Episode 57
Travelling Light E057S02 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Fifty Seven.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
2nd Ishal 851
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
I have travelled on several vessels since leaving the Tola. There was the MSV Brukis, so obviously loved by its crew; the, uh, close quarters of Friya’s little boat; and of course, who could forget the terrifyingly ramshackle old tub that was Clunky?
And yet I cannot help but skip past these more recent experiences, and compare the Guillemot directly to the Tola – my first home in the black.
Aesthetically, two ships could not be more different. The Tola was beautiful; absurdly, foolishly beautiful. The Guillemot, meanwhile, is a flying ode to pragmatism.
Scarcely an inch of space is wasted. Storage cabinets line the metal walls and floors. Pipes and wires crowd the ceiling, exposed wherever possible so as not to waste material enclosing them. Even the bathroom fixtures fold away into the walls.
The so-called “soft” furnishings are largely made of heavy, fireproof foam, upholstered in a fabric so tough, I still do not know if Masha was joking when she said it could be used as a patch in case of a hull breach.
The ceilings are so low that my fingertips brush them if I raise my hands over my head. The corridors are precisely wide enough for a mobility chair to navigate and not an inch wider, and the cabins so small, I have to wonder if Scarry sleeps with his legs sticking out the door.
Meanwhile, the cargo bays – plural – could hold enough supplies to keep a mid-sized station running for a year or more. I get the impression Scarry would sail the ship alone and pack the crew quarters with merchandise too, if he believed it was more profitable.
But much like everything else aboard the Guillemot, every person has a role to play.
You will remember Resimus – the historian with whom Doctor Tsabec was so very smitten. As well as authenticating artefacts for trade, Resimus manages the Guillemot’s cargo and oversees the paperwork and permits needed by traders working across multiple systems.
“Not something you're used to, I imagine,” they said pointedly when we were re-introduced.“It’s rather a lot more complicated when you’re working above board.”
I can hardly blame them. I was very rude to them that last morning in Kerrin Port. But I am hopeful that time will ease the tension between us. Perhaps I shall ask Masha for some advice. She is a comfortingly straightforward person.
She is Scarry’s second in command and the Guillemot’s pilot. She also has a goodly amount of engineering nous – at least enough to assist Scarry in the engine room when necessary.
I was somewhat surprised when I learnt that Scarry himself takes care of most of the Guillemot’s mechanical needs. I have never known a captain who took this work for themselves. But I should have known Scarry would not pay someone else to do a job he might do himself, for free.
[laughing] “That’s certainly part of it,” agreed Oyan when I brought this up.
They are the ship’s navigator, and the communications officer and, when the situation calls for it, the medic. I have not yet dared to ask how they can possibly be properly qualified as all three.
“But it’s also that he’s a sentimental old coot. [putting on an accent] ‘She’s my ship, and I will mind her myself!’” they added, in a shocking approximation of Scarry's usual snarl.
“How long have you worked for him?” I asked.
I was making myself useful by helping out with some maintenance work in the communications deck. Oyan, up to their elbows in wiring, answered without looking up.
“Oh, four years? Give or take. Believe it or not, that makes me a blow-in by this crew’s standards. Resimus has been aboard for almost a decade, and Masha’s been with Cap for… God. The better half of forever.”
“What about Tarlin?” I asked, naming the fifth and final member of the crew. She is the ship’s cook, and doubtless half a dozen other roles too.
Oyan gave me a strange look, though that might have been the soldering iron they held between their teeth.
“They’re from the same station,” they said after a beat. They took the soldering iron from their mouth and used it to affix a wire to the console they were working on, sending up a wavering trail of acrid smoke. “That’s why they both talk funny.”
“And I assumed that was just my translator.”
Oyan laughed. “Well, bit of both!”
There are regular shared meals here, just as we had on the Tola. The food is far better though, as one might expect coming from a chef instead of a culinary machine. I cannot express how reassuring it has been to have these regular opportunities to connect with my new crew-mates.
I admit, I have felt a little awkward some evenings as the others bring up old jokes and shared references that naturally, I cannot follow. But in these moments I try to take a breath and enjoy the spirit of camaraderie, even if I feel a little alienated in the moment itself.
I must admit, I did not expect such a strong sense of community between the crew. Scarry is a frank materialist, making his decisions based on profit and pragmatism.
I had expected, therefore, to join a workforce, and to be among people who saw one another as colleagues and not much more. But the roots of these relationships clearly run deep.
The Tola was a working ship, technically. But most of the people aboard were pursuing their own interests.
Wolph and Aman kept the ship afloat, and Aman and Hesje collaborated on the expedition's admin. But on the day-to-day level, there was very little overlap between, say, Annaliese’s botanical research and Duytren’s anthropology work.
This is not the case on the Guillemot. Here, everyone’s work contributes to everyone else’s. Tarlin cooks so that Oyan is energised for an afternoon setting a course for Masha to follow, using an engine Scarry has serviced to carry the cargo Resimus has inventoried.
And then, there is me. [sighs] I have skills enough to make myself useful here and there. But there is very little I can do which nobody else aboard is capable of. In fact, it seems all my abilities are met or exceeded by somebody else.
Frankly, I am beginning to wonder what Scarry meant by inviting me aboard. He has found no good use for me yet. And until he does, I fear I shall continue to feel this distance between myself and the others.
Everyone is perfectly polite. Even Resimus for the most part, if you allow for a little understandable coolness. I am starting to make those connections that will eventually make life on the ship more comfortable. I managed aboard the Tola. I will manage here. It just takes time.
It does not help that my cabin is so bare. I had not intended to undertake a long-term voyage when I left Kerrin. I did not think to pack my usual home comforts. All I have to brighten the place up is a Baturu Nemhan Museum magnet, and a flyer from the Mórhal Tsinlacho Festival.
I will find a way to make my home here. To connect with my new crew mates. I only wish there were something I could do to speed matters along.
Anyway. Send my love to everyone. You are in my prayers, as always. I shall write again soon.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry IS85102-1. The development of personal identity among the Prau people.
Keywords: Auva; community; ethnography; identity; Prau; Rei; rites of passage.
Notes:
The Guillemot’s first stop after leaving the Ionad System was in the city of Auva, on the planet Rei. I spent a very pleasant afternoon exploring the city’s broad avenues and tree-lined streets.
The honey-gold stone of the buildings gave way here and there to elegant public parks. Even the people seemed effortlessly beautiful, dressed in fine clothes and going about their business with easy grace. I felt quite scruffy in comparison.
With a pang of bittersweet fondness, I thought of Óli. I could just imagine them, as finely dressed as any local, sitting under the awning of a chic café, drinking a cup of hot, dark horha and watching the world go by.
I was still thinking of them when I stopped in at a newsagents and saw a sign for their limited content comms relay.
I have not sent a limited content comm since I was a child, and wishing to save my pocket money when writing home to my grandmother from a school trip to Galifenny. As an adult, I prefer to spend a bit extra and choose my own words.
Still, I do see the appeal of limited content comms. If multiple people wish to send the same message to different planets in the same system, say, it makes far more sense to send a single message through every relay between here and the system, and only separate them out from one another closer to their destination.
But how often could two people wish to send the exact same message, let alone the hundreds it must take to make limited content comms efficient?
Well, if that message is nothing more complicated than, “Thinking of you, “Wish you were here,” or “Happy Birthday” – quite often, as it happens.
I found myself quite taken with the idea, and so I picked out a photograph of the Auva public library. But when it came to choose what message to attach, I stalled. I scrolled through the options, overwhelmed by choice.
“Which of these do you think would be better to send to a friend?” I asked the smartly uniformed clerk at the relay desk.
I was not looking for any profound insight. I just wanted a second opinion, however arbitrary. But the clerk reacted with abject horror.
“We can’t- We don’t- Oh, cousin!”
At this last, another person of the same species stepped out from the back office and laid a hand on the clerk’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Florenu. What’s the matter?”
“This e-eminent customer. They asked us… Me… They want an opinion!”
“I am so sorry,” I said, my cheeks burning. “I did not intend to cause any distress!”
The older person gestured reassurance. “No need to apologise, eminent. Florenu is on their cusp, that's all.”
“Their… cusp?” I repeated.
This seemed to surprise young Florenu out of their distress. “You do not know the cusp?” they said, blinking in astonishment. “How far away are you from?”
I explained that I was from Serran and, when that clearly rang no bells, recounted the nature of my journey, how far I had come and to what end.
“If this cusp is important to your people, perhaps you could tell me about it, for my archives?”
“That sounds like a splendid idea,” said the cousin warmly. They squeezed Florenu's shoulder once more. “Go on, Florrie. It'll be good practice. And remember – I, me, mine.”
Florenu took a shaky breath. “I, me, mine,” they repeated, with a firm little nod. Then, they began.
“Good morning, eminent. My name is Florenu. I am a member of the Prau people. I am 15 years of age. This is my cousin, Gerran.”
I got the sense that 15 years meant much the same to a Prau person as it would to a human – at once almost grown, and still so very young.
“I was born with my clutchmates, in our clan’s birthing pools. In the pools, everything is shared. Light and warmth, food and thought.
“As we grow, we learn to focus. We can concentrate on one task in one body, and another in the next. We even begin to have names. This is when we do our first learning: how to live, how to use our mouths and hands and legs.
“The clutch is like a body. We are its arm, or its foot. We do not need to move the whole body to move an arm or a foot. But the arm or foot, it's not its own thing. We are of one mind, all of our experiences shared together. It makes learning much easier.
“But we cannot remain in the pools forever. We must grow and go beyond. Even if we are comfortable and happy in the pools,” they added, a note of resentment creeping into their voice. “We have to grow up, and be a person of our own.”
“I, me, mine,” prompted Gerran.
Florenu rolled their eyes. “I have to grow up,” they corrected. “And be a person of mine own.
“We were in the pool – don’t, Gerran! We were a we then, it’s allowed! We were in the pool and then we started to get flashes of I. Of me. I started to have thoughts of my own. That was how I knew I was growing up.
“I left the pools when I started to spend more time as me than we. I didn’t mean to. It just happens, more and more as time goes on. Now, I’m almost always me.
“I still get flashes sometimes, of my clutch. Of the old us. But not much. Soon I’ll only ever be an I. That is what we call ‘the cusp’ – when you are on the edge of being one person, but are not quite there yet.
“I am working in Gerran’s shop while I am learning how to be a person. Learning what I'm good at, and not. What I care about. We have to have opinions, and decide for myself what we think! What I think,” they amended, at a look from Gerran.
“The words are worst of all. If I didn’t have to tell anybody how I felt, that would be fine. But I have to feel it, and then see what it is that I feel, and then find the way to say it out loud. It’s awful!”
“It is,” I agreed. “But it does get easier, with time and practice.”
Florenu eyed me uncertainly. “You aren’t Prau…?”
“No. No, I am human. But we go through a similar process, learning how to find out how we feel and how to explain it to other people. It is not easy.”
Florenu gave a gesture of fervent assent. “It’s exhausting! Sometimes I get these waves of feeling, or I start behaving in a way that I don't understand, and I have to ask Gerran, ‘What is this? Why am I wanting so badly to fight this eminent customer?’ Uh, not you,” they added hastily.
“But then Gerran refuses to tell me. They just say, ‘Take a moment, Florenu. Your body is sending you signals, and you must listen.’ And then I do listen and the signals are just, ‘I’m hungry’ or ‘it’s too hot’. And somehow that means I want to bite a person!
“And on top of all that, then I have to say out loud, ‘Gerran, I am hungry and too hot and it is making me feel anger.’ And only then will Gerran say, ‘Here is an algae wrap, Florenu. Take off your uniform jacket and sit in the shade and have a big glass of water.’”
“I cannot say it any sooner because I do not know,” Gerran said patiently.
“I know that! But I am discovering, I am a person who can know a thing is true and there is nothing to be done about it, and still be very angry. Or frustrated. We learnt ‘frustrated’ last month. It's been very helpful.”
“I am undertaking a similar sort of process myself at the minute,” I said, earning myself a sceptical up and down from Florenu.
“Are you not quite old for a human?”
“I am an adult,” I allowed. “But humans change quite a lot as we age. And we often find that new circumstances bring us new perspectives, or make us aware of new aspects of our personalities.”
Florenu pulled a face. “Hearing that makes me feel… Anger?” they hazarded, looking at Gerran for assistance.
“What does anger feel like?”
“Anger in this body is… hot? We feel it in the throat and chest. This is not anger. Gerran, what is this? It is like confusion and surprise? And feeling bad. Not bad in this body. More like… thinking about feeling bad?”
“That sounds like sympathy to me. You are anticipating how it would feel to live in the way eminent has described.”
“I don’t like it,” Florenu declared.
“It's a tricky one,” Gerran agreed. “Useful though. Now, eminent. We have kept you quite long enough. How can we help?”
I had almost forgotten about the message I was sending. “I only wanted a second opinion about what to say,” I explained. “It is for a friend. A close friend. I am travelling and will not see them again for some time.”
“Well, Florrie,” Gerran prompted. “What do you think?”
Florenu studied the display with the thorough conscientiousness of a scholar. Finally, they tapped one of the messages. “We- I mean, I think I like this one?”
‘Greetings from Auva,’ it read. ‘I miss your company and send my love.’
I cannot pretend I did not pause over this last. But Florenu was so pleased with themselves, I did not want to hurt their feelings. I paid for the message, and picked up a couple of magazines to take back to the ship.
“Thank you for your custom, eminent,” said Florenu as I left. “We… I have enjoyed speaking with you.”
“Same to you, young friend. Best of luck with your endeavours.”
“Oh, I’ll be alright,” said Florenu. And with Gerran’s gentle, guiding hand upon their shoulder, I am sure they will.
[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.
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