day 17, UNHAPPY MORNING, ANOTHER MARCH, BACK IN PARLIAMENT, A SCOTTISH MP ON ISLANDS & TREASURES, book 4, building

|| days 17-13 || 15-19 March || Pushing || While all campaigns had their second day off, the Campaigns & Negotiations Team had a bit of a day. ‘Are you a foreign agent?’ a pushy podcaster asked on the phone, and Skye (care) burst out laughing: ‘Am I what?’ Skye laughed again before saying: ‘I doubt there’s a single secret agency with the balls to approach me.’ ‘What about Alice Adler?’ the podcaster returned unimpressed. Skye snorted. ‘She’s impossible to bent, she hates playing games and she’s hopeless when it comes to lying. You’d have to be really stupid to try to get her to do shady stuff.’ // Some desks away, John (business) was also on the phone, talking to Glen, co-head of ripples news. ‘I’m sorry to bother you with this, John,’ Glen said. ‘But people are bombarding us with accusations that the project makes millions with the campaigns. I need a solid statement, and I can’t get hold of Seth. He’s busy with the new business deals.’ ‘This is about the events themselves?’ ‘John, there’s people who claim that the town project isn’t interested in anything they say, only in getting as many people as possible on the streets and into their shops to make billions of their so-called good causes.’ John sighed. ‘I’ll write a statement.’ When John hung up, he grimaced. They had published all numbers a week ago: how much they earned, how much they spent, where the money came from, where it went, all of it down to the stamp for a postcard for a sick team member. By now, the numbers were updated daily. Did they make money from the campaigns? Not really. Did they cover their expenses? Yes. Where they generous with their expenses? For some events, yes. Well, mostly, yes. Isabel told them early on that the campaigns better be spectacles to get as much attention as possible. They weren’t penny pinchers. True. But no one complained about that. We make millions, they write. That’s not true and can be checked in the Hub’s Transparency Room. What else can we say? John’s eyes fell on Navarro who sat on an armchair in the chill-out area, looking grim. Navarro. He would suggest something like, like, like— YES! Change the narrative, shape the world. John opened a new file on his laptop and began to write: We are not in the business of making money. We are in the business of empowering creators, traders, customers — and in the case of the campaigns, we are in the business of initiating explorations into the issues we as society need to address. Smiling John continued to write. // Meanwhile Emine (law) was n’t her usual smiling self and stood up to get a coffee from the bar. More lawsuits were coming in daily, and some of the older ones began to cause her serious headaches, too, because some bloody billionaires were pouring a lot of money into the pockets of ruthless lawyers. Not that those traitors to the profession had a chance against Emine and her team. But still. Things were getting pretty fucked up. The thing that got her most, she mused as she watched the espresso drip into her cup, was this new level of utter corruption of her own profession. There were moments when this, all of this, felt personal, only because she was a lawyer, too. She couldn’t abide people who were meant to uphold the laws and instead used their knowledge and cunning to facilitate corruption, exploitation and— and who chose to be total scum. Emine sighed and added a sip of milk to her coffee. // At the same time, down in the atrium’s Cliff Restaurant, Jack was losing some faith, too, in a meeting with one of the documentary teams. The film industry, feature and documentary alike, had always been boys clubs rife with sexism. But— But this was the town project. They had exposed the stupidity of sexism. They had frequent sex talk meetings. They were dealing with this heads-on. Jack took a deep breath. ‘Guys! I want you to listen very carefully! On this project we recognise that when it comes to anything concerning our sexuality, sex, gender and all the rest of it, we still have a long way to go. But listening to you right now, I get the impression that you haven’t even take the first step. We, at this project, are done with exclusive male clubs. We are done with bloody boy club sexism and superiority complexes. Why? Because every bit of divide, every bit of exclusion, every bit of making out that some of us are better than others, more worthy than others, every bit of that keeps us from unearthing everything that is, it keeps us from coming together, from healing, from finding community!’ One of the cameramen looked a little perplexed. ‘Aren’t you Jack Harris? Are you telling me, you suddenly shake everyone’s hands, repost everyone’s comment, celebrate everyone’s attempt at making a movie, and play every role some third-class director wants you for?’ Jack grimaced. ‘I don’t know, yet, how we’ll be able to give everyone a stage and still be honest about who has talent and who doesn’t. But I happen to know that everyone on our film teams is excellent. How do I know? Because, I chose you! The thing I didn’t check is whether you’re still struck in the sexist BS, whether you still believe that only the good old boys club is worth anything. My mistake. If want to stay on this team, I need you to reflect on these attitudes.’ ‘And align with the big bosses demands?’ a sound assistant sneered. Jack chose an extra calm voice for his response. ‘No. Alignment gets you kicked off the team, just as sexism does. Either you get to a point where you want to rethink your views for real or you don’t. Anyone who thinks that making fun of their fellow creative’s is cool has no place in our project.’ // Meanwhile, some yards away, near the Oceans Bar, Hayley (tech) was talking with Jazz (Project Security) and RedLeaf (Programming Team), also getting annoyed. ‘I told Isabel,’ she said, ‘that we need to do better for wheelchair users. The Spring Specials are going to be huge. If we want them to be for all people, then we need to have toilets for wheelchair users.’ Jazz nodded. ‘That’s why I brought RedLeaf.’ ‘I’m Tech Innovations not Programming,’ Hayley retorted. RedLeaf cleared their throat. ‘I’ve designed an app where people can choose an event or a chain of events, and then anonymously enter everything they might want on location like a coffee, a water fountain, a toilet for kids, a chair to rest, fruits, nuts, anything really. We want to launch the app tomorrow. That gives us four days of introducing, testing and adjusting the app so that everything should work fine for the big Spring Specials.’ ‘Are you saying, I can type in that I might like to access a wheelchair toilet around noon at Leicester Square, and it will be there? With nuts and ice cream afterwards?’ ‘Sort of. We hope that enough people register so that we can determine where what will be needed. Once we have that data, we can identify key spots that make access easy for the majority of registered users. And the users can find the spots on the day in question via the app.’ ‘I’m just that bit impressed.’ // At the same time, Constance (crafts) stood on the square in front of the Compound and stared in disbelief as nine people emptied three lorries of parcels — all addressed to her. ‘No one knew where to have them delivered,’ Zack from Security said. ‘What are these?’ ‘Thank you gifts from children and adults for the inspirations at the Crafts Day. They build things for you.’ ‘For me?’ ‘Every parcel is addressed to you.’ ‘What do I do with this?’ ‘Well, Chico, one of our people had a good idea, I think. She suggested that you ask the senders via the Hub’s Campaign Square whether they’d be OK if you gifted these gifts as a Spring Special special to the people of London in the open-air market the team will set up on this square.’ ‘Hm.’ ‘By the way, we are expecting more deliveries.’ ‘More than this?’ ‘Yep.’ ‘Should I open them?’ Constance asked. Zack smiled. ‘Chico suggests to make the unpacking part of the event.’ ‘But I’m expected in Edinburgh for the Spring Specials there. I won’t be here.’ ‘Oh … Hm … Maybe you could do a video with one of the documentary teams and unpack a few?’ ‘Nope,’ Constance returned, suddenly knowing exactly what she would do. ‘I’ll have a film team here to document the growing parcel mountain, which we’ll have to secure. The rest I’ll leave to a Challenge Garden Team. They can invent games of how to climb to a parcel, how to distribute the gifts, and whom to involve.’ ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Zack returned and bumped fists with Constance. // Meanwhile in the Central Building, Troy walked up the stairs, from the atrium to the seventh floor, talking on the phone. No, we’re not talking,’ Troy thought disgruntled. I’m listening. I’m listening to the one person I’ve always wanted to work with. For years, I thought we must collaborate one day because of the similar ways we translate stories into illustrations. Troy shook his head, still listening. Crikey! This call was a hard landing, a breakup before the first date, so severe that Troy wanted to kick every single flower box on the mesh grid along the staircases. How could this guy, this guy of all guys, this birds-of-a-feather guy, this you-are-my-pack guy turn out to be— to be so unpleasant, arrogant, self-righteous, condescending, blind, and unwilling to think outside of his bubble of convictions? Troy brushed one of the boxes with his fist and tried to interrupt the flow of unsolicited comments on why the town project was unscientific nonsense no respectable person would ever consider, and therefore it was a waste of time. ‘Eno. Listen. You think I’m wrong. I think you are risking your own legacy by attacking our project. Why? Because you’re always on about how we have to take action. How we need to make things work for everyone and for nature. How we must expose corruptions and destructions. And now you dismiss a project which addresses all of that. What will the people who trust your judgement think about you when they realise that you had a chance to work with us, but you were to thick to do it?’ ‘You’re naive,’ Eno returned sharply. ‘We’re forced to compete. We can’t afford to share our stage. That would weaken our branding, the reach of our voice, our standing. I have a reputation to maintain. Money rules everything. Money makes us do what we do!’ Troy shook his head. ‘Do you ever listen to yourself? The pencil is my sword, colours are my shield, words my attack. You said that! You wrote that!’ Troy could hear a grimace at the other end of the line, and Eno returned. ‘One. Give me one image.’ Troy swallowed. One image to undo the breakup? ‘OK. Housing. A high rise crammed with people, the house bulging, people visible at all windows, some holding on to window frames. Meanwhile four overlarge people, representing the government, employers, warmongers and speculators keep shovelling more people into the high rise. The caption reads: All humans are humans not assets to be stored away for a few hours of begrudged time off from productive work.’ ‘Not bad. The text is too long. Which you know. You are very good. I wish you good luck. Good day.’ With that Eno hung up and Troy kicked a flower box. The daisies and soil flew into the air, some people on the fifth floor turned to see what was happening, and Bronx, from Rohana’s team, came running. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘NO! Housing!’ ‘What?’ ‘Housing. The term itself reveals a damaging narrative. Humans need homes and community, not boxes with a bed, a TV and a stove!’ // By this time, Heather (media) had reached the ripples news office to help out for some hours because five people had caught a cold. Heather loved writing for ripples, but she was a bit angry that despite all their provisions, they still didn’t have enough people. But at least they had the budget to hire more. Suddenly a smile appeared on Heather’s face. She was building an international network of blind artists, writers and craftspeople. It was a bit early in the process to involve them or to ask for favours, but maybe some of them would help out nonetheless. About an hour later, ripples news had signed on sixty additional writers and Hub interaction people from Heather young network. // Meanwhile Navarro (society) struggled with the disappointment that Sammy couldn’t make it to London tonight. They wouldn’t have had more than two or maybe three hours, but— But he missed her. ‘Are you with the campaigns team?’ a tall woman asked. Navarro looked up. ‘Campaigns and Negotiations Team, yes. Why?’ ‘I’m with the Xtrems magazine. I just need a quote.’ Here in the courtyard of the Front House?’ ‘Oh, I don’t mind if you buy me a glass of wine in the pub over there. But we’ve got to be quick. Deadlines. You know how it is.’ ‘I actually don’t—’ ‘—Good, good. You’re right, the pub would take too long. So, I noticed that none of your campaigns throws around the big words like capitalism, Thatcherism, climate change. Why is that? Are you in favour of capitalism? Do you deny climate change?’ For a few seconds, Navarro stared in disbelief. Of course, he knew that most journalists who attacked the project didn’t bother with reading anything the project published. The quotes these kinds of journalists asked for were no more than ornaments in their fabrications, usually misquoted and taken out of context. With the hint of a grimace, Navarro returned: ‘On our project, we have made it our goal to create visions which inspire people to step away from what is damaging them – and that includes everyone from the richest to the poorest, form the most influential to the newly born. Whatever anyone tells themselves, we all lose if we don’t reshape our world. So let’s stop bitching. Let’s start rethinking.’ ‘You are very small. Does that bother you?’ ‘No!’ ‘Are you some kind of token dwarf? That would be just like this project, right?’ Navarro decided not to reply, turned and left. There were days when he would have told the journalist about Sammy, the star guest architect responsible for the future town’s central library, about Riz, an incredible toymaker, Roger discovered, about Zuli, a new tech innovator who worked with the Building Site Team on the apps that would ensure smooth working at the site on all levels from food provisions to raw material delivers and everything in between, about Tris, a soil and waste management expert, and all the others. But not today. Not now. Now, he just wanted to get to the dot.workshop to pick up his new shirt for tonight and get back to work. Damn! He missed Sammy! // Around the same time, Andy (Alice’s second) walked past the Oceans Bar in the atrium, entered the Security offices next to the staircase and knocked on Jazz’s open office door. ‘Oh, hi Andy. Come in. Close the door behind you, will you?’ ‘Erm … sure. Is everything OK. Are you okay?’ ‘Me? Sure. I just need a word with you in private.’ ‘What about?’ Jazz leaned back in her seat. ‘It’s not about my security training, right? I’m not going to stop the training. No matter what you say. I’ll get good enough. I swear. I have to be able to protect those I love!’ Jazz twitched the corner of her mouth. ‘It’s not that. I hear you’re doing very well at the training, even now, on top of your present daily workload.’ ‘Then what is it? Jazz, I can see that something is wrong. Is it Alice? Is Alice safe?’ Jazz exhaled noisily. ‘You are all in danger. In particular Alice and you. The thing is that we received a flood of new threats.’ ‘But you will keep Alice safe.’ ‘Threats against you.’ ‘Oh. Me?’ ‘Yes. Because of the campaign simulations. The simulations are apparently so effective in showing just how much damage crude oil causes and how extremely positive and beneficial everything on the planet would be without fossil fuels that these simulations pose a serious threat to a lot of big players. Also high on the list of attacks are the rape simulations because apparently these finally manage to de-normalise rape and make even some rapist come forward, confessing, and repenting.’ ‘I knew it! Alice knew it, too. People need to see. They need to see what the consequences of their actions are, in a simple, graphic way, in a way that allows everyone to see what happens if we have more or less rape, more or less empowerment, more or less pollution, more or less nature, more or less health, even more or less avocados. Jazz, these are fantastic news! Alice will be so happy.’ ‘I doubt she’ll be happy about the death threats against you.’ Andy shrugged. ‘It’s like you said. We’re all in danger, and we have been for a while. But no one will be able to shut down the simulations. And, Jazz, the simulations work! You know, I was moody when I came down here, but this is great! The simulations work! I need to talk with my team. We need to get out more. Can I go?’ Jazz nodded. ‘We have further tightened security around you.’ ‘I trust you. Bye, Jazz.’ // Some minutes later, Marita (economics) shook her head, after listening to Troy’s frustrations. ‘You won’t believe this, but I have a similar case,’ she said. ‘I just finished reading an article by someone I— I still respect, but who clearly overlooked a thing or two. You know: sloppy thinking, stopping half-way in his argument. But somehow I doubt that he would reflect on his occasional sloppiness, on the digging deeper he fails to attempt, splashing around on the surface. I mean, I believe in his potential. And I’m pretty sure, he isn’t using even half of it. But just before you came, I asked myself: Marita, why do I even care? He is just another guy who seems unaware of what he might be capable of if only— “—If only,” my wife would echo, rolling her eyes, and she would tell me not to bother with this idiot.’ Troy chuckled. ‘I have a mind to send your guy a thank you note because I really need my guy not to be the only idiot.’ Marita and Troy laughed, bumped their fists together, and looked up when, a few tables further away, Robin pressed loudspeaker on her phone and stood up to gain some distance from the shouting voice on the phone. ‘WE WILL We will show the world that you and your town are abominations! Devil worshipers! You will all go to hell! Only when you are destroyed will our children be safe!’ With this the caller hung up, and Marita, Troy, Emine and John went to Robin. ‘Are you okay?’ Troy asked, putting his hand on Robin’s shoulder. After a moment of just looking at the phone, Robin turned and nodded. ‘That was— That was something else.’ ‘Religious people?’ Emine asked. Robin nodded. ‘I did a bit of research on them. The caller belongs to a powerful religious group in the US, well organised, incredibly backwards, and apparently determined to destroy the planet their God created, and the wonderful diversity of people and wildlife their God made possible.’ ‘But why call you?’ Marita asked. ‘Education. Homeschooling. To get their blessing we would have to guarantee homeschooling in town, we’d need an evangelical church on the Central Square and we’d have to reject abortions. Emine, they will move heaven and earth to defame us.’ Emine nodded. ‘I’ll put a team on it.’ In that moment, Dana (ecology) cursed loudly and punched the bar counter. ‘Ouch!’ ‘What happened?’ several people in the open area asked, and Troy and Skye walked over to Dana. ‘Bloody fools! The lot of them!’ ‘Let me see your hand,’ Skye said. ‘You’re bleeding.’ ‘Whose a fool?’ Troy asked. ‘I mean, which fools got you spitting fire?’ Dana grimaced. ‘I’ll get a bandage,’ Skye said. ‘Oh, Rohana, can you pass me the first-aid kit that’s under the bar? Thanks. And I think, our patient here needs a glass of water, too. Thanks.’ ‘Whose a fool?’ Troy repeated, sitting down on the bar stool next to Dana. ‘The lot them,’ Dana returned more quietly, accepting a glass of water from Sten, one of Rohana’s people. But after a sip of water, she bristled again. ‘It’s those bleeding paranoid fools who all declare that they want what’s best for people and planet, and they bitch and bite, and are so bleeding superior and condescending that they piss each other off, they piss me off, and totally miss the point that coming together means listening to each other, means thinking together, means testing ideas together, means caring how the other is, encouraging each other, coming to the bloody party. But instead, they’re only ever happy in their tiny worlds where the people around them tell them how brilliant, awesome, fantastic and oh, so good and right they are. I think we’re screwed! If those who care for people and planet can’t find a way to communicate, to work together, to question every narrative that keeps us divided, then we’re screwed. And these people won’t take a look at our project. Why? I don’t know. These are people who should be capable of using their brains, of thinking. But instead— I think I need to talk with Adriana, head of Neurology. Could it be that our brains are just that bit slow? Or that too many people are unaware that we can shape what our brains are capable of simply by using it to think, by leaving known territory? And then the paranoia. Foreign agents. What the actual fuck?’ Skye laughed and sealed the bandage on Dana’s hand. ‘I had one of those, too. I wonder whether paranoia is a logical consequence of that know-it-all feeling. Like, if a person thinks they figured it all out and someone else’s thoughts scratch into that belief, maybe then their only option is to believe they’re being conned because if they’re not, then they’re not the know-it-all they’re convinced they are. Does that make sense?’ Dana smiled a little, ‘It does,’ and let out a long sigh. ‘Maybe we can use that, find way to make it easier for know-it-alls to embrace that there’s still so much to discover.’ ‘Like mark the tracks with rose petals and paint all the doors with colourful mandalas?’ Skye returned. ‘YES!’ Troy said. ‘I can do a comic for this. Something like The salvation of the know-it-all.’ The other two laughed. // Meanwhile Isabel, the head of campaigns,  sat on a bench in the roof garden of the Central Building and spoke to a friendly journalist, enjoying some rays of sunshine which had just broken through the clouds. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘All our campaign events are accessible for free.’ ‘Which is not the same as being for free?’ Isabel smiled a little. ‘Not at all. We, at the town project and in our project businesses, believe that every service rendered should be compensated. However, we don’t want to exclude anyone from the campaigns, and we believe the conversations we initiate in the campaigns are too important to let money keep people from participating. So we decided on what I call a bracket solution.’ ‘A bracket solution?’ ‘Yes. The first bracket is the point where we make it known what our costs for an event are. People are invited to contribute to those costs, and we add all contributions in realtime so that everyone knows where we stand. We close the bracket when our costs are covered.’ ‘What happens if an event is fully financed?’ ‘Then we give people the option to choose another event to finance or to support one of our projects, or to keep their money.’ ‘Then you make no profit with the campaigns?’ ‘That’s a question of definition. There is no denying that the campaigns boost sales for our project companies, and that the Hub has gained several million new users. I think it’s fair to count that as profiting and as making profit from the campaigns. But generally speaking, we are not about profit for profit’s sake. We are not about helping shareholders to hoard more money or to get another thrill from speculating. Quite the contrary, we’re always about finding ways to let the success of one campaign or one project business ripple into success for communities, for other businesses, for the campaigns. There’s something I love I learned at our project: everything in nature is constantly in motion, constantly moving in cycles. That’s what we hope to achieve with all our activities, too: keep the money circling, nurturing all projects along the way.’ // About an hour later, in an office also on the seventh floor, Raiden stood up from his desk and went to the window which overlooked the sport fields and the Hub International building. From early on this morning, Raiden had been going over the latest inputs from the Building Site Team for the town simulation. The list with Raiden’s remarks was over twenty pages long by now. Damn! It was true that the plans were shaping up fine. But the team needed to complete the adjustments of the original town plans as soon as possible. Not just to be ready to start building but also to use the completed plans in the negotiations. Was there a chance to speed up the completion of the plans? NO! Raiden shook his head. No! Speeding up was the recipe for being sloppy, for overlooking critical issues, for forgoing ideas that only become visible at normal speed. Raiden sighed. No, speeding up was not an option. But he could go over his notes again and make sure that all his thoughts were as precise as possible and as thoroughly considered as he knew how. // Around the same time and at one of the workstations, Dennie grimaced. He was online on the Hub’s Campaign Square, and he was annoyed. It happened. There were some discussions you had over and over again. He used to get a lot more annoyed about that, but then Navarro asked him: ‘How do you know that the person who asks this time has ever read a single word you wrote? Maybe you are the first person for this person to discuss this issue with.’ Dennie grimaced again. Navarro was, of course, right. Which was OK because Navarro didn’t like to be right. Anyway, Navarro was right, because there was no way that 8 billion people would have listened to what he, Dennie the security guy, had to say about security. And yes, it was bleeding presumptuous to assume that everyone is the kind of news and discourse junkie that even he wasn’t. Yes, it was much more likely that the person who asked this question for the millions’ time was in fact a person who was asking this question for the very first time in their life. And kudus. You got an important question there. And yes, I shouldn’t take my lack of patience out on you. So here it comes. With a little sigh, Dennie began to type: Security is not a must-have in the sense of a law of nature. You only need security if you have a system that breeds injustice. Injustice, inequality, chains — that’s the roots of everything that leads to situations where you need security. Dennie grimaced, as another commentator chipped in with the bleeding law and order argument. Damn it! It’s not that difficult to get. Dennie cursed. Typing again, he wrote: Happy people do happy things. Unhappy people do unhappy things. A smile appeared on Dennie’s face, and he called Troy whom he could see sitting at the bar with Dana. ‘Dennie?’ ‘Troy, can we do a comic about Happy people do happy things. Unhappy people do unhappy things?’ // At the same time and at the opposite bar, Rohana and Skye spoke, wondering whether to call for a sanity-check break. Too many team members seemed on edge. ‘Maybe this afternoon,’ Skye said. ‘At least then, we’ll have completed some work.’ Rohana nodded. // In the morning other people got active for the town project, too, and at five to twelve, the second march for the town began in London, bigger than the first. Many demonstrators quoted the project on their posters and banners. Some of the best lines were: True power is in creation — not in shareholder appeasement // We demand time to shape our future // Are you so afraid to face your mistakes that you can’t suffer a town experiment which might expose your failures? // Customer power is power for our future. // My power is beautiful! // Your time is up, stock market gamblers. // You are more powerful than you know. // Thinking is like dancing in your mind. // You’re nothing but a story. // Your truth is based on fairy tales. // Winners are losers! // A restored planet is the basis of unrivalled prosperity. // Us and them sucks! // If we don’t stand up, the cowards of the world will continue to mess with us. // Am I better? Who the fuck cares? I am me! // Connection starts with the self! // This is my life, this is our community, this is our world — no one has a right to screw with us! // Cowardice can be overcome! // I stand with those who think not with those think they think! // Change starts in the mind! // Change starts in the mind // The one thing that’s undervalued is THINKING FOR YOURSELF. The thing that’s overvalued is believing that anyone has all the answers. // I want a long fulfilled life not bloody power plays, exploitation, genocides and corruption. // Once you start looking around, you realise that there’s a lot of unused power just waiting to be unlocked, and none of it is violent. // Violence is the choice of those who don’t use their mind, have a withered heart and a frightened soul. // Change the story. Shape the world. Kick out the nonsense that screws with us. // Does your story serve us? // We are the majority. // What are you afraid of? That someone proves how much you failed the people you are supposed to serve? // Better face the music now. The longer you wait the worse it will get. // Your strength is my strength. My power is your power. Your power strengthened me. // We, the people, are done waiting for someone to do right by us. We, the people, will shape a world that works for us and the planet. // Alice smiled, reading Any’s first update on the march, just before she got into the security car. It had been a strange morning. Maybe the day would get better. Or maybe not. About an hour later, Alice was back in parliament to answer questions about the project’s new business deals. This time the meeting room was crammed with people. Five MPs sat at the semicircular table, and Alice was again asked to sit at the straight table. The only place with a bit of space, a passing thought remarked, and Alice smiled a little, despite the steely eyes of the MP who chaired the meeting. Lady Macbeth, a thought noted, to which another thought remarked, you don’t even remember the story of that play. The first thought shrugged: Scary lady, wasn’t she? The second thought grimaced, and the bespectacled lady in an elegant but slightly old-fashioned costume gave a nod to the MP next to her who caught the stick and barked: ‘What do you think you are doing, Ms Adler?’ Alice raised her eyebrows, and a thought remarked: We really need to learn to see reality as reality. This here looks like a play, feels like a play, but it seems to be meant as reality. ‘What do you think you are doing, Ms Adler?’ the MP repeated but less aggressively since the first outburst had been met with shallow waves of murmurs throughout the room, some of which seemed to echo support for Alice. Why do you think in strange words? a thought asked. Other thoughts shrugged and one remarked: Must be this old-fashioned room. Must be this real unreal thing. No idea. Are we confused? One thought put down their foot. Damn it! We better un-confuse ourselves. We’re needed. Real or not. This is about the town! Another MP at the table offered Alice the hint of a smile and said: ‘Ms Adler, it would help if you could tell us why you insist on acting as if building the town was an eventuality.’ ‘Oh,’ Alice returned. ‘That’s easy. We want to be ready in case we get to build our town. See, I would hate to lose more months only because we weren’t ready to start building at the get go.’ The chair frowned. ‘Are you implying that you need business contracts with regional towns to start building?’ ‘Some of them, yes. But mostly those contracts are about building cooperations, about connecting. Our guess is, partially derived from what we observe in nature, that an isolated town will never be fully alive. Only what is connected to the neighbours, the region, the planet can unfold its full potential and thrive.’ The MP on Alice’s right cleared his throat. ‘That contradicts your statement that no outsider business would be allowed in your town.’ Here we go again, a thought remarked. Though, what followed were actually a few good questions about the nature of the town experiment and about what the town project wanted to explore. But after about seven minutes of this, voices against the project grew louder and, to Alice’s pleasant surprise, voices for the project, too. Neither group seemed to require any response from Alice, and so she leaned back in her chair and watched the ping pongs. Among the town’s supporters, Alice recognised three of the politicians who had been to Jellybridge. And several MPs from Cornwall, Wales and Scotland impressed Alice with their comments, even before a Scottish politician initiated a hypothetical discussion about what kind of conditions, for building the town, the government could perhaps agree to. Those discussions resulted in more protests as well as additional suggestions. Meanwhile, though intrigued, Alice began to wonder why exactly she had been asked to be here. It was the MP from the Na h-Eileanan an Iar constituency who had Alice concede that some points might need clarifications. ‘We are all island people here,’ the MP said. ‘Some of us more than others. Those of us who grew up facing the storms of the sea, know that the sea occasionally brings treasures to our shores. Some treasures we don’t understand, others challenge us, some might look alien and yet have something to offer. I fear that our unexpected guest is right. There is no use in building a town experiment that is a replica of what we already have. I also agree that if someone wanted to go about such an experiment, they would need a tabula rasa, start from scratch with the freedom to adjust and test as they go. At the same time, we as MPs have a responsibility not to allow something onto our islands which eventually wreaks havoc, like sweet bunnies which become a pest. So how could we get the benefits without the pest? I think we might be able to open a window by being very precise. For example, the town project claims that their security team has the capacities to protect the citizens of the town. OK. I say. And thank you for not spending taxpayer money. But let’s be a bit more precise. The project team mentioned that in case of a criminal offence, the suspect and the case would be referred to the local police. We know that’s not just words. We have a report that Alice Adler and her head of Security met with the local police at the Jellybridge Estate, yesterday. According to the officers, it was a constructive and well prepared meeting. That sound thorough and responsible to me. So we have a window here because we could take the time to consider all possible scenarios which might occur in connection with the project, and then determine how to act in which situation. If we did that, we might be able to make this intriguing town project possible without compromising or neglecting our duties. It makes no sense that we control the experiment. As we have been reminded, our records are not particularly good. But I also have a mind to say to the town project people: So you think you can do better? Oh, well, prove it then.’ ‘Hear, hear,’ several MPs called. ‘But imagine the gains if the town project really manages to come up with the kind of solutions we haven’t dared to hope for. What is it to us that these people believe humanity can do better? Do we really need to stand in their way because they could find out that, yes, we’ve been a wee bit too stupid, shortsighted, nepotists, and some cases imperialists? What if the project find out that we could do better and would all benefit from it? What I’m saying is, we could try to find a way that would allow us to give the town project the freedom it needs to explore. We might make it possible by drawing a line. The line being a catalogue of things that will be a no go, such as human sacrifice or child labour. Though I hear that child labour is something the project wants to explore. So we’ll have to be more precise. What kind of child labour might be beneficial to explore? And where would we draw the line? The same goes for businesses. The project’s arguments are very clear on why not just anybody can do business in town. Anyone who has ever done an experiment knows that you need to be able to make adjustments. You can only do this if you determine who takes part in the experiment and under which conditions. Again it’s a question of drawing the line somewhere. For example by stating that a company which operates on the same principles as the town project or a company which is prepared to become part of the experiments cannot be refused. And the fact that the project signed contracts for regional cooperations with companies near their future town tells me that they are even madder than I thought, or a lot more courageous than I gave them credit for. From what I see, they are not proposing to become an exclusive cult. They are already opening their town to outside business. But again to make sure we sleep well, we need to draw the line somewhere, and we need to be very precise about it. And then there is the question: How will we make sure that the line we agreed on will be honoured? That’s an easy one. The project has already signalled that they would agree to occasional visits from governmental observers, so long as everyone knows who they are, and so long as we only get access to anonymised data. I tell you, I have never seen an organisation or a business so eager to be transparent as this town project and its businesses. Therefore I could sleep well, if three or four of our people visited the town once a month and reported back to us. I would also recommend that Alice Adler herself, gives us a monthly report, one that is collaborated by the observers. Asking for taxes would interfere with the experiment’s set up and its attempt to test new tax systems. And quite frankly, it would be outrageous to thank the project people for building a perfect town by squeezing money out of them. So long as they don’t incur costs for us, we should let them be. One point I won’t back down on is that there needs to be a plan for transitioning the town from a town experiment to a regular British town. That’s not just important for us. It’s also important for all those courageous people who want to move into the town and be the project’s guinea pigs. I would vote to compile a full list of critical points and then decide where we can allow for freedom for the sake of science and humanity, and where we have to draw the line.’ A fierce discussion erupted and Alice used the moment for a typed conversation with Any, who confirmed that someone was transcribing these suggestions, and that he would help the Campaigns & Negotiations Team with a complete list of critical points and suggestions on where to draw the lines. It was some thirty minutes later that Alice was asked for a statement, and she addressed the MP from the Na h-Eileanan an Iar constituency directly. ‘I love the Outer Hebrides, in particular Lewis, and I thank you for your suggestions. You have given us something to think about. But I’d appreciate not to be compared to a sweet bunny again.’ The MP and several others laughed, and, smiling a little, Alice continued: ‘I tend to be an impatient person, and maybe I’m a bit too convinced that I simply don’t do anything harmful. I would like nothing better than a handshake agreement that the town will be granted full autonomy and in return we’ll share our findings with the planet. But it’s probably much wiser to play through possible worst case scenarios and to agree on how we would deal with each other in such cases. Since we have an advanced town simulation, and we already have played through a number of worst case scenarios, we can share all the data we have with you, and if you like, we can also give you a copy of the original simulation so that you can run your own tests. Why not the present simulation? Because that’s still work in progress as we adjust our original plans to the proposed site for our town. And here is a personal offer from me to you. It’s OK if you don’t trust me. You don’t know me. But I am ready to be tested. I am ready to answer all your question. You can challenge me on anything: our business models, our views on foods, biodiversity, crime, farming, innovations, disability, education. You name it. Me and my team don’t have all the answers. But we have a pretty long list of relevant questions, and a likewise long list of ideas we could test in the setting of the town.’ Later Alice shook hands with the MP from the Outer Hebrides. ‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘No more bunnies.’ Alice chuckled. Alice was still smiling when she got into the security car and she frowned just a little when Jazz told her their next destination. ‘Oh! Now it gets interesting — or fishy. I’m ready. Bring it on.’ Alice remarked. Jazz smiled a little in return and drove Alice to a club where she was to meet with an Earl, the first of several secret meetings which had come in as requests since this morning and would keep Alice busy for the rest of the night.

© Charlie Alice Raya, book 4, building, 2025