milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Trillian's back at her booth, furiously writing.

That magazine will feel the Wrath of Demosthenes, for certain, and also of Trillian, astrophysicist and friend.

She also has a glass of merlot. Yes, before noon.

Perhaps it's inspiration.

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He points accusingly at her with a speared piece of sausage, but his tone is playful.

"See, you tripped me up with that first name before, but you forget I'm from your future, McMillian, so I know Astra. Come on, spill it."

"Ever heard of mail bombing? And I don't mean with actual bombs."

Trillian grins.

"Moronic editors cannot ignore a sudden rush of significantly intelligent letters with strong points. Especially not when they're written by many different people coming from several different places - and Val hasn't gotten to stage a by-mail protest in a while. We're enjoying it."

By many people, she may mean two - Demosthenes and Astra. She may mean four - Demosthenes, Astra, Val and Trillian. And she may mean all of the other people and their opinions, made up on the spot when needed.

"You might have better luck with actual bombs," he says sincerely. "These aren't just moronic editors. These are actually very wily and competant editors that earnestly work at appearing moronic to appeal to the mass of their readership. People see a crafty and intelligent editor, they think, 'this is going to be full of people trying to tell me how to think.' But they see a moronic editor, they think, 'this guy knows how to speak my language and offer articles that appeal to me.' Takes more than angry letters to get through a management like that."

"... do you have a plan?"

Trillian, that was a dangerous question.

But, of course, she asked it anyway.

He thinks for a few moments, working on his breakfast.

"I might possibly have the inklings of a notion that could conceivably germinate into the hatchings of a plan, yes. I do still work for a publishing house, you know. I know how they're set up. It's a different scale than your Earth-based ones -- hostile takeovers usually involve Kill-O-Zap cannons and horribly beweaponed battle cruisers."

"Basically a lot of maybes and possiblys and could bes. Not to say that we plan to take over anything at all - just make a point."

She shrugs. "The point I think is that a letter to the editor will never, ever be published."

"The point is that a sufficiently intelligent letter to the editor will likely result in you being tracked down, stuffed into a burlap bag, and brought before the editor-in-chief who will make you perform for his amusement."

He doesn't appear to be joking.

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