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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 17

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Meta turned white. "It can't be!"

"I saw him--right out there!" I pointed at the door.

"Are you sure?"

"I'd recognize him anywhere." I shuddered. "He gave me flash."

"But how can this be his ship? Nobody owns his own ship!"

That stopped me, because she was right: no individual was that wealthy. Only large corporations or governments could afford to run ships. And if The Dealer had his own ship, why had he been a passenger on The Bullet--and why had I been slated to go to Hydra on The Bullet?

I struggled to my feet. "This must be a Hydran passenger liner! Without me, Qualls's contract with The Dealer fell through, so Qualls wouldn't have any reason to go to Hydra--but The Dealer still had to get home. So he had to buy a ticket just like anyone else." Which meant all we had to do was avoid The Dealer and find a crewperson--um, crewhydra.

But if this was a passenger ship, why was The Dealer in the cargo section? The answer seemed obvious--he had cargo down here he wanted to keep an eye on. I looked nervously at the caged beasts surrounding us, but if this module had been his destination, he would have already found us. So he must have gone somewhere else. "Come on," I said. "Let's take another look."

"If you say so." I led her out into the corridor again, crept up to the T-intersection and looked both ways--no sign of The Dealer. I started toward the place where I had seen him. Meta held back. "Shouldn't we go the other way?" she whispered.

"No," I whispered back. "I want to see what his cargo is."

"But what if he's still there..." Her voice trailed off as we reached the spot where The Dealer had stood. It was a doorway to another module, identical to the entrance of ours, right down to the blinking green lights on the life-support control panel.

What could The Dealer be shipping that required life support?

I swore, and reached for the controls. Meta grabbed my wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Opening this thing up," I snarled.

"But why--"

"Life-support module. There's something alive in there." I met her eyes. "Besides flash, what does The Dealer deal in?"

Meta's hand fell away. "No!"

"I hope I'm wrong. Maybe he's got a cat. But we've got to be sure--" But of course the controls were locked. I pounded on them uselessly, then stepped back. "We need a keychip--and I'll bet The Dealer has the only one." I glared at the controls. "There's got to be a way!"

"Well, I've got a keychip, but since it's for our house back on Carstair's Folly, I doubt--"

A wild idea struck me. "Let me have it!"

Looking at me like I'd lost my mind, Meta pulled a neckchain from under her clothes. Hanging from it was a little golden rectangle with black shiny contact patches on each end. Meta touched it and it dropped off in her hand; she handed it to me. I eyed the keychip receptacle on the module. "Standard technology. If this works--" I dashed back down the corridor to our module. Filled with monsters though it was, it seemed almost like home. Meta's keychip fit neatly into a receptacle in the interior controls; I pushed three buttons, the controls beeped, and the keychip popped back into my hand. "What did you do?" Meta asked.

"Programmed your keychip to open this module." I gestured at the animals. "I don't know what these things are, but I'll bet they belong to The Dealer. They look like friends of his, don't they?"

Meta blinked, then grinned. "I get it! If this module belongs to him, and we now have a keychip for it--"

"Then just maybe we have a keychip for that other module, too." I flipped the chip like a coin. "Only one way to find out."

Back we went to the other module. I plugged the keychip into the receptacle, pressed the "open" button--and without any fuss at all, the door slid aside.

Normal white light spilled around us. It was a relief to step out of the blue Hydran glare--until I saw what was in there.

The module was about the same size and shape as my old dressing room, which made it much larger than the one we had stowed away in. Odd-looking bits and pieces of electronic equipment filled most of it. It looked like a cross between a starship bridge and a recording studio, the latter resemblance heightened by the boy, my age or a little older, who stood in a broad circle of light at the far end of the module. He wore gold tights, but was naked from the waist up.

"Hello!" said Meta cheerfully, and started forward, but I stopped her. "Now what?" she demanded, turning on me.

"He's not breathing."

"What?" She turned back toward the boy. "Of course he's--" Her voice broke off.

"See?"

"But that's--impossible."

"Is it?" I moved gingerly forward. Meta followed. The closer we got to the boy the more I became aware of an annoying hum in the air, a discordant sound that grated on my nerves. The air within the circle of light around the boy sparkled strangely.

We stopped just outside that circle. The hum made my bones itch. Meta gasped. "I know that face! That's Paul Jerez!"

"Who?"

"He was Youth Champion in the Pleasure Planets' Annual Open Dance Competition last year--then he vanished. There were all kinds of wild rumors..." She came a little closer. "It must be a statue--like a, a waxwork, or something."

I said nothing. No statue could be so detailed. I could see the fine, dark hair on his arms and chest and a few flyaway strands sticking up from his head. His eyes, open and moist, glistened in the light, his lips were slightly parted, and a single bead of sweat clung to his left temple--and yet he didn't breathe, didn't swallow, didn't blink. He must be in a time pocket, I thought. Almost involuntarily, I reached out to touch him. The sparkling circle of light retreated--

And then suddenly snapped back out to its original position, engulfing my hand--and stopping me cold. I couldn't move my hand, couldn't raise it, lower it, push it forward, twitch my fingers, clench my fist, or--most frightening of all--pull it free.

"What--" Meta started forward.

I pushed her back with my left arm. "Stay away!" I said between clenched teeth. "I'm stuck."

"Stuck? On what?"

I didn't answer. I was too busy silently cursing myself for a fool. Paul was in a time pocket, being held in stasis. For him, and now for my hand, time did not pass. That momentary shrinking of the field had probably been a safety feature--or maybe even, knowing The Dealer, a trap for anyone who might want to interfere: a trap that had caught me like a bug in amber.

Sweat formed on my forehead. I couldn't feel my hand at all--it might have been lopped off. But I could see it, the air sparkling around it--and I could see the beat of my pulse in my wrist outside that sparkle, and I could certainly feel the pressure in my arm as my heart and arteries tried futilely to push blood into my hand, a throbbing building toward pain.

"Go get help," I gasped to Meta. "Someone in the crew."

"But you--"

"I'll be fine--if you hurry." I'm certainly not going anywhere, I thought grimly. "Take the keychip and go!"

Meta hesitated a moment longer, then dashed out into the corridor, turning to look back at me as she snatched the keychip out of the control panel. The door slid closed.

I pulled at my hand as hard as I could, to no effect, then heard the door open again behind me and breathed a sigh of relief. "Meta, I--" My voice choked off as I turned my head to look awkwardly over my shoulder.

"Mr. Nebula," said The Dealer. "I see you have decided to accept our offer after all."

#

On to Chapter 19..