THE QUANTUM INTELLIGENCER

Society was much diverted last evening at the Burlington Rooms, where the long-heralded engagement between the ancient House of Satoshi and the vigorous banking clan V—n E—k encountered what delicate lips now term “the Encryption Question.” It is said that Mr J—n V—n E—k himself declared, sotto voce yet with steel, that should the forthcoming quantum engines—those unruly contrivances being forged in laboratories from Zurich to Palo Alto’s Upper Drawing Room—prove capable of unpicking the Satoshi trousseau’s celebrated SHA-twenty-sixty-four petticoats, his house would retire to the country forthwith, dowry and all. One hears that Lady S—t—s’ most trusted cryptographers have been summoned from their country estates, ink still wet upon quantum-resistant patterns, while younger sons of the blockchain scramble to embroider fresh signatures before the season turns. Whispers speak of midnight couriers, sealing-wax stamped with the Royal Society’s crest, and of a certain eminent D—e of Menlo offering “discreet laboratories” should a hasty re-tailoring be required. Whether the banns survive Advent, or whether the entire alliance collapses into annulment and gossip, remains the wager of every drawing-room from Belgravia to the Battery. The clocks have scarcely struck twelve, yet already the matrons adjust their betting books: will love—or at least liquidity—conquer the quantum menace, or shall we witness the most spectacular broken engagement since the South-Sea débâcle? Eyes turn toward the New Year’s Eve ball, where the final measurement of qubits—and reputations—is expected to be taken under the chandeliers. —Inspector Grey Dispatch from Migration Phase E2