Happy new year and welcome to Letters From the Knot, a regular newsletter and an extended exercise in worldbuilding. Once a month, I post a piece of fiction that takes place in the Knot, a tangle of debris turned space-bound city. My aim with this project is to gradually populate this fictional city over time, creating and discovering new parts of it as I go. Each piece will be different: a story, a dream, a character sketch, a slice of life, a fragment. This week, a young scholar suffers the indignity of scrutiny.
But first some admin. To bring in the new year, I’ve gathered together my sci-fi stories so far into an e-book for those who like to prefer to read in that way. You can download it here, and if you’re looking for some other e-books (many of which look wildly erotic) you can download a bunch by following this link.
And finally, if sci-fi’s not your thing, I also release a more traditional and personal newsletter on the same channel on the off weeks.
Stay Put
The tea was cooling in his hand and he wondered if he might be able to get to the sink and pour it away without her noticing he hadn’t touched it. He could pretend he had just gone to wash up the mug, perhaps. He thought that might even endear her to him. She’d see him as the kind of person who chips in, who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. In case that wasn’t already clear.
‘Hmmm…feels like there might be a storm coming,’ she said. She had been pottering around the living space but eventually came to settle on a leather chair across from him. The chair looked fashionable but uncomfortable and it took her a while to position herself to her satisfaction.
‘A storm?’ he replied.
‘Storm’s the wrong word really. It’s something that happens with the spin down here. The ship reaches a certain…frequency and then it shakes and shakes for hours at a time. Makes it impossible to leave the house.’
She laughed and he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. On his implant he searched for selma shake storm and tried to skim read some of the posts that pinged up.
‘So you’d better tell me something about yourself, no?’ she said.
‘About myself?’ he said.
‘Well you’ll certainly have to do more than repeat everything I say,’ she replied.
The gleam in her eyes and the set of her face made everything she said seem playful and charming, but the words themselves felt barbed. He was sweating.
‘Well,’ he tried, ‘I live here…I’ve lived on the Knot my whole life.’
‘That makes two of us,’ she said, winking.
‘I live in the Grace/Hoffa,’ he said.
She looked at him then, held his gaze for a few moments. ‘Wow,’ she said.
‘Do you know it?’ he asked.
‘I could point to it on a map.’ She looked him up and down, consumed him, pushed her messy hair out of her eyes and flipped out a glide as if to take notes.
‘And what led you to apply for this?’ she asked.
‘Well…it’s a big opportunity…’ he replied.
‘Mmm…but why this in particular?’
‘I think it’s important,’ he said, ‘to see more of the city. I don’t want to spend my whole life living in one little corner.’
She leant forward, a slight smile. ‘How does it feel then? To be out here.’
He placed the now cold cup of tea down on the table. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’ve obviously read a lot about the Selma and we’ve studied Aaberg’s work. It’s a lot more imposing in real-’
‘No no,’ she said, batting at the air between them. ‘I mean how does it feel being in the grav?’
‘Oh…’ he said, feeling himself blush. ‘It’s…fine. It’s heavier, but…fine.’
He didn’t tell her that it felt like someone was stepping on his chest, that he felt as though his bones might burst through his skin, that his head was swimming and he could barely swallow.
‘I’ve got a friend,’ she said, casting her eyes up to the ceiling. ‘More of a fuck buddy truth be told, but they have to go out to the spurs sometimes for work. Top secret of course. But they talk about the grav out there like an assault. They say you can barely think. They have to go out in short bursts, take all these stimulants. I always figured it would be the same for you lot coming out here but…you seem fine, basically?’
He looked down, picked at the trousers he had borrowed.
‘Ooh, can you feel that?’ she said. ‘There’s definitely going to be a storm.’
He tried to tune in to whatever it was she was feeling. Everything already felt wrong to him. The speed of the spin and the weight of himself but, there was something new. A crackle, a tectonic hum.
‘We should probably get a move on!’ she said.
He opened his mouth to speak but failed. She frowned.
‘And don’t panic about this, by the way,’ she went on. ‘The college probably already said that this is…well it’s mostly a formality. They like us to meet the scholars who might get the funding. Between you and me, I think it’s a bit of a PR exercise. They’re more interested in you lot having a day out than they are in any of my ramblings but…you know…this sort of thing is good for me too’ - she shrugged - ‘so come on. What are you studying, again?’
‘Aesthetics,’ he mumbled.
‘Oh fun! They normally send me the boring techy ones. Do you know what you’ll be looking at?’
‘Architecture and imperialism. I’m looking at the connection between architectural movements and cultural hegemony. I want to, hopefully, be based on the Selma and look at…’
‘Oh not the Selma! The architecture here is so…samey! Wouldn’t you like to see some of the older stuff upgrav? I saw a doc about this amazing old theatre in the Twins. Even the Hafgufa is a bit more…you know, distinct.’
‘I suppose it’s more that…’
A chime rang through the air.
‘Oh hold that thought,’ she said, and bustled off to check on something, disappearing around a towering bookshelf. He couldn’t believe how big this place was. The furniture was made of wood, the walls draped, there were glides in all the surfaces. It was low lit and cavernous and she had apologised for it’s dilapidated nature when he arrived.
He took the moment alone to breath, pressed his hand to his cheeks to gauge the redness. Checked his implant.
hows it going?
bad. she’s awful. cant get a word in
gatekeeping leeches
dont
they cant read your implants dick
want to get the f out of here
soon. just be charming. they love to see a lowborn serf with good manners
f off
sit up and beg
bye
‘Well, bad news I’m afraid,’ she said on returning. ‘There really is a storm.’ She shrugged again, smiling.
‘Right…’ he scanned his body again for new sensations within the pain. You got used to feeling the Knot as an extension of the body. Every subtle change in grav or bump in the spin was logged somewhere, the whole place a whirling sense organ. Now he could feel the static, the bristling.
‘So what does that mean?’ he asked.
‘I’m sorry to say it means you’re hunkering down with me for a little while! Gives us time to get to know one another though. I’ve been involved in this programme for about fifteen years now and-’
‘How long will it be…do you think? The storm?’
‘Oh, hopefully just an hour or two but you wouldn’t want to go outside, trust me. All the apartments are insulated but the rest of the ship…yikes. I got stuck out there once and felt like all my bones would break.’
‘God.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll have fun!’ She leapt up again and ran to the kitchen. As she went she yelled something foreign sounding into the air and music started playing. She came back with two metal cups and an expensive looking bottle of green liquid. ‘Drink?’ she said.
‘I don’t really…’
‘When I was a kid,’ she said, pouring out two generous cups, ‘we always used to love a storm. There’s something romantic about it. Having no choice, being all tucked up inside with a hot cup of something. It sort of re-grounds you, you know?’
‘Right,’ he says.
‘Do you ever read any of the old Earth literature? Or watch old films?’
‘Sort of, at school.’
‘Most people don’t these days. Not fashionable. It comes and goes. But I always loved stories about people being snowed in. Have you seen pictures like that? You’re trapped in your house but you’re under this big pillowy blanket of white. I always thought it looked very…safe. Snug. And so when I was younger and there was a storm, I would always imagine I was snowed in and protected by a big white lovely sheet of snow. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You’re very quiet,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry I was just worried about the storm.’
‘But that’s what I’m telling you, it’s romantic! Enjoy it. Do you not have anything like this in the Grace/Hoffa?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t think it would feel romantic even if we did.’
‘No?’
‘I think if you got stuck in the house in the Grace, you’d probably just get sacked.’
She sighed, drained her cup, and went to fill it again. ‘God,’ she said, ‘yes you’re probably right, aren’t you?’
They sat in silence for a few moments. He had stopped blushing now.
‘Well, let’s get back to it then shall we?’ she said. ‘Aesthetics.’
Despairing, he activated his implant to send a message but all he got back was static, the leaden fleshy feedback of his own brain.
She must have seen the feeble light in his eyes because she said ‘oop, afraid that won’t work when there’s a shake on. Messes with all the signals.’ She was grinning now, and her cheeks were hot from the wine. ‘It’s just the two of us for the foreseeable!’
She laughed too loudly and he reached for the cup.
If your book isn’t wildly erotic I’m not interested