Voices from Port Outreach

This phase and last the finpod has been hosting a cross-species interactive behavioral seminar, in the harbor just out from Balance Reef. There were amazing insights throughout the conference, too many to parse all at once. What is lingering for my memory at the moment is the last morning of the seminar. A representative group from each species present spoke publicly about what they had learned and any insights they had gained or questions they still had unanswered. So the Saereshin had a typical speech about learning trust and cooperation, and the Lyriceans sang about overcoming integral water-immersion fears and learning new songs from a new culture. The Vikkrans gained insight into how another species can specialize sensory input as refined as Vikkran sight is (the dolphin sound and echolocation experience, there were some nifty neural networks on loan from Teacher Town designed to help translate equivalent experiences between senses to enhance understanding). Tellurians talked about the differences of dolphins from their world to here, and how much of that was due to the philosophical differences in how we approached studying with the dolphins on Mother. Zayzans discussed their excitement in how many new phrases and concepts the translators were able to communicate between the dolphins and the others during the conference.

The people-translators were obviously fatigued from the extent of the messages transmitted, by the time everyone else was done, and even the mechanical whistle-click interpreters were starting to sound out obvious errors in translation. The dolphin pod seemed silent for several moments, though the equipment showed that they were politely conversing among themselves in sound frequencies that even the Lyriceans couldn’t physically hear. Lili, a beautiful cetae with a jaunty scar under one eye, flipped over two podmates, rose up on her fluke and bowed to the rest of us, and whistled at the closest interpeter-box.

“Don’t forget to play, every day.”

When I looked back they were already halfway to the Gurge’s edge, cascading over and across each other in a complicated aquatic hopjump game before diving out of view. I sailed home with a smile on my face that won’t leave since. And now, I hear the waves and my board calling me to come play with them, and so I shall.

– Fali, Rider

By request of TexAnne, I share this child’s tale from my people. The translator on my emkay is working extra hard to go from Spelaean to Zayzan to Tellurian Inglish, so I hope it’s comprehensible. Enjoy!

When the Gale Met the Gurge

A Spelaean folktale

as told by Fali, Rider

In the ago, before the echoes ran deep, the Gale was not settled in place. Before she began to carve her deadly dance into the Valley of Glass, she wandered all across Mother, leaving her mark and her memory wherever she went. Her marks wore deep, and memory of her long; time is longer.

One dusk she happened upon a tangle of currents that the Gale knew were none of hers, not even if changed by time’s polish. She drew the pattern into herself, spinning faster as she danced her way following the current traces. Heedless of where she spun in seeking her goal, in her wake valleys became mountains; stars burst from the earth to soar skywards; whole communities disappeared or destroyed.

The Gale danced pursuit until she encountered her first mirror: sister dancer, the Gurge singing the spinning winds just as the Gale did. They danced together for a time. The sky turned dark; the earth wept; countless died.

The Gale knew their union could not continue, and the multiverse sustain; the Gurge, refusing this knowledge, lost her will to roam. Slowly, inevitably, the Gale pushed the Gurge toward the sea; with each spin their choices of paths further sealed. Even so the Gurge resisted, and so mighty was their strain it tore entire realms asunder. The Gale bound her sister’s current to water with her tears, bonds never since broken.

Water is sister to air, as Gurge to Gale; forever apart, never do they stop singing to each other. The Gale roamed the world for another cycle in grief, and how she found her resting place is a different tale. As they sang then so they do now, and so the sounds continue even to this day.

During my daily climb last 3 Mouse, I took a route that faced the harbor on the South Tower cliffs. I spent all my remaining light that day not climbing but watching the antics of the finpod and the dolphins visiting them that day, as they swam and played far below me. I had heard of dolphins growing up, of course, and seen pics and vid. You can well imagine that they don’t much prepare you for the in-person experience. I dreamed about them that night, and the next dawn I was on the beach, waiting and watching for my new obsession to return.

The casualness and ease with which most Outreachers welcome you into their daily lives still slips my grip at times, but it worked well for me here. The finpod were quite easy to converse with, and they were willing to let me do a rotation of interning with them to meet the dolphins properly. Unfortunately, it required me to practically disappear from the rest of my life for the duration.

In fact, I’m due now for one of my last two negotiated sessions, so I’ll have to come back later to tell you all more about it. But it’s time for me to get back on the Mesh and I really do miss my climbing routine, no matter how clever those slippery mammals are. Plus I’m still training for my next Rider run, coming soon to a harbor near you.

–Fali

It’s the little things that throw off your grip, when you’re changing cultural habitats. The big things about shifting from vertical to coastal geography you can guess ahead of time, prepare yourself for. But the small things…

Like the other night, hanging out at a new friend’s house; they have an entire room devoted to their veclet, Floofball. This misbegotten descendent of stunted livex has its own bed, a throw rug (made from harvesting its own hair), toys! Even a little closet where they’ve trained it to purge body excreta. I found myself watching the spoiled beast for most of the evening in a rather horrified fascination.

Don’t get me wrong, I really miss not being able to bring my little Lirta with me due to the climate shift; but chini are hand-sized, clean, and nest in one’s pocket. We would no more devote an entire room to a family pet than you would build a house with no windows.

Has anyone else out there recently undergone a major cultural relocation? What catches your notice while you adjust?

– Fali ahs-Hyrti ahp-Jhena, ‘Rider