Episode 58
Travelling Light E058S02 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Fifty Eight.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
11th Ishal 851
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
When last I wrote, I mentioned my frustration at having no real, useful occupation to fill my time aboard the Guillemot. I was already growing thoroughly sick of the situation after one week aboard. After two, I was fast approaching breaking point.
To make matters worse, I began to notice the crew actively stopping me from doing things around the ship.
I went to fetch down a crate of supplies from a high shelf, only for Masha to rush over to lift it down for me. I mentioned to Resimus that I needed to change the lightbulb outside my cabin, and later returned to find they had done it for me.
I offered to help Tarlin in the galley one day, and she met me with such open incredulity, I had to leave before I lost my temper.
I can only assume that, after two weeks of my being aboard with no work assignment, the crew considered me little more than a passenger – someone to work around instead of alongside. Enough was enough.
I found Scarry in the engine room, and had to shout over the sound of machinery to make myself heard.
“You need to put me on the roster!”
Scarry straightened up from where he was working, ducking his head to wipe his face on his upper arm. The air was heavy with sweat and engine oil. His sleeves were rolled in deference to the heat, and he wiped his hands off on a rag though it did nothing that I could see; they were still caked black with grime.
“I have no work for you.”
“Then make work. I cannot be idle any longer.”
“I thought you might enjoy the holiday.”
[scoffing] “Then you do not know me at all.”
He seemed about to answer when, quite abruptly, the lights flickered, dimmed, and went out.
“Don’t move,” Scarry ordered.
“No fear,” I said.
It was so dark, I could not see my hand in front of my face. I had no desire to go stumbling about in a room full of clanking, growling machinery. Scarry found his way over to me and reached for the intercom on the wall beside my head.
“Engine room to cockpit. Cockpit, report. Repeat, cockpit report.” I heard him clicking buttons, but to no avail.
Finally he shoved the intercom back on its hook, grabbed me by the arm – my clothes are still smudged with oil stains – and half dragged me out to the corridor. The lights were out there, too, and we stumbled towards the exit lit by nothing but the faint glow of the emergency signs.
We clambered up the stairs and, with great relief, stepped into the brightly lit deck above. Tarlin was already there, marching towards us. She is a fierce-looking woman, even when she is not bearing down upon you.
“Masha was asking for you on the comm. Did you not hear? I thought something had happened.”
“Obviously something has happened,” Scarry retorted.
Tarlin’s lips pressed thin, thought I think in concern rather than anger. “When you didn’t report in…”
“We’re fine,” said Scarry, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Everything’s fine. Just get back to the galley. I have a feeling we’ll be working up an appetite.”
With one firm squeeze of her shoulder, Scarry strode off in the direction of the cockpit. He gave no sign that I should follow, but it was not as if I had anything else to do.
Masha was at the controls, tapping through read-outs from the ship’s systems.
“Report,” Scarry barked.
“Good news and bad news,” said Masha, not looking up from her displays. “ Bad news is we’ve lost power in the engine deck, but I’m guessing you knew that. Good news is, the engine’s fine, and it’s not affecting the rest of the ship.”
“Sounds like a decoupling fault,” I put in.
“There was a hull impact just before the lights went out,” Masha went on, as if I had not spoken. “It was just a bit of debris but I think maybe it knocked something loose.”
“May I see?”
Finally, the two took notice of me. Scarry looked almost amused. “Do you have a great deal of expertise in ship’s systems?”
“No,” I bit back. “But I am a handy enough electrician.”
[laughing] “Oh, well then. By all means!”
I ignored the sarcasm dripping from his voice, and leant in to investigate the schematic showing on the display. It did not take long to identify the issue, for which I was quite grateful. It would have been very embarrassing to have made such a big show of things, only to come up empty-handed.
“There's your problem,” I said. “The field decoupler has been knocked out of alignment, which has caused an unstable connection in the voltage platform. It is an easy enough fix.”
Scarry squinted at the display, and swore. “Masha, how far to Dernstow Port?”
“Two and a half days, burning hot.”
I was sure I had misunderstood. “N-no, you can repair this. We do not need to fly two and a half days off course for a loose voltage platform. Besides which, if we go into atmosphere with that still flapping about, it could rip that whole section out. You would have far bigger problems than a dodgy decoupler if that happens.”
Scarry jabbed a finger at the screen. “That is on the hull. You know – where the air isn’t?”
“I know you have equipment for a spacewalk.”
“We don’t have the personnel,” Masha put in. “Oyan’s our best repair tech, but they won’t do an EVA. Gives them panic attacks.”
“I can do it. I have a good deal of experience in electronics-”
“In a vacuum? In an isolation suit? With the void of space pressing at your back?”
“No. But I have no fear of it.”
Scarry went to rolled his eyes – and abruptly, my patience wore quite entirely out.
“Captain Scarry, I am neither a child nor a fool! Light knows I have my faults but a swollen ego has never been one of them. If I say I can do this, it is because I can. Would it help if I told you it would save you money?”
“It will not save me anything if you get killed out there!”
“It will not lose you anything either. Not even a night's sleep, I wager.”
“They have a point, Cap,” Masha interrupted before Scarry could retort. “Not about getting killed. But it would be a lot cheaper in cash, fuel, and time if we could fix this now.”
Scarry did not look at her. He was glaring at me, cold fire sparking in his black eyes. I held his gaze, jaw set, ready for another round.
“Do what you will,” he spat, and shoved past me to stalk off down the corridor.
Masha’s expression was placid and unreadable. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
It took twenty minutes to get suited up and perform the litany of safety tests required. To my surprise, the entire crew met me at the entry hatch – except Scarry, who was presumably off sulking somewhere.
If I had expected convivial words of support and encouragement, however, I would have been disappointed.
“You had better come back in one piece,” Resimus said as they finished the final checks on my suit. “It would really upset Oyan otherwise.”
From the other side of the bay, Oyan stared at me. Their face was waxy, just the thought of someone else performing the repair enough to leave them trembling.
Resimus lifted my helmet into place before leading me, lumbering and cumbersome, to airlock. They took up the headset that would allow us to communicate, and sealed the first set of doors behind me.
I clipped my tether onto the guardrail and confirmed my readiness over the mic. A beat… And the hatch opened, the wide black field of space filling my vision.
I took a deep breath, almost to remind myself that I could. Then, pulling against the magnetic soles of my boots, I took my first awkward steps into the void.
It was slow going. Every movement had to be thought out, consciously enacted. Resimus was on the mic, following my view through the helmet camera and giving constant updates and check-ins.
But even with their running commentary in my ear, I have never felt as alone as I did that day, hunkered down like a tick on the hide of this behemoth ship, with nothing but stars in every direction.
And yet, I felt no fear at all. I was perfectly calm. Not distant, not dreamlike, but clarified, as if the world had sharpened to a point and I was at its very tip.
The repair was slower than it would have been inside the ship, of course. But the tools were the same, and while I was clumsier in gloves, the movements were second nature. I sealed the hatch of the compartment, and stowed my tools.
“It is done,” I said, more to myself than Resimus. “I am coming back.”
The return felt quicker, as it often does. I pulled myself into the airlock and waited for the compartment to repressurise. Finally, I stepped back into the entry bay, and unclipped my helmet, sweat slicking my hair across my forehead.
Resimus slipped over to help me get out of my suit. I was not sure what to say, if I should say anything. The others were all still there, looking as if they had not moved a muscle since I left. Oyan looked about ready to faint.
When I was left only in the suit liner, Oyan stepped forwards… and threw their arms around me, quite unheeding of my rather sweaty state.
They squeezed me tight. “I am so glad you didn’t die!”
[laughing] “So am I!”
“Me three,” Tarlin put in. “That was a bloody stupid idea. [laughs] Well done.”
Resimus nudged my shoulder, the most companionable gesture I have had from them since I arrived. “Let’s get you a drink,” they said, a smile dancing at their lips. “Hakkin knows you deserve it.”
We headed out towards the crew lounge, and Masha slung an arm over my shoulder, making me stagger. “Can you do me a favour? Can you please let me know the next time you’re going give Cap a bollocking? Because that’s the second time I’ve seen it, and I still haven’t got it on video.”
“I do not plan to make a habit of it! He is just a very difficult man sometimes.”
“You got that right,” said Tarlin.
“Do you think he will be angry with me?”
“Angry? For fixing his ship? [laughs] He’ll be raging.”
“That’s his problem,” said Masha. “You stick with us, kid. You’ll be right.”
And despite the brutal hangover my crew-mates left me with, I am inclined to believe I will.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry IS85111-1. The effects of opasht upon an Achob person.
Keywords: Achob; community; health and well-being; opasht.
Please note, the accompanying photograph is not of the central incident here discussed. Such a photo would have been entirely inappropriate, for reasons which will soon become clear.
Instead, please find attached a photo of Masha taken some days after the event, once she had read the entry and given her consent to having it included in our archives.
Notes:
Dinner on the Guillemot is a lively affair, as well it might be with six adults looking to blow off steam after a day’s work. You can well imagine that the noise around the table can easily reach quite a volume.
Usually this is of no consequence. But on the night in question, just as Oyan let out a bark of laughter at a joke I had made, Masha slammed her fist onto the tabletop, making the cutlery – and everyone else – jump.
“If you lot don’t shut up, I’m about to crack skulls!”
Silence rang through the galley. We all stared at her, digging into her meal as if there had been no interruption. Scarry was the first to speak.
“Masha? Are you well?”
She looked at him as if it were a ridiculous question. “I’m fine. Yous were just chatting on, that’s all.”
“If you would like some peace and quiet while you eat, you may repair to your cabin.”
Masha stared blankly at him, her mouth working as she chewed her food.
“Are you kicking me out?”
You could have heard a pin drop. I bit back the absurd desire to laugh.
“I am,” said Scarry at last. “Go to your cabin. That’s an order.”
Masha’s eyes flashed with sudden, obvious rage. Then, in a flurry of motion, she stood and stalked out of the room, taking her plate of food with her.
I looked for someone to explain, but nobody would meet my eye. Scarry was the only person who seemed at ease.
“So, Oyan,” he said. “Have you had chance to do much painting lately?”
“Excuse me, captain,” I said, steeling myself for the weight of his attention. “I would like some explanation of what just happened, please. If this is sort of behaviour is tolerated on your ship…”
“You have already seen it is not tolerated. As for an explanation, that it will have to wait until after dinner. It is a private matter and I will not have it as the subject for idle gossip.”
I nodded, accepting this answer – and the promise of an explanation to come. At the end of the meal, I began to help Tarlin and the others clear the table, but Scarry got my attention. He jerked his head towards the door.
“Come with me. You need to see this.”
Scarry’s boots clanged on the corridor’s metal walkway, the engines rumbling under our feet as the ship cruised through the black. Finally, we came to the corridor in front of Masha’s cabin and Scarry knocked briskly.
“Masha? May we come in?”
Slowly, the door opened. I do not know what I was expecting. It was just Masha, same as she had been half an hour ago, if a touch paler.
She moved aside to let us enter, and I saw the remains of her dinner on the floor – the plate smashed into pieces around it.
“Captain. You know I-I didn’t...”
“I know,” he reassured her. “Sit you down. How long has it been?”
She perched on the edge of the bunk. [sighs] “Year and a half, maybe a bit more?”
“Right on time, then. Do you need help getting things prepared?”
Masha leapt up, crossing the room in a single step to shout in Scarry’s face. “I don’t need anything from you!”
My heel banged into the door-frame as I took several unthinking steps backwards. But Scarry did not so much as flinch.
“Masha,” he said, firm but calm. “We need to get the cabin ready. Can you help us, or do we need get someone else down here?”
Masha was breathing heavily, her broad shoulders hunched. “I’m alright. Its alright, kid,” she added to me. “It’s all... alright.′
I glanced at Scarry. He nodded, and I took a deep breath. “How can I help?”
‘Getting the cabin ready’ turned out to mostly be a matter of removing any of the furniture that was not screwed down.
“You’re never met an Achob before have you?” said Scarry as we worked. “Go on, Masha – you can explain.”
“It’s called opasht,” Masha began, hauling an armchair into the corridor. “Its part of the reproductive cycle. Every two years or so, your hormones go haywire.
“It’s like there’s no barrier between you and the rest of the world. Everything is too loud, too bright, you feel everything so much. And you get angry. I can’t…”
She cut off, took a breath, and I realised, Scarry had not asked her to explain the situation for my sake. He had done it for her, to give her something to take her mind off the turmoil unfolding inside her.
From a storage trunk, Scarry took a number of thick rolls of foam and showed me how to affix them to Masha’s bunk, covering the hard metal frame.
“We don’t have long,” said Masha. “I’m going to get agitated. I won’t… I won’t be in my right mind. I can do things sometimes. Things I regret…”
Masha is a big woman, broad and tall with slabs of muscle shifting beneath her skin as she moves. She carries herself with powerful grace, and I can all too easily imagine the damage she could cause.
“I wouldn’t mind you ripping up the cabins,” Scarry said lightly, fixing another piece of foam into place, “but I’ll not have you damaging my pilot. I need her too much,” he added, earning a tight but grateful smile.
Scarry’s expression changed, concern stealing over his craggy features. He reached out, taking Masha gently by the chin and turning her head. Something dark and wet slicked the skin at her temples. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away, tender as a parent.
“Discharge,” he said. “It means the opasht has begun in earnest.”
“You should go,” said Masha. Then, to me, “I’m sorry you had to see this.”
“I do not mind. I am just glad I could help.”
Masha let out a soft, sad laugh. “You’re a sweet kid. Alright. Get out.”
Scary pressed the handkerchief into her hand. “You’ll be alright. I’ll see to it.”
Masha did not answer. In the confines of the cabin, she looked like a hurricane in a bottle. In a fluid movement, Scarry stepped forwards and pulled her into him, pressing a fierce kiss to the top of her head. For a moment, she relaxed into his embrace…
And then she sprang backwards, shoving him in the chest. “Get out. Out!”
This time, Scarry and I obeyed.
Scarry explained that Masha had medication that could take the edge off her symptoms. But it only had a limited effect and besides, the opasht made it very difficult for her to remember to take it.
“She might let me remind her, if I catch her at the right time. Or she might take it as an insult, and only get more upset.”
We were in the crew lounge, sharing a bottle of something wickedly strong. It had been a difficult few days. I could hear her at night, pacing her room, snarling with rage.
“Has she ever hurt anyone?”
I felt like a traitor for asking, but I had to know.
“Only herself. She doesn’t know her own strength when she’s like this. She’ll throw herself about and collect a pretty bunch of bruises for her trouble.”
“It must be so frightening.”
Scarry regarded me over his glass. “It is. She feels safer with the door locked. I hate doing it. I feel like a coward. Like I’ve failed her as a captain. We try and make sure she has time to seal it herself now, if she wants to.”
It is a very difficult thing, to want so badly to help someone and be unable to do so. But there really is nothing that could be done. We could not even cook for her, since the opasht passes off more quickly if the individual is fasting.
Finally, after four long days and nights, we were sitting down to our midday meal when Masha stepped into the galley. She was pale and shaky, but so obviously at peace that she seemed almost to glow. Oyan leapt to their feet.
“Masha! You’re done?”
“I’m done,” she confirmed, half falling into her usual seat.
Tarlin wasted no time filling a plate for her. “Go on, girl. Get that down you.”
“I made you a pair of socks,” Resimus offered, making as if to stand. “I just need to cast off – they’re in my cabin, I can go and get them-”
“Sit down, Resimus. Let the woman eat.”
Masha shot Scarry a grateful look. She was eating heartily, and already the colour was returning to her cheeks. She caught my eye, and gave a rueful grin.
“Didn’t scare you off, then?”
I thought of the reactions I seen from the crew: how carefully they had navigated the line between safety and dignity for everyone aboard; how clearly they had centred Masha’s needs; how much love they had shown her in this time of crisis.
“No,” I said. “No, I was not scared at all.”
[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 an idea by Toblerones. 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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