vendor’s eyes, but his face remained thoroughly impassive.
“You some kind of paleontologist?” he hissed, then, not waiting for David’s reaction, added, “Look, it’s not like we have discovered every single animal or plant in history. Even if we can literally visit it. Not my fault you don’t recognize this one.”
David shook his head.
“If you don’t like what you see, you can just move on. Plenty of other stands on the market,” the vendor insisted. A vein appeared in the middle of his forehead, indicating that his patience was wearing thin.
His irate demeanor didn’t escape the attention of several visitors who stopped to lurk behind David.
“I think you mean a paleo-entomologist, but no, you’re not that lucky,” David said, staring the vendor down.
“Lucky? Who the hell do you—” the man stopped abruptly, realization overtaking his features. “Oh no. No? No!”
“Yes,” David smiled, savoring the swift change in his counterpart’s attitude.
“This is not what it looks like,” the vendor offered weakly, raising his hands, palms toward David.
“It’s not?”
Putting on an exaggerated expression of surprise, David gestured toward the crate: “You mean these are not some genetically engineered abominations you are selling as genuine prehistoric specimens, breaking six different federal laws in the process? Is that what you are telling me?”
There was a gasp, an expletive muttered under the breath, a triumphant aha!—but these were just the reactions from the slowly growing gathering of lurkers around the stand. The vendor himself stayed silent, steadily turning pale.
“Keeping quiet won’t do you any good now,” David pressed on, a subtle warning underscoring his words.
For a long moment, the vendor just glared at him, evidently considering his options or questioning his life choices. Or both.
“Okay,” he said finally, looking away. “You are right. These are not the Titanomyrma. But I swear to God I didn’t make them. And—” he beckoned David closer.
David reluctantly leaned forward, careful to stay well clear of the crate.
“—they are not the only fakes here,” the vendor finished in a low voice.
David frowned. The guy was obviously grasping at straws, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was lying. And if he weren’t, then, well, David might end up spending more time at the market than he had originally planned.
He took a deep breath and straightened. Turning around, he addressed the onlookers: “Move along, people. Nothing to see here.”
The less curious dispersed almost immediately; the rest needed an additional encouragement. Begrudgingly, David withdrew the badge from his pocket and waved it around, causing two or three people — who looked so similar to one another they had to be related — to openly express their displeasure with authorities. In the end, however, it worked, and the unwanted audience dispersed.
As soon as the flow of the river of bodies past the stand resumed, David walked around it and joined the vendor in the back.
“Well, I am all ears.”
“Na-ah,” the man said and pressed his lips together. “I want to make a deal.”
“A deal?” David repeated, incredulous.
“Yeah. I give you the supplier and point you in the direction of their clients, and, in exchange, you let me off with a warning.”
The vendor jutted his chin out in defiance, though his eyes betrayed uncertainty.
“Do you really think you are in a position to make demands?” David said sharply. “I can just go and find the fakes myself, just like I found yours.”
“You can. And I am sure you’ll have no problems spotting the easy ones. But—” the vendor smirked. “—you should know that the merchandise I got is—how do I put this—on the lower end of the price range. The high-end stuff? You won’t be able to tell the critter isn’t real unless you run a full damn DNA analysis.”
He paused, shrugging. The gesture almost looked nonchalant.
“Besides, you won’t know who’s manufacturing them in the first place.”
David gritted his teeth.
“Tell you what,” the vendor continued, capitalizing on David’s hesitation. “I’ll give you the first one for free. See that Airstream over there?”
He waved his arm in the direction of a bullet-shaped trailer parked about fifty meters away. A long table was set up in front of the vehicle’s open door, and on it, opaque cubical containers about the size of shoe boxes were stacked one next to each other. A large, bearded man stood behind the table, gesticulating frantically at a group of bystanders.
“The guy will tell you he’s selling Deinosuchus eggs, but in reality, he just modified a common alligator to grow three times its normal size and sprinkled in some minor cosmetic details to make it look distinctly different.”
David closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly through his nose and reopened his eyes to the vendor’s hopeful face.
“How much did you make on these?” David asked slowly. “In total?”
“About four hundred credits,” the man replied, hesitantly.
Raising an eyebrow, David tilted his head to the side.
“Maybe five?” the vendor offered, before sighing. “Fine, it’s seven-fifty. Not a fraction over seven-sixty, I promise.”
“And you haven’t downloaded any to your personal account?”
David indicated the terminal, which was secured to the counter with a smart lock to prevent theft.
“No, sir. It’s all there.”
David nodded, taking another deep breath.
“Okay, I’m keeping the credits you made on these, of course. And you need to give me the names of everyone you know who is selling the fake crap, plus the manufacturer, then I’ll forget you were ever here. ”
Relief swept across the man’s face.
“But if I ever see you at one of these, I’ll remember really quickly who you are and exactly how much your illicit sales garnered.”
The vendor’s eyes flicked to the terminal. For a moment, it looked like there was a question at the tip of his tongue, but ultimately, he likely thought better of voicing it.
“Right. Got it.”
Less than ten minutes later, the stand stood empty. David had made the vendor take his abominable merchandise with him and safely dispose of it. Even with the crate’s force field, it’d be irresponsible to leave them. The the man hadn’t been very happy about it, but ultimately had no other choice but to accede to. David watched him drag the trolley with the crates stacked on it in the direction of the nearest teletransport station, and once his tall frame disappeared from view, he leaned against the counter, letting out a small laugh.
Seven hundred and fifty credits for what had it been — ten, fifteen minutes of work? And they said his doctorate in paleontology was as good as one in gender studies in the era of time zoos, prehistoric safaris, and public markets where you could literally buy yourself a pet trilobite.
David patted his jacket pocket, feeling the hard contours of the appropriated terminal inside, then considered the file on his wrist computer, hastily put together and transferred by the vendor. David was sure the incriminating information on it would be of great interest to the real inspectors, so the right thing to do was to make sure they received it. He could slip them an anonymous message, nudge them in the right direction… of whoever it was who was manufacturing the fakes.
Breaking Into The Craft 