Lost In Translation (19 page)

Near dawn, when sleep could no longer be denied, she felt she had barely begun—but she could do no better. She sucked her sore finger and studied the proposal on the screen before her. Drawing on two previous cases from a century before, one a dispute between the Hasshingu-Issk and the Orrisians and the other between the Ithkarites and the Aza, she had cobbled together a compromise that would see the colonization rights to Fairholm/Kisradikk awarded on the basis of a competition adjudicated by an impartial panel chosen from the remaining five races, all individuals to be acceptable to both humans and S'sinn. The planet would be awarded to whichever race could demonstrate both the most need and the best plan for its colonization. The loser in that competition would receive special trading privileges on the planet for a period of fifty planetary years and other rights to be negotiated separately. The arrangement had the twofold benefit of at least giving the loser something, so he didn't go away empty-handed, and fostering more negotiations and cooperation between the competing factions. Kathryn knew, from Translating with Jarrikk, that humans and S'sinn were very much alike, with more in common than either had with many of the other Commonwealth Races; once they began to develop normal relations, especially trade, the hostility would ease, cooperation would blossom, peace would be ensured, the Commonwealth would survive . . .

“And everyone will live happily ever after,” Kathryn muttered, and rubbed her eyes hard with the heels of her hands. Maybe all she had written was an elaborate fantasy, a fairy tale with a happy ending. Maybe she was throwing away her career, her life, on nothing more than wish-fulfillment.

Maybe. But then again, maybe there were worse things to risk your life for than the chance for a happy ending.

She keyed up Jarrikk's address and punched SEND, then fell fully clothed into bed and instant sleep.

 

The high-pitched squeal of his computer brought Jarrikk instantly awake and to his feet, wings half-spread and claws ready. An instant later he recognized the sound for what it was and went to the computer stand. “Display,” he said.

The holographic tank clouded, then displayed Kathryn's proposed compromise, written in Guildscript, fully annotated with notes and references to previous Commonwealth treaties of similar form. Jarrikk ignored the peripherals, concentrating on the main proposal. When he'd finished reading it, he felt slightly more confident—slightly. Deciding he might as well start the day, he went to the censer, placed a fresh rod of incense in the burner, and pushed the button to light it. As the fragrant blue smoke rose to his nostrils, he breathed deep, clearing the last fog of sleep from his mind.

Certainly Kathryn's proposal was a good one, one that should be acceptable to both sides, one they might have come up with themselves if they were negotiating in good faith. But they weren't. To date, they had only been posturing for their respective populations. Would that change, even if they suddenly heard a reasonable proposal apparently offered by the other side?

Jarrikk considered that very carefully as he turned from the computer to the printout he had made of what he had discovered about attempts to Link without Programming. There had been strange hesitation on the dimspace link to the Guildhall when he had asked for that information, the kind that often preceded a message that access to the requested data was restricted. But just when he'd decided that must be the case, the data had appeared.

Could the warnings of danger be false information, planted to preclude any attempt by the Translators to take matters into their own hands?

No way to tell. If so, it hadn't worked; Kathryn remained committed, or she wouldn't have sent him the proposal.

He turned back to it. His questions had no answers; certainty eluded him in every direction except one: Kathryn. In the face of her commitment, he could not renege on their agreement.

He pored over her proposal more closely, made a few minor suggestions, and sent it just as Akkanndikk's Left Wing appeared at his entrance. “Her Altitude invites you to eat with her before this final session,” said the Left Wing. “I will escort you.”

“My thanks,” said Jarrikk. He blanked the screen and followed.

 

It seemed to Kathryn she had barely closed her eyes when someone knocked. “Duty calls, Translator Bircher,” Matthews said through the door. “One hour. We're all anxious to conclude this.”

I'll bet you are,
Kathryn thought. She splashed cold water on her face, surveyed herself in the mirror, shuddered, then returned to the computer to review her creation. Jarrikk had sent it back with a few eminently sensible changes.
We make a good team,
she thought as she read them—but if the information Jarrikk had sent her were true, she'd never Link with him, or anyone else, again.

She cleared the computer and picked up her case. If Matthews had done the work she had just attempted, she would have been able to hold to her Oath. But if her darker suspicions were correct, and war had been intended from the moment Earth colonized Fairholm/Kisradikk, how would Matthews react when this proposal surfaced?

She paused at the door.
Earth depends on its allies,
she told herself.
They'll pressure it to accept anything reasonable that preserves the peace. Even Matthews is enough of a diplomat to understand that.

She hoped.

The anger of the S'sinn who packed every recess of the Great Hall beat down on Kathryn like a desert sun as she followed Matthews to the dais. The air felt colder than ever, but the distinctive musky scent of the assembled S'sinn was hot and troubling. She saw Jarrikk, trailing the Supreme Flight Leader, approaching from the other side. Keeping a tight rein on her own emotions, she could feel nothing from him. Ritualisti cally they made their preparations, but when Kathryn pressed the injector to her arm, she felt nothing but the sting of the needle. The Beast inside her slumbered on. She took up her end of the Link—and froze.

She could feel the ravenous attention of S'sinn and humans, could almost hear them saying, “Do it! Link! Give us war!”

She could. She could make some excuse, return to her quarters, inject the real Programming, and Translate perfectly, as her Oath demanded. War would come, but she would still be a Translator, still have that wonderful union with other races, the only thing that could fill the void left by her parents' deaths.

Her parents . . .

They'd left Earth for Luckystrike, dreaming of building a new and better world. War had snuffed out those dreams. What she was about to do would destroy
her
dreams just as surely—but maybe, just maybe, it would ensure that millions of others could keep theirs.

She pictured her father standing in her place, and her hesitation vanished. She touched the cord to the patch behind her ear.

Agony ripped her open, screamed through every nerve, as The Beast woke to alien, untranslatable signals. Her vision grayed and the world spun around her, roaring, but she clung grimly to consciousness, fighting for control, fighting to hide her suffering from Matthews and all the gathered S'sinn watching her like vultures, and gradually, oh-so-gradually, the pain subsided, leaving her nauseated but functioning—and, abruptly, terrified.
She'd gone empathy-blind!
She could sense nothing, not the hostility of the assembled S'sinn, not Jarrikk's worry, not Matthews' impatience.

She had killed the Beast, and in so doing, she had killed her own abilities.

Feeling blind, deaf, and desperate, she nodded tersely to Jarrikk, and the S'sinn delegation began.

Kathryn heard only the same growling gibberish as Matthews, but she began talking, reciting the speech she had written the night before. “Upon consideration, the First Flight of S'sinndikk has realized that our mutual recriminations have been of little benefit to ourselves or to our allies. In the hope that these negotiations may yet produce a fruitful and lasting accommodation between us concerning the planet Fairholm/ Kisradikk, we propose the following compromise . . .”

Matthews' aides exchanged surprised glances, but Matthews' expression never changed. Kathryn's inability to perceive his emotions unnerved her. How did non-empaths communicate? She might as well be talking to herself.

The S'sinn stopped. She hastily summarized what remained of her proposal, and concluded, “Do you have a response at this time?”

One of Matthews' aides whispered something into his ear. He whispered something back, then said, “We will study your remarks and make a counterproposal at our next session. Tomorrow morning?”

Jarrikk began speaking, and Kathryn held her breath. If he now Translated truly, as his Oath demanded, there would only be confusion on the part of the S'sinn—confusion and, very shortly, suspicion; suspicion that the human Translator had, unthinkably, lied. And the mere fact a Translator had lied could destroy the Guild and Commonwealth as thoroughly as any war . . .

Matthews frowned as the translation of his simple remark went on for an inordinate length of time, but there had been similar differences before. Besides, Kathryn thought, what could he possibly suspect?
Translators don't lie. Everyone knows that.

Another thought struck her, and she groaned inwardly. What would happen at the “next session” if she couldn't Translate?

One thing at a time. There might not even be another session. And if the S'sinn did agree to it, how was she to know, empathically maimed as she was?

Jarrikk found a way around that. As the S'sinn ‘n-ished speaking, he nodded—a human gesture meaningless to his own people. “Agreed,” she told Matthews.

The delegates departed, and the galleries buzzed as the news spread among the S'sinn that negotiations would continue. Kathryn's knees buckled unexpectedly and she would have fallen if Jarrikk hadn't caught her. He gently tugged the Link free and she leaned against his broad, furry chest for a moment. “Thanks,” she murmured, then, wary of how the crowd might react, straightened hurriedly and stepped back. She knew Jarrikk wouldn't take it amiss; after two full sessions of Translation, they knew each other as well as anyone could ever know another person, better than she had ever known another human—certainly better than she had known Jim, whose image came to her unbidden, standing in her room, suggesting she break her Oath . . .

Which she had. She shook her head, confused. “I'm blind,” she told Jarrikk. He would know how she meant it.

“You were very brave,” he said. “Tomorrow both sides will present modifications to your proposal, but I expect ultimate success.”

“How?” Kathryn whispered. “I can't Translate.” A lump in her throat choked her; she swallowed angrily. She would
not
cry, not in self-pity: never!

“Would you please come to my quarters?” Jarrikk cocked his head to one side, watching her.

Kathryn blinked. “Why?”

“Please. We must talk—to Karak.”

Karak. She closed her eyes for a moment. Of course, he was right; Karak would know if there were another human Translator close enough to be of assistance, and if there weren't, Karak could arrange a non-inflammatory delay in the negotiations.

But talking to Karak meant telling him what they had done. And she thought that might hurt as much as the death of the Beast, but in a far deeper way.

“All right,” she said.

In a way it was a relief not to feel the crowd's hostility as she walked with Jarrikk to his sunny apartment. She sat on the closest thing to a human stool in the room, although she suspected the round, truncated pillar was actually a waste disposal unit, and watched as Jarrikk keyed his computer to call the Guildhall. She breathed the sweet smell drifting from the censer and for a moment felt almost tranquil. The thing was done, the decision made, the action taken. She would not second-guess herself: whatever the consequences, she would accept them and deal with them.

Karak appeared on the screen. “Translator Jarrikk,” he squeaked. “Is Translator Bircher with you?”

“I'm here,” Kathryn said, standing and stepping into range of the computer's vid pickup.

“Translator Bircher, Translator Annette Ursu is en route to S'sinndikk and will take your place in the morning session.” Karak's tentacles wove a slow dance around his beaked face as he spoke.

“Annette—” Kathryn stared at Karak, then turned furiously on Jarrikk. “You told him!”

“No.”

Kathryn spun back toward the computer. “Then how—” Another thought struck her. “You said no other Translators were near enough—”

“I said no
suitable
Translator was near enough. You were the ideal choice, therefore Translator Ursu, though relatively close in distance, was unsuitable for the task.” Karak ignored Kathryn's glare, if he even knew how to interpret it. “The Guild Council felt that if you and Jarrikk, with your unfortunate personal histories, could overcome your mutual distrust and successfully Link, it would demonstrate graphically the possibility—and need—of humans and S'sinn working together. As well, both of you have recently demonstrated your unswerving devotion to the good of the Guild and the cause of peace. With that in mind, we worked within the Commonwealth to arrange these negotiations, and insured you were the Translators: the only people, other than the negotiators, who might be able to arrive at a peaceful solution, because both of you so desperately wanted it.” He raised a manipulator and moved it in a small circle. “It worked.”

“It worked—” Kathryn stopped, took a deep breath, and repeated, “It worked because I broke my Oath.”

“All unfolded as anticipated.”

“Anticipated!” Kathryn's face flamed. “You
expected
me to break my Oath?”