Episode 61
Travelling Light E061S02 Transcript
H.R. Owen
Hello friends, Hero here to introduce you to a brand new podcast perfect for any fans of our previous show, Monstrous Agonies. Meditation for Monsters is a relaxation podcast for creatures and cryptids. Check out their trailer at the end of the credits, or see the show-notes for more details.
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Sixty One.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
26th Ishal 851, continued.
“Hesje!” cried Flissy. “You didn’t say you had friends aboard, how marvellous!”
“I-I didn’t know. Everything I told you was completely accurate, as far as I was aware – a crew of five, including the captain, none of them human.”
“Everything you told them?” I echoed. “You put them up to this?”
Flissy threw an arm around Hesje, squeezing them affectionately.
“Oh, Hessie’s been an absolute peach! We haven’t had a prize this big since, oh, the Queen of the Flight, I should say!”
I tried to swallow my shock. I stepped forwards, meeting Hesje’s eye, ready to appeal to whatever connection had once been between us.
“Hesje,” I began, “whatever it is that has led you down this path…”
“Stand down, crew-mate.”
Scarry’s quiet voice carried across the entry bay, heavy with authority.
“We can talk about this,” I pressed, ignoring him. But Hesje only smiled.
“I think your captain wants you,” they said, helpfully.
“He is not my captain,” I shot back.
“Yes, I am. Now stand down.”
I turned to face him, bristling at his tone. But despite the grim set of his mouth, I saw something else in his eyes. Something almost pleading.
“Wheeoo! You could cut the tension with a knife!” laughed Flissy. “Captain, is it? I’d have guessed ‘mechanic’ from the grease. You probably want to get your friend here in line. Take as long as you like. It’s not like you’re going anywhere!” [giggles]
They went to join the rest of their crew, who were by now hoking through the contents of the entry bay storage lockers and sorting them into piles.
“What are you doing?” I hissed to Scarry, who turned his body to give us the semblance of privacy. “You cannot just give them what they want!”
“What would you have me do? We are dead in the water. You don’t seriously think you can just talk about your feelings until they agree to leave?”
“Perhaps! This is Hesje we are talking about. They are not going to hurt us.”
“No, they’re not!” Scarry agreed. “Because we are going to do this by the book and get these people off my boat as soon as possible.”
I looked over to where Hesje was holding up an emergency kit, assessing its value. My confidence wavered. I could not see a trace of the anxious, frazzled academic I had known.
“I know you do not take orders,” Scarry went on, his voice softening. “I know you will do whatever you feel is right. But I need you to hear me on this. To trust me.”
My gaze found Scarry’s once again, his black eyes full of barely suppressed anger and… fear?
[sigh] “Fine. We will do it your way.”
For an instant, relief washed over Scarry’s face. Then it was gone, replaced with steely resolve. “Right then. Let’s get this over and done with.”
With Flissy’s permission, Scarry made a call on the intercom, updating the rest of the crew on the ongoing situation in a calm, even voice.
Masha was the only one to respond. “Just tell us what you need, Cap.”
Scarry's mouth twitched, holding back an appreciative smile. “Masha. If you could meet our visitors in the crew lounge and show them what merchandise you think befits their purpose. Resimus, we will meet you down in cargo. Oyan, Tarlin. Sit tight.”
Flissy clapped their hands. “Splendid efficiency! I do love to see it. Hessie, dear, you and your little chum come with me and the handsome captain down to the cargo bay, hm? You can get reacquainted while we load up!”
The pirate vessel – [sighing] the… SS FlissyShippy, if you can believe that – was smaller than the Guillemot by an order of magnitude. Even if they had wanted to, Flissy and their crew could not have made off with our entire stock of merchandise.
Fortunately for Flissy, Resimus keeps impeccable records of what, exactly, is stored where.
“Most of the cargo in Bay 2 is perishable,” they explained as they took Flissy through the manifest. “I don’t know if you have refrigerated storage aboard…”
“Oh, nothing of the sort. No, we’ll give that a miss. How about that fabric shipment in Bay 3?”
“Tredvian velvet mostly. Some Colloni brocade and a nice selection of other accoutrements – gem and pearl buttons, silk thread, that sort of thing.”
To an onlooker, Resimus might have seemed unfazed by the situation. But I could see how their eyes darted to Scarry time and again, how they kept their weight leant slightly towards him, as if seeking the reassurance of his presence.
I could see no such signs of distress from Scarry. He seemed content not just to let Flissy raid his cargo, but to assist them, advising them on the shipments that would be easiest to resell.
Still, I kept my word. When he told me to assist in loading the FlissyShippy’s cargo drone, I did so without complaint. Hesje joined me, apparently keen to take up Flissy’s suggestion and catch up with me, like old friends.
“I really wasn’t expecting to see you again,” they said cheerfully. “I thought you were staying on Kerrin with-”
“I hardly think my change of circumstances is the most notable between the two of us,” I interrupted, loading a crate onto the drone.
“Ah. Yes. I suppose this must be a bit of a shock.”
“That is putting it mildly. What happened to you?”
“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked it like that. Like the universe picked me up and plopped me down on Flissy’s quarterdeck with no input from me. Nothing happened to me, except myself. I made my choices, and here I am.
“I told you I was never much good at my job at the university. I hated having so much responsibility. It was all on my shoulders, all these decisions, every day, and so many people depending on me. And then, I whiffed it. All that stuff with the Tola… [sighs] Oh. What a mess.”
“You were trying to fix it, though. The… The smuggling…”
[laughing] “Oh, that hare-brained scheme! Well, it worked out. We got back to the university with some cash in the kitty at least. But I couldn’t bring myself to go back to work. To go back to all that pressure. All those people, all those… expectations.
“So, I didn’t! [laughing] I quit. Aman and Wolph were still in the system. They’d bought a new ship – a lovely little cargo runner, suits them both down to the ground. I asked for a ride to Makeba Station and off I went.”
“To become a pirate?”
“Oh no! No, that was just a stroke of luck. I met Flissy in a bar one night. Me – in a bar! [giggles] I blabbered away about my problems – you wouldn’t think it but they’re a marvellous listener. And at the end of it all, they asked if I might be interested in a job with them.”
A look of radiant calm stole over their furry face. “A job where I never, ever, ever have to make another decision again. Blissful!”
I could not believe my ears. “You are stealing from people!”
“I was stealing from people when we met. You were too, for a while.”
“And I am trying to make amends for that. Hesje, you are carrying a gun!”
Hesje looked down at the weapon on their belt as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, this? It’s only a tranquiliser. Flissy’s very big on avoiding excessive force.”
“Well, if it is only a tranquiliser!” I said. “How very noble!”
Hesje tossed their head, dismissive. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I really am happier now.”
“Oh, good,” I said, shoving another crate into place. “As long as you are happy.”
Hesje either did not hear or chose to ignore my tone. “I’m so glad you agree!” they beamed.
“So, what? You set out for the Guillemot in revenge?”
“Revenge?” said Hesje, sounding nonplussed. “Revenge for what?”
“The smuggling deal. Or Scarry’s pursuit of… Of the Tola.”
Hesje scrunched their nose. “Oh. Yes, I-I suppose I can see how you might think that. Honestly though, it’s as if all that happened to someone else. Some poor, nervous little thing who didn't know up from down. [laughs]
“No. No, I’m not angry. I just remembered it having a great deal of cargo. Lots of cargo, and not much crew to stop us getting at it Thought it might make a good, uh… Oh, what’s the word? Mark! That’s it. Sorry, still getting used to the lingo, you know!”
I stopped working, staring at the person who had once been my friend. Hesje rolled their eyes.
“Oh, don’t look so put-upon. It’s just stuff!”
“Just stuff,” I repeated. “You mean like it was ‘just stuff’ on the Tola?”
Hesje smiled again, a real, genuine smile of the sort I had so rarely seen in their former life. “Exactly! Nothing to get upset about!”
When we got back to the others, Scarry was showing Flissy the Guillemot’s secure unit where the most valuable cargo was stored. The contents were laid out on a bench.
A case of gemstones we were shipping for a jeweller on Kvar. A collection of scientific instruments for a research facility in the Bickle System. A book bought from smugglers on Mpo’a that we were supposed to be repatriating to Erwak.
And a folded bundle of finely embroidered robes bound for Tilfar.
“I have to ask your forgiveness, Captain,” Scarry said, in a calm, reasonable voice. He set aside the book and the robes. “You are welcome to help yourselves to the rest. But these items, I must ask you to leave in our possession.”
Flissy raised a perfect eyebrow. “Oh? Sentimental value, is it?”
I could barely breathe. I stared at Scarry, though he did not so much as glance in my direction.
He smiled wryly. “Nothing of the sort. No, they are simply not covered by our insurance. You understand.”
Insurance. Of course. Of course that is the only reason he would care about… About either of these items. Not because of the value they have to people they belong to. Not because of their meaning or significance. Just because they represent a financial loss he could not be sure of recouping.
I dug my teeth into my lips to keep from speaking. I had agreed to let Scarry take the lead, and I would do so. I watched Flissy agree to the terms, leaving the uninsured items and scooping up the gems instead. My vision blurred. I was sick to the death with the whole, heartless lot of them.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry IS85126-2. The Smolisan Accounting of Feats and Wonders
Keywords: Erwak; local history; material culture; natural disaster; Smolisa.
Notes:
To call the Smolisan Accounting of Feats and Wonders a book is to undersell the matter quite astonishingly. For one thing, it is enormous, as tall as my arm from elbow to wrist, and thicker than my palm is wide.
The dark leather of its cover is thick with embossed decorations in classical Smolisan style. Its corners are covered in gold caps, and instead of an ordinary binding, it has hinges, also of gold, and a matching golden lock upon its front.
It is a work of art, highly valuable in and of itself. But even if it were plain board and bookcloth, it would still be a remarkable object.
The Feats hail from a city called Smolisa, on the coast of a large island on the planet Erwak. It is a popular spot with tourists come to lounge on the sweeping white sand beaches and gorge themselves on local seafood.
They do not come to see the sights of Smolisa, however, for the simple reason that Smolisa has not existed for some 8000 years. It was destroyed wholesale when, 30 miles away on the other side of the Iva Straits, an earthquake caused a great wave to rise from the waters and swallow Smolisa down into the deep.
One witness, visiting the site just a few short years after the catastrophe, describes in poignant detail how the market-vendors and hagglers, the streetfuls of carts, the churn of industry, had all been smothered by the hush of the sea.
She writes how the gulls themselves seemed to cry out, weeping, as they circled the place where a city ought to stand. What was not destroyed by the wave was taken by those few scavengers brave enough to ignore the local tales of ghosts and revenants.
Centuries passed, and slowly, the wound began to heal. A generation was born for whom ghost stories of the lost city were just that – stories. But Smolisa would not be forgotten. Because those scavengers had not left empty-handed.
Every so often, an auctioneer or an antiques merchant would find herself in possession of an authentic Smolisan relic: a handful of coins, their faces worn smooth; a comb engraved in a language no longer spoken; a ring studded with real Smolisan rubies.
Nobody knows how the Accounting of Feats and Wonders ended up on Phekiu, half a galaxy away from Erwak. But it was there that the Feats passed under the eye of an appraiser with a passion for Smolisan artefacts.
He did not identify the book immediately. It was only after long, careful study that he realised what he held in his hands. For the contents of the Feats are as astonishing as the rest of its history.
One would be hard pressed to find a culture that did not value stories. We all of us tell tales about who we are and who we were and what that means.
The Feats and Wonders are, in some ways, a story about who the Smolisans were. Or at least, a collection of snippets about who some of them were – and, more importantly, what they achieved.
Some of the feats recorded are group efforts – the twelve classes of school children, for example, who came together to create the largest children's choir. Others are demonstrations of physical prowess, like Gebl Kuo, who held his breath for 78 minutes, beating the previous record by a full quarter of an hour.
Some, meanwhile, are less obviously impressive. The Smolisan who fit 438 cream pastries into their mouth, for example, or Tizio Adlhi, who owned more green sarongs than anyone else in the city.
But as obscure as they may be to us today, these accomplishments clearly meant something to the people of Smolisa, enough that they not only recorded them, but decorated their record with precious metals and brightly coloured illustrations on every page.
We may never know what drove Smolisans like Rongu Bembriz, aged 32, to sit in a bathtub full of uncooked beans, or why this behaviour was deemed worthy of recording, or why the record of his… accomplishment… was so highly valued.
Nonetheless, the Smolisan Accounting of Feats and Wonders does tells us a story – or part of one, at least. It offers us a glimpse into the past, and gives us a small insight into the people who created this unusual text. It shows us their ambition, their community spirit, their dedication, and their sense of humour.
[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 Matt McDyre. You can see Matt's illustration for the entry on our social media accounts.
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[Fade to silence. Then, the Meditation for Monsters trailer begins]
Announcer
In a world full of chaos, looming deadlines… and the occasional pitchfork-wielding villager…
Even monsters need a moment of peace.
[ambient background music begins] Welcome to Meditation for Monsters — The podcast where creatures and cryptids learn to chill out. Whether you’re reanimating corpses, drowning sailors, or just overstimulated from centuries of doom… We’ve got bite-sized, monster-approved meditations just for you. Because even monsters need a break. [Sped up:] (Human listeners are acceptable. Relax at your own peril)
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