Episode 56
Travelling Light E056S02 Transcript
H.R. Owen
Hello friends, Hero here just to let you know that we're coming up on a short scheduled break. We'll be off for two weeks and back with you on Friday 12th September. Look after yourselves and see you soon!
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Fifty Six.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
24ᵗʰ Avam 851, continued.
I spent a long time on the balcony outside my hostel, trying to discern the path ahead. There is no night and day in the Glisco ravine; only light and twilight, when the artificial bulbs are dimmed and the world grows shadowy.
I was still awake when the first lights below began to flutter back to full brightness. The neighbourhood started to rumble into life, and I crawled back into bed, finally tired enough to sleep despite my churning thoughts.
I have always had great faith in the power of rest. Sometimes you need to put a problem aside and let your brain work through it in its own time. Sure enough, I awoke several hours later with a new sense of clarity. The fog of my indecision had burnt away like mist in sunlight, and I knew what I must do.
I went out for breakfast, and returned to the hostel to find a quiet corner where I could write. My first correspondent was, of course, Óli.
I explained that I… would not be coming back to Kerrin for the foreseeable future. I regretted not being able to give them a more definite time frame, but I felt strongly that it was better to be upfront about the open-ended nature of my journey.
I had not meant to be dishonest. I had earnestly believed I would return within a fortnight. [sighing] Or perhaps I had only earnestly wished to believe it. In any case, I had been mistaken. I would not make that same mistake again.
There was more I would have said, had they had been in front of me. But writing it was impossible. It flattened all the feeling, made it frivolous and false. No. No, I will save all of that for when I see them next.
I sent them my warmest wishes for their health and happiness, and assured them I would write as often as practicable.
My second missive was far shorter – only a brief note informing Captain Scarry that I would be glad to accept a place aboard his ship and among his crew.
As soon as I had finished writing, I was up and out, using the momentum of finishing one task to launch me into the next. I would lose focus. It felt I could not let myself so much as breathe until I had sent my messages and locked myself into my decision.
Of course, I could change my mind if I wanted. But I did not get to where I am today without having a proper respect for symbolism. I wanted to feel decided, and for that decision to feel final.
I spent the rest of the day at a local museum, heading back to the neighbourhood around my hostel for dinner. I ate in a tiny restaurant full of local people eating in ones and twos.
The murmur of conversation blurred with the tinny music player beside the till, the sounds of cooking bursting out from the kitchen every time a server came through the flapping double doors.
The windows streamed with condensation, making strange new shapes out of the glowing street-lights and the faces of commuters rushing home. I was too warm, and very tired. I think I fell asleep for a while, propped up against the wall behind my bench. Nobody seemed to mind. I was just another body in a city full of bodies.
The receptionist at the hotel greeted me when I returned. I had a message waiting. It was Scarry, confirming my berth. We would leave the next morning. I surprised myself by sleeping well last night. I feel… clean. Ready for what lay ahead, sure of my footing for the first time in months.
I woke long before my alarm, and had plenty of time to pack my belongings and make my way to the docks. I remembered the Guillemot from all that time ago in Port Taroth, when I made the fateful decision to board the Tola instead. My memory had not done her justice.
She was enormous, with a vast, swollen belly below a few scant decks of actual living space. Her hull was scarred and battered, a world away from the slick, expensive glamour of the Tola.
I had expected to arrive in the midst of great rush of activity, as I had when first boarding the Tola. But there was nobody on the docks when I arrived. No last minute packing, nobody barking orders, no crew-mates bickering through their final tasks.
I almost worried I had got the wrong day, or the wrong boat. But then the entry hatch cycled open, and a tall, sturdy, scowling person stepped out. She made a gesture of greeting, brusque but not unfriendly.
“You're the new kid,” she said, not quite making it a question. “Masha,” she added, by way of introduction, as if we had not met twice before. I suppose the context was rather different.
I followed Masha as she strode through the bare, utilitarian corridors to a passage flanked by several identical doors. She pulled one open to reveal a cramped cabin with a narrow bunk, a pull-down desk, and nothing at all in the way of decoration.
I put my bags on the bunk while Masha leant in the doorway, talking as if she was reading from a script.
“We launch in an hour. Safety packet's on the back of the door. Give it a read when you can. Two meals a day in the galley – one morning, one evening, according to ship's clock, not local time. You got your duty roster yet?”
“Uh. No. I am not sure what I am… That is, I have not really hashed out my responsibilities yet.”
Masha looked at me, really looked at me for the first time since I had arrived. Her expression did not change, but her voice softened. “Don't look so worried, kid. We don't bite.”
“Is the captain…?”
“He's busy with pre-launch. He'll be at dinner though. Why don't you get settled in, then head down to the crew lounge down the corridor? You can't miss it. Just keep walking til you get to the double doors.”
That sounded like a good idea. “Masha,” I said, getting her attention before she could stride away. “Do you remember me? From the Tola? E-everybody knows I was part of that, do they?”
A complicated look crossed her face, gone almost as soon as it came. “Course we remember you. You gave Cap a bollocking back on Koom.”
That was not how I remembered it but I did not want to argue. “How will they see me, do you think? Will it be a problem?” I pressed.
Masha's mouth twisted. “Bit late to worry about that. Besides – only one way to find out. Do you need anything? Only I've got stuff to do.”
“Uh, no. No, I should be fine. I need to send a letter before we launch, if I can.”
Masha nodded. “One deck up, in the comms array. Oyan'll be able to get you sorted. Sooner would be better, though.”
I thanked her, and as soon as she had left, I set about writing to you. It took longer than I anticipated – I hope Oyan will not think badly of me for trying to use the comms array so close to launch.
But I had to get my thoughts down. I am, once again, upon the cusp of things, and feeling rather alone here at the edge. [laughs weakly and sighs] I take comfort in knowing you carry me in your hearts. I will endeavour to do you proud.
I love you all, and I will write soon, wherever I am bound.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry AV85124-2. A visit to the Baturu Nemhan Museum in Glisco.
Keywords: Banach Precinct; Baturu Nemhan; Glisco; interview; local history; museums and galleries; travel and transport.
Notes:
I stared down at my map, sure I had taken a wrong turn somewhere. The street lights illuminated nothing but ordinary houses, set back from the public walkway with a neat paved path to a neat front door.
Wind chimes clinked a few doors down. Insects buzzed lazily in the electric light beams. Otherwise, the whole place was still and quiet. I was in the wrong place. I was sure I was in the wrong place.
Then, just as I was about to turn and leave, I saw a sign. Literally, I mean. It was nothing mystical – just a little brass plaque on the door frame. “Baturu Nemhan Museum,” it read. “Ring bell for entry.”
The garden gate squeaked horribly as I opened it. I pulled it to, wincing at the sound, and fairly scuttled up the path to tug on the bell cord. A few moments later, the front door swung open to reveal a slender, long-limbed person with pointed ears.
“Museum or candles?”
“Uh… Museum?”
“Good choice.” She started back down the corridor, calling over her shoulder. “Come on then! It's not going to come to you!”
The house was as ordinary inside as it had seemed from without. I have never been so disconcerted by the sight of family photos and the smell of baking.
My host brought me to a room at the back of the house, throwing the door open with a grin that suggested she knew at least some of my thoughts.
I stepped through the door, and laughed. Here, nestled in the back of an ordinary family home, was an exhibition to rival any professional museum I have seen.
“You did all this?” I said, turning on the spot to look about me in wonder.
“My husbands helped build the cabinets. But it’s a private collection, if that's what you mean. I just think the story deserves told, you know?”
Of course – the story. The story of Baturu Nemhan, a Gliscovite explorer who, two hundred years ago, led an expedition out from the Old Town several layers above to cross the blistering, lifeless desert beyond the city ravine.
“I do not mean to be a nuisance,” I said, getting my host's attention. “Only I do not know very much about Baturu Nemhan. If you had a moment...”
Her eyes widened, a hungry spark coming into her expression. “Oh, I’m never too busy to talk about Baturu! What would you like to know?”
“Everything?”
[laughing] “I don’t think you have time for that! I’ve been studying Baturu Nemhan for thirty eight years. I'll just give you the crash course, eh? No pun intended.
“The thing is, nobody ever asked for a way across the desert. Even with today’s technology, nobody does it if they don’t have to. You're better off sticking to the ravine, curving round the planet instead of going over.
“But Baturu thought different. She thought if she could find a way to cross overland, she could save days' of travel. And time, as they say, is money.
“Speaking of money, Baturu's family had bags of it. She’d been given the best education money could buy – not that it did her much good. These are some of her old reports here. My favourite quote is from a headmaster who called her ‘a bright girl, but regrettable disinclined to hard work.’ [laughs]
“Baturu was wealthy, bored, and ambitious. A dangerous combination. I don't know how she came to the idea, but some time after finishing school, she got it into her head to attempt a cross-continent expedition. Other people had tried in the past. But Baturu thought she was the one to finally make it happen.
“First though, she needed a vehicle. She reached out to Odeto Goljehan, the owner of Odeto Mechanicals. Baturu believed that, with some modifications, she would be able to use Odeto's Flying Machine 403 for the trip.
“But Goljehan turned Baturu down flat. She had no faith in Baturu's modifications, and she refused to have the Odeto name dragged into the scheme.
“Baturu was undeterred. She wrote again, this time to Odeto Nagojan, Goljehan’s adoptive heir. Nagojan was the perfect partner for Baturu. She was about the same age and had the engineering acumen Baturu lacked.
“More importantly, she was staring down the barrel of an entire career spent in the shadow of her legator. She had ambition to match Baturu's own. Also, she was gorgeous. I can't help think that might have swayed Baturu, at least a bit!
“Nagojan agreed to the partnership, and the pair started work on the Flying Machine 403 almost immediately.
“First, Nagojan worked to improve the 403’s altitude, aiming to fly high enough to mitigate some of the temperature concerns. Meanwhile Baturu took on the coolant system.
“Above all, they needed something self-sustaining. They wouldn’t be able to land at any point in their journey. If they came down more than a couple of miles from the ravine, nobody would be able to help them.
“The pair worked in secret at first, trying to keep the project from Odeto Goljehan. But someone leaked the story to the press. In fact, I have good reason to believe that someone was Baturu herself.
“This is a copy of the Glisco Herald, the first paper to break the story. It quotes its source directly, and a lot of the language strikes me as very… Baturan.
“It talks about 'an improbable adventure', which is a phrase Baturu used in other contexts. And here, it refers to Goljehan as 'the old girl' which we know was a nickname Baturan used for her. It all adds up!
“Well, however it got out, something about the attempt captured the public’s attention – a combination of Baturu’s charisma, Nagojan’s beauty, and the sheer audacity of it all. The story exploded.
“Konharin Publications bought the rights to print Baturu’s diaries upon her return. They even made merchandise. This model 304 was sold with dolls in Baturu and Nagojan’s likeness. You can see Baturu's signature on the box there – very collectible!
“Goljehan was over a barrel. She couldn’t very well condemn the attempt now, not with the whole city watching. So finally, she agreed to support the expedition, on the condition that the work be looked over by Goljehan's own safety manager, a man called Kirata Manjin.
“To say Kirata had doubts is putting it mildly. The pair had only run one test flight, during which Baturu’s coolant system had failed after less than ten minutes. She insisted she’d solved the issues, but she couldn't prove it.
“Nagojan was also starting to fret. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t cracked the problem of keeping the 304 at a safe, sustainable altitude. But instead of bringing her concerns to Kirata, she brought them to Baturu.
“She wrote about the meeting in her diary. She says that Baturu encouraged her to keep working, and to keep quiet. Nagojan agreed. She just went along with it!
“I've heard all sorts of theories why. Some people think Baturu had something she could hold over Nagojan, some blackmail thing. Others think Nagojan was in love with Baturu, and willing to do anything for her.
“For my money, I think it was just plain old ambition. Nagojan's reputation, her career, her inheritance, her entire future depended on the expedition's success. That kind of pressure… [sighs] It’ll do mad things to a person.
“Anyway. Kirata insisted on retesting the coolant system. Baturu managed to keep it running this time, for three days. But Kirata still wasn’t happy. His readings were all over the place, and he couldn't make head nor tails of it.
“It was the last straw. They were already at the launch site at this point – everything was ready to go. But Kirata put his foot down. He insisted that the project be shut down immediately. And Baturu refused.
“Remember, this was centuries ago. It would take days for to reach Goljehan, and longer to get a response. By then, Baturu and Nagojan would be gone.
“So instead, Kirata left. He gave a statement to the press about his concerns, and set off home. He said later he would rather face the consequences of abandoning his post than live with his name attached to such a project.
“Then, on his way home, he ran into one of the mechanics who’d been working on the coolant project. The woman was drunk, enjoying her time off.
“She told Kirata quite openly that of course his readings had been weird. Baturu had been paying the mechanics to top up the coolant every night during testing. There was no way the 304 was going to survive the trip – and Baturu knew it.”
I stared in open horror and disbelief. “Did they launch?”
[laughs] “Haven’t you been listening? Of course they did. She couldn't lose face now. That just wasn't the kind of woman she was.
“The 304 launched on third hour, 18th Jarrian 454. Things went wrong immediately. Nagojan’s altitude adjustments went haywire, launching the 304 higher and faster than anyone planned. They were out of sight in minutes.
“From that moment on, we only have the two women’s diaries to tell us what happened. But Baturu had already sold her story. She was still imagining she was going to get home, sell the diary, and live on in fame and comfort.
“Her account is one of trifling concerns overcome by wit and quick thinking. She writes these long, poetic passages about the beauty of the landscape below. To take her word for it, they launched straight into a magical adventure.
“Nagojan’s diary is… different. She recounts the 304’s systems failing, one by one. Inevitable. Inescapable. She compares the desert to the plains of hell. She says she and Baturu hardly spoke to each other after the launch. She says she felt ‘like ghost – at once alive and yet already dead’.
“The 304 eventually crashed some 800 miles from the launch site – over six thousand miles from its destination. The wreck wasn't found for almost a hundred years. In that time, the story was almost forgotten, buried by silence and shame.
“Immediately after the wreck’s discovery, there was a surge of renewed interest. Konharin finally published Baturu’s diaries. They’d been found sealed into a weatherproof archive case, presumably by Baturu herself.
“Nagojan’s diary was in there too, but showed signs of tampering, as if someone had tried, with limited success, to reshape Nagojan’s narrative into something more in line with Baturu’s.
“Nowadays, not many people know about Baturu’s expedition. I heard about it when I was child, as a morality story – a reason to always listen to your elders and betters, lest you end up like Cousin Nemhan.”
“Cousin?” I repeated.
“Oh, did I not say? My name’s Baturu Eldan. I’m one of her descendants. A lot of these artefacts are family heirlooms.”
I looked around, taking in the sheer time and effort it must have taken to build up and display a collection such as this.
I could not help asking, “But Baturu Nemhan was… I mean no disrespect, of course. But she does not sound… That is, if she is a personal hero to you-”
Eldan burst out laughing. [laughing] “A hero? She was a nightmare! A reckless, manipulative liar who knowingly endangered her own life and her companion’s in the pursuit of money and fame.
“I don’t do any of this because I admire Baturu Nemhan, or because I think she's villain who needs to be shamed. I do it because it’s fascinating. What a moment! What a perfect confluence of ignorance, ambition, and ego!
“I wanted to save the story from fading into obscurity again – to preserve it for its own sake, so people can hear what happened and make of it what they will.”
I understood. Of course I did. I have left everything I know behind in the pursuit of collecting stories for their own sake. And while I am not sure the world was better for having Baturu in it, her presence in our archives can only be to the good.
“It is a wonderful museum,” I said to Eldan. “Thank you for taking the time to create it, and for telling me its story.”
Eldan beamed at me. “You're welcome. Of course, we do have some merchandise for sale if you would like to show your support in a more… material fashion?”
Naturally, I did.
[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 Andrée's Arctic balloon expedition. Seriously, look it up – it's a riot. You can see Matt's illustration for the entry on our social media accounts.
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