“You really think we can win?”
“Of course, mensa. If we communicate with the Lost Colony before the deadline, the prize is ours.”
“I would sure as Dem be more optimistic if we grab that Path in the Shadow by the balls. Then we could persuade the Pontifex herself to listen to us.”
“It’s happening, mensa,” Gotthard says with a wink. “Have faith in science. Now, make yourself useful and take that upstairs,” he says, pointing at the metallic pole-and-cable on the floor. “Screw it to the rest of the antenna. I’ll test the oscillator in the meantime. The sooner we are done here, the earlier we can head to the Forum.” He turns his attention to a thick, open book resting on the bench, covered with diagrams.
“Ah, sweet!” Rutger leans down and takes the device in his hands. “For a minute I thought you didn’t want to go to the Festival.”
Gotthard gapes at his friend. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” He chuckles as he lets his eyes fall back on the book. “I bet my ass that whatever Edda and Speese have up their sleeves is happening tonight.”
Twenty-Seven
New Year’s Eve 2399
The auditorium seems to dissolve in a chaotic mix of loud dance music and the tantalizing mingling of smells—sweet cottons, fried corns, toasted breads, thick syrups, hearty sausages. A bird’s eye view of the colony at night sparkles across the amphitheater, gliding gently over the packed streets and squares. Ximena gapes at the sheer overkill of electric light, and at the bright dynamism of colorful hats and tunics; most dancing, many laughing, some singing. Everybody—absolutely everybody—is out on the streets tonight.
Lunteren is celebrating like it is the last day on Earth.
The heart of the celebration, where the swarms of light and color seem to converge with the leisurely but sure way of rivers winding into the sea, is the largest public open space in the colony.
“The Forum of Lunteren,” Miyagi says. “Following the classical Goah’s Gift tradition for colony fora: an extensive public area on the colony edge, in direct connection to nature or wilderness. In Lunteren the Forum extends almost five hundred yards across and, as you can see,” he gestures with a finger at the long line of trees where a pitch-black forest begins, “more than half of it directly borders the Veluwa woods.”
The music, singing and shouting grow louder as the scene glides down over the Forum. It is a flat red-bricked extension able to comfortably host thousands of people, which tonight have claimed the space with bustling enthusiasm. On the far eastern side, next to the Veluwa woods, a large, oval building towers over the Forum like a castle over a medieval town.
“That is the Eye of Goah,” Miyagi points at the dominant structure, “the heart of the Forum, and aws Head’s administrative presence in the colony. See all those annexed rooms and low buildings around the main body? Offices, residences, barracks, archives, storage—you name it. You know how the raw power of the Pontifex flows out of Townsend and spreads throughout the rest of the world? Well, an itsy-bitsy piece of it,” he brings his index and thumb together, “ends right here.”
The scene is already floating close over the heads of celebrating colonists, and Ximena can make out the individuals as they shout and laugh with exuberant joy. Most dance, and jump, and yell like spasmodic maniacs to the thumping, live music.
The Eye of Goah building is surrounded by an elevated terrace, extensive and bordered by elegant columns. A large stage—flooded with blinding, blinking spotlights—dominates the central section of the terrace, beside a diverse assortment of electric equipment: microphones, colossal loudspeakers, radio emitters, knob-covered devices. To the right, a band plays hypnotic music. To the left, shaded from the spotlights, groups of finely dressed colonists with impressive hats walk and mix leisurely in sight of the masses below.
“Those up there,” Miyagi points at the elegant figures, “are the crème de la crème: aws Head’s top bureaucracy, the Colony Elders, industrial families—even Gotthard’s family is there. But the real action,” Miyagi pauses for effect, “is down here, with the commoners.”
With a theatrical wave of his hand, the scene lands right in the middle of the Forum, in the heart of the crowd.
“Here they are, the whole Van Dolah lot.” Miyagi points at Edda, dressed in a bright white-and-black-striped tunic framing her dark skin in attractive contrast. Beside her, Willem, wearing a white flat side hat, is talking to Bram, who is carrying little Hans on his chest, comfortably secured in warm cloths.
Edda is keeping to herself, a few steps away from the rest of her family, but her eyes shine with excitement. She throws anxious glances at the people around her and at the still-empty central stage.
“Edda, come over here, girl!” Willem shouts at her.
Without turning, Edda gives him a sidelong glance and says nothing.
“Edda, why are you being such a bitch to Dad?” Bram shouts over the crowd. “This is his last New Year’s Eve, Goah’s Mercy!”
Edda turns her head, a scowl on her face. “That’s precisely why!” she shouts back.
“Ah, here you are!” Quaestor Marjolein Mathus, parting the crowd with a wide smile, walks towards Willem. She is wearing the ceremonial aws Head’s purple toga, long and formal, and yet incapable of hiding the exuberance of her petite body. Her long hair falls in elaborate, golden braids to the middle of her back. She usually looks impeccable, Ximena admits, but she has outdone herself tonight.
“Uh, aws Blessings to you, Quaestor Mathus,” Willem says, his eyes locked on her. On all of her. He blushes.
She laughs, stands on her toes, and kisses him on the cheek. “Oh, come on, Will. I am not exercising office. Not with you.”
“How are you, Marjo?” he says. “You must be nervous.”
“I am!” She exhales a long breath. “I might not look it, but I’m terrified. Incredibly busy, you cannot imagine
