Episode 62
Travelling Light E062S02 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Sixty Two.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
26th Ishal 851, continued.
“Thanks ever so much for the loot!” Flissy said as they led the way back to the entry bay. “You’ve been a delight. 10 out of 10, would rob again!” [laughs]
Scarry gave no answer to this. Instead, he listened, ostensibly politely, as Flissy explained that the device they had used to immobilise the Guillemot would disengage a few minutes after the FlissyShippy left.
“I prefer to get well out of the way before we let our little fishies out of the net. You know how it is. Now! Are we all ready to depart?”
The other pirates were waiting in the entry bay, laden with crates of merchandise. Masha stood with them, and when we entered, she shot a look at Scarry that spoke of resignation, reassurance and frustration all at once.
“It really was lovely to see you again,” Hesje said, lingering at the hatch as the rest of their crew disembarked. “Though I do think you should try to relax a bit. It’s not good for you, you know, taking everything so seriously all the time.”
Before I could even begin to formulate an answer to that, they were gone, back to the SS FlissyShippy and their apparently delightful life of crime. The entry hatch cycled closed, and we heard the shuddering clunk of the other vessel disengaging.
The sound was Scarry’s signal. He braced an arm against the wall, leant his forehead against that, and let out an exhausted sigh, shoulders slumping as his usually strong, upright frame collapsed in on itself.
“Masha?” he said, without raising his head.
“I looked in on Oyan and Tarlin on the way round, Cap. They’re alright. I’m alright. The Gilly’s alright. Everyone’s alright.”
“Everyone’s alright,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself. He pressed his head against his arm… then straightened back to his usual authoritative posture.
“Check on Resimus for me. They were holding it together while I was down there but… They have a full list of what was taken. You have the same, I assume?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll start the paperwork for the insurance claim.”
Scarry gestured her words away. “Take your time, pilot. I’ll meet you in the cockpit with Oyan. We need to lay a new course.”
Masha nodded smartly, and turned to stride away down the corridor to the cargo deck. Scarry watched her go. Then, his eyes found mine.
“I need to wash,” he said, “and eat and talk to my crew. Might you allow me that, before you start lecturing me?”
I usually think of myself as a fairly even-tempered person. But that man makes me so angry I could spit. “You only cared about your insurance. That whole time, you were just thinking about how you would make your money back!”
Scarry sighed, lowering himself onto a bench. He popped open the storage bin beside him and rummaged around before pulling out a foil-wrapped bar.
“They left some of our snacks,” he said, genuinely pleased. “How good of them.”
“You would have let them take any of it, anything they had asked, is that right?”
“That’s exactly right,” Scarry agreed, taking a bite of his snack bar. “Luckily for us, they were well enough placated with other merchandise that they were willing to grant us some grace when we asked. I’d take that as a win.”
“You ought to have procedures in place-”
“This is our procedure. If ever we are boarded, we cooperate with the aggressors in order to minimise personal risk.”
“Nobody was at risk! Hesje said Flissy avoids unnecessary force-”
Scarry let out a harsh, horrible bark of laughter. “Saints alive! I know we have not always seen eye to eye, little feist, but I never took you for a fool! Do you believe everything a person tells you?
“I don’t know what Captain Flissy intended. I don’t know what they would have done if we had resisted their demands. But I know my crew.
“I know Tarlin is already injured, and Resimus has only to take a bad blow and they’ll be bleeding into their joints for a week. Masha, aye. Maybe Masha could hold her own. But little Oyan? Against a crew of pirates? Are you joking?”
Tears sprang to my eyes. I tried to blink them back, feeling foolish and angry and guilty and… afraid. All the emotions that had bubbled up at seeing Óli’s robe, laid out like so much loot, they all swirled inside me in a sickening tangle.
“I thought they were going to take it,” I managed.
Scarry finished the last of his bar, shoving the wrapper into his pocket. He got to his feet, and stepped into my space, bringing with him the smell of sweat and engine oil. “I strongly suggest you reevaluate your priorities.”
And he was gone, leaving me alone in the entry bay. I dropped onto one of the benches, glad for the smothering comfort of the jumper Scarry had given me.
It took a long time for me to calm down. When I did, I did not go to my own cabin, though I was sorely tempted to crawl into my bunk and hide until I perished from old age. Instead, I went to the galley.
Tarlin was sitting at the big table with her leg up on a chair, reading a book. She looked up when I came in, and raised her eyebrows.
“You alright, pet? You’re looking a wee bit, uh…”
She gestured vaguely towards her own face. I knew what she meant. I could only imagine how red my eyes must have been, my face puffy and streaked with salt.
“I think I might be an idiot,” I confessed, scrubbing my sleeve over my cheeks.
“We’ve all been there. You want to talk about it?”
“Actually I wondered if you wanted some help making dinner? I know your knee-”
“My knee’s fine!” she objected, though I could I see for myself the pressure bandage Oyan had wrapped round it.
“All the same. I think everyone will be in need of something, after all that.”
“Ah. Not such an idiot, then. Go your ends, pet. I’ll play sous chef for once!”
I gathered up some ingredients and set Tarlin to chopping vegetables. I was not planning anything complicated; just some quick bread and soup, something warm and filling that would take the edge off the day’s hardships.
I did not mean to start talking. But before long, I was pouring my heart out as Tarlin made sympathetic noises and called me fool whenever I deserved it.
“I thought I was a good person before I left home,” I said, already feeling better for the smell of baking and the comforting rhythm of the kitchen. “Now, I do not know what to think. I am doing my best, but I… I keep getting it wrong.
“Seems like the biggest mistake you’ve made is thinking you had it all figured out. You don’t sound like a bad person to me. You just sound young.”
“I am not as young as all that,” I grumbled.
“You’re barely born, child!”
“I am well past the age where I should have learnt-”
“Learnt what? Learnt how to live with people who were not your own? How long have you been away from home?”
“About nine months?” I hazarded.
“Nine months!” Tarlin crowed. “From what you’ve told me, you were a bit of a golden child growing up.”
“I would not put it like that,” I objected.
“No? Your granny was a priest, wasn’t she? Raised you in the temple. A whole congregation around you, looking out for you, rooting for you. And that’s no bad thing for a child to have. But it’s a terrible way to learn how to make mistakes.”
I poured the last of the stock into the pot and set it to simmer. “All the same,” I said, “I used to trust my instincts. And they told me our activities aboard the Tola could not be so bad, since the people doing it were friends of mine. Ridiculous!
“They told me I could take a holiday and go back to Clanagh refreshed. I have been away now for over a month, and I… I know that cannot be easy for Óli. And every instinct I have about Scarry has been turned on its head twice daily!”
[laughing] “You can’t blame yourself too much for that one. He’s always been contrary. But he’s a good boy at heart. He just cares too much, doesn’t know what to do with it all. I don’t know where he gets it from. I was never half the fussbudget he is, and his father even less so!” [laughs]
I had been washing some dishes, but stopped at this, my hands falling still in the soapy water. “Oyan told me you and Scarry were from the same station.”
“So we are. I never travelled much before the Gilly,” she added, looking abashed.
“No, sorry. I mean, that is all they told me. That you were from the same place.”
It took a moment for my meaning to come clear. Then, Tarlin burst out laughing. [laughing] “Oh, the wee hallion! No, pet – I’m his mammy!”
You can well imagine this derailed the conversation somewhat – though it does illustrate what I mean by Scarry throwing me persistently for a loop. His mammy. Good grief.
He did not come to dinner. Still, it was clearly the right thing to have made it. The others took such obvious comfort in both the food and the company. They were still up when I went to bed, feeling better about my judgement.
We arrived on Kuzkun a few days ago. Scarry and Masha have mostly been off-ship, dealing with bankers and insurance reps. Oyan has been showing me around – they are from here, and are taking us all to an art event later which I shall write up for the archives before I send this letter.
I showed myself in a very poor light during the robbery. I judged Captain Scarry abominably. And seeing Óli’s robe again has brought up a whole wash of other feelings.
I suppose I shall just have to wait and see where the Light leads me, and hope that I can trust myself to follow it true. I love you all. Please, pray for me.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry IS85126-3. The Yular, a notable artistic event on the planet Kuzkun.
Keywords: arts and crafts; communication; Kuzkun; language and dialect; occasions and ceremonies; Uzengi; Yular.
Notes:
The Guillemot came to Kuzkun after an incident, recounted elsewhere, which led to a lengthy and complicated insurance claim. The crew was in need of the infrastructure and communications support of a large, centralised system.
However, instead of burning hot to the nearest planet, Captain Scarry instead gave the order to head for Kuzkun. We had been scheduled to arrive there in a week or so, but instead arrived significantly beforehand.
There were several places on the way that might have suited our needs better. But the claim process had us stuck planet-side for some time, and it happened that our stop on Kuzkun had been carefully timed.
“It's the artistic event of the decade!” Oyan informed me, voice ringing with excitement. “Or, well, it happens every five years so I guess it's the event of the half-decade? But I missed it last time so it's the event of my decade!”
They were barrelling around the crew lounge gathering the art supplies scattered around the room. Oyan is a talented painter, but they do have a tendency to leave their brushes and equipment wherever they happen set them down.
“Why did you miss it last time?” I asked, handing them a bottle of turpentine that had rolled beneath a side table.
“Work. I'd just joined the crew. I met them in Kolabe City. That's my hometown! The Gilly wasn't due to leave for a few weeks. I thought I'd have time to head down to t’Yular after I signed, but then a new contract came up and…
“It wasn't Cap's fault. I should have told him I wanted to go. But I was new! I didn't want to make a fuss. I tried not to let on how upset I was but I'm not like Masha or Cap – I can't really do the whole stoic and mysterious thing.
“Anyway, Cap said if I stuck with them long enough, he'd make sure I saw the next one. And here we are!”
And through no small measure of effort from Captain Scarry, either. If he had chosen to resolve his claim anywhere else, Oyan would surely have missed it.
“Have you seen the Yular before?” I asked.
“Twice,” Oyan confirmed, shoving tubes of paint into a satchel. “My family all went down once when I was 7, and then I went with school when I was 12. That was the one that made me want to be an artist.
“I left on my apprenticeship after that, and never managed to time my visits home to see it again. But I'm finally going! Oh, it's like nothing else, just you wait!”
Due to the Guillemot’s size, we had to land quite some distance away and take public transit to the Yular itself. It was taking place in the Uzench Reserve, a huge swath of land strictly controlled by the Mahmuz Regional Council.
Oyan explained, bouncing in their seat with anticipation.
“It’s because of the Uzengi, see? They’re a species that live on the reserve, one of the native species of the Mahmuz Region.
“There was a time, right, when you and me couldn’t have had this conversation. It’s only because of this thing that we’re actually able talk to each other like, one person to another,” they said, tapping their translator device.
“But that only works because we’re both talking. I can’t make some of the sounds you can, but it’s still like, thoughts into words into sounds. You get me?”
I thought fondly of my friend Vermi in Nimidol and their commitment to developing a truly universal translator. “Do the Uzengi not use speech, then?”
“Nope. They don’t use lights or colours or anything either, though. They don't even have bodies in the same way we do. They have this big underground web, it’s like a root system almost. Except they sort of are the system? In a way?
“It stretches all over the Uzench Reserve. In the soil, I mean. Most people, when they say Uzengi, they mean that whole network.
“But there are sort of distinct clusters. We don't know if it's like those clusters are limbs, or if they're totally separate individuals. They might even be more like cities.
“Anyway. All the different parts of the network can talk to all the rest. Or, not ‘talk’. It's something to do with chemical signals? Sent through the roots? Nobody’s really sure, and they haven’t worked out yet how to translate it for people who use language, like us.”
My next question was a delicate one. “How can we be sure the Uzengi are… How do we know they are speaking to each other and not signalling like a-a plant colony or animals or something? I mean no offence,” I hastened to add.
“No, it’s a good question! Honestly, I don’t know! There must have been some kind of communication – something that made it clear the Uzengi are people.
“That’s how the reserve was built. We – everyone else, I mean – wanted to make sure the Uzengi had their own space to live and grow and do what they want without other species getting in the way.
“Obviously, it’d be better if we could properly talk to each other. We don’t really know what the Uzengi want for themselves. But until we manage that, this at least makes sure nobody’s stepping on anybody’s toes. We hope.”
It was an interesting question. How exactly could the other inhabitants of Kuzkun respect the autonomy and dignity of their co-habitants with this enormous block on their ability to communicate with one another?
But that is beyond the scope of this entry. We were here for the art.
During most of their life cycle, the Uzengi remain unseen, underground. But every five years, in the event known as the Yular, the network sends new growth up through the earth to release glittering clouds of spores into the open air.
The growths themselves are the real attraction, and the strongest argument for the Uzengi having some kind of complex intelligence. At every Yular, the fleshy growths form into beautiful, and clearly intentional, works of art.
I walked through the reserve with the other guests, gazing at the dizzying variety of styles and colours. I thought I could see some thematic groupings. Perhaps these were the clusters or cities that Oyan had mentioned.
Oyan was still obviously brimming with delight at every turn of the carefully laid boardwalk. But there was very little conversation, and despite the crowds of visitors, the atmosphere remained hushed, even reverential.
We came to a viewing platform, and Oyan set up their easel to capture some of the beauty we saw before us.
"My auntie is a Yular historian at Kolabe University,” they said, their voice low, “and she says it takes 20 years plus to really start to see Uzengi art the way they might see it themselves. I haven’t got that sort of time. But I love it, all the same.”
The Uzengi experience life in a way so foreign to me, I cannot even really begin to imagine it. They have an utterly different relationship with… with reality! With the entire fact of being alive and in the world.
And what is art but a response to life? We take the world in through our senses and our perceptions, filter it through the unique facets of our own minds and bodies, and when we create from those experiences, we are making art.
The fact the people of Kuzkun are able to make this kind of contact with one another is a thing of beauty in itself, bridging an impossible gap in perception and experience – as all great art does.
[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 Snazzycrow. 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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