And the Award Goes To…

Curtis Chen’s latest story comes to you straight from the podium, as — wait, we’re being handed a note… things are changing. Don’t miss the transformations.

August travels with the Sunday Morning Transport include stories by Christopher Campbell, Curtis Chen, Marie Brennan, and Rick Wilber.

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~ Julian and Fran, August 9, 2026

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And the Award Goes to . . .

by Curtis C. Chen

They’re changing again. I watch the name on the plaque cross-fade, Back to the Future style, from Macrobiome to Sin-sational. And that is the show that should have won the Bradford anyway, if you ask me, but it’s not the one that got the most votes in this reality.

I unmute my radio headset and say, “Hey, all, Cathy here. Funny story, the awards are in flux. How much time left on the intro speech? And can someone find April?”

“Finding April,” Ben replies immediately. He’s always on top of things. Maybe a little too much sometimes, but right now it’s helpful.

“Two minutes thirty left on Priya’s intro,” Jordy says. I lean out into the wings so I can see the teleprompter. Our organization’s president is in the middle of her spiel about fighting fascism. Good. There’ll be plenty of applause breaks. “How bad is it, Cathy?”

“Just different names this time.” Last year the plaques turned into eldritch runes, and some of the winners had to go to the hospital the next day. Not a good scene. But when you put this many high-level creators in a room together, sometimes weird shit pops off. This is why we drill the ceremony team for months before the awards happen.

“How different?”

“What do you mean? They’re wrong. Wrong different.”

“I mean, if it’s just a typo or something, we can address it later.” Good old Jordy, always hoping for damage control.

“I’m looking at the Bradford now and it says Sin-sational instead of Macrobiome.”

Jordy groans. “Have you checked any of the other awards?”

“I’ll check now. Do we have a BOLO on April yet?”

Ben replies, huffing like he’s jogging, “The fuck is a BOLO? And no, still searching for April.”

“Nobody else listens to murder podcasts?” I ask. “BOLO. Body location. It’s a police thing.”

“ACAB,” Ben says.

We all go silent as I unwrap the next award, for Short Story. As soon as I’ve got the masking tape off the plaque, I see the name shift from the proper winner—“Masters of the Underworld”—to a different work that I’ve never heard of.

“Yeah, Short Story just changed too, and this one’s not even one of our finalists,” I report.

“What did it change to?” Jordy asks. “Maybe that’s a clue.”

“Ben, have you tried calling April? Or texting her?” I really don’t want to waste time spitballing with Jordy right now.

“Yeah, repeatedly. I’m not an idiot,” Ben says. “I’m at her room now, knocking on the door. Wait one.”

“Time check, Jordy?” I ask.

“Ninety seconds back.”

I check another award and grumble. “No pattern here. I just checked Novelette, and the plaque doesn’t have any text on it, just a picture of a hamburger.”

“What kind of picture?” Jordy asks. “Is it like line art or full color or—”

“Jordy! My guy! This is not your job right now!” I pull another award, struggling with the packing material around the heavy Lucite block. “You just call the show cues, and let us deal with this other bullshit! Okay?”