Deep Wheel Orcadia, page 1
Taeble o Contents
The Fock
Wan Astrid docks
Inga Lighter an Øyvind Grower waatch Astrid come in
The visietor, Darling, leuks fer a piece tae bide
Astrid an Darling settle in
Olaf Lighter an Eynar o the Hoose speir at the new teknolojy
Higgie the Codd at her screens
Astrid sketches Orcadia
The pieces Darling’s been
Inga an Olaf at the lighteen
Øyvind Astridsfaither, wirkan
The arkaeolojist at the Wrack-Hofn
Astrid gangs tae kirk
Darling gangs tae view the wracks
Olaf Lighter hishan his bairn tae sleep
Gunnie Margitsbairn nyargs at thir mither
Øyvind Grower an Eynar o the Hoose tak an eveneen class
A alt-arkaeolojist visits wi Noor
Higgie the Codd clocks aff
Astrid meets the visietor, Darling
Twa Darling an Astrid waatch a Lightstoor
Inga raeds a airticle aboot the Lights
Higgie the Codd seeks expert advice
Eynar snecks up
Darling an Astrid tak a waak trou the wynds o Meginwick
Thay spaek aboot Mars
Inga an Olaf spaek bisness
Astrid casts back tae a pal fae the college
Darling jacks the news
Noor needs a drink
Øyvind’s notions
Astrid lairns Darling a new dance
Astrid taks Darling haem fer dinner
Young Brenna at the Ting
Noor an Eynar spaek eftir the Ting
Darling’s body
Astrid canno draa yet
Gossip is Orcadia’s craesh
Gunnie Margitsbairn canno keep a secret
Noor draems
Darling catches wird fae haem
Inga taks her yole oot
Astrid taks Darling tae a meun
Tree Astrid shaas Darling her wark
Inga is waantan pey
Darling peys Olaf fer a hurl
Astrid speirs her faither fer advice
Darling gies Eynar the tael
The Dance
Gunnie an Brenna imajin futures
Astrid, oot
Darling meets Margit Lighter fer bisness
Eynar pits oot a advert
Stoor
Notes and Thanks
The Fock
ASTRID, a artist, comed haem tae Orcadia
INGA, her mither, captain o a lighteen yole
ØYVIND, Astrid’s faither, a maet tekniecian
DARLING, a visietor fae Mars
NOOR, a xeno-arkaeolojist
EYNAR, a steward o the Hoose
OLAF, a lighter wi Inga
HIGGIE, a sisadmin at the Light refinery
MARGIT, a lighter wi her awn yole
BRENNA, a young radiecal
GUNNIE, a junior tekniecian, an bairn o Margit
Ither Orcadians: ASLAUG, AUGA, DAGMAR, ERIKA, ERLEND, INGRID, KARI, SIGURD, TORSTEN, UNN, an plenty more, an thir bairns.
The People
ASTRID, an artist, come home to Orcadia
INGA, her mother, captain of a lighting boat
ØYVIND, Astrid’s father, a foodmeat technician
DARLING, a visitor from Mars
NOOR, a xeno-archaeologist
EYNAR, a landlord of the local bar
OLAF, a lighter with Inga
HIGGIE, a systems administrator at the Light refinery
MARGIT, a lighter with her own boat
BRENNA, a young radical
GUNNIE, a junior technician, and Margit’s child
Other Orcadians: ASLAUG, AUGA, DAGMAR, ERIKA, ERLEND, INGRID, KARI, SIGURD, TORSTEN, UNN, and many more, and their children.
Wan
Astrid docks
The chime o the tannoy is whit taks her back,
fer hid isno chaenged, nae more as the wirds
summonan her tae the airlock: her wirds,
at sheu isno heard fer eyght geud year.
Sheu waatched the Deep Wheel approch, gray-green,
hids Central Staetion tirlan yet
anent the yallo yotun, peedie
bolas teddert aroon hids ring,
pierheids trang wi yoles, wi glims,
an fund the gloup atween ootbye an in
clossan slaa – but only noo,
wi this soond, deus sheu ken whar sheu is.
Sheu leuks aroon the ither fock,
tryan tae mynd wha’s uncan, an wha’s
whas bairn, an wha’s gien a naem fae sheu left,
an whas naem sheu shoud mynd yet.
An Astrid leuks tae anither body,
stannan at the vizzie-screen:
taall, pael, reid hair ravsie,
Martian style, gappan at the sight.
Sheu coud been a student fae college, but no
like Astrid, at waants tae waatch her an kinno
disno: sheu’s ferfil bonnie an warld-like
fer Mars, but here i’the ramse poly
habitats o inner space,
sheu’s a aafil queerie sowl.
The visietor leuks aroon an grins
at Astrid, at leuks awey, no kennan
whit wey tae meet incoman joy.
The jaas o the transport appen, a gant
thrumman the bonns o the ship, a kord
whan the gangwey connecks. Astrid’s taen
a peedie an weyghty life on her back,
an whan sheu steps intae the airlock
sheu catches the grief o whit will come
if the pairts o her canno find thir piece.
Astrid docks
The chime of the tannoy is what brings her back, because it hasn’t changed, and neither have the words summoning her to the airlock: her words, which she hasn’t heard for eight goodlong years.
She watched the Deep Wheel approach, grey-green, its Central Station still turntwistwhirlspinning againstaboutbefore the yellow gas giant, little bolas ropemoormarried around its ring
pierheads fullactiveintimate with boats, with gleampointlights, and found the chasmcleft between outside and inside closing laxslowly – but only now, with this sound, does she know where she is.
She looks around the other folk, trying to rememberknowreflectwill who is strangerweird, and who is whose child, and who’s taken a name since she left, and whose name she should still rememberknowreflectwill.
And Astrid looks at another personbody, standing at the viewing screen: tall, pale, red hair roughabundantunkempt in a Martian style, gapingfoolishmindless at the sight.
She could have been a student from college, but not like Astrid, who wants to watch and also doesn’t: she’s veryfearfully finepretty and healthynormal for Mars, but here in the roughcurtbitter plasticpolymer
habitats of inner space, she’s a veryawfully strangequeer soulperson. The visitor looks around and grinyearns at Astrid, who looks away, not knowing
whathowwherewhy to meet incoming joy. The jaws of her transport open, a yawngasp thrumming the bones of the ship, a chord when the gangway connects. Astrid’s brought
a little and heavymeaningful life on her back, and when she steps into the airlock, she begins to feel grief about what will happen if the parts of her can’t find their placedistancepartwhile.
Inga Lighter an Øyvind Grower waatch Astrid come in
Inga is thinkan, whit wey tae explaen
the staetion noo? That scant the lighteen,
that scrimp the tithes. Øyvind is fashan
at whither or no her vooels’ll come haem.
Inga rubs her clippert heid
an thinks: Varday is tint the haalage,
Aikeray the traed, an only
the kirk is ivver fill, fer prayan.
Øyvind birls a pod in his lang
fingers an waatches the ship link
intae Meginwick’s muckle dock,
a cathedral o girders an stances appenan
intae the haaf. Inga coonts
the yoles. Øyvind mynds on his years
on the Mars–Orcadia shippeen reute
an whit he kens o surface life,
whit he can share noo wi his dowter.
An whan the airlock appens an Astrid
is eyght year aalder an jeust the sam,
her spacer fock is waitan, still.
Øyvind shifts an appens his airms.
Inga says, “Buddo,” an lifts her bags.
Inga the Lighter and Øyvind the Grower watch Astrid come in
Inga is thinking about whathowwherewhy to explain what the station is like now. So scarceshortsmall the lighting,
so meagrestunted the tithes. Øyvind is fussvexworrying about whether or not her vowels will come home.
Inga rubs her shorn head and thinks: Varday has losemissfailed the haulage,
Aikeray the trade, and only the church is ever full, for praying.
Øyvind whirlrushdancespins a pod in his long fingers and watches the ship glidetrotrestconnect
into Meginwick’s greatbig dock, a cathedral of girders and platformsites opening
into deep space. Inga counts the boats. Øyvind rememberknowreflectwills his years
on the Mars–Orcadia shipping route and what he knows of planetary life,
what he can share now with his daughter. And when the airlock opens and Astrid
is eight years older and just the same, her spacer folk are waiting, stillfixedsecre
tsilent.
Øyvind changedodgemoves and opens his arms. Inga says, “FriendChildLove,” and lifts her bags.
The visietor, Darling, leuks fer a piece tae bide
“J-Just to look,” sheu says, catchan the poynt
o the yolewife’s quaistion. Sheu wis been raedan aboot
the Wrack-Hofn’s mistry, aboot the yoles
landan thir haal o Lights, aboot the stoor
i’the gowden tide, aboot the paece o distance,
aboot a uncan wey o spaekan, o wirkan,
o pittan up wirds, o bidan, belongan, an waantid
tae leuk. But noo sheu’s speiran the first body
sheu saa i’the bay fer the first directions, an habbers,
fer the first time no kennan hoo tae explaen hersel.
“Ir ye?” says the wife, no askan. A din-faced
stuggie body, her snackie haands is deep
i’the wires o her craft. “Ye’ll waant tae spaek tae Eynar
o the Hoose. Whit ye’d caa wir bar. He’ll sort ye.
Tell him Margit sent ye.” Like Eynar, Margit
kens the guff o traed. Sheu poynts the wey.
Darling’s waatchan the fock on the pier fae the transport –
twa aalder fock tae meet yin ither lass,
at disno seem tae ken whar sheu’s comed an aa –
an Margit waatches wha hid is haads whas ee.
“Thir,” sheu says, an looder again, “That wey.”
Darling tries tae gaither Martian manners.
“Thank you so so much,” says Darling. “I’m Darling.”
Anither first: sheu blushes, seean Margit’s
edge o smirk an hearan Margit’s “Ir thoo.”
The visitor, Darling, looks for a placedistancepartwhile to waitstaylive
“Just to look,” she says, catching the point of the boat worker’s question. She has been reading about the Wreck-Havenharbour’s mystery, about the boats landing their haulcatch of Lights, about the stormstrifestrainspeeddust in the golden seatimetide, about the peace of distance,
about a strangerweird way of speaking, of working, of praying, of waitstayliving, belonging, and wanted to look. But now she’s asking the first personbody she saw in the hangar for the first directions, and stammers, for the first time not knowing how to explain herself.
“Is that so?” says the woman, not asking. A sallow shorttoughbutch personbody, her cleverquicksharp hands are deep in the wires of her craft. “You should speak to Eynar at the House. It’s what you’d call our bar. He’ll help. Tell him Margit sent you.” Like Eynar, Margit
knows the stinkpuffsnortnonsense of trade. She points the way. Darling’s watching the folk on the pier from the transport – two older folk to meet that other girlwoman, who doesn’t seem to know where she’s come either – and Margit watches who is holding whose eye.
“There,” she says, and louder again, “That way.” Darling tries to gather Martian manners. “Thank you so so much,” says Darling. “I’m Darling.” Another first: she blushes, seeing Margit’s edge of smile and hearing Margit’s “Is that so.”
Astrid an Darling settle in
Astrid aets wi her fock. “Thoo’ll wirk?”
speirs Inga ower the protein soup.
“A’m here tae draa,” says Astrid. “Tae wirk
at me art. A’m needan ideas fae haem.”
“Yass,” says Inga, “grand that. Thoo’ll tak
a job or twa fae the rotas forbye.”
Øyvind touches Astrid’s airm.
“Hid’s grand thoo’re haem. Thir plenty time.”
Halfweys roond the staetion, Darling,
breeksed wi sailan, pangit wi hopp,
sits i’the Hoose wi a plaet o maet.
Eynar teuk it tae her, sportan
a apron an a smile. Sheu tryd
tae speir him aboot his fock an the staetion:
he nodded an brustled back tae the bar.
Sheu waatches the fock an aets her maet.
Astrid spaeks aboot the journey,
aboot whit her pals in Mars is deuan.
The wirds is lood in thir peedie quaaters.
Inga an Øyvind’s speuns rudge.
Darling notts a plan on her slaet
o whit sheu waants tae see; she hopps
a smoosie body will ask whit sheu’s deuan.
Naebody deus. Sheu dights her plaet.
Eftir, the both o thaim lie i thir bunks
on conter airms o the Wheel, birlan,
askin thirsels if thir maed a mistaek,
askin thirsels whit wey is a haem.
Astrid and Darling settle in
Astrid eats with her folk. “Will you work?” asks Inga over the protein soup. “I’m here to draw,” says Astrid. “To work on my art. I wantneed ideas from home.”
“Yes,” says Inga, “that’s goodbig. And you’ll take a job or two from the rotas as well.” Øyvind touches Astrid’s arm. “It’s goodbig that you’re home. There’s plenty of time.”
Halfway around the station, Darling, knackered from sailing, fullbursting with hope, sits in the House with a plate of foodmeat. Eynar brought it to her, sporting
an apron and a smile. She tried to ask him about his people and the station: he nodded and bustlecrackled back to the bar. She watched the people and ate her foodmeat.
Astrid speaks about the journey, about what her friends on Mars are doing. The words are loud in their little rooms. Inga and Øyvind’s spoons gratehackrattle.
Darling notes down a plan on her slate of what she wants to see; she hopes a nosy personbody will ask what she’s doing. Nobody does. She cleanwipes her plate.
Later, both of them lie in their bedbunks on oppositeopposing arms of the Wheel, whirlrushdancespinning, asking themselves if they’ve made a mistake, asking themselves whathowwherewhy a home is.
Olaf Lighter an Eynar o the Hoose speir at the new teknolojy
“Whit wey deus hid wirk?” asks Eynar, pooran
a beer. “A’m no sure,” says Olaf,
“but yin arkaeolojist, ken, ach,
whit’s her naem, telt hid like this—”
The jimpit yoleman taks twa glesses
an a pock o nuts an steers
this subtle injines trou the warp
o time, noo rings o spirit on
the binkled aluminium bar.
“The drive maks a pock, see,
o hyperspace tae win trou,
tae exceed relatievistic constraints.”
“Ya, but,” says Eynar, “I thowt hid wis
more ontolojiecal restrictions
as teknolojiecal limits. Whit wey
ir thay avoydan catastrophic
temporal paradox, eh?” Olaf
taks a drowt o his ael an says,
“Ya weel. Best kens. An best kens
thay maan, fer hid’s bad enogh tae loss
the laast bit o the laast bit
o wir shippeen ithoot messan wi fuckan
multiversal anomalies
an aa.” An Eynar, no drinkan, says,
“A’ll drink tae yin,” lukkan ower
the empty poly chairs an taebles,
Olaf’s grayan hair, an weyghan
the wirth o his bisness, the size o his saeveens,
the price o a ticket tae Ross or Mars
or Proxima Centauri Twa,
an runnan the nummers again, an wipan
the trails o the hyperdrive fae the bar.
Olaf the Lighter and Eynar the Landlord question the new technology
“Whathowwherewhy does it work?” asks Eynar, pouring a beer. “I’m not sure,” says Olaf, “but that archaeologist, oh, you know, what’s her name, told me it was like this—”
The smallslenderneatdainty boat worker takes two empty glasses and a packetpocket of nuts and steers these subtle engines through the warp of time, now rings of spirit on
the bentdented aluminium bar. “The drive makes a packetpocket, see, of hyperspace to reachtravelachieve through, to exceed relativistic constraints.”
“Yes, but,” says Eynar, “I thought the problem was more ontological restrictions than technological limits. Whathowwherewhy can they avoid catastrophic
temporal paradox, eh?” Olaf takes a draught of his beer and says, “Yes well. Gods know. And gods know they must because it’s bad enough to lose
the last bit of the last bit of our shipping without messing with fucking multiversal anomalies as well.” And Eynar, not drinking, says,
