“What’s happened?” Gotthard leaves the bulky equipment on the floor with utmost care.
“We are running behind schedule on the Wikipedia batch.”
“Let me guess, volume five thousand and sixty-one.”
“Yes, the machine assigned to that goahdamn volume is misaligned, I think. But sometimes only. It’s bizarre. Could you take a look?”
Gotthard shrugs. “Sorry, but as you can see, I’m very—”
“It’s urgent, Gotthard. These ten Wikipedia volumes are the most important commission of the year, and the merchants are expected to sail up the Rhine in three days’ time. And now the whole goahdamn night shift decides that they would rather go to the Festival. We are in trouble.”
Gotthard snorts. “We should have stuck to Lord of the Rings.”
Colder van Althuis smiles dryly, and sighs. “All right, I’ll pay you double tariff. But please don’t fail me. This is important for Lunteren.”
“Oh, and now you are using the Lunteren in danger card. Is this the Colony Elder speaking?” Gotthard asks with a faint smile. “Or the man?”
Colder van Althuis laughs warmly. “For you, my dear boy,” he reaches out and places his hand on Gotthard’s cheek, “it’s always the man.”
Gotthard takes a slow step forward until their bodies touch. He leans his head toward Simon’s ear to whisper, “I could really use the karma.”
Colder van Althuis laughs. “Always the romantic.”
“But not now,” Gotthard separates from Simon and gives the equipment on the floor an eager glance. “Tomorrow I’ll do a double shift, okay?”
“Fine.” Colder van Althuis seems pleased. “And you can tell that Siever friend of yours that he’s welcome as well, since he’s always visiting you up there,” he looks up at the tower.
Gotthard laughs. “Perhaps he will. You’re not jealous, are you? He’s helping me with…” He gives a vague wave of his hand.
Colder van Althuis smiles at him for a few seconds before replying, “My young boy, I don’t care what you do, or with whom, as long as I have your full attention when I want your full attention.”
Gotthard smiles dryly. “Always the romantic.”
The tower room is dark, cold and moist. Ximena folds her arms with a chill while her eyes adjust. A lit electric lamp tries to drive the darkness into the corners, not quite succeeding. The inside of the tower is spacious, especially upwards. A steep, wooden staircase by the bricked wall leads to a higher floor—presumably to where the bells used to call the faithful in pre-Goahn times. The ceiling is but a thin separation made of raw, fragile wooden boards with dim sunlight filtering between them.
Gotthard is leaning over a work bench that extends along the entire wall, soldering a metallic object to an electric circuit. Ximena wrinkles her nose at the sharp solder smell. The room looks like the hobby garage of an electrical engineer with little social life. Machines and components of an electrical nature litter the space.
A knock on the door startles Gotthard. “Gotts!” a muted voice calls from behind the thick door. “It’s me!”
“Greetings, Rutger,” Gotthard says. “One second.”
Many seconds pass while Gotthard keeps working on the circuit.
“Come on!” Rutger knocks again, impatiently. “If Colder van Althuis sees me, he’ll try to recruit me.”
Gotthard leaves the solder on the bench with a bad-tempered sigh, walks to the door and turns the key.
“Finally!” Rutger says, entering the room. His cream-colored tunic is simple, but made of a fine, silk-like fabric. A gomen—the wide, black, ornate belt of the redeemed—surrounds his narrow waist. “I brought you the battery,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose, as Gotthard locks the door.
Gotthard takes the heavy metallic box from Rutger, and turns it around in his hands, inspecting it carefully. “About time!”
“You’re welcome.” Rutger rolls his eyes. “We should head off. The streets are already packed, and you should see the Forum, mensa. It’s like the whole Geldershire is there. If we don’t hurry, we’ll not even fit.”
Gotthard nods, absentmindedly. “Hmm, yes. This should kick enough power.” He walks to the bench and carefully places the battery box on the surface.
“I really hope so, because that thing wasn’t cheap.”
“Nor are the gadgets supplied by Speese,” Gotthard says, pointing at the long metallic pole-and-cable that Colder Simon had handed to him, which was lying on the floor. “Good that your Elders were so receptive to our suggestion to make a generous contribution to science.”
Rutger scoffs. “I still can’t believe that worked. They’re more easy-going in dreams, I can tell you that.” He stares at the mingled electrical equipment, most with their guts wide open, cables poking out and connecting to neighboring devices. “If they knew what we are really doing here…”
“They know,” Gotthard says. “A radio telescope.”
Rutger chuckles. “To communicate with a colony lost in space centuries ago.”
“Hey,” Gotthard says with a shrug. “We’ll aim our telescope to the heavens and see what we discover. If it happens to be the Lost Colony, and they reveal that a killer asteroid is on its way, then…” He spreads his hands in a gesture of innocence. “That’s how science works, mensa. Research. Publish. And change history.”
“You know I hear you, Gotts, I really do. But I think you put too much faith in humanity. Whatever we find up there,” he points a finger at the ceiling, “I don’t think anybody will listen. Certainly not aws Head. And I even have my doubts about the scientists.”
“Scientists will listen to the truth, no matter how inconvenient, because we can only survive by dealing with the truth. Oh,” Gotthard’s face brightens, “and in the process we will win the marai trial. After all, there’s nothing more beneficial to humankind than, well, not dying.”
“Speaking of the marai, maybe Qoh and the others can help us with the asteroid.”
“Maybe. And maybe not.”
“Why wouldn’t they? The marai always say that they want us to thrive.”
“I don’t know, mensa,” Gotthard says, shaking his head slowly and looking at an empty space on the wall. “We don’t really know their truth, do we? I’d rather
