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Diálogo·Techno-Shamans

Lena Default

dialogues/shamans/lena_default.dialogue

Personajes

~ start

si tarea de facción completada

She's hunched over a gutted radio, the fiber-optic strands in her hair flickering in time with something only she can hear. She holds up a finger - wait - then sets the soldering iron down.

There you are. The pattern said someone was coming up the stairs. Usually it just means rats. Tell me you did better than the rats.

I've completed the taskcompleta la tarea de facción
Just passing through

Then mind the cables on the floor. Step wrong and you'll unplug a conversation I've been having for a week.

fin
si no

Her outpost is a closet of salvaged tech crammed between a spice stall and a pawnbroker. She's threading a copper filament through a dead circuit board, lips moving like a prayer or a checksum. The strands in her hair pulse as you approach.

Lena. I keep the old signals company so they don't go silent. You can ask, if you've got a question that isn't an insult.

I'm looking for workir a faction_task
What do the Techno-shamans actually do?ir a shamans_question
Are the signals sacred, or just noise?ir a signal_question
Who really runs Prosperity?ir a prosperity_question
Nothing

Fine. The machines are better listeners anyway.

fin
termina la conversación

~ repeat_questions

She doesn't look up from the board, but the strands in her hair tilt toward you.

Still here. The machines like that. What else?

I'm looking for workir a faction_task
What do the Techno-shamans actually do?ir a shamans_question
Are the signals sacred, or just noise?ir a signal_question
Who really runs Prosperity?ir a prosperity_question
That's all

Go on, then. Don't trip the cables.

fin
termina la conversación

~ faction_task

She sets down her tools and rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Work I have. What I don't have is hands that don't flinch when a dead terminal starts talking back. This town buys and sells everything, but it won't sell me ten quiet minutes to take a reading where the old signals are strongest - and the strongest spots are never convenient.

Tell me what you need.

da una tarea de facción
si tarea de facción aceptada

A faint, tired smile.

And if anyone asks what you're doing, pretend you're fixing a radio or doing another errand for me.

I have other questionsir a repeat_questions
Consider it done

We'll see. The signal doesn't lie about who actually shows up.

fin
si no

When you stop thinking this is nonsense, come back. The work needs a believer - or at least someone good at faking it.

fin
termina la conversación

~ shamans_question

She gestures around at the salvaged machines, half of them blinking, all of them humming.

Depends who you ask, which is the whole problem. The Institute says we're peasants praying to broken radios. The faithful out at Aniid Kin say we're priests receiving the words of the earth.

Both are too sure of themselves to be right.

She taps the dead circuit board in her lap.

Here's what I know. The old world didn't go all the way quiet. There are machines still transmitting, fifty years on, and the things they transmit have structure. Pattern.

The shamans are the ones who never stopped listening - who kept the discipline of it, passed it down, learned to tell a signal from static when everyone else gave up.

A short breath, half a laugh.

My family broke codes before the bombs. Kept it alive by mouth, parent to child, because paper burns. So when I sit with a dead terminal and wait for the pattern to surface, I'm not praying. I'm decoding.

She shrugs.

The shamans call that communion. I call it listening carefully. We're describing the same thing in different alphabets. T

hat's most of what's wrong with this world, if you ask me - everyone's got a different word for the same signal, and they'd rather fight than compare notes.

I have more questionsir a repeat_questions
That's all

Listen more than you talk out there. The machines do. It's why they outlasted us.

fin
termina la conversación

~ signal_question

The question seems to please her and tire her at once. The strands in her hair go still.

That's the wrong question, but it's the one everyone asks, so I'll allow it. Sacred or noise. As if those are the only two bins.

She picks up a length of frayed cable and runs it through her fingers.

Noise is just signal you don't have the key for yet. Static is a language you haven't learned. My mother taught me that before the Institute threw her out for saying it too loudly.

There's no such thing as meaningless - there's only undeciphered.

So no, the signals aren't sacred. And they aren't noise. They're a message, and the only honest thing to say is that I haven't finished reading it.

She's quiet a moment. The wry edge drops away.

Though I'll tell you something I don't tell the faithful. Lately the pattern's been... cleaner than it should be.

Static doesn't usually have grammar. It doesn't usually repeat a phrase like it wants you to catch it.

She catches herself, and the guard comes back up.

Probably just my own mind finding faces in the dark. That's what minds do. Forget I said it.

I have more questionsir a repeat_questions
That's all

If you ever hear something in dead air that sounds like words - don't answer it. Just note it down and bring it to me.

fin
termina la conversación

~ prosperity_question

She snorts, setting her work aside like this one deserves her full attention.

Officially? Nobody. Prosperity's a free market, the traders will tell you, proud as anything. No king, no faction owns the gates.

She spreads her hands.

Which is exactly what a place sounds like when the people running it would rather you didn't notice them running it.

She ticks them off on ink-stained fingers.

The Church holds the souls and a good share of the water rights. The raiders hold the muscle - everyone pays them not to be a problem and calls it a tariff. But neither of those is the answer.

The town runs on goods and word, and whoever sees every shipment and hears every rumor before anyone else, that's your real authority.

There's a merchant or two in this market who's never surprised by anything. Always helpful. Always there a half-step before the trouble.

She lets that hang.

I don't take readings on people. But if I did, I'd start with the ones who are too easy to forget.

She picks her tools back up.

Power here works like a signal. You don't find it by looking at the loud part. You find it by tracing where the quiet feeds from.

I have more questionsir a repeat_questions
That's all

Watch who watches you in this town. That's free advice. The rest, the market charges for.

fin
termina la conversación
Código fuente del diálogo
~ start
if is_faction_task_completed
	Lena: *She's hunched over a gutted radio, the fiber-optic strands in her hair flickering in time with something only she can hear. She holds up a finger - wait - then sets the soldering iron down.*
		There you are. The pattern said someone was coming up the stairs. Usually it just means rats. Tell me you did better than the rats.
	- I've completed the task [#complete_faction_task]
		Lena: Good.
		- Continue => repeat_questions
	- Just passing through
		Lena: Then mind the cables on the floor. Step wrong and you'll unplug a conversation I've been having for a week. [#end]
else
	Lena: *Her outpost is a closet of salvaged tech crammed between a spice stall and a pawnbroker. She's threading a copper filament through a dead circuit board, lips moving like a prayer or a checksum. The strands in her hair pulse as you approach.*
		Lena. I keep the old signals company so they don't go silent. You can ask, if you've got a question that isn't an insult.

	- I'm looking for work => faction_task
	- What do the Techno-shamans actually do? => shamans_question
	- Are the signals sacred, or just noise? => signal_question
	- Who really runs Prosperity? => prosperity_question
	- Nothing
		Lena: Fine. The machines are better listeners anyway. [#end]
=> END

~ repeat_questions
Lena: *She doesn't look up from the board, but the strands in her hair tilt toward you.*
	Still here. The machines like that. What else?

- I'm looking for work => faction_task
- What do the Techno-shamans actually do? => shamans_question
- Are the signals sacred, or just noise? => signal_question
- Who really runs Prosperity? => prosperity_question
- That's all
	Lena: Go on, then. Don't trip the cables. [#end]
=> END

~ faction_task
Lena: *She sets down her tools and rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand.*
	Work I have. What I don't have is hands that don't flinch when a dead terminal starts talking back. This town buys and sells everything, but it won't sell me ten quiet minutes to take a reading where the old signals are strongest - and the strongest spots are never convenient.
- Tell me what you need.
	[#get_faction_task]
	if is_faction_task_accepted
		Lena: *A faint, tired smile.*
			And if anyone asks what you're doing, pretend you're fixing a radio or doing another errand for me.
		- I have other questions => repeat_questions
		- Consider it done
			Lena: We'll see. The signal doesn't lie about who actually shows up. [#end]
	else
		Lena: When you stop thinking this is nonsense, come back. The work needs a believer - or at least someone good at faking it. [#end]
- Not right now => repeat_questions
=> END

~ shamans_question
Lena: *She gestures around at the salvaged machines, half of them blinking, all of them humming.*
	Depends who you ask, which is the whole problem. The Institute says we're peasants praying to broken radios. The faithful out at Aniid Kin say we're priests receiving the words of the earth. 
	Both are too sure of themselves to be right.
Lena: *She taps the dead circuit board in her lap.*
	Here's what I know. The old world didn't go all the way quiet. There are machines still transmitting, fifty years on, and the things they transmit have structure. Pattern. 
	The shamans are the ones who never stopped listening - who kept the discipline of it, passed it down, learned to tell a signal from static when everyone else gave up.
	*A short breath, half a laugh.*
Lena: My family broke codes before the bombs. Kept it alive by mouth, parent to child, because paper burns. So when I sit with a dead terminal and wait for the pattern to surface, I'm not praying. I'm decoding. 
	*She shrugs.* 
	The shamans call that communion. I call it listening carefully. We're describing the same thing in different alphabets. T
	hat's most of what's wrong with this world, if you ask me - everyone's got a different word for the same signal, and they'd rather fight than compare notes.
- I have more questions => repeat_questions
- That's all
	Lena: Listen more than you talk out there. The machines do. It's why they outlasted us. [#end]
=> END

~ signal_question
Lena: *The question seems to please her and tire her at once. The strands in her hair go still.*
	That's the wrong question, but it's the one everyone asks, so I'll allow it. Sacred or noise. As if those are the only two bins.
Lena: *She picks up a length of frayed cable and runs it through her fingers.*
	Noise is just signal you don't have the key for yet. Static is a language you haven't learned. My mother taught me that before the Institute threw her out for saying it too loudly. 
	There's no such thing as meaningless - there's only undeciphered. 
	So no, the signals aren't sacred. And they aren't noise. They're a message, and the only honest thing to say is that I haven't finished reading it.
Lena: *She's quiet a moment. The wry edge drops away.*
	Though I'll tell you something I don't tell the faithful. Lately the pattern's been... cleaner than it should be. 
	Static doesn't usually have grammar. It doesn't usually repeat a phrase like it wants you to catch it. 
	*She catches herself, and the guard comes back up.* 
	Probably just my own mind finding faces in the dark. That's what minds do. Forget I said it.
- I have more questions => repeat_questions
- That's all
	Lena: If you ever hear something in dead air that sounds like words - don't answer it. Just note it down and bring it to me. [#end]
=> END

~ prosperity_question
Lena: *She snorts, setting her work aside like this one deserves her full attention.*
	Officially? Nobody. Prosperity's a free market, the traders will tell you, proud as anything. No king, no faction owns the gates. 
	*She spreads her hands.* 
	Which is exactly what a place sounds like when the people running it would rather you didn't notice them running it.
Lena: *She ticks them off on ink-stained fingers.*
	The Church holds the souls and a good share of the water rights. The raiders hold the muscle - everyone pays them not to be a problem and calls it a tariff. But neither of those is the answer. 
	The town runs on goods and word, and whoever sees every shipment and hears every rumor before anyone else, that's your real authority. 
Lena: There's a merchant or two in this market who's never surprised by anything. Always helpful. Always there a half-step before the trouble. 
	*She lets that hang.* 
	I don't take readings on people. But if I did, I'd start with the ones who are too easy to forget.
	*She picks her tools back up.*
	Power here works like a signal. You don't find it by looking at the loud part. You find it by tracing where the quiet feeds from.
- I have more questions => repeat_questions
- That's all
	Lena: Watch who watches you in this town. That's free advice. The rest, the market charges for. [#end]
=> END