"The ways and habits of the undersea fish are of great interest to me," said the man in the bowler hat. "I assure you, I have written several monographs on the subject, and I feel that my presence would be of benefit to your expedition to the seas of Europa."

I paused, trying to think of the right way to put my rejection. His suit was of good quality, as was his hat, and the eye that I could see enlarged through his monocle seemed very serious. He was not the first rich hobbyist who had approached us, but he was perhaps the first who did not pretend to skills that he did not have. A monograph, after all, was not a highly demanding task.

"I should also mention," the bowler-hatted gentleman said coolly, "that I am a 40 percent shareholder in Flying Fish Ships, Ltd. I say this because I fully understand that all members of the expedition must be able to contribute in ways more practical than simply drawing a few sketches and writing a good line of description."

Since he'd taken the words right out of my mouth, I floundered.

"I believe," he said, "that money and equipment is a very practical contribution indeed."


Inspiration: "Another Fish Story" by Daniel Merriam, from my Art of Dreams calendar.
Story potential: Confusing.
Notes: I don't think this plot is inherently compelling, but it is rare that the voice of a story leaps so readily to my fingers. So to speak.

Who's maxed out? That was always the question, when preparing to send explorers out into the Sahel, as they'd nicknamed the purple sand and azure sky with brilliant yellow clumps of vegetation floating above the ground and sometimes sinking low enough to be nabbed by the prodigious jumping populace of the desert. The problem was, it was all mildly hallucinogenic. This made it fun, and it made people want to go adventuring, because the filters didn't catch whatever-it-was, and so it was like going on a mild trip, while still gathering scientific data and being useful. All very official. The problem came when you maxed out--


Inspiration: "Who's Maxed Out Yet? Giving is Imminent!" email from CONvergence.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: I like this. It is charming. It is oldskool SF. Unfortunately, it is also a particular kind of ridiculous oldskool SF that doesn't really sell well these days.

The air smelled funny. That was the first thing she noticed when she stepped out onto the loading dock. She had remembered the scent as being like cinnamon bread, but instead all she smelled was the pungency of bodies that had not been sent through the mandatory deodorizer every day, regularly, and taken their pheromone suppressant pills. She'd never noticed the smell before. She shook off the discomfort as she swung her duffel bag over her shoulder. Homecoming was never easy. They'd warned her about that. She hadn't really believed them, though; now she wished she'd paid more attention during that lecture. She never would have dreamed of scoffing off a lecture about the dangers of a new planet she was being set down on as part of an explorer team; why had she thought--

Inspiration: Well, coming home after a week and a half away!
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Nice setting, but no extra story oomph here.