Dreamworms Book 1: The Advent of Dreamtech by Isaac Petrov (drm ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Uh, sure,” Aline says, and smiles, thoughtfully. “We could even try to end the coal trade in the Hanseatic Imperium.”

“Now you’re talking!” Pieter says, eyes beaming. “And why just in our Imperium, huh? We could clean all aws Imperia from filth, can’t we? Where’s the limit?” He takes an orange-colored fluffy cookie from the table and gnaws on it. “Wow! This is good!” He chews slowly, and gapes at Aline. “You did this?”

She playfully slaps his shoulder again. “So hard to believe? Gastronomy runs as deep in the Speese family as engineering. Unfortunately, it brings less karma.”

“Oh, fuck!” Pieter says, his eyes squinting at something behind Aline. She turns to see a male teenager of their age approaching with a smug smile. Light brown skin, short black hair—and attractive. Ximena recognizes Gotthard instantly. He is dressed in a fine orange tunic, same as the darker-skinned toddler sitting on his shoulders looking around at the colorful festivities with large eyes.

“Aws Blessings to you,” he says.

“Aws Blessings,” Edda and Aline reply at the same time. Pieter remains silent.

“Impressive achievement yesterday, Edda. I wasn’t sure that dream was, well, just a dream. But now…”

“Not too bad, huh?” Edda says with a wink.

Gotthard turns his attention to Pieter and gives him a long, studious glance. “I was surprised to see you and your brother there too. I wonder what the marais saw in you?”

Pieter shrugs. “Ask them.”

“And what are you doing here? This is a specialist district.” He walks closer to Pieter. “Shouldn’t you be catching some fish or whatever you smelly rat boys in the fishing district do?” He has taken a napkin out and waves it mockingly over his nose.

“I go where I goahdamn want,” Pieter says.

“I don’t know what you see in this rat boy, Aline,” Gotthard says as he hands her a folded piece of paper. “A woman with your talents should have standards.”

Aline unfolds the paper and nods absentmindedly as she gives it a superficial glance.

“What’s that?” Pieter asks, trying to peek.

“Nothing,” she mutters, folding the paper and sliding it in her pocket. “Professional secrecy.”

“You working with this… elitist worm?”

Gotthard walks past Pieter like he doesn’t exist—no, like he doesn’t matter—and leans to inspect the small shrine set up next to the table. The shrine, on top of a piece of tree trunk, is made of freshly cut lush-green branches, decorated with shiny balls of different colors. The open front reveals the inside: an orange cloth, possibly silk, with a pile of metallic flat pieces.

“Not much karma left,” Gotthard says. “I hope the Quaestor is more generous this year with the engineer families—we scientists have doubled. I can put in a good word, if you like.” He turns his side-smile to Pieter. “You and your rat brother better catch many, many fish this year, Ledeboer, because aws Head never has much karma left for rat families.”

Pieter, face flushed, walks his massive body right in front of Gotthard, their faces mere inches from each other. Pieter, a head taller, stares with bloodshot eyes down into Gotthard’s amused gaze.

“Goah, the smell!” Gotthard covers his nose with the napkin. “Makes me almost hungry.” The toddler sitting on Gotthard’s shoulders reaches out to Pieter’s blond hairs, grabbing them with a giggle.

“Ouch!” Pieter takes a step back, safe from the infant’s curious hands.

“Leave that, Gerrit!” Gotthard says, raising his right hand to caress the toddler. “You just had your bath.” He points at the large speakers, loud disco music merging into the street celebrations. “Goah’s Mercy, Speese. Stop that noise or change the tape.” He shakes his head theatrically. “What’s that, the Bee Gees?” He chuckles. “The 1970s were a lost decade.”

“But that’s when we were exploring the moon,” Aline says in a musical, ironic tone. “You like space, don’t you, Gotthard?”

He side-smiles back at her, but says nothing.

“Very true!” Edda says. “What was that story in the summer about? Oh, yes! One of the old space colonies, apparently still has people living on it, yeah?”

“Oh, yes, I remember the story,” Pieter says. “The meteor colony!”

“Asteroid colony, hick,” Gotthard replies, smile frozen in place, a spark in his eyes. “And there was nothing apparent about it,” he says, turning to Edda. “There really is a lost colony. Still alive. I heard the radio traffic myself.”

Aline laughs. “There were warnings about the end of the world, right?” She points at Gotthard. “What was it all about? The end of the world is nigh, over,” she mocks, enjoying herself. “A meteor will destroy Earth in a hundred years, over and out.”

Aline and Pieter laugh wholeheartedly, while Gotthard stares at them, keeping the smile on his lips, but not in his eyes.

“How did all that end?” Aline asks between laughs.

“They also sent a picture,” Gotthard says, his voice barely audible over the loud music. “My contribution was the software that rendered the image.” He looks at Edda, his eyes dark and sad. “The faces—they were old—Old. One glance, and aws Head declared them demon-ridden and banned all further communication.” His gaze is lost somewhere behind Edda. “Heresies… they called it, the ignorant zealots. And then, they covered it up, like it never happened. I couldn’t believe it! They just…” He waves a hand, and sighs, “No, there’s no surviving colonies in the solar system, they said. All colonies were abandoned to their fate during the collapses and starved out centuries ago, they said. All lies. Dangerous, dangerous lies, that damn us to extinction.”

“Lies, huh?” Pieter points a finger at the toddler. “You better get your shit together, mensa, for your son’s sake.”

“Okay, enough everybody!” says Edda with a loud clap. “Pieter, stop being such an asshole. And you,” she turns to Gotthard, “take your snob ass somewhere else, yeah?” She steps forward and caresses the toddler tenderly, who giggles in return. “What a poor example for Gerrit.”

Gotthard smiles to her and mocks a bow. “As you wish, dowry sister,” he says, and walks away.

“Wow!” says Aline. “You play that idiot like a guitar. How can you have