Editing Phase Q/Intermixing

In the town halls and the pool halls. In the public houses and the private houses. In the places of business and the places of rest. Change comes unpredictably.

Farmers bemoan the new crops. They plant themselves, sure, but who knows if they’ll be edible, or what they’ll taste like?

At stores, products often start parties on the shelves. Sometimes the event lightens up the mood and brings in increased sales. But occasionally the store erupts in a volcano of multicolor plasma that melts the place down.

School teachers find it almost impossible to teach, and start petitions. Industry finds developments challenging. Software companies have some success navigating the changes.

“We’ve got to destroy the Futurista cells,” says a young woman on the street handing out flyers.

“What about B85? Didn’t that already make it illegal to belong to any tubist group?” An earnest man debates with the young activist.

“Yes, but what are the politicians actually doing? The Futuristas are still there, causing damage across all sectors. That’s why we’re raising awareness. To do what the politicians won’t do.”

As you walk through the busy city center, you see billboards advertising new apartments, windshield washer fluid, and a recruitment program for the Trad forces. “Winning Peace.”

Stepping into a bar, you catch sight of Natalya down at the other end. Pretending not to notice, you turn to the TV in the corner, and point to a bottle.

“And while the dangerous and unpredictable events have spread to three more zones, thus reducing the safety zones to only half of our country, we assure you that our soldiers are securing this area. No Futuristas have been found free in the safety zones, so rest assured that you can sleep safely at night.” The press officer reads off a teleprompter.

“Hey,” says the bartender to a patron sitting between you and Natalya. “Did you hear they arrested a cell of Fyucheez down at the port? I wouldn’t wanna be in their interrogation room!”

The patron and the bartender guffaw. Natalya looks over.

“What about you? What do you make of things?” The bartender is speaking to you.

“Oh, uh, I, uh, I agree with you,” you say distractedly. “Uh, excuse me a minute.”

The bartender looks angrily after you, as you get up and leave the building. “You didn’t even pay your bill!”

KAPLOW!

An explosion rips through the bar. Cinder blocks come flying out of the walls. Glass shatters. The roof collapses. And huge billowing plumes of smoke clouds come pouring out of the bar.

A bright red light flashes in your periphery. Trying to ignore it, you run through the streets. A Trad squad car flips on its sirens and comes hurtling after you. Reaching into your shirt pocket, you grab for the electronic tab, but it’s not there. Patting down your sweater, your pants, everywhere, you can’t find it.

{{Phase Q}}