Jimena: Phew! They're gone.
Lucy: Your father's materials proved useful.
Lucy: It will not take long to finish these repairs and make some adjustments. We will still be able to perform another test flight tomorrow.
Jimena: So, it's not all bad news. Still, I have something to tell you.
She stops, hesitating to continue.
Jimena: I'm leaving Lisbon.
Lucy: I see. And your flying machine?
Jimena: Leave it be. I'll take it and our drafts to the New World and continue the project there.
Lucy: So, you have no further need of me, then?
Jimena: That's not what I meant.
Lucy: If that means the project can be completed without further distraction, then I suppose I should welcome it. Congratulations, Jimena.
The mechanical woman stops her work abruptly and turns to her would-be test pilot.
Jimena: I've made a deal to secure my way out of here. I'm going to the beach; there'll be a boat waiting for me there.
Lucy: And you will be going to the New World? That would be unwise.
Lucy: You have access to many more resources here in Europe. To start over in New England would cause unnecessary delays.
Jimena: And you'd have me stay in Lisbon? Where I could be arrested at any time?
Lucy: So, you will leave? Even if that puts the project in jeopardy?
The mechanical woman's words sound like an accusation.
Jimena: I'll take all the materials with me, and our drafts. A delay, maybe, maybe a long one, but nothing I can't handle. I'll be fine.
Her confidence fades.
Jimena: Besides, this is my father's legacy, MY FATHER'S, not yours. You're only here because of him. This is my decision to make, it's my dream—our dream ...
The words taste like a lie.
She's scared.
Lucy: Your father built you a dream. Just like Mr. Watt's done for me.
Lucy: He wanted me to leave the laboratory to meet more people, to listen to them, and understand their ideas, their imaginations.
Lucy: He believed in the power of human cooperation. That an idea could be passed from hand to hand, like a torch or an ember, across generations.
She points at the core of her body, that very idea had come to life in her.
Lucy: Thanks in part to our cooperation, our project has already come so far from where it started.
Jimena: That's true. But things have changed. If there were some glimmers of success, something I could hold on to, maybe, but ...
Jimena: What's the difference between six seconds and nine?
Lucy packs the wings wordlessly and walks to the door.
Jimena: Lucy ...
Lucy: The wind is nearing optimal conditions. We should seize this final opportunity to test our work before you go.
Lucy: With our current technology, wind alone will not provide sufficient force to lift a human in a sustained or directed flight.
Lucy: But a controlled glide may be possible, with the right materials.
Despite knowing that they will soon part, the only thing they can speak about is their project.
Jimena: Like a windmill? Or a water wheel? Will it use steam, like your power source?
Lucy: Perhaps. A steam engine would generate a great deal of force, but it would be far too heavy to be feasible.
Lucy: There is one more option: arcanum.
Jimena: You mean arcane skill? No, absolutely not!
She goes pale, as if the idea had conjured some long-forgotten nightmare.
Lucy: I know. Arcanum could not be a long-term solution.
Lucy: It would be impractical to have an arcanist stand by for every flight, after all.
Jimena: I don't think you really understand what other arcanists go through in this world.
Lucy: What do you mean?
Jimena: As you no doubt heard from those soldiers, my family were smugglers. Or, really, all we did was predict the direction of the wind and sea conditions, for fishermen, sailors, and for smugglers, too.
Jimena: My father was guiding a ship out. He went with them this time, I guess, to buy some fancy new materials. But something went wrong. There was a storm. The survivors called him a "Jonah." They decided it was his fault.
Her face falls, looking stuck somewhere between anger and grief.
Lucy: Your father did not control the weather; he only predicted it. He should not have been blamed. That was ignorance, superstition.
Lucy: Like sailors that refuse to look back as they leave port. Their motions have no true impact on the safety of the ship. It is only a mistaken belief.
Jimena: You don't understand, Lucy. They do it because looking back means that you are not ready to leave. And the sea is quick to punish those that cannot face it.
Lucy: The sea does not punish. It has neither feelings nor intelligence. It cannot know, nor would it care, what the sailors do.
Lucy: Superstition is only a false comfort.
Jimena: But a comfort they'll still value against the vast and unpredictable sea. We can't help ourselves, humans and arcanists alike.
Lucy: But it has no value at all. How much effort and time is wasted on these useless ceremonies? It could be more efficiently used for securing ropes or advancing marine technology!
Jimena: A sailor can't do his job properly if he's thinking of home. If nothing else, people gain courage from their beliefs.
Lucy: They would be able to feel more courageous if they focused on gaining experience, and properly utilizing technology. Everything else is simply mechanistic fate. Luck, not belief.
Random luck at that. It couldn't be controlled, only computed.
But as luck would have it, at that moment, lights spring up from the other side of the beach, carried by soldiers moving swiftly toward them.
Soldier: There, on the beach!
Jimena: No! No, the boat is late.
She realizes as she says it: it isn't late; it was already gone, along with any other boat that has a chance of getting through the tightening blockade.
Jimena: Where are they?
The panicked arcanist scans her eyes across the sea, picking out distant shadows of sails speckled against the horizon.
They must be a mile out from her and gaining distance fast.
And behind her, marching boots thud over the sand, gaining ground just as quickly.
Lucy: There is still something we can do.
Lucy: Let me see the machine.
True scientific achievement will have to wait, but this will provide a temporary solution.
The light of arcane skill flashes as Lucy's piston starts to churn. She pours out a blast of steam, causing the wings to stiffen and change into an iron-gray metal.
Jimena: Wh-what is this? You never told me you could do anything like this!
Jimena: What did you do to it?
Lucy: This may be strong enough to keep you in the air, but I cannot make any guarantees.
Jimena dons the now metallic wings, flapping them like a fledgling eager to take off.
Lucy: Control your altitude, and aim as best as you can for the nearest boat.
Lucy: You must lie flat and keep your body parallel to the water.
Jimena: What if I fall?
Lucy: Then they may catch you, but you will be caught if you stay here.
Lucy is right. There is only one way out, and she must take it. Nervous feet find their pace. She runs toward the sea.
Extending her wings, she leaps with all her strength up and over the water.
Lucy: Arms open, body flat, and stay balanced.
Jimena: Lucy!
The wind lifts her up surely and steadily.
Jimena's stomach churns as she makes for the horizon, chasing toward the bare outlines of masts against the setting sun.
From the beach, there is no more sign of the little pilot. No way to know whether she landed safely. Against all odds, the mechanical woman finds herself hoping her friend did not look back.
A seabird skims over her from the darkness of the sea toward the lights approaching from the beach.
Jimena's flight is a little unsteady at first, but she flies. No one can take that from her now.
Lucy: She has flown the coop, gentlemen.
Soldier: And you just let her go?
Lucy: I am under no obligation to catch her. Besides, how could I?
Soldier: Ay! Find her! Swim if you've got to! Vamos!
The soldiers pay the woman no mind as they rush up the ridge to get a better view, nor does she mind them. Her little bird is long past where they could reach her.
Though arcane skill was not how either of them had envisioned achieving it.
The mechanical woman heads back toward the city walls, lost in thought, scarcely noticing the blaring horns ringing out across the port.
Lucy: We have tried so many designs.
Lucy: A variety of materials, shapes, structures, countless formula adjustments, and yet only arcane skill proved sufficient—a shortcut—one wholly unreliable in any practical application.
Lucy: They had made so much progress, only to part without a solution.
Jimena. That frightened little bird—she could not blame her, though she wanted to. All this so she could escape and leave her with nothing, not even a working theory.
Crackling shots ring out from the beach, the soldiers firing vainly into the sky as their captain rages. But Jimena is well beyond sight now, and the reach of their shot.
As if to bring her back to her senses, a tiny crab crawls out of the sand and snaps at her feet.
Lucy: Hmm? You want me to step aside, am I right?
Lucy: Your chitin is certainly harder than most things, but no match for metal. An arthropod of your size simply does not have the size or strength to damage me.
She catches the crab gently, scanning it for a moment before allowing it to scurry away into the sea.
It disappears beneath the waves, just as her friend did in the evening sky.
Never to come back.
Lucy: I let you cheat. But to find a real workable solution, there will be a price to pay.
Lucy: It will take time, determination, and courage.
Lucy: And now you chose to give up, Jimena.
