Lost In Translation

by Edward Willett

  Karak had thanked Shakik for his report, but though he shared Shakik’s relief, that relief was tempered by knowledge of a single dreadful fact: somewhere out in space, the Earth Fleet and the S’sinn Fleet were already bearing down on each other.

  The Commonwealth fleet, with all its mixed crews with varying loyalties and beliefs as to the rights and wrongs of the conflict, might emerge from dimspace in the middle of battle already joined.

  How well would this new-found resolve for unity hold up then?

  Kitillikk paced the bridge of Bloodfeud, claws stabbing into the padded flooring with every step, breath smoking in the chilled air, wings swirling and snapping as she turned at each end of the Captain’s Walk. In the pitlike control room below, surrounding her currently unoccupied command’s station, the crew dared not look up at her; even Ukkarr had busied himself elsewhere.

  Half a day had passed since the time she had expected to hear from her strike force on Commonwealth Central. Half a day since she should have received word of the destruction and humiliation of the Guild, of the first cut in the campaign that would bleed the Commonwealth to death. Half a day—and she had heard nothing. Nothing!

  She growled deep in her throat, and a helm officer who had tentatively glanced her way suddenly found his controls of far greater interest.

  Something had happened: of that Kitillikk was sure. Commonwealth space normally buzzed with an omnipresent dimspace static, the background roar of countless communications. It had ceased. A silence as deep as the one gripping the bridge now lay over the Commonwealth. But did the silence bode good or ill for the Hunter Fleet?

  Civil war might account for it: relay stations abandoned or destroyed by racial factions striking blows for their own independence in response to the proof her strike force had given them that the Guild and Commonwealth were not invulnerable.

  But as much as she wanted to believe that explanation, she couldn’t. No, this felt more like a deliberate blackout, an attempt to prevent valuable information from leaking into the wrong hands. And those hands, she was almost certain, were attached to her own arms. She stopped pacing and extended those arms, flexing her clawed fingers, then suddenly snapped her wings wide and leaped down from the walkway, alighting beside her command station.

  My Hunters must have succeeded, she thought as she settled onto the shikk. She drew on the VR helmet. The ships of her fleet, recharging after their first dimspace jump, hung around her like crystals mounted in a web of silver, the Bloodfeud a diamond at its center. Of course it was only a computer simulation, but she drew strength from it.

  Yes, she thought. My Hunters succeeded. The Guild has been hurt badly, perhaps even destroyed. The Commonwealth is starting to break up. Why else black out communication? Commonwealth Central is trying to keep the news from the populace. But it’s hopeless. The whole unnatural alliance is dissolving, as I always knew it would. From now on it will truly be a galaxy for Hunters!

  She suddenly laughed out loud, ignoring the startled looks of the bridge crew, and pulled off the helmet. “How long to Kikks’sarr? How long to battle?” she asked the helm officer.

  “Two more jumps, Your Altitude. Less than two ship-days.”

  “Excellent.” Kitillikk stretched, relaxed, and closed her eyes, and like any good Hunter trained to take advantage of any opportunity, instantly slept . . .

  . . . and woke just a few hundred beats later, sensing someone beside her. “Hmmm?” she said without opening her eyes.

  “A communication from S’sinndikk, Your Altitude,” Ukkarr said.

  Kitillikk opened one eye and looked up at him. “Yes?”

  Silently he handed her a short printout. She scanned it, stiffened, and read it again, slowly and carefully. Then she ripped it into shreds and threw it on the floor. “Dungsucking priests!” she screamed, as the bridge crew hunched their wings and studiously ignored her. “Turning on me now . . .”

  “They found Akkanndikk,” Ukkarr said. “You should not have left her alive.”

  “How dare you question my—” Kitillikk stopped in mid-rant and took a deep breath, then slowly opened and folded her wings. “You’re right, of course, Ukkarr. I should not have. I have paid for that mistake.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I will do nothing. Communication from S’sinndikk can only be received by this ship. We will not receive anymore. The Hunter Fleet goes on—and once I have destroyed the humans, and the S’sinn learn of it, and of the crumbling of the Commonwealth, Akkanndikk will have no more power than she did as my prisoner beneath the Temple.” She settled herself on her shikk once more. “To the victor goes the prize, Ukkarr. And I will be the victor.”

  “Of that, Your Altitude, I am certain.” Ukkarr bowed, gathered up the torn pieces of the message, and left the bridge.

  Escorted by Hunter-Priests, Kathryn and Jarrikk walked slowly back to the spaceport, while overhead the sky grew crowded. S’sinn flitted from tower to tower, some furtively, some frantically. Firelances sizzled somewhere in the distance, and once an explosion shook the grassy ground. But no one troubled them.

  They reached the Spaceport to find the Hunters who had surrounded it gone and the Unity, unguarded, almost alone on the field. Rikkarrikk bowed stiffly to Jarrikk, ignoring Kathryn, then snapped an order to his guards. Instantly they sprang into the air, pelting the two Translators with a stinging hail of grit stirred up by the wind of their wings.

  Kathryn took Jarrikk’s hand again as they trudged across the duracrete to the Unity. It looks undamaged.

  They had no reason to damage the ship. I wish I were as certain about the people.

  Humans. Kathryn tugged Jarrikk forward. Can’t you go any faster?

  No, Jarrikk replied, but he did, a little. In the end it was too much for Kathryn and she broke free of him to dash the remaining fifty meters to the ship.

  The hatch stood open and unmanned. After running as fast as she could to get there, Kathryn climbed the ramp tentatively. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone . . .”

  A half-familiar face appeared in the hatchway, and broke into a huge grin at the sight of her. “Translator Bircher! We thought you were dead!” The crewman—Peters, that was his name—looked past her. “Jar rikk, too!”

  “What happened here? Is everyone all right?”

  “Oh, yeah, they didn’t bother us much: searched to make sure we weren’t hiding you—and made a mess of the ship in the process—then left us to stew. Cut off spaceport services, of course, but we were already fully supplied, so we just switched to internal power. But what’s been happening outside?” He scanned the spaceport over her shoulder. “And where are the others?”

  The others. Dr. Chung, who wouldn’t even lift a weapon, who had nursed both her and Jarrikk back to health. Jarrikk’s mentor, Ukkaddikk. And Jim . . .

  “What’s wrong?” Peters said. More crew were appearing in the hatchway behind him, now, smiling and pointing and listening, waiting to hear her story. Jarrikk reached her, and took her hand.

  The captain must know first, he thought to her. And Karak.

  I know. Kathryn squeezed his hand. “I’d better report to the captain, first,” she said. “Translator business.” Those magic words backed Peters up, and cleared the hatchway, but it felt as if a lead curtain had descended between the two Translators and everyone else. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly.

  “I understand, Translator.” She could sense that he did—he served the Guild, after all—but she could also sense a touch of hurt. But there was nothing she could do about it. “The captain knows you’re back by now, of course, but I’ll just call the bridge to let him know you’re on your way up.”

  “Thank you,” Kathryn said, and she and Jarrikk left him in the open hatch.

  The captain met them at the door to the bridge. “Translators, I’m thankful you’re alive—”

  “Not all of us,” Kathryn said. “Translator Ukkaddikk is dead. So is Doctor Chung.” She felt his shock.


  “What about Translator Ornawka?”

  Kathryn took a deep breath. “He’s a traitor,” she said flatly. “He made a deal with Kitillikk to kill the Supreme Flight Leader. When we attempted to rescue her, he tried to kill her again. He’s at large somewhere on S’sinndikk.”

  “We’ve got to find him, then—” The captain half-turned, as if to give an order, but Kathryn stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “No. We’ve got something more important to do.” She still held Jarrikk’s hand, and felt his support. “First, Jarrikk and I must contact Karak and tell him what has happened. And then, Captain, you must take us—”

  “Back to Commonwealth Central? That course is already plotted, Translator—”

  “Captain, please listen.” He won’t like this, she thought to Jarrikk.

  He has no choice. Translator business.

  Translator business. I’m starting to hate that phrase. “You must plot a course to Kikks’sarr.”

  “But that’s where the Hunter Fleet has gone.” The captain stared at her as though doubting her sanity.

  “I know, Captain. We’re going to stop their attack.”

  Chapter 21

  Jarrikk wanted nothing more than food and sleep, not necessarily in that order. But instead he stood with Kathryn on the bridge, facing Captain Hall.

  “That’s absurd. I won’t do it.”

  “You have no choice,” Jarrikk said. “Translator business. This is a Guild ship and it, and you, are at our complete disposal.”

  “Guildmaster Karak—”

  “Will certainly confirm that for you.”

  “We’ll find out about that.” Captain Hall turned. “Communications!”

  “Sir!” A young man spun his chair smartly around.

  “Contact Guildhall. Urgent priority message for Guildmaster Karak.”

  “Again, sir?”

  “Yes, again.”

  “Again, Captain?” said Kathryn.

  “I contacted him the moment the communications blanket lifted, but I wasn’t able to tell him much.”

  “I see.”

  “Dimspace penetration achieved,” the communications officer announced. “Waiting carrier pick-up . . . carrier accepted. Communication with Guildhall now open, sir. Guildmaster Karak online.”

  “In here,” the Captain said, and ushered Kathryn and Jarrikk into a small adjoining room, where a dozen blank vidscreens stared down at a small desk and chair. Captain Hall offered the chair to Kathryn, who shook her head, though Jarrikk knew she was just as weary as he. The captain touched a control panel on the desk. One of the screens lit up with Karak’s glistening gray face.

  “More news, Captain?” said Karak. Then he screeched something in ear-splitting Ithkarite, followed by, “Translators! You’re alive!”

  “Not all of us, Guildmaster,” Kathryn said, sensing, perhaps, that Jarrikk didn’t want to talk to Karak. The ambivalence that had been with him since he unexpectedly awoke after attempting his Sacrifice came back full-force as he looked at the master of the Guild he now felt had been manipulating him all his life. Kathryn reported quickly and succinctly. When she had finished, Karak was silent for a long moment. “Jim Ornawka, a traitor,” he said finally. “This is grievous news, Translators. This will be a serious blow to the credibility of the Guild, by itself, never mind the more broad-ranging consequences . . .”

  “We’ll worry about the Guild when we have time,” Kathryn snapped. “It’s one of those broad-ranging consequences we’re a little more concerned about now. Namely, the war.”

  “The Commonwealth Fleet is mobilizing. It will attempt to once again stop the warfare between humans and S’sinn . . .”

  “It can’t make it to Kikks’sarr in time!”

  Again Karak was slow in replying. “No. No, it cannot.”

  “We can, Karak.”

  “It’s madness, Guildmaster,” Captain Hall exploded. “They want me to take my ship into a battle zone. Our screens will barely stop a beamer, much less a Huntership bolt!”

  “We’re not asking you to fight, Captain,” Kathryn said.

  “Perhaps,” Karak said, “you will be so good as to explain what you are asking.”

  Kathryn touched Jarrikk’s hand. What do I say? she telepathed. We don’t really have a plan, yet.

  I think I have a youngling one. Tell him this . . .

  “Kitillikk’s hold on this planet is finished, at least for now,” Kathryn said, Translating for Jarrikk, though Karak couldn’t know that unless they told him—and neither of them felt any inclination to tell the Guild yet what they could do. Karak might just decide it was more important to save them and their unique ability for study by the Guild than to allow them to go on a probably futile and possibly fatal peace-making mission. “The High Priest has denounced her, and broadcast the details of her scheme.

  “The Unity is smaller, lighter, and much, much faster than the Hunterships. We won’t have to take as long between jumps to recharge. We should be able to reach the Hunter Fleet before its final jump, and transmit the High Priest’s message to all the ships. We believe that most of the ships will abandon Kitillikk and return to S’sinndikk. That will leave Kitillikk with too small a force to face the Earth Fleet, and force her to abort the attack. The Commonwealth can then track her down at their leisure and return her to S’sinndikk for trial.”

  Sounds plausible, Kathryn telepathed when she’d finished talking.

  Sounds weak as a day-old jarrbukk to me. But it’s the best chance we have.

  “Madness,” the captain repeated in a growl. “Sec onds after we start transmitting, they’ll blow us out of space.”

  “We’ll rely on you, Captain Hall, to outmaneuver them until the message is sent,” Kathryn said.

  Apparently despairing of talking sense into her, the captain appealed to Karak. “Guildmaster . . .”

  “I think we must try this plan, Captain,” Karak said. “For the moment the Commonwealth is united here, because of Kitillikk’s attack on the Guildhall . . .”

  What?

  Obviously we have some catching up to do.

  “. . . but the Fleet will arrive either during or after the battle between the S’sinn and the humans. Either side might fire on the Commonwealth ships, and tear the Fleet itself wide open along wounds this latest show of unity has just scabbed over. I fear civil war.”

  “Guildmaster, I must register the strongest possible protest!”

  “Protest noted. Nevertheless, you will follow the instructions of Translators Bircher and Jarrikk—and keep me informed. Guildmaster Karak out.”

  Karak’s image vanished. Jarrikk looked at the captain, who scowled back. “Now, Captain,” he said, “please prepare the Unity for launch.”

  As Peters had noted, the Unity already operated on internal power. Only two thousand beats after Captain Hall ungraciously accepted his orders, the Unity lifted from the spaceport and bore into space, speeding after the Hunter Fleet.

  Jarrikk and Kathryn stood on the bridge hand in hand, watching the home planet of the S’sinn dwindling behind them. Will this really work? Kathryn telepathed. Will the Hunter Fleet really turn on Kitillikk at the word of the High Priest?

  Funny how comfortable they had become with something that had been incredible only yesterday, Jarrikk thought. Now they preferred telepathy to Guildtalk, even when it wasn’t strictly necessary. He stretched his crippled wing, trying to ease the persistent ache that always grew worse when he was tired. Many individual S’sinn will, he replied. The question is how loyal the captains are to their Flight Leader—or how loyal they were to Akkanndikk. If only a handful turn against Kitillikk, the others will crush them, and we’ll be no better off.

  How long?

  One ship-day, no longer. The Unity recharges very fast compared to the slowest transports in the Hunter Fleet. By this time tomorrow, we should have caught them at the second jump point, and be in range to transmit.

  If Kitillikk doesn’t blow us out of spac
e first.

  Jarrikk made no reply, but he kept holding Kathryn’s hand. They no longer grew weary after just a few seconds of telepathy; their neural pathways, altered who-knew-how by the deaths of their symbiotes, seemed to be adapting to the strange signals very well. Now, when he touched Kathryn, he felt only a sense of deep completeness, both from her and because of her, a feedback loop in which it was impossible to tell where she began and he ended. He wanted to touch her even when there was no need for telepathy, and sensed she felt the same. There was nothing of the mating urge about it; it went far deeper than that, even deeper than the Link of the Translators. This was something new, and wonderful—and he had no intention, when whatever was about to happen had finished, of letting the Guild tear apart what he and Kathryn had forged, just to see how it was made.

  And if they succeeded, he thought, surely the Guild would owe them that much, at least. Even Karak would set aside the so-called “good of the Guild” this once, at their request.

  Wouldn’t he?

  “I’m tired,” Kathryn said out loud suddenly. “I’m very, very tired.”

  So was he, Jarrikk realized. They yawned simultaneously, laughed together, and went from the bridge hand in hand—sensing as they did so the avid curiosity of every one of the bridge crew.

  They think we’re having some bizarre form of inter-species sex, Kathryn thought to Jarrikk. They don’t understand the truth.

  How could they? No one but us has ever experienced anything like this.

  They walked in warm companionship to Kathryn’s door. She paused there and looked up at Jarrikk oddly. Could there be anything to what they think? she thought. Could we ever . . .

  No. Search your S’sinnish memories. With our species, the female controls the mating urge of the male. A S’sinn male can only be aroused by the presence of female pheromones you do not produce—which is good, I think, since I understand to the human olfactory system they are quite unpleasant.