It's all about the wibble: A science-fictive (and deeply personal) moral story about the breakdown of business ethics amongst the Ontårians

Wibble me this and wibble me that, who's afraid of the big bad. . . dribble.

And dribble it did. Right down her chin and onto the desk.

-Damn, I screamed

She'd leaked and I was angry. It had taken weeks of round table negotiations to get this far. I'd brought margins down by two tonne on either side and I was pissed off!

-Damn, Damn this stinking planet. I put my Shproghozer back in my pants and did up my fly.

The Ontårians had really fucked us up good this time. The price would be common knowledge amongst every Ontårian trading depot in minutes. We'd seen this many times before, and I knew there was no amount of damage control that could save this deal. It would effect the share price of my dear employer, the ICICICI bank back in blighty. They'd hear of this through their Ontårian operations and be framing me for murder about now, I thought, as I tried to wipe the extrastitial fluid from her drunken lips.

Over a lonesome G&T on the super-science-fictive transporter I remembered my 'old' self and thoughts of him made me blush. I mean, it wasn't like the old days when the only security measure in place was shoving ya Shproghozer up a Tartartarian to re-negotiate interest rates. Now it was everyone: the corporations, the syndicates, and even the little fish. All secure transactions were conducted in-situ, a la, Shproghozer down the throat. If actual figures were mentioned in acoustic space, they would invariably leak. Even 32 million ZB noise induction systems could not protect the flow of sensitive information. Nothing was safe with those treacherous Ontårians. Dealing with with them on the planet of Romolio, was not for the faint-hearted. . .

A week later at the shareholders meeting of the ICICICI bank I delivered the report to the anxious crowd. They knew the dice had been cast and it went down like a lead balloon, but I can't help remembering what the girl to my left said when faced with the pomp, I faltered. She said, 'It wasn't your Shproghozer in there, it was ours.'

to be continued. . .