Editing Phase Q/Speedway

On the lagoon, a synthcloud hovers over the water. The water replies, “what’re you doing here?”

“I’m gonna go to the far distant realms of the speedway. Wanna come?”

The synthcloud and the water ride through air. On their way, they pass by many people. Some observe, some join in, some alter the way.

The speedway goes through a densely popular commercial zone. There, whole clusters of the synthchart gather together. Different points on the H-chart even recognize alternative ontographies. Together, the community refuels the racers.

Hovering over the speedway, the synthcloud and the water give off and reabsorb all kinds of emotions. Hope rings through the air.

You step up to a Futurista entryway, and glance out over the speedway.

In the midst of it all, you quietly slip through the crowds.

A Futurista onlooker recognizes your face, and slips you a small holonote.

You continue through the glassy hallways. High-speed newscasts that beam directly into your subconscious mind alter your outlook.

As you move, the hallways continually reorganize themselves. They optimize your route for your deepest life desires.

A spontaneous game of hoozion takes you up along the way.

Also, you often slow your pace to make moving love with caring people along the way.

The speedway itself moves forward, as the synthcloud and the water progress.

A form of art that incorporates elements of music along with a mental conception of certain abstract topics in mathematics floats through the hallway.

A fat Trad seems to be walking along the crowded entryway. Probably just a Fyuchee in costume.

You make your way up to a waiting starship.

The fat Trad waddles down do the speedway.

You climb up on board the starship.

The Traddie takes a step out onto the way.

You see an unusual cockpit. Different set of controls. Ah well, it still recognizes your thoughts.

Zwap!

An autoguard along the tracks disintegrates the Traddie. Nope, not a costume.

You initiate the launch sequence, then fly through space.

A cleanup crew wipes out the remains of the Traddie.

You land on a distant planet. It has craters the size of continents, and the whole thing smells like tenglers. Yum.

The last traces of the most powerful Traddie who ever lived become forevermore a part of a Zlingo space warmer.

You switch the starship engine to generator mode, and create a medium size city.

Nobody mourns the Traddie. Nobody knows him.

You deify and spread throughout the city.

Somewhere, in a different, older world, somebody wonders what happened to the person whom he told the secret code.

Trillions, quadrillions, quintillions of living beings of all shapes and sizes and functions enrich themselves with the sharing awareness in having you, their creator, as part of their thought engines.

What a nice fellow, surely he made a difference.

You experience a multithousand-dimensional chunk of World2176939817.

Another species meets the ordinary destiny.

You decide to hold a municipal referendum.

No Trads remain free.

You set a new course.

{{Phase Q}}