By Ingvar: Trigger Snowflake was, as was his late morning habit, strolling down Main Street in his beloved Fort Corallium, nodding hello to shop keepers starting their day and to other citizens, who happened to stroll by. It was a glorious day, the Jupiter-shine bright and clear in the sky.

Towards the end of his morning patrol, Trigger stopped, as usual, by the Coffee Emporium, for a quick bite and a cup of delicious coffee. He’d been a regular at the Emporium under its prior proprietor, now his wife, and had with her blessing continued his custom under its new management.

“Ms Dimatis, Mx Ologist, a glorious morning to both of you. If I could bother you for the Cafe du Jour, and if possible, a cheese sandwich on sourdough?”

“Certainly,” said Barbara, “Anthrop, would you make Sheriff Snowflake a cuppa, and bring a sandwich? I’ll take proprietor’s privilege and have a chat. If you don’t mind?”

“By no means, Ms Dimatis, it is as ever pleasant to engage with you in conversation.”

“So, have you seen the weird constitutional changes for the Systems Literature Society? I mean, that had its first reading at LunaCon?”

“Ms Dimatis, you know as well as I do, that SysLiSoc is more beloved Coraline’s domain than mine.”

“I know, but I need an outside perspective. So, what the proposal is, is to change the definitions of the Genre Singer categories, both Fan Singer and Pro Singer.”

“Oh? Well, doesn’t sound too controversial, so far.”

“But that’s just it. Since time immemorial, the definition of a Pro Singer has been that of one who records title songs for dramatizations of poetic cycles.”

“Again, doesn’t sound too weird.”

“But, under the new definition, if I were to record a song, and put it out for sale, I would be classed as a professional!”

“Again, doesn’t sound too weird. You would be recording something that is for sale. Sounds like a professional activity to me.”

“But I would not be recording enough to make a living from it?”

“Well… Under the old definition, would it be classed as professional?”

“No, since it’s not been commissioned by a publisher, as a title song for a dramatisation.”

“And, perchance, would Urbel’s sideline of singing and recording the songs of other people, at a steady hourly rate count as professional?”

“Under the proposed new rules, sure. Under the old rules, that we are all familiar with, no. They’re clearly not commissioned by a publisher, for the purpose of using as a title song.”

“Dear Ms Dimatis, based only on what you have said, it sounds to me as if the old rules were circumscribing ‘professional’ too narrowly. It may be that the new ones cirumscribe it too widely, though.”

“I can get you the written forms of both old and new, if that would help?”

“I strongly suspect that both will be waiting for me, at the dinner table. But, thank you.”

:::

At home, Coraline was busy preparing dinner, mulling over the recently-adopted first reading for the new definition of pro and fan singers, for the SysLiCon Prizes.

She was not entirely sure what she thought of the proposed changes. At a first glance, the new definitions felt more correct, but she had listened to her dear friend, Barbara, arguing against the change, saying how unfair it was to those who only made a small amount of money from selling recordings that had previously not landed them in the “pro” category.

Ah, well, Trigger would soon be home and be delighted to act as a sounding board for her, as she verbally explored these ideas.

:::

As Trigger was walking home, how wearable communicator beeped.

“Sheriff Snowflake, how can I help?”

“Hiya Trigger, Urbel here.”

“Oh, hi. What’s up?”

“I know this is a bit out of the blue, and borderline misusing official communicators. But, I have a thing I need to talk through with you. And if Coraline wants to chip in, I think that would be useful, this is all Systems Literature stuff, you know.”

“I’ve just finished patrolling for the day, why don’t you come over? I think tonight is Synthechicken a la Mare Silentium. I’ll ask Coraline to set a third set. I even have a few bottles of Martian Inter-Planetary Ale, if you would like some?”

“Sounds great, Trigger. I’ll be at yours in half an hour.”

:::

As Trigger walked up the stairs, to the Snowflake apartment over the Sheriff’s Office, he called up.

“Beloved Coraline! I spoke to Urbel, he wants a chinwag. He’s on his way over!”

“Oh, thank you! I wanted to talk to him as well. I will set a third place!”

He sat down, to take his boots off and hang his gun belt in the vault by the stairs. He gave Coraline a hug, then sat down in the sofa, waiting for Urbel to arrive. Not ten minutes later, there was a loud knock on the front door.

He headed down the stairs, opened the small hatch in the door, to see who was waiting outside.

“Hello, Urbel. Dinner is almost ready, feel free to hang your laser revolver in the office vault, my beloved Coraline is not entirely fond of having firearms at the dinner table.”

“No problem, Trigger. I guess it’s the standard Sheriff lock?”

“Sure is. Coraline, darling! Urbel’s here!”

Laser revolver safely stored, they both headed up the stairs, greetings exchanged, and dinner eaten in silence.

“So, Sheriff Scrogginski, you wanted to talk?”, Coraline said.

“Yes, it’s this whole re-arrangement of the singer categories. As you know, I have been a finalist for fan singer a few years, now. And as far as I can tell, if this change goes through, I will be classed as a pro?”

“That is my understanding. Trigger, do you know?”

“Well, I was speaking to Ms Dimatis about this very thing, earlier today. And the conclusion we reached is that, since Urbel is paid for his recordings, yes, he would now fall under the professional category.”

“Thanks, Trigger. Well, Urbel, as you can hear, we both believe that to be true.”

“Yeah. That is what I thought. I am not sure how I feel about this. I mean, clearly, it will make it less likely for me to win. But, also, it is a bit of an ego boost, realising there are rules that makes me a professional singer.”

At this point, Drip-O-Matic 3000 beeped, signaling that the after-dinner coffee was ready.

With a cup of coffee in hand, Urbel leaned back in the recliner, while Trigger and Coraline sat side by side in the sofa.

“Thank you both, after some consideration, I think I am more flattered by being considered a professional, even if that means my competition for the Systems Literature Prize for Best Singer will be slightly harder. It will, if nothing else, mean that even getting to be a finalist will mean so much more.”