Sunday’s come round again

Last week was a quiet one at work. I didn’t even realize until Friday afternoon that it marked the beginning of summer hours, largely because I’m not taking part in them this year. I came back from lunch and there were maybe only a dozen people left in the office. It was a little unnerving, but at the same time I kind of like the quiet.

Yesterday was my father’s birthday, so we went out to eat, then had cake and presents. I spent the rest of the day, or at least a part of it, copyediting stories for next month’s new issue of Kaleidotrope. Then that evening, after the cake, I watched The Purge, which I cannot recommend. It felt a little like two very bad movies ganging up on one potentially okay movie. What it lacked in an understanding of basic human nature…it also lacked in basic movie-making technique. I think I knew going in that I wasn’t going to like it, and that I was going to be confused about all the reasons why by the end. And, in that respect, I guess I wasn’t disappointed.

This afternoon, I saw Edge of Tomorrow, which was much better. It’s not brilliant — it’s the military sci-fi video game crossed with Groundhog Day you didn’t know you wanted — but I read the book it’s roughly based on (All You Need Is Kill) last week, and it’s at least as good as that.

I also wrote this with my weekly writing group:

“There you have it, gentlemen. The upside potential is tremendous, but the downside risk is jail.”

“Rich people don’t go to jail,” Manheim said. He laughed, but it was clear he wasn’t joking. “We have plausible deniability if the results of the tests become public.”

“It’s not the results I’m worried about,” said Burke. “It’s the tests themselves. We’ve already run afoul of a dozen regulations just by meeting here, discussing this. You can’t pretend they don’t send people to jail for conspiring like this.”

“Oh please,” said Manheim, “there’s no reason to start throwing around ten-dollar words like conspiracy. The inner planets wouldn’t be able to prove anything — “

“And we’ve already established that the outer worlds don’t care,” said Wilkins, breaking his long silence. “We wouldn’t be presented with this opportunity if they did.”

“Exactly,” said Manheim, even though all three of them knew he’d have agreed with Wilkins on anything.

“We have a rare opportunity to test the good doctor’s theories on Circe,” Wilkins added, “unfettered by any planetary regulation. The population is still small, and so projected losses are only — what was it again, Roderick?”

“Three million,” said Manheim. “Give or take a point-five.”

“Perfectly acceptable losses,” said Wilkins.

“And that’s only if things go belly-up,” said Manheim. “The genetic modifiers in Dr. Breton’s formula have been considerably refined since that fiasco on Ganymede. And you’ll recall,” he added, seeing that Burke was still unconvinced, “no one went to jail there except a few lab techs.”

“It’s still a risk,” said Burke.

“Of course it’s a risk,” said Wilkins. “What new business venture isn’t a risk?”

“Just think what happens if the formula works,” Manheim told Burke. “And if we control that. Even if all we get is a planet of Breton’s super-soldiers? Think what we stand to gain.”

If you’ve read any of James S.A. Corey’s Expanse novel, you can maybe see where I’m ripping them off paying homage to them. Not every free-writing exercise is going to mine gold.