Lost In Translation

by Edward Willett

  Akkanndikk’s wings flashed scarlet in the sunshine, covered from shoulder to tip with blood-red paint. The thousands with Kitillikk gazed raptly as somewhere a priest intoned a description of the ceremony, but Kitillikk preferred her own commentary. “In her reign Hunters die of old age, not in battle,” she growled. “When I am Supreme Flight Leader, the Hunter of Worlds will feast on the ugly flesh of humans and the sweet blood of our strong young warriors!”

  Ukkarr gave her a sideways glance. “I confess surprise at this sudden surge of piety, Flight Leader.”

  “If piety is necessary in a Supreme Flight Leader, then I will be pious, Ukkarr.” She sharpened her vision, bringing prey-sight to bear on Akkanndikk, now circling downward toward the platform that crowned the tower. Some time later she would emerge, supposedly having sacrificed to the Hunter in a ceremony only she and the High Priest would attend. Kitillikk sometimes wondered if they really just sat and passed a bottle of silverwine back and forth for a few hundred beats. Next year, she intended to find out in person.

  The Supreme Flight Leader spread her wings to land—and Kitillikk stiffened. In her prey-sight, all was clear, and the sudden outbreak of shouting all around her indicated the crowd saw, too, as a shape suddenly sprang up on the platform. “Ukkarr, the time is at hand!” Kitillikk breathed. “Human, I salute you!”

  A flash like lightning. The Supreme Flight Leader’s wings collapsed and she dropped, crashing onto the next platform down on the tower, one scarlet wing draped over the edge. The Left Wing dove toward her, while the Right hurled herself at the human. The beamer lashed out again, and the Right Wing snapped into a fluttering spin that ended when one of the upthrust “fangs” of the Temple wall impaled her. Blood streaked the stones. Her wings jerked twice, then fell limp.

  The thousands roosting around and below Kitillikk surged this way and that in confusion and shrieking horror. Some tried to fly and collided with others, sending both crashing into the S’sinn on the ground. There would be more dead and wounded in the crowd, Kitillikk thought. All of which could be laid at the human’s feet. She raked her prey-sight over the spire again, but the human had vanished.

  No matter. Jim Ornawka was the least of her concerns. She turned to Ukkarr. “Now,” she said. “Send the signals. First to our supporters in the Temple. Have them meet me where the Supreme Flight Leader lies. Then call Ikkilliss. The Supreme Flight must meet at once to discuss the succession. Go.” Ukkarr snapped his wings in salute and went.

  Her hearts pounding fiercely with anticipation, Kitillikk threw herself into the air, climbing quickly to the tower platform. As she swept in, the Left Wing swung toward her, teeth bared. “Kitillikk,” he snarled. “Come to survey your handiwork?”

  “Mine?” Kitillikk feigned astonishment, careful not to get too close to the angry bodyguard. “I was in the crowd at the base of the tower.”

  “One of your assassins—”

  “It was not her doing,” Akkanndikk whispered, and this time Kitillikk’s astonishment was unfeigned, and followed quickly by anger. Bloody incompetent human—couldn’t even kill a single unarmed S’sinn!

  Instantly the Left Wing turned to his mistress, his wings blocking Akkanndikk from Kitillikk’s view—which allowed her to shift her gaze to the only door into the Temple. They were certain to be inundated with priests at any moment—would have been already if not for the symbolic importance of the Supreme Flight Leader making her descent from the Tower unaided and alone. But which priests? Much depended on that—and that, in turn, depended on how quickly Ukkarr had gotten his message to her supporters.

  Left Wing straightened and turned back toward Kitillikk. “My apologies,” he said stiffly. “Her Altitude tells me her attacker was a human.”

  “May the Hunter spew him out of his mouth!” Kitillikk said fervently.

  “Nevertheless, Flight Leader Kitillikk, I must insist that you stay back from Her Altitude until the priests arrive. You have made no secret of your enmity toward her.”

  “There is a difference between political enmity and attempted assassination, Left Wing,” Kitillikk snapped. “In this hour, there is only the good of the S’sinn to consider. We must rally together. I came out of concern, not ambition.” She didn’t really expect the bodyguard to believe her, but it never hurt to make the right sounds. You never knew who might be listening.

  “Your concern is noted. I still will not let you near the Supreme Flight Leader.”

  “As you wish.” Kitillikk heard the snap of wings from below; a moment later three priests popped into view and landed beside her, and she carefully kept from smiling: they were hers. Unreliable over the long term, like all priests, but certainly ready to seize the moment—which they did, no doubt thanks to Ukkaddikk’s instruction.

  “Quickly!” said the first. “We must move her inside! The human has been spotted nearby—he could fire at any moment!”

  “Where?” Left Wing sprang up. “I will rip out his heart!”

  “East Tower!” the priest said, and Left Wing, with a final glance at the Supreme Flight Leader, already surrounded by the other priests, flung himself into the air.

  “Excellent,” Kitillikk said. “Get her inside and hide her.”

  The priests who had been “treating” the Supreme Flight Leader straightened. “You want her alive?” said one in surprise. “It would be an easy matter to—”

  “I want her alive.” In the few moments she’d had to think about that prospect, Kitillikk had seen how it could be used to her advantage. “It will keep her supporters off-balance, while we act. Now move her, before Left Wing comes back!”

  Without further argument, the priests picked up Akkanndikk, who moaned and tossed her head, and carried her through the door. Kitillikk followed, pausing only long enough to scan the rooftops around them. “I hope Left Wing finds you, Jim Ornawka,” she said softly. “It will save me the trouble.”

  Inside, a staircase spiraled down—a rare architectural feature in most S’sinn buildings, but common in the Temple; remaining on foot was a powerful symbol of humility before the Hunter. The Supreme Flight Leader would have been expected to descend the entire height of the Tower on foot; now she descended instead in the none-too-gentle grasp of the priests. They had not gone far when they heard a shriek above them—no doubt Left Wing had returned to find his mistress gone. “Move!” Kitillikk snapped, and they redoubled their efforts.

  They reached what must have been ground level, judging by the size of the chamber into which they emerged, but instead of going out through one of the four large doors spaced equidistantly around it, the priests instead stepped off the staircase and turned sharply left, toward a small black door underneath the stairs. They carried the now limp Akkanndikk through it, and Kitillikk, following, closed it behind them—and, finding a bolt, bolted it.

  Now they descended in utter blackness, but sound gave Kitillikk all the information she needed. The stairs continued spiraling down, and down, until she judged they must be forty or more spans beneath the surface—and then, finally, they came on light, a large, round torch-lit chamber with a half-dozen shikks scattered around it, a table in the center on which rested the day-old (at least) remnants of a meal, and nothing else.

  “This is where we meet,” said the lead priest. “In darkness and dampness. We’ve suffered much to return our race to greatness, Flight Leader.” Unspoken, she heard his challenge: do not disappoint us.

  Unreliable, she thought again. Priests are unreliable.

  It seemed, though, that with the Supreme Flight Leader unexpectedly alive, she would have to rely on them at least a while longer. “You have done well. And I promise I will remember your sacrifices when I am Supreme Flight Leader. But I must ask you to use this chamber a while longer. Keep her,” she gestured at the unconscious figure of Akkanndikk, “hid den down here, for now. Treat her wounds, but answer no questions, should she recover enough to ask them. She won’t know where she is, or who you are, unless you tell her. Shoul
d I need her, I will tell you. Should I decide I do not need her, I will tell you that, as well, and . . .”

  “We understand and obey,” said the priest, the traditional response of a lower priest to the command of a higher. Kitillikk rather thought she might adopt it in her court when she was Supreme Flight Leader.

  Which she had better get busy arranging. “How can I get out without being seen? If I go back up the stairs—”

  “There is another exit.” The lead priest showed her an arch into deeper darkness. “This passage slopes gradually up and emerges near the river in a place well-screened from view. Should you wish to visit your captive, you should enter that way.”

  “My thanks,” Kitillikk said, and went out.

  A hundred damp, slippery spans later, she emerged onto the muddy river bank, beneath an overhanging platform with a hole in its center . . . the Place of Flightless Sacrifice, she realized, and smiled, thinking of Jarrikk. Very soon she would be in a position to pay back a lot of old debts—including that one. Maybe she’d bring him back here and use the knife on him herself . . .

  But for now, her business lay with the Supreme Flight. Splattering mud, she launched herself into the air.

  Chapter 16

  Kathryn woke uncomfortably, all at once, to a harsh buzzing that brought her upright in bed, heart pounding. “Stand by for the captain,” said a disembodied voice.

  “I’d rather go back to sleep,” Kathryn muttered, lying down again.

  That, unfortunately, didn’t appear to be an option: the door opened and Dr. Chung came in, her electronic notebook clasped protectively to her chest with folded arms and her lips pressed tightly together.

  “Jarrikk?” Kathryn said anxiously, sitting up again, but even as she asked, she knew he was all right; she could tell by the—feel, she guessed was the word—of the tendril of his mind in hers. Something else, however, obviously wasn’t all right.

  “He’s fine,” Dr. Chung said. “For the moment. I’m not sure about the rest of us.”

  “What?”

  “Listen.” Dr. Chung pointed to the speaker overhead.

  As if cued by her finger, a new voice came over it. “This is Captain Hall. A situation has arisen that may threaten the security of this ship. These are the facts as we know them: shortly after dawn this morning, someone attempted to assassinate the Supreme Flight Leader of the S’sinn during a religious ceremony at the Temple. She hasn’t been seen since.

  “The attacker escaped, but there are literally thousands of witnesses, backed up by vidrecords, who swear that he was human.”

  Kathryn gasped. Captain Hall carried inexorably on, his voice calm but tense. “The Supreme Flight met in emergency session almost immediately, and shortly thereafter announced that though still alive, the Supreme Flight Leader is grievously wounded and unable to carry out her duties. They claimed she has been sequestered in a secure place, then announced that, until she recovers—and there seems considerable doubt that she will—her duties will be assumed by Flight Leader Kitillikk.”

  Kathryn gasped again. “Kitillikk!”

  Dr. Chung stared at her. “You know this S’sinn?”

  “Through Jarrikk’s memories . . . shhh!”

  “. . . not a universally acceptable choice, apparently. We have reports of fighting in the streets among unidentified factions. Communications, datalinks, and transportation are all under the control of armed Hunters. The Spaceport has been sealed. We were able to report to Commonwealth Central what has happened, but since then a scrambler field has been set up, blocking all off-planet communications. No S’sinn has contacted us directly since the assassination attempt, nor have we had any word from Translator Ursu, Translator Ornawka, Ambassador Matthews, or any of the other humans currently in the city.

  “All we can do for the moment, ladies and gentlemen, is sit tight behind closed hatches. As a Commonwealth ship, we are theoretically inviolate—but whether the new leader adheres to that theory remains to be seen.

  “I’ll keep you posted as I learn more.”

  The shipcom clicked off; Kathryn’s feet hit the floor a second later. “I must see Jarrikk.”

  “Kathryn—” Dr. Chung began.

  “I feel fine. Perfectly healthy.” Still very tired, actually, some of the good a week’s rest had done undone by the stress of her meeting with Jarrikk the day before, but Dr. Chung didn’t need to know that. “This is an emergency, Doctor.”

  “I’d stop you if I didn’t know you’d pull ‘Translator business’ on me again,” Chung grumbled. She flipped open her notebook, unclipped the stylus from its side, and scribbled something with unnecessary force. “Very well. You’re released. Go wherever you like, do whatever you want.”

  “Thank you.” Kathryn was halfway to the door before she looked down at her flimsy hospital gown, stopped, and turned sheepishly back to Dr. Chung. “Uh . . . maybe I should start with clothes.”

  As Kathryn strode down the corridor toward Jarrikk’s room a few minutes later, wearing her freshly pressed Translator’s uniform, with a jacket over the sleeveless top, she sensed the tendril from Jarrikk’s mind growing stronger. So distance matters, she thought. Ukkaddikk will be interested to hear that—if we ever decide to tell him.

  By the time she reached Jarrikk’s door she could even sense that he still slept, and she hesitated for a long moment before deciding it was more important to tell him what had happened than to let him rest. He was still S’sinn, after all, and it was his leader who had almost been killed—and he also had a long personal history with her successor, Kitillikk.

  Somehow, Kathryn doubted he would be pleased at the news of his old Flight Leader’s promotion.

  Jarrikk woke swiftly, all at once, as she entered, and at the same moment his presence in her mind quadrupled in strength, so suddenly she gasped and staggered back a little. It wasn’t telepathy—that seemed to require touch—but it was far stronger than any empathic bond she’d ever experienced or heard of outside of Translation.

  She told him swiftly and succinctly what she had heard the captain say, and had to grab the back of the chair by his bed for support as his outrage and shock crashed through her. “Kitillikk is behind this,” he snarled.

  “They said it was a human . . .”

  “Then she arranged it.”

  “But . . . from what I know from your memories about her, she hates humans. She would never align herself with one . . .”

  “That’s what makes it so perfect. No one will suspect that Kitillikk would use a human. But she would. She’d use and do anything to become Supreme Flight Leader.”

  “And now she is,” Kathryn said slowly.

  “Exactly.”

  “Then the next step . . .”

  “War.” His bitterness made his words burn like acid in her mind. “She’ll ruin everything we accomplished. She’ll already be gathering the Hunterships, calling her old friend Lakkassikk to mobilize the attack troops.”

  Kathryn took that in. “Then—then what will happen to us? We’re trapped here!”

  “She’ll need all her Hunters to quell any budding rebellions—but the moment she has any to spare, we’ll be next on her list.”

  “They can’t get in . . . can they?”

  “This is nothing but a glorified yacht. It’s not a warship. They can get in.”

  The speaker overhead crackled to life again. “This is Captain Hall,” said the familiar voice, now drawn as tight as a bow string. “Our outside cameras show armed S’sinn Hunters moving onto the Spaceport landing field.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid we’re surrounded.”

  Jarrikk heard the captain’s voice, but didn’t understand it. What he did understand was the sudden surge of fear in Kathryn. “What is it?” he asked in Guildtalk.

  “S’sinn Hunters surrounding us.” Kathryn looked at him. “Kitillikk?”

  “Who else? She wants us, Kathryn.”

  “Us, specifically, or humans in general?”

&
nbsp; “Us. Specifically.”

  “Why?”

  “She may know by now how we salvaged the peace treaty. Even if she doesn’t, she knows we were the ones Translating when the agreement was reached. We’re visible symbols of the Commonwealth. Plus, simply by being alive, I’m a symbol of how S’sinn culture has been corrupted by contact with the Commonwealth—and you’re a symbol of that corruption, having defiled my sacrifice to the Hunter.” He couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped through him at that, though he no longer intended to finish the job at the first opportunity. Kathryn had given him an option and he had yet to consider it carefully. Yet if even he, the beneficiary of it, could feel anger at the human’s arrogance in stopping a sacrifice to the Hunter of Worlds, how would more traditional S’sinn react?

  By tearing any convenient human apart, he thought—and Kathryn would be the most convenient of all. He reached out and took her hand, feeling her concern more strongly than ever and letting her feel his. He wouldn’t put it past Kitillikk to try to pin the assassination attempt on her, instead of on whatever pathetic human traitor she had actually used. What better way to destroy sympathy for the Commonwealth than putting it out that a Translator had been the assassin, absurd though that was?

  Kathryn had pulled her hand away again, and he realized he had almost dozed off. He looked at her with some alarm. How much of what he had just been thinking had traveled over the intangible link between them?

  Enough, it seemed. She looked visibly scared for the first time—if he were reading her strange human face aright. But then the speaker crackled again, and this time Jarrikk understood two words perfectly: “Translator Bircher . . .”

  “. . . report to the bridge. Translator Bircher, please report to the bridge.”

  Kitillikk, was her first thought. Kitillikk has demanded they turn Jarrikk and me over to her, and . . .

  . . . and what? a derisive inner voice spoke up. Do you really think the captain is just going to hand you over?