The scene switches back to the Forum, where Willem and Bram are engaging in casual conversation with neighboring families, while Edda keeps mostly to herself, only giving a polite nod to the occasional greeting.
But she is burning inside. Ximena can feel it in her guts. She is constantly mustering her Walker discipline to rein in her emotions, deep breath after deep breath, diluting the tension into raw awareness—focusing on the now.
The crowd of colorful colonists surrounds them all the way to the edge of the Forum, and to the streets beyond. The music hammers loud and stimulating. People dance, clap, laugh, and shout words of celebration into each other’s ears.
Mark points a finger at the central stage on the Eye’s terrace, attracting Ximena’s attention. An attractive man is walking forward to one of the standing microphones.
“Aaand… we are back!” the man says, his perfect teeth sparkling under the spotlights. “This is your Master of Ceremonies, Alwin Geissberger, transmitting live from Lunteren, in the beautiful Geldershire of the Dutch Province.” His expertly smooth voice—multiplied by loudspeakers scattered around the Forum and neighboring streets—electrifies the crowd to even higher tiers of frenzy. He wears a tunic of flamboyant design with metallic undertones and splashes of screaming colors, and a hat that looks like a fountain of red, yellow and green jelly.
“That was Consul Levinsohn live from Fulda. We thank you, Consul, for your inspiring blessings. In this corner of the country we are surely inspired, aren’t we, mensas?!”
The crowd roars across the Forum. Across the colony. Ximena exchanges a nervous glance with Mark. She feels like she is really there, next to the Van Dolahs in the crowd, about to witness history first hand.
“I wish you were here, Germania. Oh, I wish you could see this. The wonderful people of Geldershire are having a very good time indeed! Make some noise, Geldershire!”
The crowd goes mad, as Alwin’s laughter bursts over the loudspeakers.
A technician approaches and hands him a mechanical clock. He takes it in his hands, and his smile brightens.
“The time has come, mensas. I’m afraid the twenty-fifth century refuses to wait any longer. Three minutes to midnight!”
The crowd cheers. Thousands of beaming eyes stare at the colorful man. Edda’s—and Ximena’s—breathing quickens. Edda quickly reins hers in, her training kicking in. Ximena can’t.
“Colonists of Lunteren,” he puts a hand around an ear, as if to hear better, “call your Quaestor, if you please!”
The Forum goes mental, clapping, cheering the name.
Marjolein! Marjolein! Marjolein!
The rhythmic call bounces off the far-off buildings and reverberates across the Forum, hypnotically, entrancing.
The calls turn into screams of delight and awe as Quaestor Marjolein Mathus enters the stage, radiant, sure of herself. She takes her place beside Alwin in front of a second standing microphone.
“Aaand… here she is, Germania! The one and only Quaestor of Lunteren, Marjolein Mathus. I wish you could see her. Whoa, resplendent! Lunteren is flooded with Goah’s Blessings, if you know what I mean.”
The crowd laughs and cheers. Edda and Bram glance at their father. Willem is blushing.
“Germania,” Alwin continues, “it is my honor to receive the new year—the new century!—by the side of Quaestor Marjolein Mathus of Lunteren. Her impeccable organization has made this magical night possible. Aws Head is blessed to have such talent in aws ranks. Get used to that name, mensas. Goah is smiling upon aws Servant. Marjolein, please.” He reaches out to adjust the microphone in front of her down a notch, and then flips a switch.
“Thank you, Alwin.” Her voice echoes across the Forum, warm and practiced. “Aws Blessings to you, Germania!”
The crowd goes crazy once more, cheering and chanting her name, drowning the Forum in a tsunami of pride, fanatical reverence, and adoration of their Quaestor.
Alwin leans slightly to show Marjolein the clock that he is holding in his hands.
“Ninety seconds to midnight!” Marjolein says. Her voice, vibrant and clean, echoes across the colony-wide loudspeaker system. “People of Germania, the time has come to bid goodbye to the twenty-fourth century with one last prayer of thanks. Please join me, as we are truly blessed.”
The enthusiastic chaos of the Forum turns slowly into a background murmur of devotion as many heads bend down in reverence.
“God Of All Humans!” Marjolein calls. “Your children cherish you. Your children love you. We rejoice in your Blessings. We thrive in your care. Oh God Of All Humans, we thank you for our lives, for aws Gift, for aws Compacts, for aws Head, for Pontifex Fahey in Townsend, for Imperator Cisek in Tczew, for Consul Levinsohn in Fulda. Thank you, oh God Of All Humans. And bless our missionaries in the twenty-fifth century, to spread aws Gift and aws Imperia into every last barbaric corner of the world. Praise Goah!”
“Praise Goah!” the crowd shouts as one.
Marjolein is beaming, her smile practiced, her eyes focused. “Germania, join me in the century countdown!”
A mix of screaming and hushing engulfs the crowd as the last seconds of the century tick along. The thousands of heads that fill the Forum to the brim sway like waves on a troubled sea, swept by the invisible hurricanes of exhilaration.
Ximena leans forward, eyes
