Episode 39
Travelling Light E039S01 Transcript
H.R. Owen
Hello friends, Hero here. I'm so delighted to bring you the penultimate episode of Travelling Light Season One. We'll be capping things off with the season finale next week, and then to celebrate, what else but a Q&A! Send in your questions for me or co-creator and artist Matt through the website, on social media or by email. Enjoy the episode, and we can't wait to hear from you.
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Thirty Nine.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
Entry BA85007-7: An encounter with a Nroka person whom I met in the surrounding countryside around Kerrin Port.
Key words: ethnography; interview; Kerrin; Kerrin Port; Nroka; rites of passage.
Notes:
I had not realised when we landed in Kerrin how close the port is to the ocean. It was not until I was out walking one day, exploring the surrounding hills that I saw it – a flat, grey expanse of water, catching the sun in sudden sparks.
I tucked my chin into my collar as I looked at the view. The rain had eased off, but the wind was strong and cold, making the low, scrubby shrubs that covered the hillside sway and jostle as it blew.
I had just time to notice a movement that did not seem to follow the line of the wind, when something came lurching out of the shrubbery and into the path before me.
I am not too proud to admit, I screamed. Or perhaps squealed is closer to the mark? Whatever the sound's taxonomy, it was not dignified.
“Well, excuse you!” the newcomer huffed.
“I-I-I am so sorry,” I stammered. “You gave me a fright! I was not expecting- Well, that is, I-I did not realise there was anybody, uh-”
“Anybody what? On this hillside? Or on this planet? Hmm…”
The person huffed, shaking their appendages with obvious indignation. I rushed to apologise again, and my continued embarrassment seemed to ease the tension somewhat.
“Forgive me,” I said, after we had both calmed down. “I hope this does not sound rude but… I am new to the planet and I, uh…”
“You've never met a Nroka, hmm?”
I confessed that I had not.
The Nroka – it told me that “it” is the polite pronoun to use for its kind – was very short compared to other people I have known. Standing beside each other, the top of its head would only have reached to about the middle of my thigh.
I say “head”. I am not sure that is quite the right word. It was rather asymmetrically shaped, with a short central form which sat above a tangle of appendages upon which it walked. Or scuttled, really.
Above this central form were more appendages, sticking into the air and covered in white, fluttering protrusions. I could not really make out a face, but I had the sense as I looked at it that the Nroka was looking straight back.
“You can say the T word,” it said, a note of amusement in its voice.
“The… T word?”
“Tree. I look like a tree to you, don't I?”
I blinked. “W- Uh. [sighs] Yes. Yes, you do. I am sorry, I do not wish to offend.”
“Mm, don't worry. It's only true.”
I sat down in the heather, ignoring the slightly seeping wetness of the ground beneath my seat, and explained my work collecting stories for our community archives. The Nroka considered and finally agreed to participate. This is what it told me.
“My name is not one I think you will be able to pronounce. It is also rather long and I do not wish to keep you unnecessarily. You may call me, hmm… Dnirk.
I am not suprised you have never met one of my kind before. We are… Hmm. Well, I might have said we do not travel much, but that is only true in a relative sense. We do not go in for star-ships and space travel. We prefer the rain on our faces, the wind in our leaves.
We do travel a great deal on the planet, however. But we do do… slowly. We do most things slowly. You would too, if you expected to live, oh, three, five, eight hundred years.”
Despite not seeming to have a face of its own, Dnirk seemed quite able to read my expression. It gave off a distinct air of amusement as I echoed, astonished, “Eight hundred years?”
“Some of us may go a little longer yet. [laughs] But eight hundred is a very good innings. Very good innings indeed.”
“How old are you, if I may ask?”
“Hmm. I am considered barely out of adolescence. I am only 50.”
“Only 50!” I laughed. “That is quite mature in my species. I am good way off from it myself.”
“Then I must allow you some grace for your noisy introduction, I suppose. I did not realise I was coming upon a child walking alone.”
“I thank you for this generosity of spirit,” I said. “Is that why you are so… Uh. Well. Only that you seem a little smaller than most trees…?”
Dnirk bristled. “Are you calling me a shrub?”
“No! No, I-I only meant to make an observation. I apologise.”
“Hmm. Apology accepted. [grumbles] But yes, I am still growing. Thank you for noticing.”
Rather hastily, I brought the conversation back around to what Dnirk had mentioned about its species spending a good deal of time travelling. If one were to make the comparison with trees, it seemed somewhat counterintuitive.
“We are not a particularly sociable people,” Dnirk explained. “We do not tend to live in great communities. We are born and grow ourselves in the lee and safety of our parent. But if we stayed where we were, we would suck the life from the soil. Our parent would starve. Our siblings also.
Instead, once we are grown enough, we set out alone. We seek a place for ourselves. A resting place, a place to, hmm…”
“To put down roots?” I offered.
“Just so. Mm. Just so. A very fine way to phrase it. Once we are situated, we can then make our own offspring.”
“You do not need another person for that? A-a mate, I mean?”
“Do I look like I mate?”
I had no idea what to say to that, so I said nothing. Dnirk went on.
“You are a species who has different organs depending on the type of person you are, is that so?”
“Roughly speaking,” I said. “It is not a binary situation – there are many possible combinations of organs, and these physical traits do not dictate identity. But there are physical considerations to be made around reproduction, yes.”
“Mm. I have no need for such considerations. When the time comes, I shall reproduce with myself.”
“And what sort of place do you think you shall end up?” I asked. Dnirk hummed thoughtfully.
“I am not picky,” it said after a while. “I think I should like to see the stars, wherever I am. And I do not care for this coastal wind. I think I shall move inland a ways. Somewhere I can rest and grow.”
I wish we could have spoken longer. But the wind had worked its cold fingers through my clothes, and sitting on the wet ground was doing me do favours at all. I had to get moving again, if only to warm up.
We said our goodbyes, and as we went our separate ways, I reflected on Dnirk's words. The long, tireless search for a place of one's own. A quiet place to rest and grow in peace. Looking out at Kerrin's grey and glittering ocean, I thought I understood that desire very well indeed.
[The sound of the data stick whirring fades in, cutting out when the data stick is removed with a click.]
The Traveller
7th Bahna 850, continued.
Aman was the first of us to react. “Scarry!” she spat, his name a curse in her mouth.
Scarry's wry expression did not falter. “Operator Aman. Good to see you again.”
But Aman was not to be distracted. “How, by all the saints, did you track us?”
“You were bound for Kerrin from the start,” I put in. “Since Port Taroth.”
“And how do you know that, little feist?”
The idiotic nickname sent a blush to my cheeks, but I ignored it, too angry to be embarrassed. “I was looking for ships to take berth on. The Guillemot and the Tola were the only two with this destination.”
“Ah. That's quite right. We were originally set for a trade run to this end of the galaxy. But the job fell through – a contract dispute, I'll save you the details.”
I remembered Scarry's bulk careening into me as he stormed out of the Port Authority Office, clearly in the wake of bad news.
“We didn't take the Tilfar contract until later,” Scarry went on. “I read the description of your gangly friend in the job listing and I realised I'd seen them in the port that day.
I put out a request for boarding information, and learnt they'd left already on the good ship Tola. It was excellent pay and we had an excellent lead. So, we gave chase.
If I'd known we'd end up on Kerrin after all, I'd have taken that original contract as well, and get paid twice for the trip. But once will suffice.”
Hesje said hotly, “But we lost you! Aman swore we'd lost you!”
Scarry did not answer. Instead, his eyes slid sideways to look at his crew – at the one called Resimus, in particular. They shifted uncomfortably in their seat, hissing nervously. But there was no missing the direction of their gaze.
We must have looked quite comical, all of us turning our heads to follow Resimus's line of sight. Turning to look at Tsabec.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Duytren groaned.
“I didn't say anything incriminating!" Tsabec objected. “At least I-I don't think I did.”
This was too much for Wolph. He heaved himself down into a nearby chair and put his head in his hands.
“It was the signal,” Resimus said, cringing at their own words as if trying to apologise bodily. “We traced the signal. And then…
Well, I'm afraid you did mention Kerrin, actually. W-when you were explaining that you wouldn't be able send anything for a while, because of the communications interdict. You said you'd be in touch once, um. Once you'd arrived. Here. Um…”
I shall spare you the details of the uproar that followed. There was a lot of shouting. Annaliese looked about ready to throttle Tsabec where they stood, with Duytren on hand to finish the job if needed.
“Oh, I need a drink!” Aman declared, and stormed to the bar.
The others threw themselves into seats – all notably at a distance from the Guillemot crew, though Tsabec could not keep from looking over at Resimus every other moment.
The barkeep, a stout little Atherbeny person with a head full of intricate braids, got to work serving up mugs of beer – the only drink available, as far as I could tell.
I did not sit down. Scarry was regarding me with a cool, sardonic look, waiting for me to speak.
“They are not with us.”
The words stung to say, prodding at a hollow ache I had been carrying in my chest since- [beat] Since Óli's departure.
“We have not heard from them since they left.”
Scarry's gaze softened. “You are the only friends they have in all this wide, wild galaxy. They knew you would be coming here eventually. They'll follow, soon enough.”
“And you would exploit that? Knowing that they are- [gasps and sighs] That they are alone?!”
Scarry held my gaze. “I would.”
I could not bear any more. I sat down with the others, keeping my back to Scarry and his crew. Someone pushed a mug of beer in front of me – Annaliese, I think. [sighs] I did not take it. There was a knot in my throat so tight I could hardly breathe.
I was lost in my thoughts, awash with a tumult of emotions, when the tavern door opened once more. I did not lift my gaze. I did not care. I did not even notice, at first, how the conversation all around me had fallen quiet.
“Captain Scarry,” came a familiar voice. “We need to talk.”
They looked… different. They still stood with that same, upright elegance. But their face was hard, and their clothes…
In structure they were just what they had always preferred – layers of long, loose robes, soft boots, trailing earrings. But it was all so subdued, in greens and greys, as if they had wrapped themselves in the colours of the sodden Kerrin countryside.
And they… They did not look at me. They glanced in our direction, eyes moving over the whole crew with no change of their expression. They… They did not… [gasps]
“Your Excellency,” said Scarry. “You found us, so.”
“I had a port alert set for your arrival,” said Óli, their voice flat. Then, with the barest flicker of a glance towards the Tola's crew, “On both your arrivals.”
They went on, addressing Scarry in cold, emotionless tones. “I wish to make a bargain. I will not return to Tilfar. But I cannot keep running. I refuse to keep running.”
“And I refuse to abandon my contract. So – what do you propose?”
Finally, Óli's eyes found mine – and skittered away almost immediately.
“You kept my robe…?” they said, addressing the space behind my left ear. Why would they not look at me?
I tried to keep my voice calm as I answered. “Of course. I-It is in my cabin.”
Óli gave a single, small nod, and turned away from me once more.
“Captain Scarry. I am the scion of Ranvhitir House of Tilfar. I need no papers to prove this, no signs or guarantees. Wherever I walk, I am seen and understood by the life whose woven tale I carry on my body.”
The words had a strange, almost ritualistic tenor. I wanted to stop them, to give them another choice… but I could see none to give.
“Take my robe,” they said, “and with it, my self. Take this garment to my parents. Return it to them, and with it, all ties between us. They no longer have a child by my name. I renounce them, and all that bonds us.”
Scarry shifted in his seat, the creak of his chair the only sound in the low-ceilinged room. “This is all very dramatic,” he said slowly. “But I will need paid.”
“You will be. My… parents will understand. You will be paid in full, and this farce can end.”
There was a long, still silence. Then Scarry sighed.
[sighing] “I accept. Good dealing, Óli of Tilfar.”
“Good dealing, Captain Scarry,” Óli replied, sealing the contract between them and giving up their family forever.
It was as if a switch had been pressed in Scarry's head. He grinned at our table, all friendly warmth.
“Well!” he said, clapping his hands together. “Business is concluded. Can I buy anyone a drink?”
Wolph put voice to our collective sentiment. “Piss off, Scarry.”
But the tension in the room was falling away. The two crews started speaking among themselves, discussing the remarkable turn of events. Tsabec and Resimus pulled their chairs together, and I did not think Resimus was going to enjoy the conversation.
In the commotion, I saw Óli heading towards the door, and moved to go after them. “Óli!” I called. “Please. Do not go.”
Their eyes were soft with emotion I could not read.
“I… I need some time,” they said, their voice so quiet I might not have heard, if every scrap of my attention were not tuned to them. “Tomorrow. Please?”
I wanted to say, no! No, tomorrow is too long, I must talk to you now! [sighs] But I could not.
“Tomorrow, then. I-I will see you tomorrow.”
A soft, sad smile twitched at their lips. Then they stepped close, slipping their hands into mine. They pressed our foreheads together, eyes tightly shut.
“Tonirsa keep you, my dear friend.”
And they slipped out of the door and away, into the rain.
[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 an idea by Lionessfeather, with accompanying artwork available on our social media accounts.
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