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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 13

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

We didn't have much head start, and we couldn't hope to outrun them. Still, we ran, crashing into and over pedestrians who cursed at us, then saw the Ice Boys coming and scrambled out of the way. Instinctively I headed for my home territory, the dozen or so square blocks I knew the best. But I couldn't duck into any of my hidey-holes with the Ice Boys breathing down my neck.

"I--can't--" Meta panted.

"You've got to." Dry Ice needed me in good shape to hand over to Qualls, but he probably had no orders at all about Meta. "Just--a little further."

I was hoping for a miracle--and I got it. We pounded around a corner and toward Fat Sloan's. For a few seconds we were out of sight of the Ice Boys, but Fat Sloan's would be no refuge--

Except there stood Fat Sloan himself, filling the doorway. "Quick, Kit, in here," he said, and stepped aside.

Any port in a storm, I thought, and ducked through, Meta close behind. The moment we were in the dingy lobby, Sloan moved back into the doorway, effectively blocking it. I pushed Meta down behind the counter and crouched beside her.

Just in time. "You see streetslime flowing by here, gladeye?" Dry Ice demanded of Sloan.

"A boy and a girl just passed. Turned left at the corner."

"More thrust, flashmates!" Dry Ice shouted. Footsteps clattered away.

I stayed put, the handle of a floor safe digging into my knee, until Fat Sloan loomed over us. "They're gone."

"Gratitudes, gladeye." I helped Meta up. "Our friend here is labeled Fa--Sloan," I told her.

"My pleasure," said Sloan, holding out one greasy hand.

Meta accepted it gingerly and let go almost at once. "Thank you for hiding us, Mr. Sloan."

"Anything for an old friend like Kit."

"How did you know we were running this way?" I asked him.

"This." He tapped a keypad on the desk and four tiny vidscreens flickered to life, showing the streets outside. On one of them the Ice Boys fanned out down a garbage-strewn alley. "I like to see trouble before it gets here." He grinned, a frightening sight. "Besides, I've been expecting you."

"Huh?"

"Your Hydra friend told me you would be here last night. He seemed most perturbed when you didn't show up."

Rain? "Is he still here?" Was this a trap?

"No. He left early this morning. " Sloan pulled a keychip out of a drawer. "Here. The room's free for tonight. "

"What if Dry Ice comes back? He may want to search the place."

Sloan pulled something else out of the drawer, something black, with a handle and a shiny black barrel. "He won't."

I nodded, and took the keychip. "This way, " I said to Meta.

As we reached the stairs, Sloan called, "Wait!" When I turned back he tossed four mealpacs my way. "On the house."

"Thanks, Sloan." I led Meta to the room--the same room I had shared with Rain. I wondered if Sloan remembered that.

Meta sat on the bed--or maybe "collapsed" would be better. "I don't like your world. And I don't like your friends."

"I don't like it either. And I don't have any friends here." I opened one of the mealpacs. The smell reminded me just how hungry I really was, and brought Meta upright again, swallowing. I handed her the one I'd opened and took another for myself.

"Sloan--" she began as she reached for her spoon.

"He's not my friend. He never offered me a free room in the old days when I needed it just as bad, that's for sure." I dug into the steaming stew inside the pac.

"Then why--?"

"I don't know." And I don't like it, I thought, but all I could really think about was the food. I hadn't had anything to eat since before the concert, and a lot had happened since then.

Meta, too, remained silent as we ate, but I could tell she was thinking over what I'd said. "Maybe he's planning to call the 'forcers," she said at last.

I snorted. "Sloan? He'd sooner go jogging."

Meta stared at me for a minute, then giggled, the sound taking me back to the day she'd sneaked into my dressing room. My last mouthful lost its taste. Look what being my fan had gotten her into. "That I'd like to see," she said.

"I wouldn't. Could cause earthquakes."

That set her off again.

"And what if he fell in the river? Floods!"

It was good to hear her laugh, but I couldn't keep it up. For one thing, I ran out of Sloan jokes. For another, I was too busy wondering what Sloan was really up to. Would he try to sell us to the Ice Boys? No--he hated flashgangs. But--

"That's it," I said. "He's planning to sell us out to Qualls."

Meta started up. "Then hadn't we better--"

"He won't do it right away," I said, thinking out loud. "He thinks we're safely tucked away, so he won't be in a hurry. And he won't tell Qualls we're here, or he might have to face the Ice Boys in earnest. He'll be calling Qualls, planning a meeting, setting up a place to hand us over. We've got until morning."

Meta sighed and sat back again, pushing the hair off her face with both hands. "Good. I don't think I could run another step."

"And, of course," I went on, "we won't be here."

She groaned. "More running? More hiding in basements? Anyone you meet could recognize you. Sooner or later, he'll catch you."

"If I'm still on the planet."

"If you try to buy passage with your credit chip, they'll catch you. You said so yourself."

"Who said anything about buying passage?" I pointed at her. "As you should know, there are other ways to get off a planet."

"Stow away?" Meta gaped at me, then grinned. "I like it!"

"I thought you would." I yawned. "If I were you, I'd get some sleep. In fact, I'm not you, and I'm going to get some sleep anyway." I sat down in the chair and leaned back, stretching out my legs. "We'll have to sneak out in the middle of the night..."

"I could use a nap," Meta admitted. She started to lie back, hesitated, leaned over and sniffed the dingy covers, then shrugged and stretched out. Within seconds her even breathing and the slow rise and fall of her chest told me she slept.

I sat up straight again. I'd lied; I couldn't sleep. Jittery energy filled me, along with a growing hunger I knew eating couldn't cure, a hunger like a deep itch that couldn't be scratched. Flashwish. And it was just beginning.

All my plans would be useless if I couldn't control it. It could make me do something stupid or reckless. What I feared most was that it would make me beg Sloan for flash. I knew he sold it. All I had to do was ask and he'd open up that little safe and take out a vial filled with small green wafers...

Already the idea tempted my body, teased my mind. I got to my feet and started pacing. Ignore it, I told myself. Plan how you're going to stow away.

Meta had shown me the easiest way--sneak into a cargo module. But we'd have to be very careful. Not all modules were pressurized, and neither were some holds. At least the destination didn't matter--anywhere off Murdoch IV would suit me, anywhere I could talk freely to the authorities and the media about what Qualls had been up to.

I found myself almost running from wall to wall. I forced myself to slow, then to sit down; then I hopped up again and went down the hallway to the bathroom that served the whole floor. I thought a shower might make me feel better.

It didn't. I came back to the room wet, clean--and hurting. Meta half-woke as I came in, but rolled over and went immediately back to sleep again. I sat down and clenched my fists and resolved not to move from that chair, no matter how bad it got.

It was a resolution I couldn't keep. I dozed, but then woke with a gasp, heart racing, body soaked in sweat. Pain stabbed my right elbow, skewered my left knee. I moaned. Meta mumbled something, then sat up, blinking sleepily, and said, "Kit...?"

"Go back to sleep," I said--but then couldn't suppress a grunt as agony flared in my left wrist. Meta sat up straighter.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Flash--"

She pushed herself away from me. "You said it was gone!"

I laughed, a little wildly. "Oh, it's gone, all right. That's the problem." I doubled over as pain bludgeoned me in the stomach. "This," I gasped, "is withdrawal."

Meta pulled her knees up against her chest. "What can I do?"

I'd had no idea it would be this bad. And it had only begun. I couldn't beat it; I knew that now. Not on my own.

"Find something--to tie me up with," I gasped out. "Tie me to the chair. Don't let me up--whatever happens. Unh!"

"Kit, I can't--"

"Do it!" I screamed. She stared at me, eyes wide, then scrambled off the bed, stripped the sheet from it and tore four long strips from it, while I hunched over in the chair, rocking with pain. Tears streamed down my face. "Hurry!"

"I'm hurrying!" She grabbed my arms and lashed each one to the chair, did the same with my legs, then backed away from me again as though I might turn into something horrible.

I might. "You don't have to watch--" My throat squeezed closed, choking off the words.

"I can't--I won't leave you!"

"You won't like it."

"Neither will you!"

She was right.

#

On to Chapter 15..