Lost In Translation (10 page)

Maddening pain, mingled with the heat of Iko's devotion, filled him with confusion. He could be free—free of the pain and the confusion—free of this strange sense the Translator had woken in him—free of a world where humans killed younglings and yet returned to live peacefully on the same blood-soaked ground where they had butchered Illissikk—he lifted the knife, pressed its point to his chest, heard Iko begin the rising, wailing words of a prayer to the Hunter of Worlds to devour the soul about to be delivered . . .

. . . and then he felt a new presence, even stronger than the priest's, heard a shout, and for a moment fell free of both Iko's fiery emotions and the new arrival's force of command and found a quiet space in which to make his own decision.

He lowered the knife. “No,” he said to Iko, whose prayer stopped in mid-howl. “I choose to live.”

“The choice is not yours!” she hissed. “The choice is the Hunter's, and His choice has been made!” She snatched the dagger from Jarrikk's hand, pushed him back against the shikk, lunged forward—

—and spasmed and collapsed, as though every tendon in her body had been severed, the silver knife thudding against the padded hospital floor. Jarrikk, pain still pulsing through him, looked across her fallen body to where Kitillikk stood, Iko's own stunner grasped in her hand. “I told you to leave it alone, priest,” she said to the unconscious body on the floor.

“Flight Leader?” Jarrikk gasped, and passed out.

He came to an indeterminate time later to find Ukkaddikk and Kitillikk standing on either side of him. “I am glad to find you still breathing,” Ukkaddikk said. “You may thank your Flight Leader for it.”

“I know,” Jarrikk said. “Thank you, Flight Leader Kitillikk.”

“She wishes to speak to you privately. I leave you in her capable hands.” Ukkaddikk bowed to Kitillikk and went out.

Jarrikk looked up into Kitillikk's unreadable face. “I did not expect to see you, Flight Leader. Why are you here?”

“You served me well. I repay loyalty with loyalty.”

“But I am Flightless. I am dead to you. I can serve you no longer.”

“Perhaps not as you did.” Kitillikk spread her wings slightly. “But you can still serve the Flock.”

Jarrikk felt something strange in the emotions behind the words. She wasn't lying—he could swear to that, now—but there were depths of meaning he could not fathom, not with his body aching and his head still buzzing from pain and pain-dulling drugs and his new sense only a day old. “I do not understand.”

“We need S'sinn Translators. We need them to ensure our words are heard properly in the councils of the Commonwealth. Your talent is too important to be thrown away because you are Flightless.”

More complexities. More dizzying doubts. More doubled words. Too much. “I thank you, Flight Leader. I will serve as best I can.”

“I'm counting on it, Jarrikk. I have given you your life. Use it well.”

“I swear I will, Flight Leader.” His eyes closed; he couldn't keep them open. “I swear,” he murmured.

He didn't hear her leave.

Kathryn rubbed her right eye with the heel of her hand and said, “Aga—ah—in.” A yawn swallowed the middle of the word.

“Input not recognized,” said the computer in its pleasant male voice. “Please repeat.”

Kathryn sighed and leaned forward on the desk, resting her head in her hands. “Again.”

“Exercise commencing. Name the four major elements of the Treaty of Ha'gr'akas-ee! Explain how the treaty, hailed as a great success at the time, led directly to the Dispute of the Dry Winter. Support your reasoning with references. Begin.”

Kathryn closed her eyes, concentrating. “The Treaty of Ha'gr'akas-ee!—”

“Can wait,” said another pleasant male voice, behind her. “Computer, cancel exercise.”

“Jim!” Kathryn started to turn, but strong hands on her shoulders stopped her.

“How long have you been studying?” Jim Ornawka said. He began massaging her shoulder muscles.

“I don't know, an hour or two—Jim, I'm glad you're back, but I've got to—computer, restart—”

“Computer,” Jim's stronger voice overrode hers. “How long has Trainee Bircher been using this study booth?”

“Nine hours, fourteen minutes,” the computer replied promptly.

Jim's fingers dug a little deeper into Kathryn's muscles. “Nine hours, Katy. It's enough.”

“But the exam—First Translation—I've got to be ready—”

“If you're not ready, you can't learn it all tonight.” Kathryn started to protest, but Jim hushed her. “But don't worry. You're ready.”

“How would you know? You haven't even been here for half a year!”

“Because I know you. Best human student the Guild's ever seen. You're always ready. Except for one thing.”

“What?” Kathryn frantically ran over her preparations for the next day. “What did I forget?”

“To relax.” His fingers had never stopped, and despite herself, Kathryn could feel some of her tension slipping away.

“That does feel good,” she murmured.

“I know,” Jim said, amused. “I am an empath, you know.”

“So am I,” Kathryn said, a little sleepily now. “But I've never been able to read you, and you've always been able to read me like a giant vidscreen. 'S'not fair . . .”

Jim laughed softly. “Feeling better?”

“Feel like I've been sitting in this bloody cubicle for nine hours and fourteen minutes,” Kathryn admitted.

“Hungry?”

Kathryn thought about that. “Yeah,” she said, a little surprised it was true. “I am.”

“Good. Because I have prepared a special night-before-the-big-test dinner for you in my quarters.”

“Before you even asked me? Sure of yourself, aren't you?”

“You're not saying no, are you?”

Kathryn laughed. “No. It sounds wonderful.”

“Then if you will allow me to escort you . . .”

Kathryn let him help her to her feet and take her arm. As he led her out of the study booth and into the broad, bland corridors of the Guildhall's human habitat, she felt her long hours sitting at the computer anew in the stiff muscles of her calves and thighs, and leaned on Jim for support. She'd leaned on him a lot over the years, she thought; ever since she'd been brought to the Guildhall and he'd been the only other human child there. She'd been eight, and he'd been thirteen; now, ten Earth-years later, by the careful count Jim had always kept, he'd been a full-fledged Translator for almost five years and she was about to become one. Tomorrow she would face the by-all-accounts harrowing First Translation, not to mention the (to her way of thinking) even-more-harrowing Final Exam, and he'd made sure he was back to support her once again. “It must have been tough,” she said, looking up at his dark, high-cheekboned face.

He glanced down at her, mouth quirking in a smile. “What?”

“It must have been tough for you—first human Translator—going through your Final Exam and First Translation. You didn't have someone who'd been there before, like I do.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “You've been like a big brother to me, Jim. I really appreciate it.”

His smile faded and he looked away from her. “It wasn't so bad. There'd been one-sided Translations with humans. They knew it wouldn't kill us.”

“Weren't you at least a little bit scared?” Kathryn asked.
Because I am,
she added silently.
There have been a dozen human Translators since Jim, and I'm still scared.

“No,” Jim said. “I wasn't a little bit scared. I was bloody well terrified.” He stopped. “Here we are. Open!”

The dark gray wall in front of them split apart, admitting them into Jim's quarters, a quintet of rooms: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, office, and the general-purpose room into which the door opened. Kathryn stopped in the doorway and stared open-mouthed at a table draped in pristine white, the glitter of crystal and silver, the soft glow of tall red candles, the fragrant red flowers (
roses,
the name came to her from somewhere) in a slender white vase . . . and a long-necked bottle cooling in a silver bucket of ice beside the table. “Jim—” Kathryn's throat closed off. “Jim, I—” She had to shrug and finally laugh. “I'm speechless!”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Jim said. “Allow me, Lady Kathryn.”

He escorted her to one of the two chairs at the table and seated her with a flourish that made her laugh again, feeling like she was in one of the historical romances currently the rage in the entertainment chips they got from Earth. She'd always thought they were pretty silly. Now she wasn't so sure. “But how—”

“This assignment I just finished was to Earth—”

“You said you were going to Orris,” Kathryn said accusingly.

“Security,” Jim said. “The whole thing's tied up with this Fairholm mess. Anyway, since I was on our beloved homeworld, I slipped away from the conference for a day when I wasn't needed and took the liberty of picking up a few things the Guild has unaccountably failed to import for us.”

“Just for me?” Kathryn couldn't believe it. “That's—incredible!”

“For you—and for me, too.” He pulled the open bottle from its bed of ice and poured two glasses full of a golden liquid that bubbled and sparkled, catching the light of the candles.

“For you?” Kathryn breathed. Champagne—it had to be champagne. She'd never tasted it, never even seen it outside of entertainment vids.

“It gave me an excuse to pry you away from the computer—something I haven't been able to do since you started your final training this year. In other words,” he handed her one of the glasses, “it has given me the pleasure of your company.” She took the chill glass from him, and feeling more than ever like she'd fallen out of real life, clinked it against his, and sipped the pale liquid.

It tasted nothing at all like she'd imagined, and the bubbles seemed to race up into her nose and explode there, tickling, but leaving behind a sharp warmth. She closed her eyes and sipped again, and the sensation repeated itself. “Mmmmm . . . no wonder they drink this for special occasions.”

“They also smash it against the bows of ships about to launch on their maiden voyages, which makes it doubly appropriate, since tomorrow you, fair maiden, will be launched on your new life as a Translator.”

Kathryn opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Why, Jim, I never knew you were a romantic at heart.”

Jim's eyes caught and held hers, glints of candlelight in them. “Far more romantic than you would ever think, probably,” he said softly. Kathryn felt heat rise to her cheeks, and looked away, carefully setting down the champagne.

After a moment's silence, Jim said, “I'll get dinner,” and went into the kitchen.

“How did your assignment go?” Kathryn called after him, by way of changing the strange, charged mood that had gripped the room—and her. “Or should I ask?”

“My assignment was simply to Translate, which I did successfully,” Jim said. “Careful how you phrase things, Trainee.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You mean, how did the diplomatic mission of which I was a part go?” Jim came back into the room carrying a covered dish. “Depends on who you ask. Certain people on S'sinndikk and Earth were undoubtedly very pleased. The Commonwealth diplomats, however, were not.” He set the dish on the table. “No compromises. Earth insists it was on Fairholm first. S'sinndikk claims the same. Both have computer records to support their positions. And meantime, the rest of the Seven Races are taking sides. It was not a particularly pleasant assignment, passing barely-veiled insults from side to side. I'm glad to be back.” He paused, his hand on the dish, and smiled at her, teeth flashing white in his dark brown face. “Espe cially glad to be back with you.” His eyes looked into hers, and again she felt that strange, electric tension, mingling with the warmth of the champagne in her brain. This time she didn't look away; Jim did, lifting the lid from the dish and releasing a swirl of steam and mouth-watering, spicy fragrance. “A delicacy of Earth: fettuccini Alfredo. Allow me to serve.”

The food tasted every bit as strange and wonderful as it smelled; as strange and wonderful as Kathryn felt. She and Jim ate in near silence, but every time she looked up, there were his dark, liquid eyes, somehow drawing her in. It wasn't her empathic ability—he was as blank to her as ever—but something new. Something—exciting.

When the dinner ended, Jim held out his hand to her. His fingers, warm and dry, touched hers, and she gasped with the sudden shock of being able to read him at last, of being able to read the strength of his desire for her, desire that found an echo in her and resonated with a force that dissolved the distance between their minds, and, within moments, between their bodies.

 

Kathryn woke slowly, and stretched languidly, then looked up at the ceiling, pale blue instead of her own bedroom's gray, and sat abruptly upright. Daylight flooded the room through the lightubes from the surface far above. Kathryn scrambled out of bed and reached for her clothes.

Jim rolled over and blinked at her. “Katy, what—”

Kathryn ignored him. “Computer, what time is it?”

“0514,” the computer answered promptly.

Kathryn stopped with her skirt in her hand. “0514?”

“Now 0515,” replied the computer.

Jim levered himself up on one elbow and grinned at her. “You've got two hours before you need to get up,” he said. “And the computer wouldn't have let you oversleep. I programmed it last night.”