“Easy there, spacers. You think it’s a coincidence that all these pilots owe money to bad people and suddenly the Charybdis Slug Racing Concern decides to host an event on Bluefish Day? Something smells rotten here and it ain’t the Charybisque this time…”
[Lazlo grumbles to himself under his breath:]
“Must be nice to be so flush with SpaceBits. Buyin’ things from the Unizone store. Not havin’ to leech credit for a mission. Maybe pick up somethin’ up for yourself, you know, somethin’ nice…like a nacre-lined chafing dish. Or claw trousers…”
“…just wanted a Lucky Dashboard Bobble. Now I’ll never get a Lucky Dashboard Bobble.”
Since I’m just as not flush with spacebits as the next captain, I’ll happily spend my not-betting time making Lucky Dashboard Bobbles out of stuff I found under the tables at the bar. They’ll be sticky, smelly, and I can’t guarantee any actual good fortune, but they will be unique. 1 spacebit per, paid upon delivery. Actually, the sticky part might be a feature - for dashboard adhering!
The first column is the probability of winning, given the “odds” That is: “1-2” means 2 times out of (2+1) = 3 times this will happen, making a probability of (2/3) = 0.6667.
The second column is the probability of winning, given the “payout.” That is:
(probability of winning) * (payout upon winning) = (amount bet). If the payout is b3.0 for a b2.0 bet, then the probability of winning is 2.0/3.0 = 0.6667.
There is one exception: Lord BlurgleBlorg has less then a five percent chance of of winning, but only pays as if it had a ten percent chance of winning. Bad bet.
I think there are multiple races. The Probabilities sum to 3.25 on odds, and to 3.3 on payout.
That suggest 4 races, but not all slugs are in the bookie table.
I was trying to keep the post simple-- not all folks are adept at converting between odds, payouts, and probabilities.
BTW - Do I have the payout correct? If cigarello wins, a B2.0 bet gets one a B3.0 payout? Because I hate to miss out on positive expectation bets.
Representative An’netch, silently anti-cis-stalking in and down.
Apologies for the sidereal delays, kids and kindred. Responsibilities in the heart and the hulk of the vessel. Trainingwise for the aspirants, that sort of thing. The usual partydoss. Now, I’m…
…Feka!
Apologies, and I mean it, this time. I forget that I’m wired into the magpie speech. I forget that I’m working with this ridiculous festival lingua - this ugly, cobbled melange of housespeak and the half-assembled verbal clutter of the diaspora. There’s old language, here, running on the old circuits - but I’ve little chance to use it.
Seems like a good opportunity.
Anyway,I’ve been holed up in the belly of the beast - stuck down on the nether-decks of the Color Bomb - running ratings and ensigns through their paces. Do you know how much of education is just emulation? Just the unceasing replication of your own foibles and logical fallacies through the wetware equipment of impressionable young minds?
Language is a virus. Learning is a pathogen.
So I’ve been down, talking the children through the process of the alter - of the induction into the festival proper. It’s equal parts depressing and edifying.
But I’m out, and I’m in, and I have a feeling that Mission 2 is the mission for the venerable Color Bomb, and her crew of nascent neophytes.
Captain Wooster looks at the Comms screen and grins. He usually celebrated with the Three-Piece Squadron over at Ol’ Rahpael’s with a strong Moon-Scotch and the usual war stories out in the asteroid fields. He fumbles around until he finds the Bluefish Day slug-racing tables. He makes his bet…
At Duck’s Pond, Browf spies Dakota sitting with her comm at her booth, bluefish sticks almost gone. Sporting two glasses of white wine, Browf slides into the booth across from her, and pushes a glass across.
“hey there, you new Charybdis?”
Dakota glances up at Browf, and then hoofs a few buttons on her comm unit. “Sorry, Hi, I’m Dakota. Nice to see a friendly face.”
“Hi, Dakota, I’m Browf. I heard you’re working for Unizo-- Wait a minute, that was perfect Northwestern Moosese I heard you speak! Did you… you just upgraded my translator!”
Smirking, Dakota replies, “Thanks for the wine” and returns to poking at her comm.
“@SteampunkBanana Mamma, check this out, can you understand what I’m saying better?”
