Episode 64
Travelling Light E064S02 Transcript
H.R. Owen
Hello friends, Hero here. We're due a short break for the next two weeks, so there'll be no episode on the 21st or the 28th and we'll be back with Episode 65 on December 5th. Look after yourselves, and we'll see you soon.
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Sixty Four.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
Entry MA85131-1. A discussion of the Kalosfa communications device.
Keywords: communication; scientific research; technology; Ka'ampa; Kalosfa; Ha'asbuk; Ha'asbuk University.
Notes:
Ha’asbuk University is only around 60 years old – a young upstart compared to other academic institutions on Ka'ampa which reckon their ages in millennia. Neither does it enjoy the same clientele as these older institutions.
One does not come to Ha’asbuk to study languages or traditional dance or sailing or weaving or any of the other prized skills of the Ka’ampan aristocracy. One comes to HU for vocational skills, practical research, and technology.
HU may have few poets among its alumni, but both the university itself and its former students have played a substantial role in a number of major technological developments over the last century. One of these is the Kalosfa, the radical new communications device I had been so kindly invited to use.
Oyan led the way to meet their friend Sandé, a member of the research team responsible for this fabulous invention. I was expecting an equally fabulous research laboratory, all gleaming metal and glittering glass.
Instead, the School of Technology was a square, squat building, its cladding warped and discoloured, made from some kind of cheap, extruded material designed to look like brickwork from a distance. A very great distance.
The interior was no less underwhelming. The industrial carpet tiles were threadbare and stained, as old as the university, and I could not tell if the walls had been painted white originally, or if the dingy grey was intentional.
Sandé met us in the lobby, greeting Oyan with a hug and me with a formal bow. Her research lab was on the top floor, which we reached by way of a very slow and shuddery lift that smelled faintly of damp socks and burnt plastic.
On the way up, Sandé explained she and Oyan had studied together in Kolabe City before she came to Ha’asbuk to pursue a research degree.
“When Ha’asbuk joined the Kalosfa project, I begged to be allowed to join the team. That was, oh, eight years ago now?”
“Ha’asbuk joined the project?” I clarified. “It is not a HU project to begin with?”
“Oh, no. No, there are four universities and three independent academies working on this thing!
“It’s not easy, working with seven teams: seven slightly different goals and priorities, not to mention all the languages and cultures involved. But it’s also seven teams’ worth of perspective and imagination.”
“Still. It must take some wrangling,” I said, genuinely impressed. The lift doors lumbered open and we stepped out into a dingy corridor.
“The annual conference can get quite heated!” Sandé agreed. “This way now. Mind your step,” she added, as I stumbled over a loose piece of linoleum.
The corridor twisted this way and that until finally it came to a set of double doors that Sandé pushed open with all the aplomb of an adventure hero entering an ancient temple.
The temperature dropped noticeably inside. Overworked air conditioning supplied a background drone to a cacophony of ticking, beeping and whirring.
Imagine a floor-to-ceiling bookcase made of metal, but instead of books it is covered in an array of lights, switches and dials. Now imagine a room filled with row upon row of these, with barely space to move between them.
Little wonder the air conditioning was struggling. Without its efforts, I have no doubt the whole lab would have overheated in minutes.
“This is the Kalosfa! Or one of them, anyway. Each team has their own, of course. Wouldn’t be much use otherwise!”
“I thought the machine worked with any communicator device?” I said.
“Oh, it does! No, that’s the whole point. It works by connecting two devices, boosting and improving their signal rather than sending its own. The idea is it might eventually be retroactively applied to existing devices, instead of requiring all new kit. Right now though, you do need quite a bit of kit.
“The main focus of the project is actually data compression. If you imagine your comms device signal as a parcel, we need to make it small enough to pass through the system – to, uh, fit through the letterbox, if you like.
“The current method is a bit like vacuum-packing. The message is squashed down before it’s sent and then un-squashed at the other end. We’ve had the tech to do that for static data for a long time. But a live call is much harder.”
“And that is where the Kalosfa comes in?”
Sandé nodded enthusiastically. “This is where it gets really interesting…”
Sandé’s explanation was thorough and extensive. Unfortunately, it was rather more than I could follow. I am not an engineer – a passable amateur electrician at best! However, I am also an archivist.
I have attached one of Sandé’s reports outlining the actual workings of the Kalosfa device. I have skimmed it, and understood several words in isolation but gleaned no broader meaning. I trust someone at home will find it fascinating.
For my part, I was more interested in the impact this technology would have – how Sandé hoped or expected it might be used, and by whom, and to what end. When I put these questions to her, her eyes grew wide with excitement.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly say! As soon as we publish, the information is out there, for anyone with sense to read it.”
“Still,” I prompted. “After eight years of work, you must have some opinions on how your accomplishments are used.”
Sandé’s face did something complicated. She thought hard before answering.
“First of all, it’s not my accomplishment. Or, not mine alone. I’m proud of my work here, but I’m just as proud of every contribution from every one of my colleagues.
“Secondly, you say ‘eight years’ like it’s a long time. That’s nothing! We’ve made a huge step forwards, I won’t deny that, but this…” Here she gestured to the banks of machinery all around us. “This is only the first step on a long road.
“We never set out to make a device that needs seven separate research teams to make sense of. We never wanted something you need a whole floor of a building to house, or machinery so delicate you need three degrees to use it!
“The original scope of the Kalosfa project is actually very simple. We want to make it possible for people to talk to each other from one system to the next, without having to wait weeks or months between each part of the conversation.
“Right now, it’s possible in the strictest sense. But it’s hardly accessible, is it? I suppose, if you want the real pie-in-the-sky, absolute daydream answer to what I want from this work, it’s that.
“I want the Kalosfa to become ordinary. I want primary school kids to learn how to install the tech on their own devices. I want to hear the news from Garra System while it’s still new, and to share my research in minutes, not months.
“And I want to call my mam for no reason, just say hello and hear her say it back. I want this to be just the beginning. So – how’s that for a pipe-dream?”
“I think it is a very good dream indeed,” I said, feeling the truth of it in every word.
[The sound of the data stick whirring fades in, cutting out when the data stick is removed with a click.]
The Traveller
31st Marim 851
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
The Guillemot arrived in Ha’asbuk in the early hours of the morning, though it was mid-afternoon by the ship’s clock – always a disconcerting experience. The city was just waking by the time we had finished our business at the docks.
I had hours to kill before Oyan and I were due to meet their friend at the university, but I was too restless for any useful occupation.
I was going to speak to Óli. Actually speak to them, for the first time in so long! I oscillated wildly between giddy excitement and stomach-churning dread. There was so much I wanted to say. [sighs] So much I needed to tell them.
Finally, after an interminable stretch of hours during which the clock’s hands seemed to move not at all, Oyan knocked at my cabin door.
“You ready to go soon?” they asked. “We’re meeting Sandé at half past.”
I leapt up from my bunk, dropping the sock I had been absent-mindedly pretending to darn. “Yes. I am ready. I-If you are, that is. Whenever you want.”
[laughing] “Alright, keener,” Oyan teased. “Don’t want to keep your friend waiting, eh? Aren’t they like, royalty or something?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Not technically. And not any more, anyway. It is complicated”
I tried to explain on the way to the university, but my mind was not really on the topic and I think Oyan was more confused than ever by the time I was done. I did not care. I was going to see Óli again. I did not care about anything else at all.
We had allowed plenty of time before the call to talk to Sandé, Oyan’s friend, and learn about the machine. I knew rightly, no matter how the call went, I would be in no fit state to concentrate on such matters after talking to Óli.
At last, the appointed hour came. I sat down at the interface Sandé showed me, and did some breathing exercises as her team booted up the machine. The room filled with a rumbling thrum as the systems came online, one by one.
“Astova is online,” called a technician. The screen flickered, static crackling the speakers. I could barely hear it over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.
Óli’s face flickered onto the screen, their wonderful, beautiful face, brow drawn in concentration, looking so perfect I… I lost my breath.
“Óli!” I cried, as soon as I had found it again. “I can see you. Can you see me?”
I saw the moment our video signal reached them. I saw the way their face lit up as they said my name – my name, in their voice! I had to blink back tears.
“I can hear you!” they confirmed. “And see you! Have you cut your hai-”
Their face flickered, interference scattering the image – and the screen died.
A new voice came over the speakers. “Ha’asbuk, this is Astova. We’re having some difficulties establishing the signal. It’s most likely the visual element. We could stabilise by going audio only, or see how long we can last with video?”
“I would prefer a longer call,” I put in hastily, “if that is the choice here. Not that I do not want to see you, Óli,” I added, leaning into the microphone.
It was Óli who answered. “I would rather talk for longer too,” they said. “I want to hear about all your adventures!”
“I do not know that I would call them ‘adventures’. Although – you will like this – I visited a town called Utomi before leaving the Ionad System. They were having this festival all to do with a plant called the sumbrashki tree...”
I had thought it might be strange to speak with Sandé and the other scientists milling about, taking readings from their machines. But they soon fell away into the background as I sank back into my connection with Óli, as easy as it had ever been.
“Bow are your classes?” I asked after they had finished laughing at my encounter with sumbrashki tea. “I am sure you are taking it all in your stride.”
“For the most part,” they agreed. “It is difficult enough to feel like a challenge, but not so much that I get fed up. It is a bit odd, being one of the oldest students.”
“Does it make you yearn for your lost youth?”
[laughing] “I am still plenty youthful, thank you! Besides, I would not have been able to make the most of any of this when I was their age. I was so full of myself! I would have thought I knew everything and not been brave enough to ask for any help.”
“You are plenty brave now,” I said, brimming with affection. “How is everyone in Clanagh? Sinséar, Pol? Ranaí?”
“Oh, they are well. Everyone is doing well. Poki misses you,” they added.
“He does not.”
[laughing] “No, no he does not. I miss you though. Gods, I was so angry at you. Going off like that with no notice, insisting no, no, you were only going to be gone for a few weeks, honest! And then you up and leave the system for who knows how long, and all you send me is one piddling pre-written postcard!”
Laid out like that, I really had no defence. “I am so sorry. You are right, of course. I have behaved abominably.”
Óli tutted, sparking with static. “I would not say ‘abominable’. Selfish, maybe.”
I desperately did not want to say the next part. But I knew I must. I took a deep breath, holding clear in my mind my commitment to honesty.
“Óli,” I began. “I have something to tell you. I should have told you sooner but I did not want to upset you.”
Their voice, when it came, was cold, almost afraid. “What have you done?”
I steadied myself, determined to see this through. “I have not been entirely honest with you about my journey. The thing is, I am actually travelling aboard the Guillemot. With Captain Scarry. A-As… [clears throat] As part of his crew.”
There was a long, dreadful pause – longer than the signal delay could allow for. And then, a quiet but unmistakable sound.
I had been braced for anger, for tearful recriminations, perhaps even for Óli breaking off the call altogether. I had not been prepared for laughter.
[laughing] “Of course you are! Let me guess – you have heard things from his side now and oh, you’ve seen him in a whole new light! You know you can do that with anyone? Talk to them until they make sense.”
“Yes,” I said. “I do. It is quite an important part of my entire world-view, in fact.”
[mimicking] “Ooh, quite an important part of my world-view,” Óli mimicked. “You sound like Ranaí.”
I could not go on like this. “Óli, I cannot see your face. I have no idea how you are feeling. Please, will you just tell me?”
“How am I feeling? [sighs] Honestly, mostly I am upset you did not tell me sooner.”
That hit its mark. “I did not want to have an argument about it.”
“Who is arguing? I am not arguing. There is no point. I know what you people are like.”
“You people?”
“Your people. You forget, while you have been off gallivanting, I have been here in Clanagh with Ranaí and Ornush and Paridhra and the rest. All your folk. And they are, every one of them, exactly as stubborn as you about things like this.”
I was not following. “What do you mean, things like this?”
“Oh, you know. Things that you think the Light or whatever is leading you to do. You should get yourself some proper gods. Zuen would never insist I heard some bugger’s side of the story before judging them, as long as I make the proper libations.”
“I thought you would be angry,” I admitted.
There was another pause. “I am angry,” said Óli at last. “Of course I am angry. Just not angry enough to make it your problem.”
I flinched. “Óli, I care about. I want your feelings to be my problem.”
“No, you don’t. You do not actually want to put my feelings first. That spot is always going to be reserved for doing what you think is right. I would not ask you to. I know you too well. It would make you miserable.”
I wanted to say something, but I could not find the words. Óli went on. “I also know you would not do something that would hurt me unless you were convinced it was the right thing. You are obviously getting something you need out of this.”
“Yes,” I said, wishing I could see them. “I think… I am.”
[sighs] “Well then. What is to argue? I do not like it, but… Do not worry about me. I have a life to be getting on with.”
A cold pit opened in my stomach. “Oh,” I said. “I-I see. If that is what you want…”
Óli’s voice came so quickly, they must have interrupted me. “No, you numpty! I do not mean, ‘I have my own life and I do not want you in it.’ I mean, you do not have to worry about me. I have plenty of friends here to complain to about you.”
“I do worry about you,” I said.
“Well then you should write to me more! And tell me where you are going to be so I can write back, and tell you whether or not you should be worried!”
[sighing] “I know. I know, I am sorry. I have been a coward.”
“Coward is too dignified for it. You have been a wimp.”
[laughing] “I have,” I admitted, my heart swelling with fondness.
Óli sniffed. “I forgive you. I am very magnanimous like that. But when you write? Do not tell me about him. You can see all the other sides you like, but I have no interest in that man or anything he does.”
“I promise,” I reassured them. “It will be like he does not exist.”
I did not have to see them to know the little nod they would give to that, nor to picture the graceful curve of their neck as they did.
“Good,” they said. “Does this mean you are heading for Tilfar?”
“We are heading that way. Uh. Yes, I mean. Yes, we are on our way to return your cloak.”
“In that case, I need you to give me your word. I do not want you to talk to my family without telling me first. Is that clear? And you must give me plenty of notice, so I can think about it and decide what I want. Do you promise?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, Óli. I will not go anywhere near them without your permission.”
[sighs] “Good. Alright then. Ask me about my sewing, please.”
I blinked. “Pardon?”
“My sewing. I am learning to sew, and I would like you to ask me about it. You can ask how the pattern for my new skirt is coming along.”
“How is it coming along?” I said, happy to oblige.
“Awful! It is supposed to be this elegant, twisting thing like a Rurian slyf wrap. But I cannot get the closure to sit right…”
We talked and talked, and I had a surge of gratitude that we had decided to cut the video after all. It would have been untenable to end the call any sooner.
Of course, it was not long enough. I do not think it could ever have been long enough. But by the time we said goodbye, I was so relieved I could hardly think.
I am not proud of how I have handled this whole affair. I have been selfish and... wimpy. And I regret hurting Óli, as I know I have.
But I know it because they have told me. They trusted me with those feelings and cared enough about our friendship not to let me off the hook with platitudes.
I wish I could be part of helping them through those feelings. I shall have to trust in turn that their friends in Clanagh will be able to uphold them through that process. I am glad they are so well settled. So well loved.
And I am determined to live up to the faith they have put in me. My choices have caused harm to someone I care about, and I will not let that be in vain. I will walk the path of the Light, and learn what I must learn to make this worthwhile.
[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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