It's quieter than she imagined.
Lucy: A kite.
Lucy: She may be right to consider that ...
After checking the materials are still in reasonable condition, the mechanical woman begins to reimagine their design with the elements of a kite.
Lucy: Widen the bottom.
Lucy: Narrow the top, and yes, we get a triangle.
A wider rigid base should improve their ability to catch the wind.
She writes down her idea and looks over the design draft that must have been left by Jimena.
Lucy: That would allow the air to pass above and below the wings to improve lift.
Lucy: But what if the wind's heading changes abruptly?
She writes down the question, pondering over the words a while, before drawing a long curve along the draft.
Lucy: A feather tail to maintain balance. That may work.
The mechanical woman begins planning out the construction, when an anxious voice breaks the silence of the room.
Jimena: Lucy!
Lucy: Jimena?
Lucy: Calm yourself. What is happening?
Jimena: They've locked down the whole port now!
An escalation, but not an unexpected one.
Lucy: I see. So? What does it have to do with us?
Lucy: They can stop ships, Jimena, but they cannot stop the wind.
Lucy: Let us just continue our work for now. Tomorrow, we will go to the beach and have another try.
The mechanical woman's determination is unchanged, even as her companion wavers. True flight must be achieved.
They are heirs to a legacy that began in sketches from that enigmatic Italian genius, passed down through centuries, now standing on the cusp of realization.
Jimena: Now there are even more soldiers on the streets. Lucy, I-I'm afraid ...
The future of their project hangs on a thread.
Lucy: What is it that you are afraid of?
Jimena: That they'll arrest me, Lucy! And only God knows what else, if I stay too long. That I'll never fly—Never reach New England.
Jimena: Ah, if I had only gone with Fernando when he left ...
Lucy: Are we just going to leave these materials behind?
Rough-wrought metal pipes, wood, coal, leather ... All kinds of materials prepared for the project, all lying hidden beneath this ruined place.
This cathedral is a scar, a victim of the civil war that had swept through Lisbon not a few years ago. And even in this relatively intact cellar, it is far from an ideal workshop.
Lucy: I believe that would not be a wise choice.
Lucy: Mr. Murdock is very supportive of your father's project, as is the LSCC.
Lucy: It was your father's letter that brought me here.
Lucy: We have had few ideas as groundbreaking as this in LSCC since Mr. Watt passed.
Lucy: James Watt. Some of my colleagues see him as my "father." I had been part of his steam engine before my awakening.
She remembers the strange thrill of her first moment of awareness, welcomed by a chorus of steam and whistles.
Jimena: Then I suppose he was in a way, don't you think? We're all built by our fathers, in one way or another. I remember how my dad lifted me up high into the air. He said that someday we'd fly into the sky together.
Jimena: It's a beautiful dream. But, he's gone now. He traded his life away for nine seconds.
Jimena: I'm not sure that trade will ever be worth it.
Lucy: Jimena, every second we have spent off the ground is a startling achievement. Not just for you and your father, but for all of history.
The little inventor frowns, weighing the costs of her dreams and her anxiety for the future.
Jimena: So then, do you think I'll be able to use this to fly away and escape across the ocean?
Lucy: No.
Lucy: For the foreseeable future, the only way across the Atlantic is by ship.
Jimena: And with the port locked down, there's really no way at all.
Jimena: Wait, there may still be a chance!
Jimena: I have to speak to someone; I'll see you on the beach tomorrow.
She scarcely finishes her thoughts before she's bounded up and out into the streets.
Lucy: Jimena!
That's what she has been like—a gust of wind—always moving, flying too fast to see what lies ahead.
Silence returns, broken intermittently by the rhythmic scratching of pencil on paper.
Lucy: A lighter alloy could lower the weight without reducing structural strength.
Lucy: Aluminum.
It would work perfectly, if only the material were not beyond unaffordable.
Lucy: No. Not worth further consideration.
Lost in her thoughts, Lucy manages to miss entirely the squad of soldiers as they enter the ruins and find her alone.
As she marks down measurements and theories, they at last announce their presence.
Soldier: You, woman, where is she?
Lucy: Could it wait for a moment? I am in the middle of some calibrations.
The soldiers surround her, yet she takes little notice.
Soldier: Please, senhora. We don't want to cause any violence under God's roof, even in its current state.
Soldier: We only need to know where the smuggler's daughter has gone.
Lucy: The secondary joints will be under the most stress, that will limit our maximum wing span. Unless, we might add an additional set.
She marks a spot on the draft with a circle.
Soldier: You're testing our patience, senhora.
A dagger pierces through the circle on the draft, pinning it to the table.
She raises her head to meet the man. Jimena was right. He bears a striking resemblance to a snarling dog.
Lucy: There is no one else here.
Lucy: Who were you looking for again?
Soldier: The smuggler's daughter!
Lucy: I am afraid you are what is the phrase: "barking up the wrong tree?"
Soldier: No more funny business, senhora. Give me her location, now!
Lucy: A logical impossibility. I cannot give you what I do not possess.
The soldier draws back the dagger roughly, ripping the draft apart.
Lucy picks the pieces up and calmly begins puzzling them together.
Lucy: Please leave.
Lucy: You are wasting your time.
She can sense their hesitation; their snarls starting to sound a little more like whines.
Lucy: All I have here is pencil and paper. There is nothing else, senhor.
Soldier: What about this, huh? You call that nothing else?
The young soldier seizes the winged contraption, then throws it to the ground.
Like a bull unleashed from its pen, he stomps over any breakable piece he can find.
Soldier: She's not here. Let's go! Vamos, rápido!
Her uninvited guests file out, tails between their legs, leaving the mess they've caused behind.
Wordlessly, the wings are picked up from the ground and placed onto the table. It will be repaired, just as it had been many times before.
The mechanical woman draws out some spare materials and begins her work.
