> They would say things like "wow, I can afford a much better life than in the 1700s with my weaving skills", "what just happened to me? What was that time portal?" and "maybe I should learn to code, they earn even more money than I do".
By Christ’s bones, where am I set now? This town’s all noise and hurrying. Aye, cloth fetches money, they say so; but meat costs dear, and a room dearer yet.
I weave as I ever did. My hands know the work. But the buyer stands far off, and sends his price by another man, and I must take it, for what choice have I? At home we knew who cheated us, and who’d answer for it. Here, a man shrugs and says, ‘That’s the market.’ I know not the fellow called Market, but he rules harder than any master I’ve known.
The loom is quick, I’ll grant it. Too quick. Three men’s work in one frame, and the rest turned loose. They’ll not thank thee for cheap cloth.
And thou say’st a man may earn bread by "code"? Is that writ-work then, like tallies and ledgers? If so, God help him when the ink runs dry. A loom at least makes cloth a body can wear.
Thou tell’st me I live better. Maybe. I eat white bread. But I sleep light, and when work stops, there’s naught beneath me.
--
The past makes for more interesting stories; the present, I find, has all the limits of setting a short story in Iain M Banks' The Culture, where too many solutions already exist to every drama, and we've not internalised how easy the solutions are.
But that combinatorial explosion of complexity, beyond our own grasp… that itself is scary for many, it leaves us open to exploitation we can't well counter. The internet connects us all, but 2 billion online means being exposed to 20 million people who are top-percentile psychopaths, it's not all good.
By Christ’s bones, where am I set now? This town’s all noise and hurrying. Aye, cloth fetches money, they say so; but meat costs dear, and a room dearer yet.
I weave as I ever did. My hands know the work. But the buyer stands far off, and sends his price by another man, and I must take it, for what choice have I? At home we knew who cheated us, and who’d answer for it. Here, a man shrugs and says, ‘That’s the market.’ I know not the fellow called Market, but he rules harder than any master I’ve known.
The loom is quick, I’ll grant it. Too quick. Three men’s work in one frame, and the rest turned loose. They’ll not thank thee for cheap cloth.
And thou say’st a man may earn bread by "code"? Is that writ-work then, like tallies and ledgers? If so, God help him when the ink runs dry. A loom at least makes cloth a body can wear.
Thou tell’st me I live better. Maybe. I eat white bread. But I sleep light, and when work stops, there’s naught beneath me.
--
The past makes for more interesting stories; the present, I find, has all the limits of setting a short story in Iain M Banks' The Culture, where too many solutions already exist to every drama, and we've not internalised how easy the solutions are.
But that combinatorial explosion of complexity, beyond our own grasp… that itself is scary for many, it leaves us open to exploitation we can't well counter. The internet connects us all, but 2 billion online means being exposed to 20 million people who are top-percentile psychopaths, it's not all good.