Chronicles From The Future: The amazing story of Paul Amadeus Dienach

Seeing that junction of major arteries and the ragioza with all those huge and heterogeneous vehicles, I felt like I was saying goodbye to all those idyllic suburban cities and the beautiful landscapes forever, only to return once again to the large, industrial city-centres of modern life. Trying to hold back my tears, I waved goodbye while the other three did not seem to mind leaving all this behind in the least. They were so overwhelmed with joy and anticipation for our arrival at the Rosernes Dal that they couldn’t think of anything else!

I asked Silvia if she was feeling tired due to the very few hours of sleep she had had the night before. “Not at all!” she answered. “I only wish we could get to the Streets of the Palaces sooner!” The Valley of the Roses was the only thing on her mind at this point. We stopped over at the junction of Dareja for a while. If you take the “Walk of the Vikings” southwards, stopping at this junction is compulsory. We’re a mile’s distance from the hill behind which Silea is hidden. We are now very close to the artificial river that flows through the other side of the valley. As a matter of fact, we reckon that at dusk we’ll be seeing it flowing on our left-hand side.

I didn’t know that Dareja was such an important transport hub. It is necessary to stop here if you want to take one of the ragioza to travel either eastward towards the Hungarian plains, westward, towards the Swiss lakes, southward, towards Liguria, or even if you want to cross the Adriatic or the Aegean Sea.

The population of Dareja is about 3.5 million, with two-thirds of it being permanent residents. Not at all big, that is, considering its world reputation as “the state of the great technicians” and the crucial role it plays in transportation worldwide. It is true, however, that its technical and technological civilisation is unparalleled. Its old laboratories and institutes keep operating with the same pulse and vitality as before. Polytechnics still attract hundreds of thousands of students from all parts of Europe and their settlements and considered the embodiment of taste and moderation. The Naira and the Fierlan, two artificial tributaries of the Silea, which basically look like canals, run through the oldest part of the city in symmetrical lines. The buildings are majestic but perhaps too symmetrical and uniform both in terms of construction and colour, since they’re all painted in alternating shades of yellow ochre.

Dareja is the centre of automation. It is the Mecca of southern Europe, in relation to its technicians. It was with Dareja’s own designs that the Silea was created, and it was Dareja’s wise men that made the construction of the glaciers of Small Giostendal possible. It is the city whose schools gave the world a Yarl, a Boyer and a Karl Hornsen—something like our Curie, Lavoisier, Fermi, Max Planck and De Lesseps.

Hilda told me that, in terms of purely spiritual civilisation, Dareja can’t compare to Markfor, Anolia or Blomsterfor. It never had the same long tradition of spiritual creation. And she said that the changing times and the downturns in technology often hurt the pride of this great and glorious state. Dareja is now a follower rather than a leader…

It’s breaking dawn. The huge bronze Vikings that have given their name to the motorway flank the road. The sight is spectacular! Throughout the whole trip the ragioza hasn’t touched the ground! It’s going so fast that it feels like it’s flying! Stefan says that the ragioza

is only three inches above the asphalt of the autostrada, but that’s enough to protect it from any contact and therefore any friction with the road surface of the Viking motorway. That’s like magic considering the weight of this “flying-boat” that speeds like lightning!

It is now morning. If it were up to me I’d stop for a while. I noticed that the vegetation had been gradually changing, an indication that we were approaching the Mediterranean Sea. “And yet we are still far away,” Stefan corrected me. Sometimes I forget how different everything is from what I remember, how much it has changed…

Cypress-apple trees, linden trees, elms, jujube trees, then fruit trees, then century-old plane trees beside the streams and further down endless rows of azaleas and tall, silvery poplars. The smell of the air brings back memories from my childhood field trips. They so dearly touched my soul back then that I remember every detail and I swear that the air smells and tastes exactly the same as then! I can’t put in words what a magical feeling it is to know that I have been here before and that I’ve been given the chance to return to this life: it’s a feeling of triumphant happiness, awareness of my unique destiny, a divine feeling of gratitude!