Episode 27
Travelling Light E027S01 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Twenty Seven.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
Entry LA85018-3: The Pherah multi-tool, as seen in use at Nimidol fish market.
Key words: ethnography; material culture; Nimidol; Pherah; technology.
Notes:
The Pherah multi-tool is, as the name suggests, a tool designed for use by members of the Pherah species. Its specific design makes it rather awkward to use with human hands and most other species' corresponding limbs. Those with prehensile tails or tentacles however may find it easier to wield.
There a great many Pherah working at the Nimidol fish market, and by extension, a great many Pherah multi-tools lying about the place. Almost every individual carries one about their person, hanging from a belt or in a specially designed holster.
I first mistook them for lengths for pipe or perhaps an unusual sort of wheel brace. It was not until I asked a fellow worker at the market, a Pherah person named Ranba, that all was made clear.
Ranba explained that the Pherah exist at a fascinating intersection of biology and technology. Most of their tools, vehicles and other machines are powered manually, with a Pherah person moulding their manipulator limbs to interface with the machinery itself, and then using their own bodily movements to make them function.
Most Pheran technology, therefore, is mechanical rather than electrical or psionic, as other species in the galaxy might use. The Pherah are a spacefaring people, however, and has been for several generations.
Quite how their ships actually function without any of the more… traditional forms of propulsion is still a mystery to the universe at large. But mutual cultural exchange and ongoing research efforts are, slowly, demystifying the issue. Very slowly.
This multi-tool exemplifies the unique way that Pherah interact with the world around them. At its core, the tool is a long tube with a hole in the centre and universal sockets at either end. The central hole can be used like a wheel brace or nut wrench, giving the user enough torque to tighten or loosen bolts and so on.
Various attachments can be fitted to the ends of the tool, one of the most common being a segment of pipe with a secondary opening which attaches the tool at an incline, allowing the user to make efficient, powerful cranking motions. I have most often seen this part in use in opening mechanical doors.
Another popular attachment is affixed to the base of the rod itself – a simple drill bit. I say “simple”, but there is nothing simple in the elegant power with which Ranba wraps her manipulator limb around the tool, using nothing but the strength of her own body to spin to the rod at such a speed, it functions just as effectively as a power drill.
I have heard Doctor Tsabec speak in an archaeological context about the importance of tool use as an indicator of a species' development. Watching the Pherah at work, I cannot help but think that, for the Pherah at least, tool use is more than a sign of intelligence.
It is an expression of culture, a way of being in the world. It is an utterly embodied engagement with the universe, to use one's own physicality as the only source of energy as you move through the world and shape it to your will.
I say 'the only source of energy' – of course, the Pherah do need fuel. Pherah people eat like nobody else in the galaxy. I have seen Ranba put away enough for six humans at a single sitting, and go back again for seconds! Considering all the myriad tasks she uses her body for, I do not begrudge her a single bite.
[The sound of the data stick whirring fades in, cutting out when the data stick is removed with a click.]
The Traveller
18th Lailo 850
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
I have expressed before my profound gratitude at being chosen by our community for this work. I take it not only as an honour to help maintain our connection with the outer universe, but as a matter of care for the people I love.
I love our community, and I want it to be healthy. And I believe, truly and deeply I believe that encountering difference – even in a second-hand report, such as my letters – is as important for a healthy community as diversity of activity is for a healthy body and mind.
I have been thinking about this after attending a protest today in the company of my new friend, Vermi. The protest was a fairly small one, and was conducted upon quite different lines than any demonstrations I have attended back home.
I am used to protests taking place as, if not a last resort, certainly a drastic measure. If enough people are so unhappy as to warrant a public display of mass condemnation…! Such a crisis can only be indicative of a serious failure in the machinery of government.
This is not, however, the case on Nimidol, where public protests take precedence over official complaints, statements of concern, or any of the other actions I would consider long before it occurred to me to march on City Hall.
Vermi laughed when I brought this difference up with him. “Amused, but sincere. Why pass the time? The protests yield results. Or they yield here, anyway. Exaggerating for comedic effect. Why pass time on a 4.0 if you already know stack management is possible in 6.8?” [laughs]
This last, I think, was perhaps a little garbled by home-made translator. Or possibly I just do not understand… whatever he was on about well enough to have followed.
Nevertheless, his meaning was, I think, fairly clear. Why spend time on slow escalation when you can simply start from the top? It is not how I would choose to organise my community actions, but I am not a Nimidolian. I will not presume to speak on how they ought to conduct their own affairs.
The protest, as I mentioned, was not particularly large. Around a hundred, a hundred and fifty people gathered before a make-shift stage in a small park. Vermi and I joined the crowd, listening to the speakers and adding our voices to the cheers and applause that followed them.
I had understood that the protest was about housing disputes. Housing on Nimidol is dealt with quite differently than at home.
Vermi had never heard of anything like the city bunkhouses and was quite shocked to hear about them – though his translator did him the courtesy of interpreting his reaction as, “Appalled, but trying to remain polite for friendship's sake.”
Indeed, municipal housing does not seem at all to be the norm here. Residential space is almost all privately owned, either by small collectives or by the wealthy merchants I wrote of in my last missive. Rather than each resident taking a part in their building's maintenance, the full responsibility of this falls to the owner.
I was glad I did not have such a translator as Vermi when he told me this. I am not sure I could have remained as polite as he did in the face of my horror. Imagine, having no part to play in the care of one's own home!
But it seems to suit the Nimidolians. As Vermi put it, “Candid, but with humour. I have better jobs than plastering and shutter repair. This is what rent is for!”
I did wonder how such a system could possibly be equitable. Surely there was nothing to stop an unscrupulous person from charging more than a space was worth, or from pocketing their rents rather than investing them in expensive repairs.
At this, Vermi's expression sparkled. “Wryly, with confidence. Is there nothing to stop them? There is us!”
I went into some detail in my last on wealthy Nimidolians' pride in community works, as evidenced by the benefactor's names above public school gates and on the uniforms of the local refuse collectors. But where there is pride, there is also the possibility of shame.
This was the nature of the protest. The wealthy owner of several homes in the local area had not been maintaining those homes to the standards required by her residents. And so, they had organised.
“Peralynna al Methryn mor an'Car has been notified these last three weeks of the water escaping from my washing enclosure! There is water coming onto my cabinets in the room below!”
“Peralynna al Methryn mor an'Car is a thrift-driven cut-coin!” someone else declared, with the venom of calling down a curse on the whole al Methryn line.
The cry rose up around us: “Peralynna al Methryn mor an'Car has no community spirit!”
As protest chants go, it was not perhaps the most tripping on the tongue. But I was hearing it in translation. It may have been more effecting in the original. Or perhaps its effect simply depends on having a particularly Nimidolian outlook.
“Will it work?” I asked Vermi over a pint of beer and a bowl of deep fried seafood things. “Will this al Methryn woman change her ways, do you think?”
Vermi sipped his own drink, a tiny glass of murky green algae liquor so strong I could smell the alcohol off it from where I sat.
“Considering, balancing. Very maybe. These people have no tolerance for shame. An amusing thought occurring. If she does not, we will throw her image upon the city walls and with it, a list of her faults for all to see! [laughs] This should be enough.”
“And to think. I thought Nimidolians could not escalate.”
I had started to make noises about leaving when Vermi asked if I would be at the fish market again tomorrow. I explained that the Tola is scheduled for a supply run to Manacier this week, but that I would be back in a few days.
Aiksa, a friend of Vermi's who works at the port, looked confused. “The Tola?” she asked. “I've seen her in dock. She's a pretty little thing. But she's no hauler.”
“No, she's a research vessel,” I explained. “We are currently, um. Uh, that is, there has been a disruption to, uh… Um. Well. We are broke!” [laughs]
This garnered sympathetic laughs from the others, and I explained the situation in more detail, though glossing over some of the more painful – or indeed, more criminal – points.
I was finally, actually, leaving, after being talked into staying for just one more, when Vermi declared that he would leave with me. We walked together a while chatting about nothing in particular until Vermi turned to me with sudden intensity.
“Sincere, excited. The deal you mentioned, the deal that failed. I am guessing this was a secret arrangement? Or… unlawful?”
“Uh, I, uh. I-I do not think I should-” I started, but Vermi cut me off with a gesture.
“Dismissive. Don't be unnecessary. Obviously it was this, or else you would have found another buyer by now. The point is, do you still want to sell?”
“Well I-I suppose,” I said warily, “if there was someone looking to buy.”
“Encouraged, tempering excitement with caution. I can't promise anything. But maybe I know someone who can help. Confessing, trusting, circumspect. My inventions sometimes require certain…. Components? And it's not always easy to reach them altogether publicly.
Conspiratorial, keen to be useful. I have a friend. Sometimes she gets me things. She buys things too, and knows others who do. It can help. What do you think?”
What did I think? I thought about the Tola, trapped in this system because of mistake I had made. I thought about Annaliese and Tsabec and Duytren, unable to do their work, because of me. I thought about Hesje, desperately trying to make ends meet, to make the best of a situation I had caused.
“Yes,” I said, as if there were any other answer. “Yes, put us in touch.”
[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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