#1 video; @waltz

[enveloped]

[The video starts with a tall, bearded man wearing a tailored suit sitting on the edge of a very executive looking desk in an equally executive looking office.

He smiles before speaking in a low, steady voice, his arms by his sides. Purposely left uncrossed. No fidgeting. He's comfortable in front of a camera, but not without practice.]

To be forcibly removed from our homes, support networks, and everything we’ve ever known is no small matter. For some, the experience can be traumatic. You may struggle with day to day life, or find yourself feeling unsafe in your new home. Holding down a job or making connections with other people can feel difficult, or even impossible, when you're uncertain of your environment and place within it. Everyone copes differently.

Very few of us asked to be here, and it's necessary the city is prepared to deal with the very real problems experienced by its displaced citizens, and accommodate their needs as efficiently and empathetically as possible in order to create and maintain a happy, healthy society. My name is Cameron Waltz, I'm a negotiator and cultural mediator from Earth, and I've been appointed the role of public representative to present our needs to the city council, and ensure our voices are being heard.

I'm looking for feedback on how your life has changed for the better or the worse since your arrival. I'll start with a few questions, none of which you have to answer, but would be very helpful in solidifying the case I'm building.

Please answer as honestly as you're comfortable. Anonymous commentary is allowed on this post, and you're welcome to be as vague or as specific as you'd like, without fear of discrimination.

I greatly appreciate any and all responses. With your help, we can find the holes in the existing social services system and work together to close them.

Thank you for your time.

--text attachment

-Have you felt adequately supported by the city, and its representatives?

-Do you struggle mentally or emotionally with your expatriation on a day to day basis?

-Are there aspects of life in Riverview you find more difficult than others?

-If you’re a minor, or know a minor, have you found the social services offered adequate?

-Are you satisfied or dissatisfied in the career provided for you? Do you find yourself changing jobs often?

-Do you struggle to make ends meet?

-If there's any one thing the city could do to improve your life, what would it be?

Comments

[bestsir]

[ Harry ... almost has to go have a lie-down after reading Cam's response. Because, lucky you, Cam, you're the first Riverviewer Harry's encountered who knows the Franklin Expedition. That the expedition is remembered by posterity is not any kind of a relief at all, and he wonders what Cam knows. (He also has the first inklings of a thought that will mature over the next few months and give him sleepless nights: the idea that in the multitudinous universe, there have been millions of Harry Goodsirs, millions of Francis Croziers and John Franklins, all of whom have come to similar, if not identical, miserable and desperate ends.) ]

You may call me Dr. Goodsir if you are formally minded, but I answer equally well to Harry.

I have seen all too closely the consequences of men attempting to bend circumstance to their will; it seems only Natural to me instead to adapt myself to my new surroundings as well as possible.

I would like to ask you something, if I may, but would prefer to do so in person if possible.

[enveloped]

A pleasure to meet you Harry. You can call me Cameron. Or Cam, for short.

So have I. The harder you try to resist change, the more difficult it is to adapt. You're fighting against your own best interests. Some men would rather be self-righteous than successful.

Of course. Professionally, or personally? My office door is always open, but I can just as easily meet somewhere more private.

[bestsir]

The pleasure is all mine; thank you, Cameron.

Self-righteous, yes; or else they have come to believe that the Universe is simply theirs to command by right of birth, nation, or faith.

I will see you in your Office if that will suit, at your convenience.

[enveloped]

Unfortunately that much hasn't changed with time. Men are still entitled and arrogant. They're a lot easier to stand up to, however.

The office is fine. Any time you would like. So long as I'm in, you have me.

[bestsir]

In an hour, then? I have some matters to finish here, and I shall be along forthwith.

[ And true to his word, in an hour almost to the dot, Harry presents himself at Cameron's office. ]

[enveloped]

[True to Cam's word, his office door is open in anticipation of their meeting. He doesn't have a receptionist yet, and isn't entirely sure he wants one. In his position, approachibility is more important than administrative protocol.

A tray of tea and biscuits sits on the corner of his desk, in the event his guest is hungry or needs something to occupy his hands.]

Mr. Goodsir! Glad you could make it.

[Cam rises to shake his hand with a smile. His grip neither firm nor soft. He's a tall man, easily breaking six foot, but he does make an effort not to stand over people.]

Please, take a seat. Tea?

[bestsir]

[ Harry is only a little shorter than Cam, in fact; all the Goodsir men are fairly tall, so that doesn't faze him. He shakes Cam's hand, matching his grip, and sits. ]

Yes—thank you, that is very kind.

[enveloped]

Comfortable?

[Cam settles back behind his desk and sets about pouring Harry tea.

Harry looks... Very normal. Cam does his best not to stare at the poor man.]

Now, how can I help you?

[bestsir]

[ Harry accepts the tea with a murmur of thanks, and takes a sip before speaking. ]

I would like to know what is said about the Franklin Expedition in your time. What you know of what happened, whose names are still spoken, what is believed or speculated.

[ He looks very directly at Cameron, wanting to be clear. ]

Please, do not feel that you have to spare me anything. Nothing you say can be any worse than what I experienced and what I saw.

[ He's been thinking about this for a while now, and being the scientist that he is, has concluded that it is better to know than not. ]

[enveloped]

Ah.

[Cam leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. Taking Harry's request into careful consideration.

This isn't a conversation he wants to rush into. What he says could change Harry's life, maybe even the course of history if Harry returns to his time. Would that be a good or bad thing?]

I can tell you what I know, but I can't promise you it's the truth.

Everything I learned about the Franklin Expedition is out of schoolbooks, and a singular visit to Iqaluit. They have a museum there.

[He exhales, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk to look Harry in the eyes.]

The truth is, Harry, that no one really knows what happened. All anyone is certain of is that everyone aboard both ships perished.

There are... details, findings from the wreckage, artifacts, but for the most part, there's a lot of speculation and very little fact.

What happened to your expedition is one of the greatest mysteries in the history of explorations.

cw: The Terror spoilers, survival cannibalism

[bestsir]

[ Schoolbooks. A museum. Harry sinks back in his chair, tea forgotten in his hands, though there's now an unsteadiness there that makes the cup tremble and a little tea splash over the rim. ]

Tell me the substance of the speculation. And any facts, however trivial. Please.

Again, I say to you—you cannot tell me worse than what I saw. I know what scurvy does to a man—and how lead poisons the body, for that matter. I know to what ends desperate and starving men will go.

[ Did they find bones with the marks of his knives on him? That's what he wants to know. Did they find what was left of his own body?

Did they find Crozier's body?

Did they find Silna's? ]

[enveloped]

[Cam reaches over his desk to steady Harry's hand, but his touch lingers in the moment afterward. Offering his comfort and support, should Harry choose to accept it.]

For years, people thought lead was the answer. More recently, science has been pointing to malnutrition. Zinc, I think. Compromising the immune system. Leaving men even more susceptible to scurvy, tuberculosis and everything else.

There were signs of cannibalism. I don't think anyone can really blame those men for utilizing every resource they had available.

[A pause, wracking his brain. He's no expert in this field. The expedition was a fascination to him in school. Like so much of history, it felt more like fiction than fact. Easy to forget the men involved were real, living people and not characters in a story.]

There's a lot of circumstantial evidence, and very little fact. We don't have bodies, just bones, and no one knows who they belong to.

I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I could tell you more. I'm not much of a historian. Most of my reading was out of... interest.

If you have any specific questions, I might be able to answer them.

[bestsir]

[ Harry puts the tea down, but doesn't pull away from Cam. He listens, his expression blank, and then it's a moment before he finally speaks. ]

Do you know—I think I am glad to know that it is a mystery.

[ A weak, mirthless half-smile. ]

No one need ever know with a certainty that their son, brother, father, husband—that he was consumed by his companions—or that he wielded the knife on the body of another.

[ The thought of any of his siblings having even the first hint of what he'd done—no, it doesn't bear thinking about. He does draw his own hands back then, turning them up to regard the palms and fingers, remembering them stained with Gibson's blood.

His shirt cuff on one arm slips back as he does so, and Cam might notice the end of a white scar revealed. ]

[enveloped]

[Cam does notice the scar. His eyes flick down, then back up to Harry's face. He doesn't know the when or why. With the medical technology in Riverview, that scar could be years old or brand new.

Either way, he's concerned.]

Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. So much went wrong. No one man can be blamed.

Harry, are you familiar with the term 'survivor's guilt'?

[bestsir]

[ Harry tugs his sleeve back down, trying to do so casually. It doesn't really work. ]

No, but the meaning of it seems rather plain.

[enveloped]

Are you talking to anyone, Harry? About what you've been through?

I've seen some... truly horrific things myself, in my line of work, and keeping those experiences inside of myself was the hardest part, which is why I consider myself lucky to have had coworkers, and other people I could talk to. Maybe not in detail, but enough to release the pain.

[Cam leans forward on his desk, hands clasped together.]

If you'd like, I can try to find you someone. A professional, who wouldn't judge you for the circumstance you found yourself in, or your survival of it.

[bestsir]

I have told one person. A good friend.

[ Harry comes from an era where a man's suffering was done in silence, unacknowledged and un-admitted-to. He is a bit of an anomaly in that more than once he's encouraged others to talk out their problems, but he's not good at following his own advice. Particularly given the details. He still can't believe that Alex didn't run away screaming. ]

...What do you mean, "professional"?

[enveloped]

A therapist, or counsellor, someone who is trained to listen, offer advice and support you in your recovery.

[Cam refills Harry's mug with tea, topping up his own. Their drinks got cold, and he doesn't want to place too much attention on Harry.]

I have some experience, given my occupation-- I interpreted for therapists, and I was placed in communities to facilitate treatment, but I'm not sure I have the... disposition to offer anything more than an ear.

I can, however, use my resources to find someone who can.

[bestsir]

[ Ah. Harry is aware of the existence of such people; he's heard allusions in the hospital, he realises. But it never really occurred to him to avail himself of those services.

Not least because, well. Whatever Cameron may say about not being judged... ]

I am not sure if I can—

[ A pause, then, quietly, staring down at his hands: ]

I am—was—a suicide. And circumstances around that may have made me a murderer as well.