Thinking is tiring stuff.

I am knackered.

The next book, the one that is a follow-up to Jessica's Trap, is now assembled into its final-editing form and now the real hell begins. I'm going to take a few days off and work on Ghosthunters while the microbiology work is quiet. In the horrible future I imagine, the mantra 'nothing to hide, nothing to fear' becomes 'when there is nowhere to hide, there can be nothing to fear'.

It's logical in a twisted, socialist way. Don't worry, it will make sense when your chips are implanted. Where would you like the USB port fitted? They're really really small now.

The 'proper' job is quiet because the Stuff is being tested elsewhere. I cannot be involved in those tests because, as an originator, I can hardly claim an unbiased position. Word is that it's doing even better than predicted but while it's going through testing I have to keep my distance.

Those tests are in farm animals. It's curing all sorts of horrible things in there. It has also cured several hospital acquired infections but that research has stopped.

The doctors are very keen on the Stuff and delighted with results so far. The NHS admin don't seem interested at all. They just want an ethical assessment the size of a PhD thesis and then they want it amended and sent in again. And again. This frustrates both us and the actual medical staff. But then, if your aim was population reduction, you wouldn't tell the frontline medical staff. You'd cut the frontline medical staff and boost the morons in admin. But hey, ignore me, I write fiction, remember? It's probably all just imagination. It's just the seed of a story.

Tonight I put up a post at Orphans of Liberty. They way it works over there is this - we contributors add posts to a queue and it comes up either when it's its turn or at a time when it's topical. I was tickled to note that its URL ends in 1666, the date when London was ravaged by a plague on all their houses, although I only have two large houses in mind (and all their second houses).

Now I have a character in coversation with their child, who is explaining what School taught them today while the father tries to come to terms with a vague and uncertain memory of when School was a place, not a person, and the place taught more subjects than just 'Citizen Obedience'. Then the ambulance arrives, triggered by an apparent malfunction in his mind enhancement chip...

So, I'm off to write about things that could never possibly happen.

Or maybe about things that might happen.