July 14, 2027

Skip. Skip, splash.

Two skips. About average, but disappointing all the same.

This isn't my sport. George, now, George is good at this; four skips is normal for him, and I've seen him skip as many as eight times on a single throw. It's his metaphor for the corporate battle, searching for the soft spot, never giving up. A contradiction of sorts, since George is the best among us at keeping stones out of the water, even though his stated goal, every time he throws one, is to get it into the water.

When I throw a stone, it sinks. George's stones penetrate.

I pick up another from the pile of identical stones beside me on the shore. Polished to a mirror-like glaze, perfectly round and about the thickness of a finger, with a choice of four, five, or six centimeter diameters, these stones were made for skipping. Just as the friction-free pond bottom was made to collect them and return them to a pick-up point, where a machine will eventually bring them back to one of several perfectly conical piles that are evenly distributed around the rim of the pond.

Skip. Skip, skip-splash. Two-and-a-half, call it; not much better than my usual two.

Personnel insisted that we needed the pond, not for our relaxation, but for recruiting. Skipping ponds are the latest corporate fashion. We have to have one so we can attract the geneticists, surgeons, statisticians, engineers, and all the other professionals we need to run our business.

That's what they tell us, anyway. Not one of the accountants I've interviewed for my department was ever impressed. Waste of good money, they say. Think of the stones as tax dollars, I always reply. Sometimes that gets a smile, or even a laugh; if not, I don't hire them. Not that I need that sort of flattery, but an accountant needs a good sense of perspective on the world. So I suppose the pond has its uses. Personnel would be horrified, of course.

Splash. Dumped that one right in, didn't I? Look, George, I got one to penetrate first time. No sport in that, Dan, I can hear him say. After which he'd skip one five or six times. Show-off.

Skip, splash. I suppose some people find entertainment in bouncing a solid on a liquid surface. I can't imagine why. There is too much resemblance between stones that skip and sink, and what happens to corporations that take a wild throw with their product development and marketing. A company can usually withstand one good bounce, maybe even two or three. But eventually, into the water they go.

Skip. Skip, splash. All right, Dan; you're supposed to have the answer. How many more skips can Genesis withstand, now that we've taken our first? Now Dan, where's your sense of perspective? In the pond, George, sliding down the bottom to the recycling hole. We'll see what comes back, see if it looks like it did before.

Meanwhile, I've lost my perspective on the world. Cast upon the waters, where it sank. I guess I wouldn't hire me, then, would I? So should I resign? That would please Jeanne, wouldn't it? I think that's reason enough not to leave.

I pick up another stone. Smooth and polished, it does not resemble Jeanne Demimondaine, who is all angles and rough edges. A hard woman, though, and that's enough resemblance to the stone in my hand. Into the pond, Jeanne, into the pond. Splash. And you didn't skip, did you? That's too bad.

One for you, Jeanne, and one for your first product as our Chief Scientist. Skip. Skip, splash. Yes, two skips and a sink is about right--skip for announce, skip for spinning the product off to a subsidiary, with failure next on the agenda.

I don't like to lose, Jeanne, and you beat me today. We shouldn't have announced your product three years ago, and after what it's done to our reputation we certainly should have killed it today. But now you're depending on me to set up that subsidiary and give it the financial strength to operate on its own. How does it feel to be at my mercy?

Skip. Skip. Skip-skip-splash. It figures. I get mad at Jeanne and make my best throw of the day. Well, you can relax, Jeanne. I'll make your new Wannabe Parlors work for you. I will give it everything it needs, and it will still fail because it's a bad idea. What do you think of that, dear girl?

I admit that the concept is intriguing. Genetically-controlled cosmetic surgery. Sorry, Jeanne; it's doomed, because you don't understand people. For such a hard bitch, how can you not have any cynicism? How can you not see the potential for abuse? With all the problems you've already caused, how can you be so blind? Maybe I'm the one that doesn't understand people, Jeanne, because I still don't understand you well enough to beat you in the boardroom.

But--beat you I will. With lawyers, Jeanne, your favorite kind of people. Not with George's lawyers, either, not like the first time we tried to kill this project. No, it will be with your client's lawyers. Your own customers will do it, Jeanne. You don't think that's funny? Government lawyers, Jeanne. You're still not laughing? Good; maybe I'm getting my sense of humor back now.

Actually, Jeanne, I do have a reason for helping you. I will be helping you out of my company. (My company--as if I own it!) If Genesis can be rid of you, it will be worth any cost short of bankruptcy.

Skip. Skip, skip-splash. Whose stone was that? I turn, and Colleen stands on the other side of the pile of stones, looking into the water. Her long, pointed ears stand up through her thick red curls, as though to deny that this tiny, pixie-ish woman could ever be serious or upset. Her face burns through that lie, this evening, as she looks out at the pond where ripples float away from each of the points where her stone touched the water. The water should be roiling from the impact of her stare. Instead, the ripples disappear.

She kneels by the pile of stones, picks one up and caresses it. An angry elf, arming. An angry elf-Wannabe, I remind myself. Jeanne made those ears. Colleen was practically her first customer.

"I guess you heard about the board's decision?" I ask. Of course she has; Colleen is the first audience Jeanne would seek out, a colleague to whom she could strut and crow.

"No, I haven't," she says, not looking up. "I've been at the zoo all day, taking care of an old project." Splash. Splash. Splash. Three stones follow each other into the pond. No subtlety and no technique--only driving rage, as Colleen's arm whips toward the water. The stones are too smooth to splash much, so there is little reaction in the surface of the pond, and even that passes quickly into quiet ripples. And even these dissipate, as the pond's acoustic damping system smooths the water. Perfect skipping conditions must be maintained for the next stone. "I assume she got what she wanted; she seemed very confident this morning."

"Oh?" You raise too many questions, Colleen; I can't ask them all at once. What did Jeanne know before the meeting? What is this old project? What has Colleen so upset, if she hasn't just fled from Jeanne's company?

"What old project?" That must be what's wrong; if Jeanne's involved, and if Colleen is this angry, perhaps I should worry.

"It doesn't matter." Splash, splash. Again, the ripples disappear. "It--" Splash. "Doesn't--" Splash. "Fucking--" Splash. "Matter." Splash.

"I can tell. Want to talk about it?" I try to sit on the pile of stones, but they're too smooth and I nearly slide into the pond. Fortunately, about a half-meter of soil separates the stones from the pond, where the stone-collecting bottom makes it impossible to stand, much less crawl out. Nice day for a swim, maybe, but that's not why I came to the pond this evening.

"It's between Jeanne and me, okay?" She looks up at me, and scowls a little less as she watches me dust off my pants. It's not a smile, but I guess as an old fart I'll have to settle for anything I can get.

"Is Jeanne prowling for product ideas?" More important, has anyone told George yet? (Jeanne talk to a lawyer, even to clear a product concept with our own legal department? I know better than to ask.)

Splash. I watch the ripples disappear again. Somewhere down at the zoo, I remember an old farm pond. Lots of good rocks around it, the natural kind. Next time I want to bask in a good sulk, perhaps I should go there. At least I could be alone while I'm not learning anything useful.

"You're going to get a shoulder separation, throwing that hard."

"I think I can stop her, Dan." Splash. "I have to try." Splash.

"If you need help, ask." No, by the time Colleen decides she needs help, it'll be too late. "Better yet, tell George now. He won't interfere if you ask him not to, but he needs time to prepare, just in case. You know Jeanne won't give him enough time."

"You make it sound like ratting on my boss is an act of duty." Splash.

"Genesis is a good company, Colleen. I'd hate to see Jeanne take us down."

Colleen looks over at me, stone in hand. "You really don't like her, do you?"

"Does it show?"

Splash. Colleen's face is unreadable. It's hard to believe that ears play such a part of facial expressions. Or maybe it's hard to take seriously someone with huge fairy ears. Remember, Dan, this is Colleen. You know how smart she is. She's just stubborn. That's what you've got to work past.

"You're right, Dan. If I tell you, will you also promise not to interfere?"

"Can I answer after you've told me?"

Splash. "No."

"All right, Colleen. I promise to behave." This had better be good; I don't make that promise to just anybody.

Splash, splash. "She's doing alterations again, Dan. On embryos. Not adults again, or children, or babies, or fetuses. Embryos."

Oh. Thank you, Colleen. Of all the things I wouldn't have wanted to hear, you pick the worst. No, Jeanne picked it. Now, every time I hear a mother describe her son as a little monster, I'll have Jeanne to thank. George, you're going to love this.

And I promised to behave, didn't I?

Splash.