X & Y
Caught on Tape
“I’m going to start logging all the meetings,” I said.
The tunnel stretched on ahead, narrowing to a point beneath the blackness. Iron tracks gleamed in the little bit of light radiating for the lamp on my desk. Shelling out the front of the train car had been taxing, and at the time, it seemed a bit frivolous, but I was glad we did it. Noah’s insistence had given me a proper workspace that, in hindsight, I probably couldn’t have gone without. The likelihood of me accomplishing anything in a cramped space was slim to none. Now, I had a desk, a chair, my computer, and space for all my scribblings.
Noah’s brown eyes blinked at me. He sat, legs folded, on the far side of the desk. His back leaned against the window. “Logging?” he asked.
I tapped the tape recorded sitting in front of me. “Logging.”
“Are we going to keep repeating the same word over and over, or are you going to explain the method to your madness?”
“It serves multiple purposes,” I explained.
“Yeah, you keep alluding to that, but you won’t say what they are,” Noah huffed, laughing under his breath.
I drew a slow, full breath, closed my eyes for a moment, and retreated into thought. Every memory I had was a compilation of stuttering, stammering, and confused people on the other end of the conversation. While Noah was intelligent, he and I didn’t share the same affliction. As far as I was concerned, there two types of intelligence—inherent intelligence and learned intelligence.
Those of us saddled with the burdens of inherent intelligence often were so engrossed in intellectual pursuits that we neglected to engage in all of those “trivial” activities in our childhoods—like parties and play dates. Somehow, we never quite managed to fit in, perhaps because we were one step above everyone else academically and two steps below socially. My mind flashed to another member of our group, one who was currently a few cars down, sleeping soundly with freshly cut hair after a grueling night I was sure I’d hear about later. She was like me. She was one of the people who, unfortunately, was born like this. She just happened to be about twenty times more likable and thirty times more attractive. We can’t all be blue bloods, though.
Noah was of a different breed. He learned to be intelligent. Something sparked in him that didn’t spark in the others—Noah wanted to learn. As opposed to those of us born with minds unfolded, Noah desperately wanted his to open. Unfortunately, we both were born into a society based on castes, and our castes were not the ones they trusted with pursuits of higher intellect.
In other words, Noah was able to grasp the same concepts as I was. He just didn’t process information the same way that I did. Communication left me exhausted to begin with. Communicating with someone who wasn’t on my wavelength was even more difficult, so it was necessary to take a moment for contemplation before I opened my mouth. I had to get my words straight, or I’d send myself into a panic.
“I think, at the end of things, recording is more useful than writing,” I explained.
“That’s your big point?”
“Sorry, that doesn’t sound quite right,” I sighed. “Things sound different when you speak them. Do you understand where I’m going with this? Sometimes, when I write things, I’m not as thorough as I’d like to be. Moreover, sometimes listening to yourself explain something that seemed like a brilliant idea can show you how awful it actually sounded, s-so—“
Noah laughed. “Wait, you took a whole thirty second pause just to properly tell me you think recording your own ideas will tell you when your ideas are stupid? Sam, I could tell you when your ideas are stupid, you don’t need a tape for that.”
“Tapes don’t lie, Noah,” I retorted.
“Oh, so I’m a liar?”
I knew he was teasing, but that didn’t keep me from puffing out a sharp breath. “Not just you. Everyone.” After a pause, I added, “Plus, I think if we keep these, they might be a nice memento or something like that.”
A grin flashed across Noah’s face. “That’s uncharacteristically sentimental of you.”
“Shut it,” I scoffed. “I mean that. If we’re ever to accomplish anything… you know, should we really go somewhere with this and actually succeed, these’ll be nice to have. Don’t you think? It’ll be an unvarnished account of what we’ve done and where we’ve been. Spoken word’s always been the way. Storytelling was always oral until modern civilization brought about storytelling in print. There’s just something so genuine about it. So raw.”
Noah nodded slowly in consideration. “Yeah, I think I understand. There were men and women who used to memorize The Odyssey in it’s entirety just to keep it alive. It’s how stories survived book burnings and such.”
“Noah, nobody’s going to memorize a novel.”
“The Odyssey’s not a novel, its—“
“Didn’t ask.”
“My point—“ Noah continued speaking anyway. “Was that the spoken word matters a great deal. If you’d have let me finish, I would’ve gotten there. Wanker.”
“I think we need to do more broadcasts,” I said.
“Huh?”
“More broadcasts,” I repeated. The tape recorder sat on my desk, wheels turning as it immortalized the conversation. “There’s some unsettling about hearing the voice of your demise.”
After all, I’d always heard that giving evil a face was a psychological necessity for humans. They needed a target for their blame, a scapegoat, if you will. But we were going to do the opposite. Up until now, we’d been faceless. We masked our voice with technology that altered and disguised it. But no more.
The League’s image of evil wasn’t going to be an image at all. It was going to be a voice.
The tunnel stretched on ahead, narrowing to a point beneath the blackness. Iron tracks gleamed in the little bit of light radiating for the lamp on my desk. Shelling out the front of the train car had been taxing, and at the time, it seemed a bit frivolous, but I was glad we did it. Noah’s insistence had given me a proper workspace that, in hindsight, I probably couldn’t have gone without. The likelihood of me accomplishing anything in a cramped space was slim to none. Now, I had a desk, a chair, my computer, and space for all my scribblings.
Noah’s brown eyes blinked at me. He sat, legs folded, on the far side of the desk. His back leaned against the window. “Logging?” he asked.
I tapped the tape recorded sitting in front of me. “Logging.”
“Are we going to keep repeating the same word over and over, or are you going to explain the method to your madness?”
“It serves multiple purposes,” I explained.
“Yeah, you keep alluding to that, but you won’t say what they are,” Noah huffed, laughing under his breath.
I drew a slow, full breath, closed my eyes for a moment, and retreated into thought. Every memory I had was a compilation of stuttering, stammering, and confused people on the other end of the conversation. While Noah was intelligent, he and I didn’t share the same affliction. As far as I was concerned, there two types of intelligence—inherent intelligence and learned intelligence.
Those of us saddled with the burdens of inherent intelligence often were so engrossed in intellectual pursuits that we neglected to engage in all of those “trivial” activities in our childhoods—like parties and play dates. Somehow, we never quite managed to fit in, perhaps because we were one step above everyone else academically and two steps below socially. My mind flashed to another member of our group, one who was currently a few cars down, sleeping soundly with freshly cut hair after a grueling night I was sure I’d hear about later. She was like me. She was one of the people who, unfortunately, was born like this. She just happened to be about twenty times more likable and thirty times more attractive. We can’t all be blue bloods, though.
Noah was of a different breed. He learned to be intelligent. Something sparked in him that didn’t spark in the others—Noah wanted to learn. As opposed to those of us born with minds unfolded, Noah desperately wanted his to open. Unfortunately, we both were born into a society based on castes, and our castes were not the ones they trusted with pursuits of higher intellect.
In other words, Noah was able to grasp the same concepts as I was. He just didn’t process information the same way that I did. Communication left me exhausted to begin with. Communicating with someone who wasn’t on my wavelength was even more difficult, so it was necessary to take a moment for contemplation before I opened my mouth. I had to get my words straight, or I’d send myself into a panic.
“I think, at the end of things, recording is more useful than writing,” I explained.
“That’s your big point?”
“Sorry, that doesn’t sound quite right,” I sighed. “Things sound different when you speak them. Do you understand where I’m going with this? Sometimes, when I write things, I’m not as thorough as I’d like to be. Moreover, sometimes listening to yourself explain something that seemed like a brilliant idea can show you how awful it actually sounded, s-so—“
Noah laughed. “Wait, you took a whole thirty second pause just to properly tell me you think recording your own ideas will tell you when your ideas are stupid? Sam, I could tell you when your ideas are stupid, you don’t need a tape for that.”
“Tapes don’t lie, Noah,” I retorted.
“Oh, so I’m a liar?”
I knew he was teasing, but that didn’t keep me from puffing out a sharp breath. “Not just you. Everyone.” After a pause, I added, “Plus, I think if we keep these, they might be a nice memento or something like that.”
A grin flashed across Noah’s face. “That’s uncharacteristically sentimental of you.”
“Shut it,” I scoffed. “I mean that. If we’re ever to accomplish anything… you know, should we really go somewhere with this and actually succeed, these’ll be nice to have. Don’t you think? It’ll be an unvarnished account of what we’ve done and where we’ve been. Spoken word’s always been the way. Storytelling was always oral until modern civilization brought about storytelling in print. There’s just something so genuine about it. So raw.”
Noah nodded slowly in consideration. “Yeah, I think I understand. There were men and women who used to memorize The Odyssey in it’s entirety just to keep it alive. It’s how stories survived book burnings and such.”
“Noah, nobody’s going to memorize a novel.”
“The Odyssey’s not a novel, its—“
“Didn’t ask.”
“My point—“ Noah continued speaking anyway. “Was that the spoken word matters a great deal. If you’d have let me finish, I would’ve gotten there. Wanker.”
“I think we need to do more broadcasts,” I said.
“Huh?”
“More broadcasts,” I repeated. The tape recorder sat on my desk, wheels turning as it immortalized the conversation. “There’s some unsettling about hearing the voice of your demise.”
After all, I’d always heard that giving evil a face was a psychological necessity for humans. They needed a target for their blame, a scapegoat, if you will. But we were going to do the opposite. Up until now, we’d been faceless. We masked our voice with technology that altered and disguised it. But no more.
The League’s image of evil wasn’t going to be an image at all. It was going to be a voice.