Episode 70
Travelling Light E070S02 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Seventy.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
4th Shadoch 851
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
Well, my friends, it has certainly been an interesting week. As Scarry predicted, the news of our, uh… Well. Sleeping together. Did not stay quiet for long.
Not that I think we ever intended it to be a secret or anything. But I admit, despite his warning I was still rather taken aback by how fast word spread, and by my crew-mates’ reactions.
I might have thought that Tarlin would be the least inclined to discuss such matters. At home, parents generally do not comment much upon their children’s intimate relationships, and vice versa. But she is the worst of them all!
We were in the galley cleaning up after lunch the day after the last letter I sent you. The news had done the rounds by then, but I had heard little enough actual gossiping. I suppose it took people a while to get their teeth into the topic.
Not so for Tarlin.
She and I were doing the washing up while Scarry finished clearing away. He brought over a last pile of dishes and set them down beside the sink, rooting about in a cupboard for a cloth to wipe down the table.
The Guillemot uses an all-purpose, citron-scented solution for basically every cleaning task aboard. I swear, I will never be able to smell citron again without seeing the big, square bottles of gloopy, acid-yellow liquid in my mind’s eye.
The bottle in the galley sits on a rack about head height, with its pump-action mechanism jutting out over the sink. I gestured to the bottle, since it would be easier for me to reach it than Scarry.
“You need some?”
“Aye, thanks,” he said, handing me the cloth. “Just give me a wee squirt.”
Tarlin, stood beside me, let out a cackle so loud it nearly burst my eardrum.
[laughing] “Just a wee one!” she howled.
“Tarlin!” Scarry warned, but to no avail – she only laughed harder.
[laughing] “Ooh, ‘Tarlin’, is it? You’re speaking as my captain, then?”
Scarry spluttered, clearly torn between the desire to pull rank and the obvious impossibility of doing so to his own mother.
“I am your captain!” he managed, barely holding back a smile of his own.
“Roger that. [snorts] Or them!” [laughs]
I let out a shocked bark of laughter. [laughing] “Tarlin! Light, you are a menace!”
But she was laughing so hard at her own joke, I do not think she heard me.
The others were less forthright. I have lost count of the number of times I walked into a room with some combination of my crew-mates chatting happily within, only for it to fall silent in my presence.
We would exchange courtesies, I would go about my business, and as soon as I left, the room would erupt into giggles behind me. It was all very adolescent!
I am not generally prudish about sex. It is not a common thing to be prudish about at home. Sometimes, people sleep with each other. It is hardly noteworthy.
But it is one thing to have one’s sex life treated with disinterested, universal openness and quite another to have it discussed at length by others and not even be offered the dignity of commenting for oneself.
When I complained about the situation to Scarry, he was utterly unsympathetic. We were in the engine room, not getting very much work done.
“It is infuriating!” I complained.
“You must know,” Scarry murmured against my neck, “I am not so proud a man as to resist saying ‘I told you so.’”
“And I am not so proud as to resist saying ‘nyeugh’,” I snapped. Not the wittiest rejoinder, but I was distracted.
Scarry sighed, leaning his hands on the railing I was pressed against, and lifted his head to look at me.
“Do you want me to go and talk to them?”
“No! I am not running to the boss about it.” He shot me a look and then dropped his head once more. “I mean, I am not talking to you as ‘the boss’. I am talking to you as… As the man with his tongue in my ear.”
“You know,” he said conversationally, “another person might take that as a sign this conversation ought to be headed in a different direction…”
I gave up. Not altogether unwillingly. But I was still irked!
The next day, I had cause to go up to the cockpit to see Masha about our arrival time at the next port, only to find Resimus and Oyan already keeping her company. Once again, the conversation stopped dead when I walked in.
Enough was enough. I pushed my way inside, sat down in the co-pilot seat, and span it round to face them all.
“Alright,” I said, spreading my hands. “Ask your questions.”
“Our… questions?” Resimus echoed.
“You clearly have a great deal to discuss amongst yourselves. Perhaps I can shed light on any particular details you might be fuzzy upon.”
“We weren’t-” Masha started, but I must have looked too utterly disbelieving for her to bother finishing the sentence.
“I mean it,” I said, sincerely. “If there is something you wish to say, or some burning question you have, I would like to hear it.”
There was a long, protracted silence. Oyan started to raise a hand but apparently thought again and changed their mind.
“I have a question,” said Masha.
“Go ahead.”
A smile began to play at her lips – one that I was pleased to see invited me in on the joke. “Honestly… [laughing] What is up with your taste?”
We arrive in Guadish in a few hours, eight days after leaving Tionu. I can only assume my crew-mates’ insatiable appetite for gossip has arisen from the stultifying boredom of a week in the black. Hopefully the time spent planet-side will give them all something else to talk about.
And perhaps it is time for Scarry and I to discuss the matter more completely. We have been enjoying each other’s company. But long periods of space travel always feel as if they are happening in a sort of bubble, separate from reality. Perhaps it will feel different, under an open sky and in the broad light of day.
[sighs] We shall see. And I shall, of course, report back. There is nobody else I can talk to about it – not unless I want the entire crew knowing my feelings.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry SH85104-1. On the challenges of practising medicine in a multi-species habitat.
Keywords: emergency response protocols; health and well-being; medicine; sexuality.
Notes:
On most worlds, the cities around the interplanetary ports are by far the most culturally and biologically diverse settlements. The port city of Guadish is no different, teeming with people, ships, cuisine and architecture from dozens, if not hundreds, of systems, species and cultures.
On my visit to Guadish, I had reason to consider one of the most obvious effects of such a diverse population; that is, the high chance that people of different species would meet and wish to get to know each other better. Much better.
There are all sorts of reasons two or more people of a different species might be attracted to one another. The most obvious and common is that you simply discover someone you like, and the liking becomes something more.
Alternatively, someone might be attracted to a specific trait, and then one day encounter a member of another species who exemplifies the trait they desire, perhaps more so than members of their own species.
Another factor in the “why” of interspecies sex is the possibility of experiencing something wholly new. There are many kinds of people with many kinds of bodies, and plenty of people excited to show off what they can do.
Some very intriguing modes of pleasure are possible in our wide, wide galaxy. And also some quite astonishing moments of unexpected companionship.
One thing that is not on the list of reasons for interspecies sex, however, is procreation. Anyone can collaborate to raise a child, of course, and many do. But I am not aware of any medical breakthrough that would allow people to breed across species.
In general: if you are relaxing in some random space station lounge and suddenly find yourself propositioned for procreative sex by a member of another species, then almost certainly they are, in fact, looking for a place to lay eggs, and their translation device is failing to communicate the nuance.
And someday, perhaps I will tell the story of how I learnt that lesson. [laughs]
Among humans and for many other species, a great deal of medical research and innovation has been put towards finding solutions for biologically compatible people to have sex without needing to worry about unintended procreation.
But just because this concern is not relevant in cross-species encounters does not mean such interactions are without risk. And I do not just mean the usual concerns around sexually transmitted infections.
When we arrived in Guadish, it was the type of day where the air was cold enough to need a coat but the sun warm enough to make layers almost unbearable. I felt like I was freezing and overheating at the same time. Every part of me uncovered was cold; every covered part was sweating.
Still, I wanted the fresh air, so kept walking, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. After an hour or so, I came upon a street cart selling pastries and hot drinks. I found a bench beneath the shade of a broad, spreading tree, cinched my coat to ward off the chill, and settled in to enjoy the hot contrast of my drink.
Next to me was a youngish-looking Ploovian wearing a uniform of some kind. I might not have paid them much attention, under ordinary circumstances. But although I am no expert in Ploovian body language, I could tell they were distressed about something, muttering angrily under their breath.
“Are you all right?” They startled. I made a conciliatory gesture. “I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude.”
Their fronds relaxed a little and they waved at the air.
“No, no. No problem. Kind of you to ask. Emergency room nurse.” They pointed to themselves as they spoke. “Rough night.” They made an all-encompassing gesture. “Everybody too stupid to breathe sometimes.”
“Ha! I have had days like that. And I am afraid I have been days like that for others, too.”
My new Ploovian friend suddenly looked nervous. “You nurse as well? Or you too stupid to breathe? Because cannot deal with that right now.”
[laughing] “I do not think I am that bad! But no, I am an archivist, not a nurse.” I gave them a brief description of my work. “Would you perhaps be interested in sharing the story of your rough night?”
They assented and gave their name as Asplenia. As they spoke, I realised that, while my translator was relaying their speech in Lyllich as usual, they were not speaking their native tongue.
I believe they were using Carzhan, a historical contact language which, while widely spoken in the region, is rarely anyone’s first language. It led to some fascinating quirks of speech as I heard it, which I hope to have captured accurately here.
[sighing] “Ugh,” Asplenia began. “Bunch of college kids, playing with genitals. Not paying attention to whose genitals. Then boom! No breathing.”
Asplenia shook with what I read as exasperation, making ripples flow up and down their body.
“Not breathing?” I said, alarmed. “What were they doing?”
But Asplenia waved my concerns away. “No, no-no-no-no. No funny business. It was ignorance, only. All having a lovely time just before the boom.
[sighs] “Often two, three species have sex, want to find out? Right? Often safe, body chemistries mutually inert. But sometimes- [laughing darkly] Oh-ho-ho, sometimes! Allergic reaction, yes? And unexpected – utterly unimagined! Because fluids in genitals for fun and not in brain for asking questions, yes?”
I must have made a face because Asplenia immediately pointed a digit at me.
[laughing] “You have done it! I see! Fun first, questions later! But tox screen? Never. Medical history? Never! Just big big genitals and then boom! Anaphylactic shock. Twenty-one adolescents in my emergency room, all choking to death because too stupid to breathe! Hmph!”
I wanted to defend myself. I admit I have, on occasion, let myself and my partners get carried away in the heat of the moment. But as a rule, I am very good about completing the necessary… preliminaries. I did not sit in Scarry’s cabin for ten full minutes filling out medical questionnaires to be accused of slapdashery!
But before I could argue, my brain snagged on something Asplenia just said.
“Twenty one?! How in the Light did having sex give twenty one people anaphylactic shock?”
“Ugh. College party. Kids experimenting, wanting try ‘extreme’ things. Like people from different places ‘extreme’ just for being different. More stupid.
“Anyway. Many species meeting, mingling, arrange to have big fun sex party, everyone invited! But don’t screen biochem.
“One throuple has allergic reaction. But different kinds of reactions, understand? Some sneeze. Some go immediate shock. Some shed chemical signalling particulates.
“Particulates harmless and useful on home planet. But everyone else at party is violently allergic. Now anaphylaxis everyone’s problem.”
“My goodness,” I murmured, suddenly and profoundly grateful that my own youthful adventures never got so out of hand.
“So. Everyone’s problem, and my emergency room’s problem, and my problem. Must protect team from particulates. Must quickly identify all species, track each species’ immune response profile, locate appropriate medications, find guardians, argue about whether to notify guardians. Every kid sprouting new and fascinating symptoms every few minutes. A whole damn thing!”
“I am almost afraid to ask,” I said, “but does this experience make you feel in any way against relationships between different species?”
“What?!” Asplenia recoiled. “No, no-no-no-no-no-no! Against stupidity! Want to sex someone? First, tox screen! Medical history! Communication!”
Asplenia’s fronds had been waving wildly during their story, but now they settled down. [sighing] “Ugh. Just dumb kids after all. Shouldn’t be upset. [laughing] And definitely learnt their lesson.”
I can imagine they definitely have. But just in case I had not, Asplenia ensured that before she left, she pressed into my hands a highly informative and comprehensively illustrated pamphlet on the matter.
[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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[Fade to silence.]
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