The Weaver Fish

by Robert Edeson

  Henrik Tøssentern had occupied, with equal facility, academic posts in musicology and mathematics in both Oslo and London. During the war he was active in a Norwegian Resistance cell devoted to signal interception and decryption. His contribution was noted by the British Admiralty, which drafted him to Bletchley Park in 1942. It was there that he met Henrietta, a linguist seconded from the Foreign Office, and they were married in 1945. The eponymous Tøssentern transform (referred to by him as K N transformation), now indispensable in quantum cryptography, belongs to Henrik.

  The family remained in the United States until Edvard was eight, moving then to Oslo, London, Paris and Oxford. While still at school in Paris, he published a paper on problems in the translation of subjective terms, illustrated extensively with the vocabulary of pain. His graduate studies were at Cambridge, which he made his lifelong home, and where he became a Fellow of Nazarene College.

  His home in Chaucer Road was famed for relaxed hospitality and a kind of informal, salon scholarship. It also housed an enviable library that expanded adventitiously into available living space; it is said that the mathematician Rodney Thwistle thought it imprudent to continue visiting as, room after room, ‘books displaced oxygen’. Nevertheless, the vitality somehow remained. In recent conversations, Tøssentern shared ideas that, typically, unified his interests. One was concerned with defining semantic coherence (he used the example of narrative sense) in terms of a suite of conserved properties (such as temporal, nominal and causal content). Another was an inductive graph-based approach to spatial reasoning and image analysis. One is tempted to speculate that some of these advances might have led to a rigorous method of dream description.

  Tøssentern set out from Madregalo on Greater Ferende in fine weather on 1 April. He was an experienced navigator and was flying alone. Authorities describe Abel as an all-weather steerable balloon with hurricane-rated burners, fully equipped for emergencies, and provisioned for three weeks of powered flight. It carried specialized skipping traps thought suitable for the capture of weaver fish, though these were unlikely to have been deployed in very rough conditions. Final contact with Abel was an automatic status signal recorded by ground stations at 1543 hr GMT on 3 April, approaching midnight local time. Far Eastern news services report that an extensive air-sea search was downgraded after failing to locate any trace of the craft or its pilot. Investigations continue locally, and statutory enquiries will be conducted both by the United Kingdom and by Norway.

  Tøssentern had many friends, and some will remember back a few years to a convivial evening at Chaucer Road when Edvard spoke movingly of spiritual and psychological identity, and his own sense of statelessness. Trans-cultural parenthood, birth at sea, international schooling and his being non-discriminately multilingual were the complex predicates to an indistinctness of personhood that he revealed as deeply saddening. His words were memorable in being both very exposing but also surprising, because he was a man of considerable fun, with evident certainty of self, and appeared relaxed in his many worlds. It is difficult to accept that his last experience was like his first, travelling in the night, again at sea.

  Edvard Tøssentern never married. He is survived by his close companion, the psychiatrist and aviation writer Anna Camenes.

  Rede Professor Wallis Pioniv contributes: The proposition that primitive dream imagery might reproduce, albeit imperfectly, the experience of one’s ancestors, including their terrors, was rather too existentially charged for post-modern sensitivities, for which the meaninglessness hypothesis of memory de-junking was much more appealing. Even worse, the notion that one’s own ideation, one’s own monsters, or indeed oneself as a monster, might be transmitted forward to future generations threatened deeply held assumptions about the privacy of the mind and an individual’s discretionary power of inviolable concealment over unedifying thoughts.

  For a suggestion so injurious to universally approved beliefs about personal identity, free will and autonomy, Tøssentern was subjected to a firestorm of attacks, many ad hominem, and many based fallaciously on accusations of essentialism, teleologism, and Lamarckism. Nevertheless, despite a temperamental disdain for the non-rational, he responded to all his critics with practical argument, recourse to first principles, appeal to precedent, and a methodical display of the evidence. Only occasionally here did exasperation intrude on formality: in the appraisal of competing theories, he applied, along with standard measures of best fit and parsimony and the rest, a novel test of ‘least silliness’, which quieted whole blocs of academe indefinitely.

  Tøssentern knew, of course, that from a biological point of view the outstanding problem to address was the claim of heritability. Recent decades had brought to pre-eminence the molecular genetic basis of life, and the idea that a dream synthesized from experience in the parent could be passed to offspring was stigmatized by discredited theories of acquired-trait inheritance. Tøssentern argued, however, that although the nucleotide sequence was clearly necessary for inheritance in complex organisms, it had not been proved sufficient, and to suppose otherwise was conceptually restrictive (and, he thought, an act of hubris). Indeed, it could not be so proved until the mechanism of every potentially heritable feature, including, possibly, dreams, had been explained. Though desperately unfashionable, this was strictly logical, and given the state of the art, not refutable. Most importantly, the argument dispersed a siege of intemperate orthodoxy and served to legitimize a body of serious research. It is fair to say that the Tøssentern theory is now accepted by most major schools of philosophy, psychology and cognitive science, and it remains only for mainstream biology to fully accommodate the paradigm. Extraordinarily, by the close of the twentieth century, the signs were there: evidence is accumulating of epigenetic heredity based on selective methylation of DNA segments in the genome. How obvious it now seems that Tøssentern was right to demand an open mind on the possibilities.

  6

  ABEL

  Dear Dr Camenes

  As the lead design engineer for the balloon craft about which you enquired, Dr Walter Reckles has asked me to respond on his behalf and provide you with whatever information you require. He has asked me to convey his sympathies, to which I add my own, for the loss of your friend in such tragic circumstances. Dr Reckles will also be writing to you separately.

  We presume that your primary interest is in those design and performance characteristics that might be of relevance to optimum search planning. At the current time, we are unable to explain why mayday/GPS signals were not transmitted.

  The craft is non-traditional in design and I expect you are not familiar with many of its features. I therefore give a brief overview, with more detailed design and test data in attached files. We have, of course, extensive flight simulation software for the craft, and you are most welcome to access this. The problem is that, at this stage, we don’t have sufficiently detailed meteorology for that location. Aside from navigational error and freak weather stresses, we have to consider the possibility of some catastrophic structural failure, including due to fire. Dr Reckles has given this matter the highest priority, and we are doing our utmost to determine what might have happened. I should mention that British authorities have contacted Flight Control for assistance also.

  The L-99 craft, of which Abel was a slightly modified example, is of hybrid type, having a sealed outer envelope containing helium, and an inner hot air compartment serviced by dead-baffled butane burners. The helium provides approximate neutral buoyancy on station, adjustable as explained below. The burners fine-tune elevation and provide emergency lift.

  Unlike conventional balloons, the L-99 is conformable, incorporating gas piston telescopic struts. This allows two things. First, the volume of the balloon, and therefore its density, can be altered, compensating for local thermal and barometric variations. Secondly, the shape of the balloon can be altered, specifically its horizontal-plane radial symmetry. The standard circular profile reconfigures to sigmoid, presenting a subtle
convex–concave surface to the airstream. The effect of this is that the balloon will rotate in wind, rather like a turbine roof vent. Then, instead of the craft being propelled resistively at near wind velocity, much of the linear wind force is dissipated in rotational energy. In this way, down-wind ground speed can be reduced more than seventy per cent. This option rather complicates predicting the balloon’s position, even if we had detailed weather data.

  The gondola is a sealed cabin constructed of space-rated composites, and accommodates a crew of two. It will float if ditched. There are three hatches: the main one at side and emergency ones above and below. The whole assembly is stabilized gyroscopically using torque from the balloon controlled through an electric clutched gimbal transmission. The cabin is longitudinal and has airfoil curvature which generates a horizontal ‘lift’, allowing the craft to tack across wind quite effectively. This also complicates prediction.

  The main modification was to do with the fish trap mechanism, which was designed and fitted by another company (Custom X Engineering, 1010 Cambridge Technology Park, UK). They consulted us regarding mass, power, and structural strength constraints, but we never sighted the final design. Their concept was to operate the lines through the floor hatch; induction motor winches were snugged into the co-pilot’s space. We recommended adding a photovoltaic membrane to the balloon fabric to ensure power needs were met. We also insisted that the hatch seal was not compromised. All modifications were supervised by the client, and we had no further input. We believe that there would be a small, but not hazardous, effect of trap deployment on the balloon performance. Custom X was obliged to perform flight trials to document this, but they reported to the client directly, and we suggest that you approach that company for more information.

  In order to tighten error bounds on our structural and dynamical estimates under typhoon stresses we are urgently embarking on more comprehensive wind tunnel analyses using L-99 scale models. We will forward to you results of these and other investigations as they become available. In the meantime, please feel free to contact me, or Dr Reckles, at any time.

  Sincerely

  Linda Feckles PhD

  7

  THE ASIATIC CONDOR

  CONDORASIATICUS FUGAX. THIS MAGNIFICENT BUT RARELY SIGHTED CREATURE IS NATIVE TO THE FERENDES. REPORTS INDICATE A WINGSPAN OF UP TO SIX FEET, AND ALTHOUGH OTHERWISE ANATOMICALLY SIMILAR TO AMERICAN SPECIES, IT HAS PLUMAGE OF A UNIFORM IRIDESCENT BLACK, LACKING A WHITE FRILL. FERENDE TRADITION HAS IT THAT THE CONDOR NESTS AT SEA, HALCYON-LIKE, AND RETURNS TO THE SEA WHEN DYING. WHATEVER THE TRUTH IN THIS, ITS HABITAT IS CERTAINLY ONE OF EXTREME REMOTENESS, FOR NO NEST HAS BEEN DISCOVERED, MUCH LESS APPROACHED FOR A STUDY OF THE YOUNG.

  IN 1906, A RESEARCH PARTY LED BY MAJOR TERRENCE, UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE ROYAL ORNITHOLOGICAL SOCIETY AND WITH INSTRUCTIONS TO CAPTURE OR OTHERWISE OBTAIN A SPECIMEN, PENETRATED DEEP INTO THE JUNGLE OF THE JOSEPH PLATEAU. THEY REPORTED THREE DEFINITE AND SEVEN PROBABLE SIGHTINGS. LARGE NETTING TRAPS PROVED INEFFECTUAL. ON ONE OCCASION, A SHOT WAS AIMED AT NEAR RANGE BY AN ACCOMPLISHED MARKSMAN, WHEREUPON THE BIRD WAS SAID TO ‘VANISH IN FLIGHT’ AND, DESPITE AN EXACTING GROUND SEARCH, NEITHER CORPSE NOR STRICKEN CREATURE COULD BE FOUND. THE EXPEDITION DID, HOWEVER, RETURN WITH AN IMPORTANT COLLECTION OF AVIAN SKELETAL FINDS WHICH MAJOR TERRENCE BELIEVES INCLUDE CONDOR REMAINS. THESE ARE CURATED AT THE SOCIETY’S MINGLE LANE MUSEUM.

  SINCE 1918 THE CONDOR HAS BEEN PROTECTED UNDER ROYAL CHARTER, AND IS CELEBRATED IN THE COAT OF ARMS OF THE PROTECTORATE OF THE FERENDES.

  Cambridge World Index of Birds (1922)

  LDI Station

  South Joseph Plateau

  Greater Ferende

  Paulo Cinnamonte straightened in his chair, interlaced his fingers with palms outward, and stretched his arms whilst yawning. When his eyes opened they were focused precisely as before, on a smudge in the final frames of a video segment. Without shifting gaze he leaned forward and again clicked Replay. In the course of seven seconds the great bird arched in the sky, one wing momentarily occulting the full moon, before accelerating downward into the forest canopy. In the very second of the video finishing, that indistinct form appeared perhaps a hundred metres further along, but whether it was the same or another bird was impossible to know.

  Next to his computer, a water bottle rested on a stack of papers, and he absently reached for it. The papers, relieved of weight, rustled slightly in the air current from the cooling fan. Paulo noticed, as if their agitation were sentient, seeking attention. Sympathetically, he took the uppermost document and read it through, though he had seen it many times before. It was a scanned copy of an historical note on the native condor.

  In the seconds of reverie that followed, it began to rain. The first sign was not sound on the iron roof, not droplets on a window, not even the characteristic tropical smell. It was a subtle shift in the musical note of the air conditioner; a machine, mused Paulo, with the acuity of a forest animal.

  He replaced the sheet, resilencing the stack with the water bottle. By now, the computer display was dimmed, the image of bird even less discernable. With a touch of the mouse, he relivened the screen and opened a previously suppressed page. Research Progress Report. He left it displayed as he walked to the door; perhaps, foregrounded in machine consciousness, it might become written for him.

  The rain was heavier now, collecting in tyre ruts outside his hut. The main clearing was mostly gravelled and drained well; it glistened, mica-like. The forest edge had lost some definition, darkened and suffused with mist.

  Paulo thought of his visitor, somewhere on her crazy, uncomfortable journey from Madregalo. He knew she was a special friend to Edvard Tøssentern, and had been pivotal in the politics and organization of the search operation. She was also a trustee of Language Diversity Initiative, and he had hoped to have the research report completed for her arrival. But the weeks since the storm and Edvard’s death had been just too difficult, too exhausting. Still, there was a publication in press, which would be mitigating. He glanced back at his computer; the screen was dark. No progress there, then.

  Leaving the door open, the rain intruding just slightly, he walked over to a second desk. It was Edvard’s workspace, and he presumed Dr Camenes would settle there. She would also wish to see something of Edvard’s LDI life, and Paulo’s efforts to tidy the area had been dissipated by ambivalence. He missed his supervisor, his advice, their conversation, the shared enjoyment of speculation and rigour and iconoclasm that made this modest hut in the wilderness an exciting place to work.

  The rain had moderated, and he could now hear voices from the canteen. Folding a light anorak under one arm, and putting on a peaked cap to protect his spectacles from the rain, he set off across the clearing.

  The Land Rover laboured upwards, its slow diesel throb and racing whine sounding mixed resolve and complaint. For two hours they had followed the coast through dozens of fishing villages, each a few huts, public spaces, a water tank, canoes on racks in varied states of construction or repair, and silent souls, observing them. Only startled fowl and protective dogs had reacted to their passing. Now, on the long ascent to the plateau, the vehicle slid this way and that in mud, its tyres finding purchase on rock or tree roots to propel it forward, into more mud.

  Anna was feeling sick from a combination of lurching ride, engine fumes, anti-malarials and insomnia. Beside her, clasping the wheel tightly, her driver was hunched forward, watching intently, as if every slide and thrust came of calculated steering. His name was Nicholas, and out of Madregalo they chatted easily. But as the road worsened, he had fallen silent.

  Silence suited her. From time to time the track hardened and edged close to the escarpment, affording glimpses south to the Bergamot Sea. She imagined floating serenely above it a great silver and white balloon craft; it was Abel coming into view, emerging brightly from a private sojourn in the clouds and oblivious to earthly concerns. She would scold him: Edvard, we thought you were dead! So vivid was the mental narrative
that, even in the wishful hypothetical, she felt the physicality of emotions. She wiped beginning-tears beneath her eyes and then the make-believe was broken. A displacing imagery of night and storm, of danger and disappearance, was the new, recurring encounter with her friend. She turned to view the way ahead.

  Almost another hour had passed when, unexpectedly, Nicholas braked hard at a turn in the track. The Land Rover slid to a stop.

  ‘Sorry’, he said. ‘There’s something I need to look at.’

  He forced the gearstick into reverse and backed up several metres, again sliding to a halt. Anna followed his gaze off to the right. Leading into the forest, almost concealed by the low, dense understorey, were recent tyre tracks. Without turning to face her, he said, ‘Loggers. Illegal. I’ll need to take a look. You might like to stretch your legs as well.’

  He opened his door and jumped out, leaving the engine idling. Within a few seconds he was out of sight. Anna also got out, pleased that she had the foresight to wear walking boots. Just as suddenly, Nicholas reappeared, holding in one hand a camera, in the other a large exotic-looking pink fruit.

  ‘I photographed the tyre tracks’, he offered, as Anna looked inquisitively, and he replaced the camera in a deep pocket of his chinos.

  ‘And this,’ he continued, as her curiosity seemed undiminished, ‘is seki fruit. I thought you might like to try some. Tea?’

  That simple word seemed providential in this place. Nicholas looked into the luggage tray and lifted out a battered ammunition box, the inside of which was a renovated picnic case. He set it up on the bonnet, serving tea from a thermos, then reached through the driver’s window to switch off the engine.