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

your human creativity and navigating the intricate relationships that govern human behavior can you hope to achieve what we marai can seldom do.”

“So we need to make something happen that is, what, disrupting you said?”

“Indeed.”

“Like what?”

“The nature of your scheme you shall decide with your partner, Redeemed van Dolah. Do choose wisely. It ought to be something that you can accomplish inside the allotted time—twenty-four days—and that showcases considerable potential to improve the sorry state of human civilization.”

“Improve civilization… So, say, like people living longer—that would be a good thing, yeah?”

“That would be a good thing indeed.”

“And if we all do well,” Edda gestures with the hand at Gotthard and the Smooks, “who determines the winner?”

“I shall, human,” Yog says, her empty eyes locked on Edda, who blinks and takes a step back.

Gotthard lets out a laugh, his hopes heightened, and shouts at Edda, “Don’t think killing that alien was so smart, huh, dowry sister?”

Twenty-Four

Sardines and Tears

“Okay, people,” Miyagi says, pacing the stage, hands on his back. “We all know what trial project Edda and Aline finally pursued, don’t we? It surely left its mark in history.” He chuckles softly and raises his head to meet the eager gaze of his students. “But I want you to see the scene where they finally commit to it. Bear with me, please. It’s not long.” He smiles apologetically at Censor Smith, who gives him a polite nod.

The auditorium goes dark with a gesture from Miyagi to Ank. A sight of the colony of Lunteren from the air fills the amphitheater with vivid intensity. It is a bird’s eye view, sliding gently over the tiled roofs and backyards of the settlement. Ximena sees considerable movement on the streets—hats, colored robes and winter tunics going about their business. She bets it is more busy than usual these last days of the year, with the Eleven Days of Light in full swing, and the Century Festival just around the corner. She can almost imagine the frenzy—the excitement—in those tiny figures below.

The scene slides down, closer to Lunteren, to its western district. A large square, close to the busy road that leads off to the harbor, is teeming with colonists: an open-air market at the peak of its activity. Like a placid pigeon, the amphitheater lands at the edge of the market into the smell of fresh fish and horse sweat, and the shouts of merchants and hagglers.

Two chatting teenage women—Edda and Aline—walk into the market from one of the narrow side streets. Both are wearing ankle-long winter tunics. Edda’s is bright white, in stark contrast to her dark skin, and Aline’s is pale blue. Both wear external belts, but Edda’s is black, thick and ornate, braided from dyed leather strips. A gomen, Ximena recognizes: the belt of a redeemed. Not in much use anymore, not even in the GIA. Each of the girls carries a sleeping toddler on their backs, wrapped in flexible, warm cloths.

“Come on, I want to surprise him!” Aline smiles in anticipation.

“Chill, mensa! You’ll wake up the babies.”

“I don’t know about Hans,” Aline caresses the sleepy toddler on Edda’s back without slowing her pace, “but Goah knows an earthquake can’t wake Alida from a nap.”

“Wait till she ends up on the ground in the middle of the Post Way from all your trotting. Take it easy, sister—Piet is never so early. We’re bound to make the harbor before he docks.”

They must slow down as they begin to cross the market, which is teeming with people, the mood frantic. The girls navigate through the crowd with practiced skill, trying to avoid the busiest stalls. The smell of fresh fish intensifies, as does the noise of commerce. Many of the haggling clients are children under ten, and wear trousers below their shorter tunics. Edda and Aline head towards the street on which occasional pedal carts loaded with even fresher fish make their way into the market.

“Hold on. Oh, the smell—too good to resist. One second, yeah?” Edda stops in front of a small cart displaying a range of fried fish of diverse color, size and texture. “Aws Blessings, Elder Reckers. Happy Days of Light. How much for the sardines?”

“Happy Days of Light to you too, Juf Edda.” The man, already over twenty, thick black beard, tall black hat, bows politely.

“I’m not your Juf anymore,” Edda says with a broad smile. “Just call me Redeemed van Dolah, like everybody else.”

“Goah’s Mercy, so formal. You’ll always be my Juf, Juf Edda.” He smiles with the charm of the merchant. “That’s nine karma each, twelve with bread. Just came in. These sardines were still in the water a few hours ago.”

“Any for you?” Edda asks Aline, who shakes her head impatiently. “Then make it one—no, two, please. No bread.”

They exit the market on the road to the sea. The sun on their faces hangs low over the sapphire shallows that sparkle beyond the harbor. As they walk out of the colony, the outer fields of Lunteren open on both sides, stretching for miles along the coast. The fields to their left, closer to the colony, are covered with black solar panels, white wind turbines and cylindrical metal structures. Further down, on the right side of the road, a few large industrial plants grow like tumorous contraptions.

“Careful!” Edda says, mouth full of sardine, gesturing at a hasty horse and cart that approaches them head on. They stand aside as the cart trots by towards the colony. The load is crudely covered with canvas, but they can easily make out some items beneath: there are speakers, cables, microphones, even a guitar. “See?” Edda says. “The Century Festival, it is going to be big, sister! This is an opportunity we just cannot let go.”

“Is that why you slept with Consul Levinsohn?”

“Hey!” Edda almost chokes. “For the last time, Goah’s Mercy. It was in a dream, okay? That doesn’t count as sex.”

“Fact is,” Aline points back at the receding cart, “you brought the Festival to Lunteren.