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Lost in Translation

The paperback from DAW Books

Praise for Ed's previous novel, Lost in Translation:

"Edward Willett has arrived, and SF is the richer for it." -  Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo Award-winning author of Hominids

"A believable, absorbing, thought-provoking and highly enjoyable read." - Kathy Tyers, Author of the Firebird trilogy, Star Wars: The Truce at Bakura, and Star Wars: Balance Point

Andy Nebula: Interstellar Rock Star
Published by Roussan Publishers

Nominated for the 2001 Manitoba Young Readers Choice Award
Named to the Our Choice list by the Canadian Children's Book Centre

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Back to Chapter 10

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Yeah," I said, hoping Qualls couldn't hear my heart pounding. "I thought I'd hit the town and sleep somewhere besides this dressing room for a change. Don't worry, I'll be on board long before lift time tomorrow."

"You should have checked with me, first. I told you I'd be by shortly."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to wait all night."

"I'm afraid you'll have to change your plans. We've decided to lift tonight, instead. The transports are already on their way."

"Oh, come on, Qualls, it's my first time on the old home planet since my Single broke. Can't we spare a day or two?"

"I'm afraid not. Our schedule to Hydra is very tight." Qualls closed the door behind him. "I've come to finalize the plans."

I slowly set my bag down on the floor. The way Qualls moved, keeping himself between me and the door, holding himself ready to grab me if I tried to dodge past him--to have any chance to escape, I had to make him think I didn't want to. "Great," I said. "Seems to me I've been kept in the dark long enough."

"Good. Sit down." I complied, sitting on the corner of the bed closest to the door. Qualls remained standing. "The Dealer will join us momentarily."

"Orbital," I said, but my stomach fluttered. Getting past Qualls was one thing. Getting past The Dealer...

Qualls glanced at my flashing terminal. "Looks like you still have one fan left, anyway. Or maybe it's some local friend. And you were going to leave without reading it? What was your hurry?"

"I just didn't notice it. I'll read it now." I got up and went to the terminal. Qualls didn't move from his spot by the door--taking no chances, I thought. I turned my back on him and pressed "Retrieve Message."

It appeared only as scrolling words--no video and no audio. Unusual for fan mail; the girls usually wanted to be sure I got a look at their faces. Among other things. "Concert enjoyed greatly, gladeye," it read. "Orbital! But liked music from old days better. Urgent I meet with you before you leave planet. At place we were roomies. I am there tonight. Your gladeye octoman, Rain."

I might have guessed--Rain, again. And this time there was no doubt he really was on the planet, since he wanted to meet at Fat Sloan's. Maybe that flash of orange I'd seen at the spaceport really had been him. But what was he doing here--and why did he want to meet at Sloan's? I could almost believe our paths crossing by accident in the Pleasure Planets, but on Murdoch IV, in this sludgepool of a city? Coincidence could only explain so much. I read the message again. It almost sounded like a warning...

Like the warning Marcel had given me--too late.

Way too late. The door opened, and I blanked the screen hurriedly and turned as The Dealer skittered in. No knocking, which mean that not only did Qualls have the master code to my dressing room, he'd given it to The Dealer, too. Throw in Rain's message, and my streetsense practically had me by the throat now. Get out, get out, get out, lift, lift, lift...

If only I could. Two more Hydras followed The Dealer into the room. I looked at Qualls.

"Business associates," he said smoothly.

I looked back at the two Hydras. One stood half a metre taller than the other, with tentacles as big around as my forearm. The smaller one's slender central stalk bent slightly in the middle. Both wore equipment belts; I didn't know what Hydran weapons looked like, but I would have bet the nasty-looking handle sticking out of the big Hydra's belt belonged to one. The smaller Hydra chitter-squeaked something at The Dealer, who said to Qualls, "All is prepared. Our ship will lift the moment the merchandise--" a tentacle indicated me "--is aboard."

I glared at Qualls. "Merchandise!"

"A minor translation problem," said Qualls. "Please, Kit, sit down." He pointed to the bed. I circled it and sat on the edge again, ready for any chance to dodge past the three Hydras and out. Not that it looked likely any chance would present itself. "Dealer, I believe you have a contract for the Hydra engagement?"

The Dealer took a glittering disk from his belt; Qualls unfolded his handcomp and slid the disk inside. Words scrolled rapidly across the screen. "Please put your thumbprint here," Qualls said to me, pointing to a glowing square.

"Not without reading it."

"It's perfectly standard and in line with our verbal agreement. It binds you for a minimum of six months and a maximum of two years, at your employer's discretion, to perform on a regular basis for Hydra audiences, for which a very sizable sum will be deposited in your Andy Nebula credit account, with a percentage going to me."

"I'm not thumbing it without reading it!"

Qualls sighed. "I suppose it was too much to expect you to, but it really would have made things much easier. Dealer--"

The Dealer chirped, and the big Hydra's massive tentacles lashed out at me with the speed of striking snakes, one seizing me around the waist, jerking me upright and spinning me around, one grabbing my left arm and bending it painfully behind me, and a third grabbing my right wrist. I tried to hold my fist closed, but the tentacle tightened inexorably, and Qualls pried my fingers open easily and pressed my thumb to the contract. The comp beeped, Qualls withdrew the disk and handed it back to The Dealer, and the big Hydra let go of me.

I lunged at Qualls and smashed him to the carpet before the Hydras could react. The big one almost yanked my arms out of their sockets as he pulled me back. Qualls picked himself up, rubbing his elbow, and glared at me. "Do it now!"

The Dealer squealed at the bent-over Hydra, and the big one tightened his grip even more. The bent Hydra took a vial from a pocket on his belt and shook a thin, bright-green wafer onto the tip of one tentacle. I stared at it, garish against the Hydra's orange skin, the scene spinning as the blood drained from my head. "No!" I tried to scream, but it came out as a whisper.

"Oh, yes," said Qualls. "I had hoped to put it off until we were in space, but you're becoming far too intractable. In any event, it has to be done sooner or later."

"No!" This time I did scream it. "Qualls, please, you don't have to--I won't fight any more, I'll go to Hydra--"

"Oh, you will indeed. For two years." He smiled as if at a private joke. "Do you know about Hydra memory?" he said conversationally, while that green wafer hovered centimetres from my face. I had to go cross-eyed to focus on it, but I couldn't look away. "We have short-term and long-term memory. They have deep memory and surface memory. Everything they see, hear, taste, smell and feel goes instantly into surface memory--which would quickly overload, if they didn't periodically empty it. So during what corresponds to our sleep they sift through the day's events at high speed and consciously decide what they want to keep in surface memory and what they want to shift over to deep memory.

"Everything in surface memory is instantly retrievable. Deep memories are not, but any experience similar to something in deep memory will instantly bring that deep memory back to the surface. It's like living in a constant state of deja vu. As a result, many Hydras, like your old friend Rain, constantly seek unique experiences. It's their major form of entertainment."

Rain. He was waiting for me at Fat Sloan's. He'd come to find out why I didn't show up, wouldn't he?

The wafer moved fractionally closer to my mouth. Not soon enough, I thought despairingly. Not soon enough.

"But several years ago a Hydra invented an amazing drug--one that made Hydras forget. Completely. After taking the drug, a Hydra could repeat an experience without consciously being aware he'd experienced it before. Apparently, however, there is a subconscious realization, and the dichotomy between that realization and the complete lack of conscious memory is intensely pleasurable to the Hydras, so much so that the drug proved quite addictive. Naturally, their government moved to control this substance, because an addicted Hydra eventually sinks to the point of enjoying a handful of experiences over and over again, and quits even trying to do anything new." Qualls laughed. "Rather like the fans of Sensation Singles!

"The government's actions drove the drug underground and fostered a criminal trade. Then Hydras met humans. For Hydras like The Dealer, it was a very profitable meeting. Not only did humans prove to be a vast market for the drug itself--which they called 'flash'--they also had endlessly fascinating and diverse performance arts like music and dance, which Hydras enjoyed almost as much as they enjoyed flash. Those controlling flash saw the parallels, and began making human performances available for their customers to experience and re-experience. Use of flash skyrocketed. But these enterprising Hydras still weren't satisfied. Performances take time--so they decided to do something about that. They began using an odd side-effect of the alternity space drive: the time pocket."

Even I'd heard of that: a self-contained region of alternity in which time passed differently. Objects or animals placed in it would appear to age in minutes instead of weeks or years. I thought of Paris Paradise and blurted, "You can't be serious--"

"Kit, I'm your manager. Would I lie to you? It's such a beautiful blending of technologies. Step into the time pocket, watch the show, take the drug. Watch the show a dozen times if you want, each time as if it's new, each time in greater ecstasy. Step out again to find only a few minutes have passed outside, and your employer and family are none the wiser." He shrugged. "Of course, do it too often and you grow old before your time."

"And the performer?" I whispered.

"Don't all little boys want to grow up faster?"

My heart tried to pound its way through my ribs. "But why that?" I pointed my chin at the green wafer.

"Efficiency. The performer--you--has to perform the same number over and over. Flash makes your mind highly receptive to suggestion. We will shape your drug-induced hallucinations so that every time you perform you'll believe you're doing the song for the first time in front of a huge and adoring crowd--just like tonight. The drug will also give you tremendous energy, which unfortunately heightens the aging effect, but one must sacrifice for one's art. And, of course, flash is instantly and intensely physically addictive, which makes control so much easier." He gripped my chin and tilted my head back so I had to look him in the eyes. He smiled. "One other thing. The contract you thumbprinted gives me legal authority to draw on your Andy Nebula credit account, and bequeaths it to me should anything happen to you. So put your mind to rest about where your money is going--for as long as you have a mind. So far, the cumulative effect of the drug, the time pocket and endlessly performing the same song has driven every Single insane, some in spectacularly fatal ways." Qualls's smile turned ugly, and he took the green wafer from the tip of the Hydra's tentacle. "I look forward to seeing its effect on you." He nodded to The Dealer.

A probing tentacle found my mouth and forced it open. I tried to bite the leathery alien flesh, but my teeth made no impression and I gagged on the bitter taste. And then Qualls deftly stuck his own finger into my open mouth. The green wafer touched my tongue and instantly dissolved, leaving a faint yeasty taste, and all my resistance dissolved with it.

My body snapped rigid and I fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling through a thickening red haze. Fire raced through my veins. Through a deep and increasing roaring I heard Qualls say, his voice two octaves too low, "We'll leave him in here and simply transport the dressing room to your ship."

"This dose is not sufficient for us to begin programming," The Dealer rumbled. "He will require another in space."

"Fine. He's paying for it."

Their voices whirled away, lost in the roar, which fragmented into other voices, singing voices, a thundering chorus of voices belting out every song I had ever heard. No, not many voices, just one voice, multiplied a thousand times...my voice...

The initial paralysis suddenly left me and I levitated from the bed, weightlessly bouncing against the ceiling. With just a little more effort I knew I could pass right through it and join those voices in orbit, only a few kilometres straight up...I had power, strength, I could do anything...

I reached out for the energy streaming from the glow-tube and wove beams of light around my fingers, changing their colors and flinging them against the walls, laughing as blue and green mixed to cyan, red and blue to magenta, green and red to yellow...

Then the colors whirled together, forming a rainbow maelstrom I could no longer control. The colors darkened, deepened to thick, inky black, blinding me, the thunder of the whirlpool drowned out the voices...it sucked me in, swallowed me...and spat me out again onto a wet Fistfight City street beneath a garish green holosign, naked inside thin pajamas. I was cold, I was hungry--and small, so small.

No! I screamed. I don't want to be back here! But I looked up read the sign even though I didn't want to: "Deeplove Orphanage." Then my gaze went lower, to the sliding metal gate, standing ajar, and I knew I had just short-circuited the Gatekeeper and escaped, and I knew I had to run because I could hear the alarms ringing inside and they'd be after me, but my feet wouldn't move and I looked down and saw that I didn't have feet, I had orange crablegs like a Hydra's, and my legs had joined into a stalk, and my arms were twisting into tentacles, and I opened my mouth to scream but all that came out was an alien shriek that echoed back from the walls of the orphanage as laughter...

...and then I was lying on the bed in my dressing room, shaking and shivering and sweating, and Meta was leaning over me.

Another hallucination, I thought dimly. She'll turn into something horrible in a minute.

But she stayed the same rather plain girl she'd always been. "Kit, are you all right? I saw Qualls and those other--things--come out, but when I knocked you didn't answer. I was afraid you were sick..."

It couldn't be Meta. The door was locked. "Door--locked--"

Meta grinned. "I have one of Mr. Qualls's keychips."

It definitely couldn't be Meta. "You could--couldn't--"

"I stole it at the hotel. He tried to lock me in my room."

I managed to raise myself up. "Got to--got to go--"

"No," Meta said firmly. "Lie down. You're sick--"

"Not sick...drugged." I could feel reality slipping away, voices and monsters gibbering in my mind, and I clutched her arms, desperate to feel something solid. "Qualls. Help me--"

"All right, all right." Meta looked around, spotted my bag and grabbed it. "Can you walk?"

"Have--to--" Clinging to her I made it as far as the door, while the dressing room turned inside out in my head and Meta sprouted green leaves. "Get us out--the streets--we can hide there." Fat Sloan's, I thought. Rain. Maybe he can help...

"Just like in your song!" Meta almost squealed.

"Only--you're rescuing me," I said, and hoped, as we stepped out into the misty night, that was true.

#

On to Chapter 12...