especially as now I donât know what Nona can hear or when I have my thoughts to myself.
She
As Gwydion would say, weâre all storytellers here and so we can hardly be surprised when our versions dovetail or clash with those of other minds. The strange thing is that we no longer need to go into the VR for the story to be taking place in us.
He
The one thing I do know is that, after the wedding, Math gave Lleu a domain of his own for him to rule over. Good, fertile land. And what was it like? I have no idea.
She
Blodeuwedd stands next to Lleu and turns by tiny degrees towards her husband, like a plant that follows the sun till their mouths meet and, ravenous, she eats the light.
He thinks she looks gorgeous. She thinks he smells of offal.
He
Iâm Old School and believe you should never anthropomorphise plants. Theyâre entirely passive, donât have minds like us, they just react to stimuli.
She
Gwydion and Mathâs magic is primarily visual. They thought that a woman made from flowers would look good. But the body has a way of taking over the story.
Lleu is the light that, invisible himself, shows up all the other characters: Gwydion, whoâs determined to make a story for him, Blodeuwedd, who turns to him because she has to obey the sun.
He
If the VR story is, in some way, a symbolic com mentary on what happened on board this ship, then why the concept of mixing the DNA of plants and humans? What evolutionary advantage could it possibly confer on humans? Maybe that light is plentiful in space, would be endless fuel if the shipâ¦
No, thatâs ridiculous.
She
Campion thinks that heâs so open-minded, but heâs only beginning to see it. That the ship didnât come from Earth but from much further away. That it came from a place so distant that humans and plants had time to marry, like Blodeuwedd and Lleu, to evolve together. What if we read the VR myth as a literal, not metaphorical, account of what happened on board?
He
Do you have any idea of the distances that kind of evolution would require? Itâs madness to think it.
I have no idea whatâs going on. All I know is that Lleu and Blodeuwedd cling to the ship that holds them, as if to the mother that neither of them has ever known.
*
Synapse Log 9 Feb 2210, 23:50
Apprentice
Even when I sleep, Iâm not still for a moment. I tango with light and temperature. My mind counts its losses at night and thoughts, like vines, oscillate involuntarily in dreams. There are notions that my roots evade, like stones in the soil. I simply go round, seeking out moisture and a place to stand from which I can grow. I donât think, I revolve and break new ground and the burden I carry is heavy, as if I were lifting a boulder. Ah, the so-called sleep of leaves, far from inactive. I inherited habitual movements in order to seek just the right amount of illumination.
A plant is an animal that canât yet move. Except if itâs in a spaceship. Using a vessel as her legs and a man as her servant.
Gwydion and Mathâs spells are all very well, but their cunning only gets them so far. They ride roughshod over people to get their way but they are absolutely no match for real, bodily imagination, for a plant intent on travel.
And donât tell me that a plant canât traverse vast distances, manipulating the desires of others to her own end. In that particular survival strategy, beauty is the killer.
*
He
Now that we can hear each otherâs thoughts, even if weâre in separate rooms, Iâve given up on the Synapse Log and the Joint Thought Channel. Itâs enough to observe how the story unfolds.
Each day I wait until I hear the scrap of a voice, a clue. Then Nona and I â or should I say Blodeuwedd and Lleu? â start talking. And so what we are begins to take shape.
She
Heâs getting less formal. I notice that he spends much less time at his instruments. He needs
She
As Gwydion would say, weâre all storytellers here and so we can hardly be surprised when our versions dovetail or clash with those of other minds. The strange thing is that we no longer need to go into the VR for the story to be taking place in us.
He
The one thing I do know is that, after the wedding, Math gave Lleu a domain of his own for him to rule over. Good, fertile land. And what was it like? I have no idea.
She
Blodeuwedd stands next to Lleu and turns by tiny degrees towards her husband, like a plant that follows the sun till their mouths meet and, ravenous, she eats the light.
He thinks she looks gorgeous. She thinks he smells of offal.
He
Iâm Old School and believe you should never anthropomorphise plants. Theyâre entirely passive, donât have minds like us, they just react to stimuli.
She
Gwydion and Mathâs magic is primarily visual. They thought that a woman made from flowers would look good. But the body has a way of taking over the story.
Lleu is the light that, invisible himself, shows up all the other characters: Gwydion, whoâs determined to make a story for him, Blodeuwedd, who turns to him because she has to obey the sun.
He
If the VR story is, in some way, a symbolic com mentary on what happened on board this ship, then why the concept of mixing the DNA of plants and humans? What evolutionary advantage could it possibly confer on humans? Maybe that light is plentiful in space, would be endless fuel if the shipâ¦
No, thatâs ridiculous.
She
Campion thinks that heâs so open-minded, but heâs only beginning to see it. That the ship didnât come from Earth but from much further away. That it came from a place so distant that humans and plants had time to marry, like Blodeuwedd and Lleu, to evolve together. What if we read the VR myth as a literal, not metaphorical, account of what happened on board?
He
Do you have any idea of the distances that kind of evolution would require? Itâs madness to think it.
I have no idea whatâs going on. All I know is that Lleu and Blodeuwedd cling to the ship that holds them, as if to the mother that neither of them has ever known.
*
Synapse Log 9 Feb 2210, 23:50
Apprentice
Even when I sleep, Iâm not still for a moment. I tango with light and temperature. My mind counts its losses at night and thoughts, like vines, oscillate involuntarily in dreams. There are notions that my roots evade, like stones in the soil. I simply go round, seeking out moisture and a place to stand from which I can grow. I donât think, I revolve and break new ground and the burden I carry is heavy, as if I were lifting a boulder. Ah, the so-called sleep of leaves, far from inactive. I inherited habitual movements in order to seek just the right amount of illumination.
A plant is an animal that canât yet move. Except if itâs in a spaceship. Using a vessel as her legs and a man as her servant.
Gwydion and Mathâs spells are all very well, but their cunning only gets them so far. They ride roughshod over people to get their way but they are absolutely no match for real, bodily imagination, for a plant intent on travel.
And donât tell me that a plant canât traverse vast distances, manipulating the desires of others to her own end. In that particular survival strategy, beauty is the killer.
*
He
Now that we can hear each otherâs thoughts, even if weâre in separate rooms, Iâve given up on the Synapse Log and the Joint Thought Channel. Itâs enough to observe how the story unfolds.
Each day I wait until I hear the scrap of a voice, a clue. Then Nona and I â or should I say Blodeuwedd and Lleu? â start talking. And so what we are begins to take shape.
She
Heâs getting less formal. I notice that he spends much less time at his instruments. He needs
Similar Books
