Episode 54
Travelling Light E054S02 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Fifty Four.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
20th Avam 851
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
The morning after the festival, I said my goodbyes to Jei, Magitso and Atsa. Their celebrations had continued long after I went to bed and they were all feeling rather delicate. So it was a fond but brief farewell, each of them looking rather queasy as they thanked me for my assistance.
I had half hoped I might run into Scarry again before I left. It would save me a deal of trouble if I could talk to him again immediately instead of having to hunt down his ship. But there was no sign of him in the sleepy, shuffling morning crowds.
I was left trawling through the departure schedule for the interplanetary port. The port is located in the city of Fiosach, far to the west of Mórhal, and has more off-world traffic than you might expect from a small moon like Clonarty.
Eventually though, I found her. The Guillemot, berthed in Dock 418-C – and scheduled to depart in a matter of hours.
Short of an actual miracle, there was no way I could reach Fiosach and speak to Scarry before he left. Instead, I sent a message via the Mórhal transit hub's communications office.
I sat for a long time, trying to find the words. Eventually, I plumped for the simple truth. I had looked up Asmoru Museum as he had suggested, and wished to discuss the matter further.
I explained I would be leaving Mórhal soon, but if he wished to arrange a meeting, I would look for a message from him at Fiosach Port. If not, I wished him all the best in his endeavours.
I took my time on the journey from Mórhal, stopping in Dorcha overnight rather than travelling straight through to Fiosach. I was in no hurry either to see Scarry's message or the lack of one.
If he did not wish to meet with me, I would waste no more time. I would head back to Kerrin, as I had always planned. The thought did not displease me. I do not miss Clanagh, precisely, but I miss my little room in the cottage. I miss Poki. Mostly, of course, I… I miss Óli.
It is not easy to send messages between planets, especially if you do not know precisely where a person is. Óli may not have been able to contact me easily but I have no such excuse.
I should have written sooner. Just to let them know how I am. Where I have been. That I miss them. That I think about them often. [laughing] And all the other nonsense things you say to a person you care about, just to let them know that you care about them.
When I was not thinking of Clanagh and of Óli, I spent the trip thinking of you all. It is strange to feel homesick for two places at once. Or rather, for two sets of people. I do not miss Emerraine very much right now, but I do miss you, my dear friends.
I worry- [sighs] I worry I have let you down. You sent me into the world on your behalf, to be your link to the galaxy. Your letters of recommendation are still in my pack, declaiming your faith in me and my ability to represent you to the world.
And what have I represented? Our faith in the Light that shines on all life in equal measure? Have I respected the people of Velosyn as my equals? My part in the theft and sale of their cultural artefacts may have been small, but I played it.
And what of our faith in truth as a form of the Light? When I was a child, if ever I did wrong and admitted it, my grandmother would praise my honesty more than she ever punished my transgressions. She said I was brave to pick the hard truth over the easy lie.
Ranaí lived up to these principles. He spoke his truth, whether I wished to hear it or not, and insisted on making me see the reality of the situation. I should have thanked him for his efforts to remind me of the lessons of my childhood which I seem to thoroughly to have forgot.
[sighing] I did not go straight to the port when I arrived in Fiosach. I dragged my feet, exploring the city until I could not put the moment off any longer.
There was long queue at the communications office, as one might expect in a busy port. As I waited, I tried to discern whether I was hoping to have a message from Scarry or not. I was still deciding when the clerk called me forwards.
I gave my name, and the clerk checked the records. It did not take long. She gave a satisfied nod, and smiled.
“There's one message waiting. Would you like a hard copy, or shall I forward it to your personal device?”
I took the hard copy.
Scarry's note was brief: the Guillemot and her crew were away on business. Once it was concluded, they would return to Glisco Port in the Banach Precinct. He gave a time and a date. I could meet them, or not. Either way, they would be leaving the Ionad System shortly after, with no plans to return.
I had hardly finished reading before I had made my decision. I left the comms stations, and went to book passage to Glisco. Then I found a quiet spot and wrote to Óli.
It was the 17th when I wrote – the day after I was supposed to be back on Kerrin. So first, I apologised. I told them I missed them, and apologised again for not writing sooner. I asked how their studies were going, how Poki was, asked them for all their news and all the news of our friends in Clanagh.
I explained that I would be a little while longer yet. I was heading to Glisco, and they should write to me at the port there if they wished to reply.
I told them I missed them again. And then I sealed the letter and marched back to the comms office to send it before I could get daft.
I arrived in Glisco this morning. There was no message waiting but I did not really expect there to be. With the distances involved, I would only have found one waiting for me if they had answered immediately upon receiving my own missive.
Tomorrow is really the earliest I could reasonably hear from them. I will check again in the morning, before I go to my rendezvous with Scarry.
I… did not mention Scarry to Óli. I know I was just talking about telling the truth but there is difference between dishonesty and tact! I will explain when I have the whole story and have had time to think through the wording of it.
I do not wish to upset them for no good reason. I do not wish to upset them, even for a good reason!
[sighs] I hope I am doing the right thing. Please, my friends, keep me in your prayers. I am trying to do right – by you, by Óli, and by myself. Only time will tell whether my efforts have paid off. I love you all, and will write again soon.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry AV85120-1. An afternoon of community entertainment in Dorcha.
Keywords: Dorcha; Clonarty; community; literature and media; occasions and ceremonies.
Notes:
It was muggy, overcast afternoon when I arrived in Dorcha, a small town roughly halfway between Mórhal and Fiosach. I asked at the station if they could tell me where I might find lodging for the night. They gave me directions to a bunkhouse on the far side of the mercantile district.
I had arrived in Dorcha on a rest day, and the streets were packed with people enjoying the shops and eateries – none of them particularly inclined to make way for a traveller laden with luggage.
By the time I reached the residential district, my cheeks were flushed and I was more than a little cross. I chucked down my bags and took a seat on someone’s garden wall to catch my breath and drink some water from my canteen.
I had not taken any real care when choosing the street I was sitting on. It had looked busy, in an ordinary weekend sort of way – children playing out, neighbours chatting, that sort of thing. But now I was looking, I saw there was purpose in the busyness.
People were walking, carrying bags of snacks and food. One man had a crate of soft drinks on his shoulder, and passed them down to any of the children who asked for one. He did not break his stride to do so, however, making towards one house in the centre of the street.
The others were making their way in that direction too, one neighbour joined by the next. Two friends came out of their houses on opposite sides of the street, and rushed to each other, linking arms.
I watched them go down the road chatting excitedly with wide eyes and wild gestures, occasionally breaking into good-natured disagreement.
Behind me, the door to the house I was sitting in front of opened. A young couple came out, one of them carrying a tray of biscuits.
“Excuse me,” I started, but the taller of the two cut me off.
“Oh, hello. You're Mariged’s nibling, right?”
“Uh, no? No, I am just passing through.”
“Are you sure?” said the other. “You’ve got his nose.”
“Quite sure. My nose is all my own.”
“Well, never worry,” said the first, waving me along. “Come on. We’d better get moving. Here, I’ll get that.”
Before I could stop them, they had picked up my rucksack and swung it onto their shoulder. Their companion took up my other bag, leaving me to trot behind them.
“I really am not-” I tried to say, but another neighbour joined us.
“Hello Kish, Farry,” he said, greeting the couple with a smile. Then, to me, “Ah! You must be Linty’s baby cousin!”
“No,” I insisted. “I am not! I apologise for the confusion, but I really-”
It was no use. We had reached the door of the house everyone was walking towards. The tall person – Farry – called over a little girl and pushed my bags into her hands.
“Pop those in the other room would you, Ceryn? Good girl.”
Ceryn was gone in a moment, swallowed by the crowd and taking my belongings with her. I tried to see where she had gone, but there was people everywhere.
“Hello, darling!” said a woman right beside my ear. I turned, and almost put my eye out on her snout. She passed me a paper cup full of acid green pop and a sticky bun. “Good to see you again!”
I just had time to hear her say to someone that I was Auntie Dreider’s adoptive heir – nice kid apparently, but a bit odd – before I was pushed on again. I had completely lost sight of Kish and Farry, and had no-one else to look for. So I resigned myself to my fate, and let the crowd carry me where it will.
The destination turned out to be tiny sitting room towards the back of the house. Or rather, not tiny – only completely and entirely full of people, talking and laughing and swigging drinks that all looked a lot more appetising than mine.
My translator never stood a chance with so many people talking at once. I stood, utterly bewildered, in a sea of voices, wondering what in the Light I had been dragged into.
I could not leave. For one thing, the crowd felt like a solid mass behind me. For another, I had no idea where my bags were, or who to ask to help find them. Whatever this was, I was going to have to ride it out.
Everyone seemed to be looking towards the front of the room. I tried to crane my neck to see what they were looking at, but I am not the tallest person in the galaxy and it soon proved futile. I gave up, sipping my drink and immediately regretting it.
Then, a hand reached out of the crowds and gripped my arm. It was small and knobbly, and belonged to a small and knobbly person, pulling at me to make me follow.
With remarkable strength and liberal use of her small, knobbly elbows, the person dragged me out to the front of the crowd and ushered me over to a miraculously free bench, barely big enough for me to sit on.
In fact, I could not sit on it entirely, as my new companion took half the cushion for herself. But it was better than standing, and at least now I could see what everyone was looking at.
It was a tiny entertainment unit, a diminutive version of the types I have seen in some taverns and community centres. I have never seen such a thing in private home before.
My new companion slipped her arm into mine, squeezing tight and kicking her legs excitedly. She, at least, was close enough that my translator picked her up easily.
“Little ’uns at the front, you know the rules!”
“I do not know anything. I have no idea what is happening.”
She squinted at me. “Aren’t Grodan’s youngest?”
“No! I am not anybody. I was just sitting outside and then I got pulled in here by mistake!”
There was split second where I thought I might be in trouble for trespassing upon the event. But then, her face broke into a toothy grin.
[laughing] “Oh, that’s a hoot! Well, one more won’t hurt. My name’s Brellyn. Are you going to drink that?”
I handed the cup over to her, and she took the bun too, without asking.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd. Someone switched on the entertainment unit and the screen flickered into life. Tinny music began to play from the speakers, faint until a different someone twiddled a dial and made the volume surge, filling the room.
Images flashed, one after another – slow, zooming close ups on glamorous people of every species in an endless stream. Every time I thought it was done, there were more. Some smiled, some were screaming in melodramatic horror, some were snarling with anger.
Regardless of the emotion being conveyed, the theme music remained resolutely swooning, each bar more saccharine than the last. The faces faded and a swirling script filled the screen: Garden of Passions. The crowd cheered.
My view was better than it had been. But I was still looking at a small, fuzzy, black and white screen several feet away, with several people between me and it. Besides, my translator could not pick up a word of dialogue.
Brellyn kept up a constant commentary in my ear.
“That’s Kaverly, Karsa’s twin. They were separated at birth but Kaverly tracked Karsa down and started stalking her so she could steal Karsa’s life as revenge for Karsa being adopted by a billionaire while Kaverly had to fend for herself as an orphan in Drech City.
“She tried to get Karsa kidnapped, but the mercenary she hired, Bargem – that’s him there, with the tattoo – he fell in love with Karsa and planned to help her escape from Kaverly’s dungeon. They got away, but when he was meant to meet her afterwards, his adoptive heir pushed him in front of a carrier transit.
“Now he’s in hospital and he’s lost all his memory and her doesn’t know who he is, and Karsa thinks he abandoned her! Meanwhile his heir left him for dead and claimed the inheritance. Then they met Kaverly at a gala fundraiser last week, but she doesn’t know that the heir is actually cousin to Karsa’s adoptive father...”
Without Brellyn’s comments, I might have been confused. With them, I was entirely lost. The crowd gasped, cheered, hissed and booed as actors kissed passionately then slapped each other in the face in a seemingly endless cycle, meanwhile exploding a surprising number of personal and public transports, until finally an outrageously tacky wedding ceremony was dramatically interrupted by a person wrapped head to toe in bandages.
They rode into the ritual space on a mobility chair, raised one accusing finger to point trembling towards the horrified brides, and shouted… Something.
The screen faded to black, and the theme music swelled up once again. There was a pause – the quietest the room had been since I arrived. Then, the crowd erupted into cheers, applause, and loud, argumentative conversation.
Brellyn had been gripping my arm like a vice the entire time. Now, she dug her fingers in even harder.
“Gods and daughters, what a finale! Did you see Marino’s face when he saw Jesha? That’ll come to no good, mark my words. Oh, my wonder! Oh, my days!”
I may not have been able to follow much of the story but I admit, I did have fun. Brellyn and the others were so excited, it was as enjoyable to watch them watching the show as it would have been to watch it myself. Probably more so.
I began to hear people saying their goodbyes, though none of them seemed actually to be moving towards the door. Still, I took this as my cue. I thanked Brellyn for her time and attention, and went finally to find my bags.
Eventually I was back out in the street with all my belongings and the distinct feeling of bruises forming in the shape of small, knobbly fingers around my bicep.
I found my way at last to the bunkhouse a few streets over. After I had stowed my bags and freshened up, I headed down to dinner.
“Tell me,” I said, making conversation with the owner and the other guests. “Do any of you know an entertainment called Garden of Passions?”
All eyes turned on me. And then, my dinner companions let forth a tirade of giddy opinion, cheerful argument and highly delighted outrage.
[Title music: rhythmic instrumental folk. It plays throughout the closing credits.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light was created by H.R. Owen and Matt McDyre, and is a Monstrous Productions podcast. This episode was written and performed by H.R. Owen.
This week’s entry to the archives was based on a submission by Dylan. You can see Matt's illustration for the entry on our social media accounts.
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[Fade to silence.]
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