*
A shivering waif stood thigh-high in snow, her eyes plaintive, her mood despondent. She wore a threadbare shawl that clearly belonged in warmer climes. [1] Behind her, the buildings of downtown Shenandoah watched dispassionately as the wind’s sinister fingers toyed with her hair.
Horvil watched the billboard with open-mouthed awe. He loved advertising. [2]
This particular display had sprouted up all over Shenandoah like a tenacious weed. It dogged his footsteps from the tube station to the suburban tenements and peeked out at him from the viewscreens in the shops he passed along the way. When he returned to London later that night, it even fertilized his dreams. The helpless waif, crying out in terror.
It wasn’t until Horvil returned to Shenandoah for an important meeting two days later that he thought to read the weepy cursive unrolling beneath the image:
DON’T LEAVE SHENANDOAH TO THE MERCY OF THE ELEMENTS
Tell Your Representatives to File a Weather Blueprint Today!
Jara was unimpressed. “This is the ad you wanted me to see?” she said. “That’s just unbelievably crass.”
“But effective,” retorted Horvil.
“Horv, governments love to squabble about the weather. That’s what they do in the fall. It’ll take more than melodrama to get them to agree to anything.”
The engineer shrugged. “Never underestimate the power of crassness.”
And then the two fiefcorp apprentices were on their way.
Horvil was right. The Environmental Control Board’s adver [3]