Lost In Translation

by Edward Willett

  Good, Kathryn thought, then blushed, even as Jarrikk felt her embarrassment. I mean, I don’t feel anything like that when I’m with you, but if you did, I might be willing—I mean . . . her thoughts faded off in confusion.

  I don’t. Though I thank you for your willingness, and I admit my curiosity. But even were it possible, I would not satisfy that curiosity in trade for this bond we have formed. Would you?

  No. Never.

  They smiled simultaneously, then Jarrikk let go of Kathryn’s hand and walked away.

  The telepathic bonding ended instantly, but the warmth of her regard followed him up the corridor.

  Kathryn, savoring that same warmth from Jarrikk’s retreating presence, slept almost instantly, then woke to alarms.

  An instant later a huge jolt flung her violently out of her bed. The alarms reached new levels of hysteria, then cut off.

  Captain Hall’s voice came on, harsh and strained. “This is the captain. We have been intercepted by a Huntership at the second jump point. It has grappled with us and is now rotating us to bring hatches in line in preparation for boarding. The Huntership’s Captain has made it clear that if we attempt to resist, he will destroy us. Do not offer resistance. I repeat, do not offer resistance.

  “Translators Bircher and Jarrikk, please report to the bridge.”

  Intercepted? Boarded? How . . . ?

  Still groggy from being woken from the deepest pit of sleep, Kathryn stumbled to the door and stepped into the corridor just as Jarrikk approached. He seized her hand.

  Kitillikk must have heard about the priests’ coup on S’sinndikk—put scoutships along her back trail, he telepathed.

  Then what—?

  If we get to the bridge, we may be able to broadcast to the fleet before we’re cut off.

  Are we close enough?

  I don’t know. We’ll find out.

  They raced to the bridge, or raced as fast as Jarrikk could when his clawed feet skittered and slipped with every step on the hard, slick floors. At least the Hunters won’t be able to move any faster, Kathryn thought.

  They sensed Captain Hall’s fury long before they reached the bridge door. “I told you this was madness, Translators!” he snarled as they came into the red-lit bridge, filled with the screaming alarms of outraged systems. “My ship is in the grip of S’sinn Hunters and soon will be dragged into the heart of the Hunter Fleet—if they don’t just destroy us out of hand!”

  Kathryn’s annoyance and Jarrikk’s peaked in perfect synchronicity. “Captain, shut up,” she snapped for both of them. “Communications officer!”

  He looked up, blue eyes wide in his pale white face. “Translator?”

  “Are we in range to broadcast to the Hunter Fleet?”

  “Most of it, Translator.”

  “Call up the recording of the High Priest’s announcement of Kitillikk’s treachery. Broadcast it.”

  “Belay that order!” Captain Hall snapped. “Send that, Translators, and you sentence all of us to death!”

  “Fail to send it and you sentence the entire Commonwealth to death—and the Guild you serve with it! Communications officer—”

  The young man looked from her to the captain. “Captain?”

  The captain stared at Kathryn defiantly, but she could feel his anger slipping away as the truth of her words sank in, and finally he dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Translators. Communications officer—”

  A bolt of eye-searing red light snapped across the bridge, slashing across the young officer’s spine. He jerked crazily up from the smoking ruin of his chair, like a marionette with tangled strings, then crumpled and fell, smearing dark blood across the communications panel. The smell of burned cloth and flesh drifted with a cloud of blue smoke across the bridge.

  Through her link with Jarrikk, Kathryn understood the snarling words of the black-furred S’sinn who blocked the door into the bridge: “I take this ship in the name of the Hunter of Worlds, and Supreme Flight Leader Kitillikk!”

  Kitillikk bared her teeth with such savage delight upon receipt of the news that the young officer who had brought it to her took a step back. “Fetch Ukkarr,” she said to him, and he vanished as though pursued by the Hunter Himself.

  She put the VR helmet on again and studied the sensor readings transmitted via dimspace from the last probe she had sent ahead on the final jump to Kikks’ sarr. The human Fleet was there, no doubt about it, behind Kikks’sarr, though the probe had been found and destroyed before it could transmit details of its size and disposition. No matter; when she emerged above Kikks’sarr the furless cowards would have to round the planet to face her or she would slag their cities to the ground while they dithered on the dark side.

  One way or another, she thought, battle would be joined by the time Kikks’sarr completed another rotation. And now she learned that the last feeble attempt by the Guild of Translators had been foiled, and that at last she had the traitorous Jarrikk and the interfering Kathryn Bircher in her claws.

  Was it any wonder she showed her teeth so widely?

  Ukkarr entered the bridge. “Yes, Your Altitude?”

  “You’ve heard?”

  “Yes, Your Altitude.”

  “Please take my place on the bridge. I wish to meet our new guests in person.”

  “Yes, Your Altitude.”

  Just because she was in a playful mood, and because Ukkarr was always so solemn, she trailed the edge of her wing sensuously over his as she passed him, and, feeling him tremble at her touch, was filled suddenly with a powerful lust. “Later,” she whispered, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Once off the bridge she launched herself into the zero-G tunnel, savoring the brief moment of flight that took her to the observation chamber overlooking the cavernous main landing bay, where the flagship’s four scoutships docked when they weren’t on patrol. As she watched, the scoutship that had captured the Unity floated into the bay and stopped with a small puff of glittering silvery fuel from its maneuvering rockets. It settled slowly to the deck as the artificial gravity generators beneath the floor of the bay, turned off for docking, eased back up to full power.

  An indicator lit on a communications panel set in the wall. Kitillikk touched a key. “This is Supreme Flight Leader Kitillikk,” she said. “Congratulations, Captain. How are your prisoners?”

  “Silent,” the scoutship captain said. “Standing here holding hands like thunder-spooked younglings.”

  “Perhaps they’ll speak to me,” Kitillikk said. “Please have them escorted to the security level as soon as pressure has equalized in the docking bay. Tell them I’ll meet them there. I’m sure that will cheer them up.”

  “I’m sure it will, Supreme Flight Leader.”

  “Kitillikk out.”

  She broke the connection, and called up a view on the vidscreen of the Unity, connected to Bloodfeud by flimsy umbilicals, docking tubes—and the computer-enslavement of her drive system. Kitillikk rather thought the Guildship would break apart under the stresses of combat. Until then, though, she made a fine shield for that side of Bloodfeud. Kitillikk showed her teeth again. Especially if the humans recognized Unity as one of their own and realized she was still crewed . . .

  Appreciating the irony of a human-crewed Guildship sowing disorder in the ranks of the human fleet, she made her way to Security.

  Jarrikk stood stolidly with Kathryn, clasping her hand, though neither had thoughts to share at that moment. They could only draw strength from each other—what little strength they had to share—and try to ignore the hatred and contempt inside the heads of their two armed guards, one just inside and one outside the locked door of their stark metal cell. Just like Rikkarrikk, Jarrikk thought.

  Just like Rikkarrikk . . . ?

  Flightless fools, both of us!

  Kathryn, he telepathed. These two guards. Just like Rikkarrikk—

  I know. They hate us, she replied.

  But we changed Rikkarrikk’s mind.

  He still ha
ted us. All we did was make him listen to the truth.

  I think we could have destroyed his hatred, too. I think we could have made him do anything we wanted him to.

  Her hand tightened on his. But these are Hunters. And they’re loyal to Kitillikk—

  I don’t think it matters. I think we can change that, too. Remember how it felt, inside the High Priest’s mind, inside Rikkarrikk’s? They had barriers of doubt and mistrust. We just brushed them aside—easily, like cobwebs. These guards aren’t even priests, just ordinary Hunters. They can’t keep us out. We can implant any idea we want into their brains, true or not, get them to do whatever must be done. We can use them, Kathryn—use them to escape, to take us to communications, to get our message to the entire fleet . . .

  But that’s—an assault. A rape!

  It’s a weapon. And this is a war.

  No!

  Kathryn—

  Are you trying to change my mind, too? Suddenly she jerked her hand free and backed away from him. The guard’s firelance snapped down and he motioned her back toward Jarrikk. She returned, but she wouldn’t touch him.

  And then the door opened and Kitillikk entered.

  Her self-satisfaction preceded her like an honor guard. “Jarrikk,” she almost purred. “My old pupil. How pleasant to see you again.”

  “How pleasant to have me in your talons, you mean,” he growled back. “Don’t try to lie to a Translator, Flight Leader. You want both of us dead. Your only concern is orchestrating our executions to achieve the maximum effect.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you, Jarrikk. Quite the opposite.” She looked at Kathryn. “And your human friend. Parents killed on Luckystrike, I understand, during the First War. How appropriate that she should join them to start the second and final one.” She showed her teeth. “And you’re a little behind the times, Jarrikk. My title is Supreme Flight Leader.”

  “Akkanndikk doesn’t seem to think so.”

  The bared teeth went from a grin to snarl. “Akkan ndikk is probably dead by now.”

  “The priests have renounced your title.” Jarrikk said it loudly, hoping for a reaction from the guard at the door, but he seemed not to hear, or care.

  “If the priests had really renounced me, they would have sent a scoutship after the Fleet to call it back,” Kitillikk said. She spread her wings, showing a new insignia emblazoned on the leather: a spiral crossed with a lightning bolt, the emblem reserved for the Supreme Flight Leader. “They know the S’sinn people are on my side. They know the people cry out for the blood of the humans, for the shame of the First War to be wiped away. They know the S’sinn are no longer content to be kept down by the Commonwealth, to be treated as second-class primitives by the decadent older races. They have a law to uphold on S’sinndikk, and so they have said the words to renounce me, and they set you free, but their hearts are not in it. Their hearts, and the hearts of all the S’sinn, belong to me.” She snapped her wings together, the blast of air ruffling Jarrikk’s fur and driving Kathryn back a stumbling step.

  “Brave words. But if they’re true, why don’t you tell the Fleet yourself what has happened on S’sinndikk?”

  “I have no wish to confuse my Hunters on the eve of battle. When the victory is mine, rest assured, they will hear all.” Teeth again. “Perhaps I will tell them at your trial, before you are executed for treachery and spying along with your human mate.” Kitillikk reached out and ran the point of a claw along Kathryn’s chin; Kathryn flinched but held her ground. “An astonishing perversion, that; though for a Flightless One so bereft of honor he refuses to take the Dagger of the Hunter, I suppose no sewer is too foul to crawl in.”

  Jarrikk tried hard to quell the slow, seething fire of hatred kindled in his hearts. Violent emotions mud-died the mind, and he needed a mind as clear and sharp as a dagger of ice. He reached out and took Kathryn’s hand, and this time she grasped it eagerly, her revulsion at Kitillikk’s touch threatening to spill over into his mind and derail his concentration. He had to keep Kitillikk there, keep her talking, and at the same time convince Kathryn to—

  But the opportunity passed as a klaxon sounded, a harsh blatting noise repeated over and over. Elation rushed over Jarrikk and it took a moment to recognize it not as his own, but Kitillikk’s.

  “Final jump,” she said. “Battle begins!” She strode to the door; paused there. “When I return, the S’sinn will be able to hold their heads high for the first time since the humans slaughtered your youngflight, Jarrikk. I will expect your gratitude.” The door slid shut, and the guard faced them again, firelance held lightly across his chest.

  Chapter 22

  Kathryn’s mind roiled with confusion, and she pulled her hand free of Jarrikk’s once more. She understood what Jarrikk wanted her to do, what she supposed they must do, but it appalled her. To take the link that had always provided her with such joy, which had filled the aching wound of bondcut when she was a girl, which had given her family and friends and now, more than either, Jarrikk—the thought of taking that link and turning it into a weapon almost physically sickened her. It was exactly the kind of thing she was afraid the Guild would use this gift for, if they could duplicate it: realpolitik, wasn’t that the old Earth term for it? Do whatever must be done to achieve the desired ends.

  Such thinking had a long and dishonorable history among humans, from the firebombing of Dresden to the defoliation of Vietnam to the decompression of the Jacobian far-side dome. Maybe sometimes the ends did justify the means—but you still had to live with the consequences, with the dead children and the cancer-ridden veterans and the Lunar Rebellion. Could she live with the consequences of using the gift she and Jarrikk shared in such a fashion?

  Could she live with the consequences if she didn’t?

  He looked at her steadily, his mind filled with understanding and pity but also a hint of desperation. The guard watched them both, his mind filled with contempt, disgust, and hatred. And somewhere beyond the door Kitillikk hurried to give the orders to attack the fleet from Earth and doom the Commonwealth.

  She’d chosen the hard path once before to prevent war. This path seemed harder yet: but she reached out and took Jarrikk’s hand.

  What do we do?

  He flooded her with a momentary surge of gratitude, though it failed to warm the lump of ice that seemed to have formed in the pit of her stomach. We must change our guard’s mind about us, he telepathed. Then we must convince him to take us to communications. We must get the truth out to Kitillikk’s fleet.

  Will that stop them? she wondered, though the real question, hidden in the still-private depths of her mind at this level of linkage, was, Is it worth it?

  It will slow them down, Jarrikk replied.

  That’s not what I asked. But she had already made the choice.

  She opened herself fully to him, felt him flinch when he encountered the depth of her doubts, but felt slightly better herself as she discovered that he shared them to a degree. Then all individual thought once more melted away into Kathryn/Jarrikk, and together they plunged into the disturbing darkness of the mind of their guard.

  They destroyed his doubts in seconds, filled his mind with the thoughts they wanted him to think—that he had come to rescue them and take them to communications, and could let nothing stand in their way.

  Kathryn/Jarrikk withdrew, thinking to conserve their strength to repeat the process with the guard in the hall, whom they could sense clearly through the intervening bulkhead, but their new convert didn’t wait for them: he opened the door, and before his colleague could turn around, burned him through with a burst from his firelance.

  Kathryn/Jarrikk fell apart into jointly horrified Kathryn and Jarrikk as the inside guard peered both ways down the corridor beyond, then motioned them out.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Jarrikk said, his voice echoing in translation in Kathryn’s head. “We would have dealt with him.”

  “Your way’s too slow,” their guard growle
d. “My way is better. Come on—communication’s this way.”

  They’d dealt the cards, now they had to play the hand, Kathryn thought. We’ve created a monster, she telepathed to Jarrikk.

  Maybe, he sent back. But he has saved us time. Come on.

  Their erstwhile guard dragged his dead friend inside the cell, closed and locked the door, then motioned them off, taking up a position behind them, firelance at the ready, in case they met someone—which they did, at the first intersection, a short, thin Hunter with patchy brown fur. He scuttled past them, pausing only long enough to give Kathryn a bloodthirsty glare quite surprising in such a scrawny specimen.

  In the clear again, their guard talked. “There’s a communications officer on the bridge, you realize. The instant you start broadcasting from down here, he’ll know about it.”

  “We won’t need long,” Jarrikk said. “The vidchip record is hypercompressed. It will go out in a single burst.”

  Ask him how many S’sinn will be in communications, Kathryn telepathed.

  Jarrikk put the question. “Three, I think,” their guard replied. “Unarmed. I’ll make short work of them.”

  No!

  How else—

  We’ve got to find a way. Can’t we do what we did to this guard?

  I thought you considered that a form of rape? an inner voice asked her, but she ignored it. It had to be better than seeing more S’sinn sliced apart by a firelance.

  Three of them?

  We have to try.

  Reluctant agreement. Jarrikk looked around at their escort. “No. Leave them to us.”

  The guard growled, but said nothing.

  The floor trembled beneath them, some residue of a maneuver violent enough to get through the gravity-and-inertia damping fields. Kitillikk moving in for the kill, Kathryn thought. We’re running out of time.