Episode 3

Travelling Light

23 Nov

Written By Hero Owen

A digital drawing of two aliens, one larger than the other, sitting together in a pub. The larger is holding a small glass of beer and saying something, while the smaller alien laughs.

PDF available here

Travelling Light E003S01 Transcript

[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]

H.R. Owen

Travelling Light: Episode Three.

[The music fades out.]

The Traveller

17th Shadoch, 850 – Continued.

I found the Tola just where she should have been, standing patiently in her bay with her entry hatches open. But it happened that I need not have rushed myself quite so urgently. On the dock beside her sat a heaping pile of boxes, crates and bits of luggage still waiting to be loaded.

"Categorically not!" said a jowly sort of person, dressed in brightly patterned academic robes. "This is Duytren's pheromiser and she ought to take responsibility for it.”

They were speaking to someone stood at the foot of the gangplank, clutching a document reader. They wore the same type of robes, though theirs were a single block colour. They had a pointed, nervous little face covered in soft, light fur, and cringed as they spoke.

"Doctor Tsabec," they said. "If this expedition is to be a success, we shall all have to work together. I am sure Doctor Duytren will be very grateful for your assistance-”

The jowly person interrupted them. “Is this what you call working together? The rest of us hauling our own equipment and hers because she can't be bothered to show up on time?”

Another scholar passed by in a mobility chair, rolling her eyes at Tsabec's objections. “You know, Tsabec,” she said conversationally as she hauled a box into her lap. “You don't actually have to take every single opportunity the universe presents you to be a complete ass.”

Before Tsabec could answer, she did a neat U-turn and was off up the gangplank again, her chair whirring as if to voice its own disapproval.

Another person stood nearby, watching the scene unfold with a mild, amused expression. She was a Quvett, and dressed in a finely cut uniform that draped the curves of her large, soft body with perfect elegance.

“You arrived late as well, Doctor Tsabec,” she said, the words dropping like stones. “As far as I can tell, it's a condition endemic to your type.”

“My type!?” spluttered Tsabec. The Quvett's expression grew wry.

“Academics,” she said.

This provoked a fresh wave of complaints and protestations from Tsabec, but the Quvett paid them no mind, turning her attention to her communicator.

“Hello!” I said, also having been paid no mind and waiting for the right moment to announce myself. Then, not sure of the procedure here, “I am a passenger on this ship? I should be on the manifest.”

“Talk to the bursar,” said the Quvett. When I didn't move, she finally lifted her eyes. She sighed. “Hesje!” she called, getting the furry-faced person's attention. “Passenger.”

Hesje said something to Doctor Tsabec, which at least managed to quiet them down enough to get on with loading their own baggage, if nobody else's. To me, they offered a slightly fraught smile, and introduced themselves.

They were, as the Quvett had intimated, the university bursar, responsible for the financial well-being of the expedition. They chatted as they went through my paperwork, and welcomed me to the Tola with apparently sincere warmth.

“And this is Operator Aman,” said Hesje, gesturing towards the Quvett. “She'll be ensuring we get from A to B in one piece!” They gave a nervous, barking little laugh, cutting it off short as if afraid it would run away with them.

Operator Aman gestured her greeting without looking up from her communicator, stylus skimming across the surface of its interface.

“I've informed port authority we're running behind schedule,” she said to Hesje. “They've sent an updated departure slot and are asking if we've a spare berth for a last-minute passenger. I assume you want the fare?”

Hesje took a moment to process what she was telling them. “Oh,” they said. “Oh! Oh, yes, yes very good. Thank you, Operator. My very great thanks.”

I signed for my cabin key and, with nothing else to do, wandered aboard. Droids scurried past me carrying this and that, and I could hear other people – other scholars, presumably – talking and bumping around. The scholar using the mobility chair spotted me in the corridor and nodded her head to the entry hatch.

“Hey. I'm Annaliese. Want to make yourself useful?”

I very much did! As soon as I'd left my bags in my cabin, I was out and hauling boxes up the gangplank with the others. Even Tsabec seemed to have been moved to help, though he gave the pheromiser a notably wide berth.

I'd made three or more trips, enjoying the companionable feeling of sharing physical work with others, and was heading back for another load when Annaliese let out a low whistle of surprise.

“Check them out!” she said, nodding down the corridor. “I haven't seen embroidery like that since I was in the Tilfar system!”

I followed the line of her gaze – and stared. Our last-minute passenger was coming aboard, the bright embroidery of their outfit catching in the corridor lights. They hesitated, checking their way, and were about to head in the opposite direction when a chance turn of their head brought us into their line of sight.

It took a moment for them to recognise me. I was, after all, rather more dishevelled and certainly a lot sweatier than I had been in the port authority office. But then their expression cleared and shifted into what I think was the equivalent of a smile.

They nodded to me, made a short, more formal bow to Annaliese, and turned away, walking down the corridor and into the heart of the Tola.

[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]

The Traveller

Entry 850SH17-3. Drinking song, collected in Port Taroth from Almasi dock-hands.

Key words: alcohol; Almas; Almasi; cumulative songs; drinking songs; music; oral literature.

Notes:

I was taught this song in a pub close to the lodging house where I stayed during my time in Port Taroth. There are many Almasi among the dock-hands there, hailing from the Almas region of the province, to the north of Taroth.

The reference to the local magistrate as a figure of dubious authority is traditional in Almasi culture, where the dour magistrate and her wilful daughter are often used as stock characters in plays, songs and folk tales.

This particular song makes use of an Almasi word that my translator has left in its original form, presumably due to a lack of direct equivalent. The word “barran” refers to a wooded area spotted with deep pools, often used by Almasi for bathing and… surreptitious meetings. [laughs]

The translator has seen fit, however, to translate the phrase here rendered as, “I saw nothing but the bees.” The original Almasi refers to a type of flying insect common to barrans.

The phrase is often used, both in the original Almasi and in this translated form, as a declaration of, if not actual innocence, at least an unwillingness to elaborate. It is not clear whether this song made use of an existing phrase or is perhaps its originator.

My companions informed me that there are several versions of this song, varying in their degree of detail regarding what the singer saw in the barran, and indeed, as the night wore on, some of the verses they added were rather more explicit than those captured here. I shall leave those additions to your imagination.

The Magistrate's Daughter

[clears throat. Then, singing;]

Up in the barran, away by the water
I went a-walking and what did I see?
There in a pool swam the magistrate’s daughter
And I declare she was looking at me