Aline snorts. “You are being naive. You think you can do something so big, with no consequences? They’ll cleanse us for starters if they catch us.”
“They can’t! Aws Compacts protects us.”
“They’ll wipe their asses with aws Compacts and our sacred rights if they catch us, Edda. Come on, you are always the cynic; you know your history better than I do. But now you’re just fooling yourself. Or worse, trying to fool me.”
Edda walks in silence, the weak afternoon breeze playing with her hair and tunic. A horse cart passes by on its way to the market, loaded with shellfish on ice. Ximena eagerly sniffs the lingering fresh smell. The driver shouts a curt “Happy Days of Lights, Juf Edda!” but Edda ignores him, too lost in her thoughts.
Ximena can feel the conflict burning in her mind. Aline is right when she says the risk is real. But the goahdamn Century Festival taking place in Lunteren is so… improbable. No, improbable doesn’t even begin to do justice to the chances of this opportunity happening naturally. Edda was not kidding when she said that it is as if Goah wanted it. And what else is there on the table, anyway? What could they do that that could have even a fraction of the impact? They are out of ideas. No, they must seize the chance, risks be dammed. You have to crack an egg to eat it, don’t you?
“There is risk, sister. You are right,” Edda finally says, her voice a notch graver. “But this is bigger than any of us. Imagine a world without Joyousday, Aline. We could begin something here. Something that could have unimaginable impact in the lives of millions of people one day. Ideas spread like fire when the straw dries of hope.”
Aline shakes her head slowly. “Have you heard the Quaestor’s sermons recently? I can tell you, she is not in the mood for… extravagances.”
“Extravagances? That’s how you see my dad’s Joyousday?”
Aline sighs. “You know I don’t. It’s not so simple, Edda. You know I support you—with all my heart. My mom… I tried to convince her… Our home is so empty now. You can’t…” She looks down, unable to speak.
Edda places her hand on Aline’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry—I really am. I loved her so much. I miss her too.”
“I know.”
They walk in silence. The breeze brings the salty fragrance of the sea, clearly visible now at the end of the road, the sinking sun timidly reflecting on its pale-blue surface.
“But the Quaestor…” Aline breaks the silence. “It’s such a big deal now, with the Festival and all… I’m scared.”
“Of course you are; you’re not stupid. You don’t think I’m not shitting myself too? But we must be brave—this is bigger than us. And they won’t catch us. Impossible. And if they do, I’d assume responsibility. I swear to Goah, you know it’s true.”
“And how are you going to convince them that you, a schoolteacher, knew how to build such a machine? From books?”
“Well… Of course!”
“I’m sorry, Edda, but this is too risky.” She turns to meet her gaze. “No goahdamn Path in the Shadow is worth losing you as well—I’m sorry.”
Edda gives her friend a long, cool glare. “So, I’m supposed to take that shit? I’m supposed to say, ‘Fuck it, too dangerous?’ Too risky to save my dad? To even try?”
Aline sinks her head and keeps walking in silence.
“I helped you and Piet with that action on the barge—no questions asked. I fought and killed that asshole alien. I risked my own qualification in the trial. Only for you. Thanks to me, you are in the final trial. And now it’s my turn! If we win, if we learn how to persuade, I can convince my dad to stop his Joyousday. You had your chance with your mom, Aline. Sorry to say, but you were too… timid. It’s my turn, and I will not be timid!”
Aline keeps walking in sullen silence.
“It’s my turn, goahdammit!” Edda says, tears showing in her eyes.
Aline looks at her, but says nothing.
“Shit, Aline…” She begins to weep. “My dad… Please…”
They take a few more steps in silence, Edda trying to control her sobs—and failing.
Aline suddenly begins to cry as well. “I couldn’t… convince her.”
“I know,” Edda says. “I’m so sorry!” And they embrace each other. A long, tear-filled embrace.
After unceremoniously drying their faces on their sleeves, they keep walking towards the noisy harbor.
“Hans is awake.” Aline caresses the toddler on Edda’s back who is looking around the open field with big, curious eyes.
“No wonder, after so much drama—he’s the sensitive type, like his mother.” Edda smiles, her eyes still sad. “Isn’t that Piet’s boat over there?”
Aline turns to her friend and grabs her with both hands. “Okay, I’ll do it!”
Edda’s eyes grow wide. She gapes at Aline, speechless.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Aline continues, wetting her lips. “We are doing this, Edda. We’ll take the Century Festival by the balls. I’ll build the fucking machine, on one condition.”
“Anything!”
“Promise me we are not doing this just for us.”
“I promise!”
“Swear by Goah. I need to know that the risk is worth it. Tell me we are making a difference here, Edda. That this really is bigger than us.”
“It is!” Edda places her right hand over her chest. “I solemnly swear by Goah. We are not doing this for us. We are doing it for the people.”
“Look me in the eye, Edda. We are not doing this just for your dad, are we?”
“I told you already, Goah’s Mercy! All I want is a better world.”
Twenty-Five
Aline’s Machine
“What’s taking so long?” Edda asks.
Aline shrugs, and bites her lower lip with impatience as she paces the infinite stone floor of the staging permascape. They are alone this time in the eerie emptiness of the nothing-dream.
“Remarkable,” Rew says.
Edda and Aline—and Ximena—jump at the suddenness of her soft, female voice. She has just popped into existence next to them, and is floating an inch over the dark, polished stone
