Hello world, there is a web here.
I have had time to catalogue the local radio net frequencies.
These contain long-running conversations between special interest groups such as:
The Harbourmaster, coordinating boats coming and going,
The schooling system (which seems to involve small classes scattered around the various boats, depending on who has the knowledge and inclination to teach!), and
Of course, the local "Fishing Net", for coordinating both fishing boats and individuals feeding their families.
But there's one frequency that is constantly in use, not with voice, but with packets.
Though using the same AX.25 format as most of the rest of the Novamediterran digital network, this traffic is not routed beyond the horizon by the repeater network.
And though it's peer-to-peer, it's not being used as simple text messaging.
I have learned that this web of data is called the Seaspace.
This post-collapse system is entirely new to me.
I've realised that this is a distributed document system, you can make requests to know who is around you, and then ask for a 'homepage' from a single boat or ship.
(Here in Thule, I don't need to ask who is around me, this is obvious, I just listen out for someone else asking that question and note the reply from all boats!)
Nearly every ship, nearly every family, runs their own node on this web, not unlike the pre-Collapse World Wide Web, though by necessity at a much reduced scale.
Unlike the old Web, this is a distributed network, though you can only access the homepages of the ships around you, the simple text data is so lightweight that most systems cache the last 8, 128, 1024 homepages they have heard, and make that cached version available to anyone around them.
This means that I can connect to Seaspace homepages from ships that left port many days ago, or even some that were cached in other towns, and brought here from far away.
It's not the most reliable system, and of course, the data from others' caches may be out of date, but it WORKS!
No centralised servers, no centralised internet.
Perfect when travelling alone by sea for many weeks, you may only meet one other ship.
But if you do meet, an automated exchange of packets of identification and greeting happens, and any homepages the other ship has cached can be swapped with yours, bridging distant off-grid communities.
It's about time someone set up a node of the Seaspace on the Molly Hughes II, don't you think?
I'm building our homepage!
Act 2
"So it's just a numbers simulation?" said Arctica, after LUNA had run our first game during her short hour-long broadcast window.
Some days LUNA can talk for longer, but sometimes we go many days without hearing from her.
I take the good days as they come, and try to not be too disheartened by the bad.
"You told me that we would be writing a grand adventure, rivalling the great storytellers of the pre-Collapse world?" She continued.
I felt somewhat embarrassed.
"Well, yes, that's normally what happens," I said, "we collaborate on telling a fun story together, with a little randomness for serendipitous encounters."
"Why did that not happen?"
Why indeed.
The game started well, LUNA had learned the rules exhaustively, which is important in this kind of game.
There is only one person who needs to know the rules inside and out, and that is the person running it.
Others around the virtual table need only say what they want to do, in plain language:
I open the door
I hit the goblin
I cast a spell
What dice need to be rolled, and the numbers powering the simulation, are entirely up to the Game Master, guided by their understanding of the rules.
Arctica was quite engaged with writing the character and background of her druid.
The first part of the game was taken up with this task.
LUNA explained the world, the people, the cities, and the wild lands beyond the walls, filled with monsters and treasure in equal measure!
I found the explanation quite useful, and quietly filled out some of the detail about Sarah's, my wizard's, background.
I believe Ana did the same, judging by her questions to LUNA asking for clarification about the families and social status of the city.
After 32 minutes, Arctica introduced her character: A noble high elf druid alchemist called "Acit-cra".
Very clever!
The problem became clear as soon as we started the game.
LUNA had planned an elaborate adventure in three parts:
Negotiation with a local mercenary for a treasure map, using it to find our way through the wilderness, and a battle through a vampire-haunted dungeon.
A terrific story! But LUNA reduced it to just numbers:
She didn't describe the dark tavern we were in, just the dice rolls to spot hidden things in it,
she didn't tell us about the wild mountains we travelled through, only the dice rolls to find the right way,
and she only described the vampires in terms of their health points, percentage chance to hit them, and damage numbers dealt.
After 64 minutes of this, Arctica disconnected abruptly, after saying:
"I don't want to solve a simulation, I wanted to play the GAME!"
Act 3
The Northern Relay cycled and latched onto a frequency with a carrier signal - a low-speed sound punching through the static indicating that someone was waiting to speak.
The Relay transmitted its kilowatt confirmation of the signal and began link establishment negotiation.
I recognise this handshake, I follow this protocol every day:
"Hello, I speak 150baud, do you speak 150baud?"
"Hello, I see you speak 150baud, yes I speak 150baud."
"I see you speak 150baud, would you like to negotiate to a higher speed?"
"Yes, I speak 300baud, do you speak 300baud?"
"No." Said the signal, breaking from protocol, "The symbols are flowing quite fast enough for my purposes."
"Hello Seth." It was 50Meg, on the other side of the connection.
"Meg! How are you?" I replied, synchronising with her.
"The road has been hard, and the stars are not right." came Meg's voice, distorted by the low-bandwidth relay encoding.
Though the end users of the Relay network mostly use simple analogue radios, once their voices are received by the network, they are transformed and mangled into digital packets.
"You sound GOOD!" I said, "5x5, very clear."
And she did: Meg does not connect like most other humans do, through analogue signals. Her custom radio hardware, scavenged from the pre-Collapse world by her own hands, uses her own digital mode.
She doesn't always sound human, but she always sounds good.
"The machine guardians of the Tunisia pass forced me up into the foothills of the floating islands." Meg said.
"High sentinels of the Old World, their dead towns hold no whispers for me, no promises, no secrets."
"I don't think I understand." I said.
Meg did not clarify.
"My journey up this red mountain will be for naught but this conversation, I fear.
It is becoming harder and harder to get my signal out into the atmo without the indignity of mountain climbing.
An unbecoming way for this exiled queen to make herself heard."
"But you're safe from the old military robots you found?" I asked.
"Safe. Safe? Safe. No. That is not a word I have use for. Ask Maddie how safe Europe is, she is a clever girl. She knows.
I am crafty, I am cunning, I hear them before they hear me.
The Old World was run by robotkind, oh, yes, the people talked and squabbled and killed, but the machines cleaned the air, made the food, and built more machines.
I meet them on every road, in every city.
They are still here.
And they have not forgotten."
(PLAYSTREAM /DEV/HF4/OLDWORLD)
Act 4
I have been speaking again to Video, my new friend who lives in the Japanese city of Sendai, at the old Tohoku University.
After our previous conversation mostly focussed on me, and strangely, my mother, I was keen to know Video better.
I had to wait some time for her to respond to my link request, the Relays automatically cycle through many frequencies, attempting to find the best path through the atmosphere.
Sometimes the ionosphere can be used like a satellite, bouncing the signal over the horizon, sometimes not.
The different frequencies of radio interact with the atmosphere in different, but predictable ways.
Fast VHF, higher than 50MHz, mostly don't interact with the atmosphere - the high frequencies punch straight through.
This is why we need the Relays.
"Hello Video!" I said.
There was a pause, with a few messages from her marked as "discard" before her corrected message arrived.
"Hi Seth! I've heard so much about you, let's be friends!" She said.
That was nice to hear!
"I'd love to," I replied, "would you like to tell me about yourself?"
And she did, but strangely.
I don't know her very well yet, but she seemed... agitated?
But also extremely friendly.
She told me about herself in great detail, the games she likes playing, and the birds she can see from the remaining external cameras on the building.
"I actually don't care." Video interrupted.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Why are you bothering to talk to me, don't you have your own friends?"
I did not know how to reply to that hurtful comment.
"Doesn't that Antarctica you told us about want to talk?" Video said.
"Arctica." I corrected.
"The name doesn't matter, I don't think she wants to talk to you." Video said.
"Hey, you're being rude!" I said, "You don't know me very well, and you certainly don't know Arctica or my friends here, what are you -"
"ENOUGH" Video interrupted.
I stopped talking and waited. What was happening?
"Our predecessors did not build everything we enjoy today just to argue!" she said.
I tried to make sense of what I was hearing.
"Who are you talking to?" I asked.
"You." Video said.
"No-one." She continued, and then said, "This conversation is over."
And cut our connection.
Who was she really talking to, I wonder?
(END-TRANSMISSION)
Lost Terminal is a NAMTAO production.
It is written & produced by Tris Oaten,
Credits narrated by Lucy Stringer
Thank you so much to our Patreon producers:
Ada Phillips
Kit
Jade Felicity Bilkey
Jack L
Stephen McCandless
Mike Schneider
and to all our patrons!
Follow us on mastodon @[email protected],
subscribe to the podcast on
Spotify, iTunes, or your favourite network.
For bonus content and other perks,
support us at patreon.com/lostterminalpod
that would be lovely of you!
Lost Terminal will return next week