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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 18

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Suck vacuum, snakebrain," I snarled.

"Mr. Nebula!" The Dealer entered, the door closing behind him. "Surely it is not appropriate, even among humans, to talk that way to one's employer. Or the one individual on this ship who can provide--this." A green wafer appeared on one tentacle-tip. My body's immediate reaction shocked me--my heart raced, my mouth filled with saliva, I shivered. I beat you! I wanted to yell. I don't need you any more! Maybe so--but I wanted it. Not so much I couldn't fight it--maybe--but I wanted it.

I tried not to show it. "No joy, octoface. I beat the green monster."

The Dealer moved closer, all four eyes fixed on me though their stalks curled and twisted, until his tentacle tip held the flash within centimetres of my mouth. "And you suffered for it, didn't you?" his strange, sexless voice crooned. "Suffered and almost died. But you still want it, don't you?" The flash was so close I could have stuck out my tongue and taken it, and I found myself gasping like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing. But I didn't take it. I held on, focused on the pounding pain in my arm, and turned my head away.

I suggested The Dealer do something for which he wasn't physically equipped, and he imitated human laughter. "Very brave. But stupid. You're mine, Andy Nebula. I have a signed contract for your services."

"But you've never paid for me!"

"It's hardly my fault you chose to--what's the human expression?--ah, yes, to cut your agent out of the deal."

"It's enough to break that contract!"

"You're in no position to take me to court." Two of The Dealer's eyes turned toward Paul. "Any more than he is."

Agony filled my arm now. I pulled helplessly at my hand.

"Experiencing a little discomfort?" queried The Dealer.

"Damn you--"

He laughed again and scuttled over to the controls. The circle of sparkling air shrank by a few centimetres, freeing my hand. Immediately the pain in my arm subsided and my hand flushed red; but, oddly, it didn't tingle. I flexed the fingers; no damage. Then I turned to look at The Dealer. "What about Paul?"

"He is doing quite well where he is."

The door slid open. My heart leaped at the sight of Meta and a Hydra--and then fell when the Hydra, far from rushing to my rescue, shoved Meta to the floor, then closed the door. He must be one of the Hydras The Dealer had with him in Fistfight City, I thought sickly. He squealed/clicked at The Dealer, who pulled Meta roughly to her feet and held her off the floor while three of his eyes focused on her face. The fourth stayed firmly aimed at me. "That was very foolish of you, young lady. And futile. This ship is crewed by robots and captained by a computer. We have never shared the human phobia against putting ourselves in the tentacles of well-made machines. And while those machines are programmed to stop one Hydra from hurting another, they're not programmed to recognize humans at all." His tentacles tightened around Meta, who gasped. Her legs kicked futilely.

I lunged toward The Dealer, but the other Hydra moved with blinding speed to grab me. The Dealer held Meta a moment longer, then dropped her. "Interesting," he said, as she frantically crawled away from him on her hands and knees. "A protective impulse toward the female. No doubt yet another evolutionary by-product of your absurd method of reproduction."

"Are you all right?" I called to Meta.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry, Kit, I looked everywhere but--"

A robot ship...if The Dealer was telling the truth, and I had a sinking feeling he was, we were in deep, deep biowaste.

Or at least I was. "So you've got me," I said. "Let Meta go."

"Go where?" said The Dealer. "There is nowhere to go until we reach my home world."

"So let her go when we get there! She's no use to you. She's only here because..." Because I was a selfish fool and asked her to help me. "...because of me."

"But once we reach Hydra," said The Dealer, "she might tell someone about my operation, the wrong someone. " He turned toward Meta, and the green wafer appeared on his tentacle again. "Fortunately, I can ensure she doesn't. "

"No!" I screamed, and struggled to reach him, but the tentacles of the big Hydra held me like steel bands.

Meta, eyes wide, backed away from The Dealer, who stalked her like a cat, his human laughter fading into a hail of clicks. He lashed out and I flinched, but she ducked, then scrambled to the door and slapped at the control panel. The Dealer shot after her, but she threw herself through the doorway before it was open enough for The Dealer to follow. When he could, she was gone.

"Orbital, Meta!" I yelled after her, although her name ended in a squeak as the Hydra holding me tightened his grip.

The Dealer turned back. "Let her roam the ship. She can do us no harm, and there's no place for her to hide." He closed the door, then stood stock still for a moment before his eyes swung back to look at me. "Or is there? How did you stow away?"

"Sneaked on during loading," I said, hoping Meta had been smart enough to head back to the monster cage--and that she'd be brave enough to return with the keychip later and try another rescue. The Dealer and his friend couldn't stay in here forever. "It wasn't hard." I shrugged. "Now I know why. No crew."

The Dealer squealed something and the big Hydra let me go. I rubbed my bruised arm. "Then how did you get into this module?"

"I've been fragging locks since half-height, octoman," I sneered. "Good programming for those mean old streets, pre-Qualls." Time to get off this subject. "Where is Qualls, anyway?"

"No doubt striving very hard to find the money to buy his way out of his contract with me," said The Dealer. "Since he let you escape, he owes me my expected revenue from your services. The penalty for defaulting is rather severe."

"You wouldn't dare take him to court."

"I wasn't speaking of a legal penalty."

Oh. "But you've got me, now."

The Dealer waved his tentacles--a Hydran shrug? "And so I double my revenue. An excellent deal, don't you think?"

The Hydra behind me shrieked, and The Dealer shrieked back. Without warning the big Hydra slapped a gag across my mouth, then shoved me into the corner. Before I could recover my balance he picked up a fat white tube and pointed it at me. A sticky green web engulfed me, pinning my legs together and my arms to my torso. I teetered and crashed to the floor. The big Hydra propped me up in the corner like a rag doll, then scuttled back. The Dealer stared down at me with all four eyes. "I'm low on flash, I see no reason to waste it on you," he said. "You're fortunate; now you will get to see for yourself what I have planned for you, and why you are valuable." He squealed and the door opened again, revealing a new Hydra. As it and The Dealer exchanged ear-piercing greetings, my eyes widened. I knew that Hydra--

Rain!

I felt sick. The message in Fistfight City had been a trap! Rain must have hoped to capture me and then sell me back to The Dealer. Maybe he was in on the whole deal, and my meeting him in Fat Sloan's on that months-ago rainy night had been no accident. He'd cleverly maneuvered me to the spaceport the next day, where Qualls waited...I tried to kick, to bang my head, to do something to attract his attention so he could see my hate-filled glare, but the webbing held, and Rain had eyes only for The Dealer and for Paul Jerez, still motionless in his circle of light.

The Dealer held out the green wafer he had tempted me with, and two others. Rain took them, but didn't eat them. Instead he held them while The Dealer returned to his controls.

The circle of light expanded, elongating into an oval that almost touched my feet. The itching filled my bones again--then eased. And then Paul moved, turning expectantly in the oval, his eyes raised but unfocused, as though he were looking at something further away than the walls of the module. The Dealer clicked to Rain, who stepped inside the circle with none of the difficulty I had experienced--and then, to my horror, held out one of the green wafers to Paul, who took it gently from the end of one orange tentacle with his pink tongue, and swallowed.

As Rain watched, music began. Paul paused, moved, made a heartbreakingly graceful spin--and then The Dealer touched his controls and the circle flashed with light, and instantly Paul was standing three metres away from where he had started, his bare chest heaving and streaked with sweat. He bowed to Rain, who squealed and clicked enthusiastically. As I gaped at them, Paul returned to centre stage, Rain held out another wafer, Paul took it--and then Rain took one himself.

The music began again, Paul made the same--exactly the same--magnificent leap and spin, The Dealer touched his controls, the circle flashed, and there was Paul, again at the end of his dance, glistening with sweat, bowing to Rain.

Paul returned to the middle of the circle and assumed his ready-and-waiting, Rain stepped out of the circle, The Dealer did something at the controls, the circle shrank--and Paul froze, in the middle of a deep breath, his chest suddenly stilled.

I stared at him, horrified. No wonder Paris Paradise had aged so quickly. No wonder he had gone crazy. How many years of performing the same number--exactly the same number--before hallucinatory crowds had The Dealer crammed into Paris's two-year contract? He could do the same song a thousand times and only minutes would pass in the outside world. And there would be no down-time when he needed to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom--because however much time he took went by in an instant out here, and there he was, ready to perform again--and again, and again.

And Qualls had sold me and my predecessors into that? Subjective years of drug-induced slavery, performing a dreary Sensation Single thousands of times for equally drug-crazed Hydras? If I could have made a sound, I would have screamed my rage. But helpless as luggage, I could only lie there and pray that somehow I could find a way out of this. Because if I didn't, I would be as crazy as Paris Paradise, and in far less time.

Rain left without ever turning an eye in my direction; The Dealer and the other Hydra followed him to the door. The big Hydra squealed a question, but The Dealer, obviously speaking for my benefit, said, "Leave him. He's not going anywhere and without his help the girl can never break in here. It will do him good to think over what he's seen. Welcome to your new life, Mr. Nebula!" he called to me; then, with an eerie mixture of human and Hydra laughter, he went out, and the door closed behind him.

#

On to Chapter 20...