DAY 8, WRAPPING THE CAMPAIGNS, book 4, building

Early the next morning, Jack knocked on Dennie’s door, on the second floor of the Compound’s Back House. A half-dressed, sleepy looking Dennie opened. ‘Oh, it’s you, Jack. Come in!’ and hurried back into his single room. ‘Erm … We’re running late,’ Jack said, following Dennie. ‘I know. I know. But I can’t decide what to wear.’ Jack rolled his eyes. ‘A suit will do.’ ‘But I’m gay. I must look the part.’ Jack shook his head, though admittedly he, too, had fretted about what to wear as Princess Felicitas’ guest for the day, called Hachiro for advice, last night, and this morning, he had a choice of three elegant creations delivered to him. Dennie turned with three shirts in his hands and looked at Jack. ‘Wow! You look— Bloody hell, you look like a damn prince!’ Jack chuckled. ‘It’s Hachiro’s doing. The frock coat is a piece of beauty with these subtle embroideries. And I love this shade of dark blue.’ Dennie grimaced. ‘So what am I going to wear?’ Jack shrugged. ‘Be yourself, cool, relaxed — like you usually are.’ ‘Yah, but I don’t usually spend the day with a princess and her mates.’ ‘I like Alice’s rule for situations like this. If in doubt, wear something you feel comfortable in. The meetings will be stressful enough. No need to add stress with clothes you don’t like.’ Dennie smiled and turned back to his open wardrobe. ‘Now, that’s sound advice. Could have come from me. I probably said it and forgot about it. Could have come from— Yes! Here you are!’ Smiling broadly, Dennie held up an oversized wooly jumper, a patchwork of stripes and squares, a mess of colours, very likely ‘self-made!’ Dennie said with a grin. ‘My aunt took me on a knitting weekend and I made this. It’s super comfy. Do you think jeans or cotton trousers?’ Jack couldn’t help a laugh. ‘I don’t think it’ll make a difference.’ ‘Right you are. I’ll take the brown leather trousers, then.’ Slipping into said trousers, Dennie let out a deep sigh. ‘Feeling totally relaxed already. Own yourself. Wear what makes you smile. Have fun. Why did I ever panic? It’s so simple!’ A few minutes later, Jack and Dennie left to be in time for an early cup of coffee with Princess Felicitas and three of her close friends with access to ears of several influential women and men in their circles. // Meanwhile Mudiwa and Rose also left their flats in the Back House, meeting on the fourth floor and hurrying down while discussing their opener for today’s live coverage. They had just reached the ground floor, and saw Jack and Dennie get into a security car, when Flo, one of ripples news’ hands, came running towards them. Out of breath, he said: ‘We need a new location for the first take!’ ‘Why?’ ‘The millionaires’ boot camps party is still going. It’s noisy as hell. Drunk on their creative powers, they are, and spaced out because they’re finally good for something. The sound team say, the square is a no-go.’ Mudiwa exhaled noisily. ‘The Front House courtyard?’ Flo shook his head. ‘Nope. Too loud, too. Sound says, the atrium might be an option, though there’s a lot of running around there, too. A bit like an anthill with the project business people and the campaigns’ people all rushing around like there’s no tomorrow and everything needs to be done today. Rose frowned. ‘How about the seventh floor?’ Mudiwa nodded. ‘At the heart of the campaigns. That’s good.’ Flo shook his head. ‘We already discussed that option. It’d take too long to get all the gear set up there. To be honest, for the opener it’d be best to do it here in the Back House courtyard. Not pretty. But the most practical. Plus, it means you have a few minutes to chill, and here comes Roy with coffee and cakes.’ Mudiwa and Rose exchanged a shrug, and shortly afterwards accepted the coffee and cakes. When Flo and Roy hurried away, Rose murmured: ‘Drunk on their creative powers. Finally good for something.’ Mudiwa grimaced. ‘Unfortunately there are still millions of millionaires who think they are good for something, who believe that they are the power behind economic growth when a) growth is a fairy tale, b) they make much of their money with speculations which they should do in casinos not with the livelihoods of people, c) they believe in creating jobs when all they do is enslave, disillusion and dull people into doing stuff no one really needs, d) they think a roof over someone’s head should earn them money, and e) they assume that everything should make them money: energy and heating, sickness and education, and everything else. These people believe they’re doing everything right because they’ve made sure that everything makes them richer.’ Mudiwa shook her head and sighed. ‘The boot camp can’t convince them otherwise. Which is great! But the boot camp can reawaken a desire to live, to be part of humanity, to create — and with a bit of luck, or a lot of luck, that will make them realise just how little they’re really good for and—’ Sound, light, camera teams and the assistants entered the courtyard and began to set up everything for the live coverage. Rose looked at her phone. ‘Seven minutes to go.’ ‘Oh! Not a good time for a flare-up.’ ‘You have a point. I think I’ll attend one of the future millionaires boot camps.’ ‘You’re a millionaire?’ ‘I will be next year, on my eighteenth birthday. My parents put three percent of their incomes into accounts for us children, and we get access to the money when we turn eighteen. Kyle had nearly three million, he said. Well— Erm … Do you hate me now?’ Mudiwa shook her head. ‘No. But it is a strange world where someone can just have this kind of money.’ Rose grimaced. ‘I know. For nothing. Just like that. You know, I’m used to my parents not worrying about money. But it still feels strange that I will have that much money.’ ‘Are you serious about attending a boot camp?’ Rose nodded. ‘Money does strange things with the mind. And from what I hear so do the boot camps.’ Mudiwa chuckled. ‘Better be prepared for the riches?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Oh, there’s Glen,’ Mudiwa said, and she and Rose went to meet Glen, the co-head of ripples news, near the cameras. ‘Morning, you two,’ Glen said. ‘Just wanted to check in with you. Are you OK here in the Back House courtyard?’ Mudiwa nodded. ‘We’ll be fine. We’ll focus on the build-up to the press conference, on the recaps of all campaigns, on locations where people can help to dismantle campaign sets. We’ll add a few hints on what to expect in the upcoming seven days, and we’ll include a reminder that the all-day Q & A’s begin at eight, here in the Front House Theatre and at Jellybridge.’ Glen smiled. ‘Forgive me for worrying! You two are fantastic!’ // It was just past seven when a dog walker left the quiet of Rose Street in Edinburgh, moved along with hurrying morning people on Frederick Street, and crossed the busy Princes Street into the Princes Street Gardens. They had just turned left when they saw the first signs of teams who were dismantling the town project’s campaign locations: two multi-tent installations, a dining table around The Ross Fountain and all the way to the Ross Bandstand with cooking spot along the way. ‘It’s a shame you’re packing,’ the dog walker said, a little later, to three middle-aged people who were storing cooking gear in wooden boxes. One of them looked up: ‘You’re right. We had a great time.’ The dog walker nodded thoughtfully. ‘What would it take?’ ‘What would what take?’ ‘Keeping the table. Staying connected out here. Strangers cooking, eating, laughing and scheming together?’ the dog walker returned. All three helper had stopped packing and were looking at the dog walker now. One of them replied: ‘My guess: it’d take a group of committed people, twelve, twenty-four, who say: This is our park, we can use it. This is our city, we can take our meals together. This is our world, we can shape it together.’ Another of the three nodded. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the town project would be happy to —’ In this moment, another walker passed them, her radio turned to full volume. ‘—Dragonfly. It’s Dragonfly Time. First things first, my dear friends. The notorious town project wraps all their campaigns today. And what’s a wrap without a wrap party, eh? So, get your fingers busy on the Hub and find a wrap party near you. Parties are happening all across the UK, in Europe, and I hear even further abroad. All parties for kids start at three. All parties for adults start at eight. I’ll be hosting a wrap party at the Gorgeous, tickets are for free but limited, so get yourself a ticket, and let’s celebrate the challenges the project confronted us with, the encouragement they showered on us, the inspiration and courage they stirred for a world that works for people and planet. And now, MUSIC.’ The walker had stopped with a grin, seeing that the dog walker and the helpers had all been listening. Now, with a nod, the walker said: ‘I’ll be at the Assembly Rooms party. Should be fun. Good day to you.’ ‘Should be fun! Good day!’ the dog walker said with a smile and, addressing the helpers, he added: ‘I’ll go see a few friends. Maybe we can reclaim public space for us locals, for our community — even for our future.’ // It happened some hours later, in the middle of the press conference in the town project’s museum in the Front House. Alice was answering a journalist’s question when Any, the head of THE, cleared his throat via the coms, and Alice stopped talking, knowing that Any would only interrupt her if he needed her immediate attention. ‘This is bad news,’ Any said. ‘But not as bad as it might sound.’ ‘Spit it out, Any!’ Alice returned, noticing that the journalists were getting alerts on their phones. ‘Well, the British government just ordered the police to protect the Jellybridge Estate.’ ‘Protect?’ ‘To keep the town project from starting to build. The government sent two hundred police officers. Some are at the train station, others at Jellybridge House, and some at the actual building site.’ Alice swallowed. ‘Do we have enough toilets and food for them?’ Alice asked, and she could hear a smile in Any’s voice when he returned: ‘We’re working on it. Presently all is friendly. But I thought you should know. I guess your journalists will know by now, too.’ ‘It looks like it. Thanks, Any! I’ll get back to you later.’ ‘Yep.’ Alice inhaled, meeting the enquiring eyes of the journalists. With a little nod, she said: ‘Ask me. You with the red shirt, go first.’ ‘Will that be your only reaction to the police presence at Jellybridge? To provide toilets and food?’ ‘I don’t know, yet,’ Alice returned. ‘Maybe I’ll send the government a thank-you note for making a spectacle that gives our project more publicity.’ Some of the journalists chuckled. ‘To be honest,’ Alice continued, ‘I don’t know what to make of the news. But this is a blatant waste of taxpayer money, and a lack of respect for the police. Anyone who knows anything about my town project knows that there’s no way we would start building without a deal with the government. If this is an attempt to discredit our project, to spread fear of us, then I hope that you, the media, will not jump on that train. I hope that you will choose to point out who we are, what we stand for, and that fearmongering is way out of place.’ More questions and answers followed, some sympathetic, others bent on amplifying the government’s stance that the town project could not be trusted and needed to be kept under control by two hundred police officers — and very likely more. // After the press conference Alice, Heather (media), Raiden (simulation), Skye (care) and Navarro (society) left the town museum together. The click, click of Heather’s white stick echoed on the stairs, and Heather said to Alice: ‘I’m sorry if I sound a bit harsh, but you’re too friendly to the press.’ ‘Hm. Do you mean I shouldn’t assume that there are still some original thinker among them?’ Heather smiled a little and returned: ‘I know that encouragement works. But I think much of the writing population is overdue a scolding, or even a shouting at. They’re not only telling lies, bending reality into clickbait stories which have no other aim than to achieve nothing, to stall, to distract, to keep us stuck in a world that makes no sense at all. Alice, much of the media have sold themselves to people who, to quote you, “have no imagination, no vision, no courage — if they had, they would build the world not drain it!”’ Alice grimaced. ‘You want us to—’ ‘—to build a mirror big enough so they have to look into it, no excuses, no bloody wriggling out, but seeing themselves clearly for the hollow, destructive, self-important pencil-slaves and fairytale megaphones they have become.’ ‘Could we get our town first?’ Heather grimaced. ‘Yes. I’m just saying. You — and I love you, Alice — but you sounded like a fool when you asked them not to take their cue from the government. Sometimes I think, the media have lost every sense of what is real, what is happening, even of how much damage they cause with their thoughtlessness. And for what? To make a few people richer and to cause more harm for themselves and their families? It’s all so damn crooked and— is this the door?’ ‘Yes,’ Raiden said and opened it. A fresh breeze made them all shiver a little, and Navarro said: ‘I’m with Heather on this. We’ve been kind to the press these past weeks. Very patient. But it’s billionaires who have highjacked the media, people who have a one-and-only view of how the world should be, and they want the media to reflect their private views. These billionaires are cowards who control the narratives they believe serve them. The media isn’t free.’ Alice grimaced, shaking her head. ‘I don’t get it. We had a room full of human beings, and you tell me that they’re all happy to serve some narrow-minded worldview which serves no one, not even those who earn a lot of money with it?’ Skye nodded. ‘I agree, Alice. It’s incomprehensible. But I think Tilly is right when she says that our brains are makers of reality. Most of these media people and most of the rich people have wired their brains in a way that they believe they are the smart guys, the guys who get it, the guys who have all the answers.’ Navarro snorted. ‘That’s actually true for— probably for the majority of people. Most people are convinced of the reality which inhabits their minds.’ ‘Not us!’ Alice countered. ‘We know about the brain. We know that reality is shaped by the stories and narratives we decide to inform us, which are never fixed but in a flow. Our minds are always curious, always exploring, expanding and changing the shapes, colours, smells of our realities.’ Navarro smiled. ‘So long as we’re afraid of getting stuck, we should be fine. I think not getting stuck requires the decision to keep shaping reality, actively pursuing expanding our minds, without pause.’ ‘You think I’m afraid?’ Alice asked, frowning. ‘In a good way, yes! Don’t dismiss it. Use it.’ ‘Hm.’ Heather sighed, the clicks of her stick echoing in the archway which led to the narrow street between the Front House and the Central Building. ‘You’re right, Alice, — and Navarro. But— I don’t know. Hearing you speak like that, Alice, I got angry. I thought, this isn’t right. We treat the media as if we aren’t seeing them, as if we’re blind to the fact that they betray people and planet every day with every bleeding half-truth and every bleeding lie, and every bleeding half-cooked statement, assumption, revelation.’ Skye opened the large glass door into the atrium of the Central Building, and Raiden said: ‘I agree. But we need to focus on our town. To start a fight with the media now won’t help.’ ‘But maybe it would,’ Heather retorted and stopped just inside the atrium. ‘We said the final days are our letting-our-hair-down days. Why should we pretend that the press doesn’t need a rethink, that ripples news isn’t a new media model, one where corruption, watering down, catering to opinions doesn’t find room — because we’re not about adapting to anything, we’re about rethinking?’ Skye touched Heather’s arm. ‘Why does this upset you so much today, Heather?’ Heather grimaced and shrugged. ‘Not sure. I think today was that drop that got the kettle to overflow. And— what if it’s not just two hundred police officers at Jellybridge but two thousand, tomorrow? What if the government decides that that’s still not enough, and they find an excuse to shut us away in prisons? Look, none of you is from the UK. This is my home. Wales is my home. And it sickens me that this is possible. That a government that calls itself democratic can simply deploy the police when we pose no threat at all, when we have been doing the government’s work for weeks now, bringing people together, inspiring them to get active, to rethink, to work on solutions. I don’t understand!’ Heather’s tears were running fast now, and Skye hugged her, saying: ‘I think we need a sanity break.’ Alice nodded. ‘How about a stick fight?’ ‘I AM BLIND, Alice!’ ‘I know, Heather. But you have a stick. You have a feel for it. I’m sure you can use it in a fight. We could try.’ Heather shook her head, wiping her eyes. ‘Would you really let me try?’ ‘It’s the best I can think of right now. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll just hop around and do some shadow boxing to get some of that frustration out of our systems. And after that I’m going to Jellybridge.’ ‘What?’ several people protested, and Skye said: ‘We’re all going to studio three now. I already texted Tilly. But you can’t go to Jellybridge, Alice. We need you here!’ ‘We need to reassure the Building Site Team, talk to the local police, and do a last check, see whether everything is ready to start building as planned.’ Skye shook her head. ‘I insist on a sanity check. We can only get through the coming week if we budget our energy.’ ‘Whose idea was this bleeding sanity check?’ Alice retorted. ‘Yours!’ ‘Bloody abyss!’ Raiden smiled a little. ‘Alice, we can do the final checks in the first days of the building phase. We’ll be fine.’ ‘The first days of the building phase,’ Alice mumbled. ‘Tell me, am I the only one who believes that we will actually start building in eight days, right after midnight?’ ‘Not going to happen,’ Skye said and Heather chuckled. ‘We’ll have to suffer the groundbreaking ceremony in the morning before we can start to build.’ Alice smiled lopsidedly. ‘That’s a point.’ // Some six minutes later, Heather had her first go at stick fighting and excelled. Navarro and Raiden tried, too, but ‘can’t say I feel the magic,’ Navarro remarked, frowning, and for a while Navarro and Raiden watched Heather and Alice, and Skye and Tilly fight with sticks. // About an hour later, Alice and Jazz called one of the  police officers at Jellybridge, they had met before. The officer was worried about the developments and couldn’t make any promises regarding what would and wouldn’t happen, but she sounded friendly, thanked them for the exemplary cooperation, for the support at the estate, and for the call. // By this time, the fifth London march in support of the town project was already underway, and speeches were given at several locations. At the stage on Trafalgar Square, Seth, head of business liaisons, spoke in the name of all town project businesses and announced that all businesses would close from tomorrow on in support of the town project and to participate at the marches across the UK. Only some Hub applications would still be usable, such as the phone and the Hub Campaigns Square. // Meanwhile dismantling the campaign locations was ongoing: pop-up tents, gardens, stages, parkours, galleries were disappearing while many props were on offer for free, and the big food giveaways had the Mayor of London grimacing again while he was perusing the campaign highlights on ripples news. // At the same time, some journalist eagerly read the first hints about tomorrow’s central topics: the body and sexuality, and the first began to post their speculations: ‘Is the town project losing it? What does sex have to do with the city?’ ‘Town project so focused they dive straight into the primordial soup of where it all began – with the egg of course.’ ‘Body and sex? What are they on about now?’ ‘Is there no topic the town project won’t touch?’ ‘Apparently, the town project forces employees to talk about sex in their so called sex talks.’ ‘There’s a rumour about a penis trauma. Is the town’s cock too small?’ ‘Has the project lost it’s marbles?’ ‘Town project wraps campaigns to unwrap our bodies and talk about sex — what could possibly go wrong?’ ‘Body and sexuality to get the Jellybridge Estate? Where’s the focus in that?’ ‘Wrap today, unwrap tomorrow, town project is always good for something.’ // When the stick fighters met with the other team members again, after a shower and a change of clothes, and this time on the seventh floor of the Central Building, Heather read the comments and frowned. ‘Maybe we should have given them a few more hints?’ Skye shook her head. ‘Let them speculate. That means their brains get a warmup.’ Navarro chuckled. ‘And tomorrow their grey cells will screech to a halt and look around disorientated?’ Skye nodded. ‘Sure thing. I can’t believe I get to open our final week.’ ‘No one was eager to get on your team,’ Troy remarked. ‘That’s OK. I can do body and sex all day on my own. You lot have enough to prepare for the other days.’ Robin nodded. ‘I’d like to go over the publications for the community day, in particular our bridges from the focus on the individual to the focus on the community.’ // While most of the Campaigns & Negotiations Team continued with the preparations for the final seven days, Jack and Dennie were at their fifth or sixth meeting with Princess Felicitas and her various acquaintances. So far they had met three rather pleasant friends of the princess. ‘To ease you into the day,’ the princess had remarked just before the friends arrived, and added: ‘You look marvellous, Mr Dennie!’ ‘Thank you, princess. I was tempted to dress up, but then it seemed most appropriate to be authentically me.’ ‘You succeeded marvellously. No one could possibly mistake you for someone else — unlike some of the people you’ll meet today.’ At the second meeting were eight ladies of some lords who all ignored Dennie, doted on Jack and talked about gardening in ways that made it hard for Dennie, Jack and the princess to keep straight faces. Next was a delicious brunch in the breakfast room with twelve socialites, among them members of the royal family. The food offered plenty of topics, and while the town project and the campaigns were rarely mentioned, the parting was friendly and sounded supportive. The next guests, fourteen wives of MPs, already waiting in the music room, were a challenge, giggly, doting on Jack, laughing at Dennie, exchanging the latest gossip, and apparently not a little interested in the town project. ‘That’s pretence,’ Princess Felicitas remarked afterwards. ‘It was a mistake to invite them in a group. I forgot just how much they reinforce the worst in them when it’s only them. Don’t despair Jack Harris, Mr Dennie, you’ll like the next group.’ That was true. They were in the impressive library, old bookcases on the walls of a room shaped like a four-leaved shamrock, plus a gallery which could be reached via two winding staircases set into the wall. There were five low bookcases, shaped like six-petalled flowers around the centre of the spacious room, and an arrangement of seven sofas and armchairs around a coffee table made from three tree trunks plus roots. On the coffee table stood towers with snacks, sweet and salty, cups for tea and glasses for water and juice, teapots, water jugs, juice jugs. The nine guests were elegantly dressed, friends of the princess, three married women, all artists and philanthropists, and their teenage daughters, plus a professor, a scientist and a journalist. The scientist was in a bad mood because the head of her faculty had issued a directive that every scientist had to hand in a roadmap of how to reestablish trust in science. ‘They want me to make people believe in science. Believe! Are we a religion? No! I speculate, do my research, maybe use or develop a scientific model, make my case, my peers take a look at my results, and might or might not confirm my conclusions. And the next day, or the next month, I will discover a new question which will allow me to dig even deeper into the issue, and if I’m lucky I’ll discover something new, maybe contradict my previous findings, definitely keep asking questions, keep digging. There’s no room for believes! There’s just an invitation to take a look at the findings and join the explorations! That’s what I like about your town project. It seems determined to dig up pretty much everything, give all soils an airing. It has people crying out, but I say: go for it! There’s too much dust and crust, and people sitting on theories only because they can’t face that they might only have discovered a fraction of what they defend as truth. Sorry, Felicitas! I’m so angry. And Jack Harris, Mr Dennie, I only hope the town project will never stop focusing on finding questions. Answers cause far too much trouble.’ Jack was about to say something, but the rebellious daughter of one of the artists countered: ‘Aunty, you’re wrong! People need to trust science, or they will never stop the destruction of our planet! We need science to understand how much damage we cause with fossil fuels, pesticides, plastic.’ The scientist snorted. ‘I don’t need science to see and, in fact, sense and smell the difference between soulless, bare cities and a forest. I don’t need science to know that we’re served shitty foods. I only need to take a look at what lands in the toilet. I don’t need science to know that the sort of lives most people lead are negative for their mental health. We know exactly what’s good for us, and what’s harming us.’ Dennie forestalled the rebellious daughter’s retort, saying: ‘I’m sort of siding with you both.’ ‘That should be interesting,’ the scientist smirked. ‘Mr Happy Jumper.’ Dennie smiled lopsidedly. ‘It’s obvious that the world as it is doesn’t serve anyone. But the sick world is so normal that we need scientists to provide the background to understanding what we’re doing and what we can do differently.’ ‘That’s what I mean!’ the rebel said. ‘People are so— so convinced that things can’t be changed, that things must be suffered, that the bad guys will win anyway. But that’s a lie! Fairy tales! We can decide to live, to thrive, to restore. And scientists can help us understand what we need to change and what we need to restore.’ The scientist sighed. ‘You’re making a good case. I still don’t want anyone to believe in science. I want people to use scientific data to critically assess their situation, and I want people to think for themselves not simply parrot what I or someone else wrote. And most importantly, I want people to keep questioning everything they hear me say because by God, there’s still an awful lot we don’t have the slightest idea about. You know, Jack Harris, that’s something I’d like the town project try to do: to create an environment where thinking, expanding, questioning is the norm, not answers, not parroting, not revering. Just the plain fun of keeping an active, inquisitive mind well fed.’ Jack smiled. ‘It’s on our list.’ ‘Good! Very good!’ The curly-haired journalist narrowed her eyes. ‘What I’d like to see is a big broom to sweep out bias, the bias in science and in scientific circles. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr Dennie?’ Dennie smiled sheepishly. ‘As a non-scientist, it’s easy for me to agree to pretty much everything I know nothing about.’ Most guests chuckled. ‘Mr Jack Harris?’ the journalist asked. Jack frowned. ‘Bias is something we address in all sorts of areas, but I’m presently unaware whether bias in science has been discussed.’ ‘Will you put it on the list?’ Jack smiled. ‘Done!’ ‘Thank you,’ the journalist said. ‘I really wonder whether your town can have the sort of ripple effects that will help this country, and the world at large, to sit down and start to think.’ ‘Or stand up and start to think and shape,’ the rebel said. The professor frowned. ‘If the town can keep the energy from the campaigns, maybe its possible.’ ‘Or,’ said the youngest of the daughters, ‘it’s a question of people coming together in the streets. Those dinners and breakfasts, the dancing and debating, this getting out of our separate homes and actually doing stuff together and thinking together, that was something else and maybe that’s what could make change possible.’ ‘But do we want change?’ the oldest of the daughters returned. ‘We have a good life. We haven’t been this powerful in decades. Why would we spoil our advantage?’ ‘FOOL!’ the rebellious daughter spat. ‘We have achieved nothing with our bleeding class system, nothing with hoarding riches, nothing but destroying the basis of life and making people so miserable that we can’t enjoy going into the city because everywhere we see frustration. We don’t need to be super rich. We don’t need to hold people down. But we need air to breathe, food to eat, water to drink, and we’ll be better if we see smiling people in the streets.’ The former speaker shrugged, and the grey haired mother of the rebellious daughter said: ‘There is something unconventional and thorough about this town project. I like that. And they know how to party. That’s something. What worries me is that we’re losing. My foundation has been supporting environmental activists for over a decade, but they lose. I don’t understand why.’ The journalist straightened in her seat. ‘They don’t know how to work together, not on the left. And they don’t dig deep enough, don’t think it through, always stop halfway — if they get that far.’ Another of the artists chuckled. ‘They are funny, so convinced of their agendas. I’m preparing a project where I want to ask three established activists to explore with me what it would take to step out of their bubble, to expand on what they know. My thinking is that if they can figure out what keeps them so blockheaded, what keeps them from evolving, then they can use this knowledge to make the evolution of the mind accessible to their foes.’ ‘Hm,’ the third artist said. ‘Will you use your video art or will it be paintings?’ ‘Both, I hope. I’m in contact with a neuroscientist who might cooperate for some brain imaging which I could then use both in a video installation and for some of the paintings.’ The scientist grimaced and said to the journalist. ‘I think you’re right, the left doesn’t know how to work together, how to boost and support each other, how to overcome their self-righteousness and their paranoia. Bloody hell, our pride is our downfall. That’s one of the few things the bible got right.’ The journalist nodded. ‘On the other hand, we live in a period of time with enormous potential. Things are so bad that all existing systems are exposed as damaging, and that’s the first step towards change.’ ‘But how to bring people together?’ asked the grey-haired mother of the rebellious daughter. The journalist put her head to one side. ‘There are two easy ways. The old way is that of having simple answers for every given subject, answers everyone in a group accepts, reiterates, reaffirms. That’s the way of religions, of the right, and I’m sorry to say of the very rich. In fact, you can find a tendency towards simple-consent answers in any group where everyone knows all the right answers, and the people within a group can constantly reassure each other.’ ‘What’s the other way of bringing people together?’ the third daughter asked. ‘It’s a way that has never been tested in larger groups, but I’m certain it would work: exploring together.’ // By this time, Davie and Kuruk had arrived at the Compound for the KIDS WRAP PARTY, in the courtyard of the Front House, and they were queuing at the fruits bar, chatting. ‘I’m not worried,’ Kuruk said. ‘Today we have fun, and tomorrow we march until they let us build our town. They can’t beat us. Not when we all march.’ Davie nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’m just— Isn’t there something else we can do?’ Kuruk shook his head vehemently. ‘We need to focus! And we need to make sure everyone is out on the streets like all the time. They can’t say no if we are there all the time.’ ‘What if the police comes and puts us in prison?’ ‘They wouldn’t! We are children! They would never send the police after children!’ ‘But Rose and Kyle aren’t children any more.’ ‘Davie, you worry too much! We do what we can, as loud as we can, as persisting as we can, as long as we can. If they don’t listen to us or if they send the police, then they are wrong, and no one should have voted for them. How did the world end up with so many politicians who are no good for anything?’ // ‘How did we end up in a world made up of bloody useless stories?’ Alice asked when she reached Raiden, on the seventh floor of the Central Building. Raiden smiled and pushed a second chair in front of his desk, saying: ‘Too few challenged the stories, and fewer people offered alternatives which captured the imagination of many.’ Alice shook her head and sat down. ‘But why? No one is happy with the world as it is. Many see that we are destroying the very basis of our existence by depleting and destroying nature. But the only thing this knowledge seems to achieve is a growing mental health crisis.’ Raiden turned on his monitor, remarking: ‘I wonder whether it’s the PR campaigns and the constant showers of advertising that have dulled people.’ Alice frowned. ‘Someone treats people to a PR campaign, and people will treat them like a salesperson. But if we invite people to explore with us, they might discover their thinking minds?’ ‘That’s my hope.’ ‘Can our town counter the overdoses of PR and marketing campaigns? Can our town inspire to become an active part of the shaping process?’ Raiden smiled. ‘I think it can.’ Alice smiled a little, too. ‘Good. Then let’s go over the latest report from Jellybridge.’ They did and learned that all tent towers were up and fully equipped with tents, sleeping bags and storage boxes, ready to be moved to building site. Facility tents were ready to be put up, all equipment had arrived (medicine, toilets, showers, stoves, dishes, etc). The horse population had been increased to 390. Some 6.000 bicycles and some 6.000 cargo bicycles had also arrived. Half of them were parked at the train station, the other half in the courtyard at Jellybridge House. 124 wagons were ready for use. These would need 248 horses while 142 horses were available for riders. Plus, the recruitment of workers and helpers was completed, as were the working schedules for the first month. Three quarters of all machinery had arrived, most of which were parked around the train station. And two thirds of all materials for the first weeks were stored at the train station. Alice looked up from the report and smiled. ‘Now I get why the government is panicking. We’re ready to roll.’ Raiden smiled. ‘Yes, we are!’ // Not much later, most of the Campaigns & Negotiations Team met again to continue with their preparations for the upcoming days. They were still in the middle of their discussions when the wrap parties for adults began across the UK. // About two hours later, Alice spoke with Any to discuss security measures for the final week. ‘That sounds good,’ Alice said after about an hour, ‘on the final day we’ll be ready to leave for Jellybridge.’ ‘My people will stick to you like glue. You’ll be safe.’ ‘Thanks! By the way, how are the police at Jellybridge doing?’ Any grimaced. ‘Having a rough time. Not the project’s fault. The Building Site Team look after them, but they’ve been told not to accept anything from the project. Of course, Betsy isn’t having it and has heaps of food handed to them, sometimes doing it herself. She knows some of the officers.’ Alice chuckled. ‘Let’s keep repeating the offers so they know we refuse to get cranky only because they’re fools.’ Any smiled. ‘I’ll pass it on. On a different note, some critics say that the project stirred important discussions and leaves before the actual work is done, which leads some to suspect that you never meant to have these conversations and just wanted the attention.’ ‘Hm. That’s a valid point. We wouldn’t have done the campaigns if we weren’t in need of the public’s support. But in our town we will continue these conversations. Maybe we can set up some teams who pick up the campaigns’ thoughts where we left off. Independent of us. In April. We’d just provide the means for people to keep exploring, to keep thinking and to start shaping.’ Any nodded. ‘You could make the simulations available.’ ‘Good point. And I’ll add a personal gift: a lunch tree for every town and city which participated during the campaigns.’ ‘Not sure that’s a good idea. It might count as bribery.’ ‘Then I’ll give a lunch tree to every capital on the planet.’ ‘Still bribery.’ ‘Not when I keep the idea to myself and do it on the first of April!’ Any chuckled. ‘That might be seen as a joke.’ ‘The second of April then!’ ‘That could work.’ // Some minutes before midnight, Jack and Dennie returned to the Compound, and Dennie moaned: ‘Have I ever been this exhausted?’ Jack yawned, shaking his head. ‘Not in a while. Bloody hell, the last party sort of topped it all.’ ‘The things I do for the town … Glad it’ll be all marches from tomorrow on.’

© Charlie Alice Raya, book 4, building, 2025