Episode 69
Travelling Light E069S02 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Sixty Nine.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
26ᵗʰ Shebath 851, continued.
I stood, hanging in the balance of my decision, until finally, I reached out to the door of my cabin, the handle cold beneath my palm.
Scarry’s room is a little apart from the others, closer to the entry hatch than anything else. I felt ghost-like, walking through the empty corridors, past the closed, unseeing eyes of my crew-mates’ cabin doors.
Light spilled out from beneath Scarry’s door. I could hear music playing. Before I could second guess myself, I raised my fist and knocked.
The music cut off. I heard a creak – a chair, perhaps, or his bunk. I held my nerve. The door opened.
He was not dressed yet for bed. That was a relief; I do not think I could have handled the sight of him in pyjamas. I do not even know if he wears pyjamas.
[clears throat] That is not the point. He just looked normal. Soft, the way he always does at the end of a shift. His collar was crooked, open at the throat. I was aware of the faint scent of his soap. I had never really noticed it before. Or never noticed that I was noticing it.
I have not noticed a great many things about the attention I have paid to Captain Scarry. To his hands, strong and capable. The way I have to tilt my head to look at him, especially when he steps close. [sighing] Not to mention those bloody legs! [laughs]
“Can I help you?” His voice brought me back to myself. My cheeks reddened.
“M-may I come in?”
He considered. I do not know what I would do if he said no. But after a beat, he stepped aside to let me in, closing the door behind me.
His cabin was not what I had imagined, insofar as I had imagined anything. It was clean and tidy, which is not a surprise. And he does have rugs – nice ones, making a sort of comfortable jumble across the floor.
The whole space was comfortable, in a simple sort of way. There was an armchair beside a low bookcase with a music player sitting atop it. The light was turned low, making the room feel smaller than it was.
Scarry made his way to the bed – not, I noticed, the narrow, built-in bunk of my cabin but a proper bed – and sat down on the edge, waiting for me to speak.
“Your bed’s bigger than mine,” I blurted out.
“I’m bigger than you,” he countered. He was utterly unruffled, taking my presence with no sign of discomfort. “Is there something I can help you with?”
I could not answer that. Not worded so… [sighs] I looked at him, our eyes meeting for the first time since he opened the door. Whatever he saw in my face, it must have been… communicative.
“I am your captain,” he said, in answer to my unspoken question.
“I do not really listen to orders, though,” I pointed out.
His face did not shift but a shine of laughter came into his eyes. “That is true. But, still. I am technically your employer.”
I shrugged, took a step towards him. “If it is the money, you can put Masha in charge of payroll.”
[laughing] “You really know how to chat a guy up. Nothing like payroll to get the blood pumping.”
[laughing] “You started it!” I laughed, stepping into the space between his knees. His hands took hold of my hips like they belonged there. His face grew almost serious.
“If I put Masha in charge of payroll, she will immediately understand why.”
“I can live with that.”
“You will have to. This is a small crew, and every person in it is an incorrigible gossip. Including my mother!”
“Ooh, now who is saying all the right things?” I shot, but Scarry ignored me.
“You cannot do this by halves,” he insisted. “No matter how the plays out between us, it will be a whole damn thing. Do you understand that, little feist?”
I kissed him. It seemed the easiest way to get him to stop talking. And it worked. At least, when he started again, he was not discussing my employment status.
I woke up early in the morning, as is my habit. Scarry was a warm presence beside me. I did not want to wake him. But neither did I want to encounter any of the aforementioned gossips before I had at least had time to wash up and fix my hair.
I did not think about my decision to leave until I was out of shower and getting dressed for the day. Suddenly, I was seized with doubt.
I had left Scarry sleeping out of consideration. But what if he took it as a sign of my disinterest? What if he thought I regretted our time together, that I viewed as a terrible mistake not to be repeated?
That sent me down another rabbit hole. Did I want to repeat it? I had no idea. I like Scarry. I enjoy his company. I think I have been ignoring how much I like it, really. But he is not wrong about the situation being complicated.
I told Sandé that Óli and I have never discussed our relationship. And we have not. But I-I am sure there are no expectations there of… [splutters]
Of what? What might a person expect as their due in a situation such as mine and Óli’s? Once again, I am writing this wishing fervently that I were in your company. These are not rhetorical questions; I truly do not know the answer here!
I do not know what Óli expects or hopes for us. I barely know what I feel upon the matter. I am aware I did not have these considerations when I agreed to keep Friya company on the passage to Napator, for whatever that is worth.
[sighing] Oh, but Friya was a stranger. Scarry is… [sighs] He is my friend. A true friend, I believe, and a good one. But not someone I think Óli could ever find their way to accepting, even as nothing more than a friend of mine. Let alone…
Oh, by the Light! [laughing] Yes, the situation is complicated!
All these thoughts and more pummelled my brain in quick succession as I stood in the middle of my cabin, one foot inside a pair of trousers I had not finished pulling up, staring blankly at a wall.
I came back to myself with a jolt. I could not think about all this on an empty stomach. I put my trousers on, and went to get some breakfast.
Masha, I knew, would be sleeping in as late as she could get away with. Given that we were on planet, Resimus had likely already left for a morning run. But I heard Tarlin’s cackling laughter from halfway down the corridor to the galley, and the smell suggested Oyan was rustling up a recipe from their home planet.
I reached the doorway and hesitated. Scarry was there too, laughing at something, side by side with Tarlin at the table while Oyan made the food. Before I could change my mind, though, Oyan spotted me.
“You timed that well!” they called. “Fancy a plate?”
“I do not mean to intrude…”
“Oh, park your arse,” Oyan said, waving the hand that was not holding a frying pan. “There’s plenty to go round.”
I slid onto the seat on the other side of Scarry, gladly accepting a cup of tea from Tarlin. The conversation picked up again where it had left off – something about an entertainment serial Tarlin and Oyan were disagreeing about.
I drank my tea, feeling very aware of Scarry beside me. Without quite meaning to, I looked in his direction. Black eyes met mine, warm and full of humour.
He slid his hand beneath the table, and squeezed my knee once, quick and affectionate, dropping me a wink too fast for anyone else to see. Then he went on with the conversation without missing a beat.
Whatever this is between us, it will soon be out in the open. Apart from anything else, we will have to discuss it. We need to be on the same page. I am not sure what I want, but I am even less certain of Scarry’s wishes.
But just for the moment, I am content. I will let it rest , delicate and unspoken, for a little while yet.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry SE85126-2. Concerning the unusual method of interplanetary decision-making in the Vespere Triumvirate.
Keywords: Cagli; Doia; ethnography; legislation and governance; occasions and ceremonies; Tionu; Vespere Triumvirate.
Notes:
There must be as many ways of organising a government as there are governments in this galaxy.
I have seen communities governed through proportional representation, majority rule, and consensus; organised along familial lines, divided into clans and tribes, city states and provinces; even, if you can believe such a thing, places where the lines upon a map delineating one place from another are taken as objective truths conferring actual difference between the people upon one side or the other!
The planets of the Vespere Triumvirate have found their own path forwards. These planets – Tionu, Doia and Cagli – have formed an economic union with a council to oversee matters at an interplanetary level.
On the face of things, there is nothing so unusual in this. Many small polities find it useful to join hands with others to form a united body when addressing matters that effect all members.
The overseeing council is generally proportional to the populations and demographics of each member planet. When a decision is needed, the matter is put to the council at large.
This is then discussed among the planetary representatives until they come to a decision in the interests of their people. This decision is filtered back up to the wider council, and the final solution is developed from these three positions.
The Triumvirate is usually able to avoid deadlock. When the representatives of Tionu, for example, take one position and those of Doia take another, then the representatives of Cagli are usually able to break the disagreement and either side with one voice or the other, or discern a middle path of compromise between the two.
And in situations where no clear path can be discerned, the planets of the Vespere Triumvirate go to war.
Do not worry, friends. I have not quite lost my mind that I am writing in praise of violence as a tool of diplomacy! But the people here use the word “war” to describe the solution they have come to, and I would have our archive reflect their choice.
There is no bloodshed, I assure you. The great battle between planets is one of creativity and musicality.
Whenever the Triumvirate find themselves at loggerheads, they call up the finest creative minds among their people and pitch them against one another in a singing competition the likes of which is not seen anywhere else in the galaxy.
First, the singers must be found. Each planet divides its habitable regions differently, by province or territory or state. Whatever the division, each unit holds a competition to find the act to represent them.
The locals vote on their favourite singer, who moves on to the next round to face all the singers of their region, or sometimes their continent – a step up from the smaller divisions, anyway.
Another competition is held, and another vote. I think you see the pattern. Once a performer has been chosen to represent the planet, a final competition is held and at last, a winner is announced.
Their planet is declared the winner of the “war” and the council proceeds with whatever decision that planet’s representatives were initially arguing for.
This process is not a simple one. But this is where I believe the real genius of the process lies: enshrined in the constitution of the council is a commitment to spend twice as much time at peace with one another as they ever do at war.
The war begins as soon as the competition is announced, and runs until the winner is finally declared. As soon as the winner is found, the council is locked into twice as many years of peace as it took for the war to run its course.
They are obligated to find creative solutions to any deadlocks in this time; to ensure a third way is found and that the business of government continues unimpeded.
When this system of “war” was first introduced, it could take well over five years to organise. Since then, the process has only become more laborious.
Every act wishes to outdo their predecessors, demanding more and more time to write the perfect song, design the perfect outfit, finalise the perfect stage routine.
Cities compete to host each round, often insisting on building new concert halls or renovating existing structures in order to do so. Naturally, this adds several years onto the process at every stage of the competition.
And of course, with such a profoundly important issue at stake, every vote must be counted, recounted, checked and rechecked. The final vote alone can take several years to complete.
The last Triumvirate War lasted 48 years from beginning to end, and saw Ebble and the Bingbats crowned the winner with their song, Boppin’ All Over The Shop.
That was 73 years ago. With all the practice their council has had in at solving problems during this mandatory peace, and over twenty more years to go, I firmly believe it will be another century before war breaks out again.
[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 a submission by Resfeber. 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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