Lost in Transcription
Lost in Transcription
Ann Somerville
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Lost in Transcription Copyright © 2015 by Ann Somerville
Cover art copyright © 2015 by P L Nunn. Editing by Amanda Ching
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For more information please visit my website at http://annsomerville.net
Smashwords Edition 1, January 2015
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Published by Ann Somerville
Lost in Transcription
The Aslam dropped out of hyperspace above Lepaute, and oceans and continental masses filled the view screens. Byrd clapped hands in excitement at all the water, then looked up at me.
“Blue! We go there now, Pax?”
“In twenty-three minutes, squirt. Go get ready to land.”
The puggle, perfectly trained in the routine by now after dozens of planetary and off-planetary descents, ran off to the crew section. Two minutes later Cosi came through on my audio feed. “Thanks for letting Byrd watch.”
“No worries. I still get a kick out of the drop myself. You both ready for descent?”
“I’m already harnessed. Binen’s doing the kiddo. You?”
“Just finishing up.”
“I’ll be glad to be planetside. Fresh air will be welcome.”
“One point three gees, don’t forget.”
“Good for us.”
I snorted and closed the feed. Getting used to standard plus gravity after the 0.6 gees onboard was always a drag, but the Federation regulations insisted on a month in standard or greater gravity after every three months in space so our skeletons didn’t turn to jelly. With a kid on board, no way I would fudge that, even if Byrd’s loving parents would think of doing so.
Besides, we had Lepauten cargo to deliver, repairs to make, recreation to enjoy, and sweet air to breathe. After three months on board, the air smelled deader than asteroid dust.
And even someone as allegedly antisocial as me needed time interacting with humans other than the same three people, away from the ship and instrument panels and monitors.
I’m not actually antisocial. Up to my eighteen birthday, I’d been a normal member of my society, a team player, well-liked and comfortable with my peers. Ever since then, I’ve been the odd one out, the one nobody can figure. Antisocial.
Fortunately, the Aslam, my co-crew—Cosi, Binen, and their youngster—were all the society I needed. But for everyone’s sanity it was a good idea to have a change of scenery once in a while.
The scenery came up sharp and fast as the Aslam headed planetwards, but the ship set us down with the gentlest of touches. As soon as I could move, I reached out and patted the console. Some people believe machines have souls. After five years flying this ship, I couldn’t argue with the concept.
The heavier gravity hit us all like a giant hammer in the back, even me with my genetic advantages. It would be a day or so before walking didn’t hurt. Good for us, I told myself. Huh. Still, the air was fresh and the sun was warm, and I smelled the ocean. Something marine, at least.
As pilot, my job was done until we took off again, and though most space ports had seen everything at least twice, I tended to keep my head down in new places just to avoid unwanted curiosity. Cosi, as our cargo master, dealt directly with the space port staff, with Binen’s help. All I had to do for a couple of hours was amuse and feed Byrd, and see if I could line up accommodation for the four of us.
I drove the rover to a quiet corner of the hangar and got Byrd settled with a protein snack before beginning my research. Our little family of three wanted to stay in an apartment during the layover. I was happy enough with a spacer hotel—there were two large ones to choose from. The planet’s main role was to act as home port/resupply station for the miners working three of the twelve moons. The mines would ship output direct from space, but like us, miners had to come down to normal gravity from time to time. Lepaute’s higher than standard gravity was a physiological bonus for spacers, so it was also a small but important rest point for cargo ships passing through, like ours.
The gravity had already worn out the puggle, but after I fed Byrd a meal, trying to impose a nap got me nowhere despite the constant miserable grizzling about how hard everything was. I gave up and let the kid help me find a selection of serviced apartments that were affordable but not too nasty. There was a definite preference for places with a sea view. Byrd loved water in all its forms, also the colour blue. My skin was a constant fascination.
My crew came over, wiping foreheads and clearly knackered. “All done,” Binen announced, flopping into the rover’s front seat. Cosi climbed in behind, and Byrd crawled over onto the parental lap. “Whatcha find for us?”
I turned the screen so Binen could read it. “A few. Pretty decent prices.”
The first one made the grade. “That’ll do.” Cosi nodded in agreement. “What you think, piglet? Like that one?”
Byrd pointed at the pictures. “Like this one. Big windows. Blue!”
“Then blue it is.” Binen tapped in a payment code, and the transaction was done. “There. What about you, Pax?”
“I’ll head into the city, see what’s there. You know me.”
Cosi pulled a face. “Okay, but if you can’t find somewhere you’re likely to wake up with both your kidneys, you come find us.”
“Will do. Ready to go?”
They had more gear than most spacers, but less than most parents. Byrd was almost as seasoned a spacer as I was, but there’s some kind of universal law that kids need a lot of junk. And we were staying for a month.
The road into the city was straight, perfectly made, and built through the most boring landscape I’d ever encountered on a planet. Even the ocean couldn’t make up for the fact that the land around the spaceport was pretty damn flat and uniformly dull. All the mountains and interesting geology were far to the east, but it wasn’t a place for nature lovers. According to the Aslam’s database, ten thousand years ago, unknown terraformers had supplemented the only life forms to have evolved on the planet—simple bacteria—with more efficient oxygen-forming phytoplankton. Four hundred years before the current settlement, ‘Second Wavers’, colonists with mid-level technology and imported farm animals, had colonised about twenty percent of the fertile land mass, releasing fish into the empty seas and encouraging useful off-world plant life to spread. While no one was allowed to export food or essential minerals from a populated planet’s surface, the twelve moons were fair game, and miners had come to explore them seventy years ago. The Second Wavers could have prevented the establishment of the space port, Lepaute City, and the lunar mines, but they apparently never tried. They kept to their farms, and away from the industries in which they had no interest, trading any claim on the spaceport land and mining rights for technology, preferential import channels, and a small cut of spac
eport fees, which paid for anything they might want to buy off-world.
Lepaute City had a permanent urban population of about a hundred thousand people, but transients could boost that by fifty percent depending on traffic and timing of the moons’ orbits. Some miners had families, some had company to keep, and the very size of the population demanded services and administration. Local industries, mainly to do with food production and equipment repair and manufacturing, thrived.
Lepaute sounded stable and boring, perfect for a child and family needing a safe place for a gravity break. I intended to find out what weight-bearing fun I could have on land and sea, and I could always supervise maintenance on the Aslam. I’d been trained to handle boredom. I’d been trained to handle a lot of things, but I could always count on finding boredom.
My crew and the puggle loved the apartment Binen had selected. Like others in the rental listings, it was the home of a lunar miner who let it out to space port refugees when it wasn’t being used, an arrangement replicated all over the galaxy, and a highly economical one for both parties. Binen and Cosi had their own apartment on their home planet that they used for a month or so every four hundred standard days. When Byrd was a little older, they planned to stay longer planetside, but for now, they packed away the credits, planning for a future with their kid. I saved too, but I had no plans. A family of my own didn’t seem likely, for all kinds of reasons.
I helped them settle in and sort out food supplies, and in return accepted lunch. A nice change from the meals on board ship, but one I didn’t want to get used to. I had my own accommodation to sort out. Byrd cried a little until I gave the kiddo promises of frequent visits. Then I headed out.
I left the rover with them. Lepaute City had a modern and comprehensive public transit system, so I caught the monorail to the larger of the two space port owned hotels. Clean, affordable, and right by the open water, with a wonderful view of the fish processing plant half a klick down the road, it offered a pool, a free gym, and an all-hours canteen—pretty much all I needed in a hotel besides a bed. Ocean currents were strong and unpredictable, so swimming was supposedly safe only in marked regions. I planned to ignore those. I had special advantages over ordinary humans, and I took a bitter delight in using them wherever possible, since I’d been denied the chance to use my abilities as they’d been intended. I doubted anyone would care enough to stop me, although I didn’t plan on doing it in front of Byrd and setting a poor example.
Until my muscles adjusted to 1.3 gees, however, I stuck to the hotel pool. I swam to the point of exhaustion, refuelled in the canteen, then used the gym until I couldn’t walk. Another carb and protein heavy meal, and I was ready to hit the city lounges until I felt I could sleep. Recreational chemistry was absolutely forbidden in flight for all sorts of sensible reasons, but I could take and drink what I wanted planetside. Not that I planned to get ripped, but lounges offered other things besides chemically-assisted relaxation—music, entertainment, offers of company and of sex. All things I enjoyed, and without a puggle to have to behave in front of, I could indulge in to my heart’s content. That I definitely planned to do.
I spent a little time looking around, but there wasn’t much to see. Lepaute City, gleaming and efficient, boxy and clean, planned and built from scratch with a single purpose, lacked the sprawl that afflicted many cities I’d been to around the Federation, but on the other hand, it lacked the charm that came from history. No soul. But no one came to a space port for soul.
I headed to the entertainment district. Anywhere that welcomed spacers had a wide selection of places to get frecked up in many senses of the term. I picked the first one that didn’t have litter, vomit or bodies on the pavement outside—my minimum requirement for any establishment. Pre-nightfall, the recreation area was bound to be quiet anyway.
Heads turned as I walked in. I’m used to that. Space ports see all kinds of bodies from a galaxy full of wonder, but two-metre tall blue-skinned, hairless humanoids are a rarity no matter where you go. I didn’t mind the looks too much, since the attention could occasionally bring benefits, and I was perfectly equipped to handle any problems unwanted interest might cause.
The bartender read my biometric data and with the deftness of practice, mixed me a cocktail designed for my weight and fat-to-muscle ratio. I used the hypospray for the initial hit of relaxer, then got comfortable in one of the padded chairs to sip the rest of the dose at my leisure. Out of habit, I sat near a window, but nothing much was happening on the street. Too early for most people to be out carousing. The lounge was almost empty except for a few spacers, fighting jetlag same as me, and a couple of landlubbers watching the rest of us with unabashed curiosity.
I kept my Glimma turned on and let it feed me snippets of data, translations of the slang words mixed with the Standard people around me used, but I didn’t pay close attention to the conversations. The way the dozen or so spacers sat together in twos and threes told me they knew each other and were likely to be crew mates. I was the only one there on my own. No one approached me, unsurprisingly. My resting expression apparently intimidates people, and it takes a while before they get used to me. It takes me a while to relax enough not to tense protectively in a strange environment. I would be here a month. Eventually someone would be enticed by the novelty and make an offer of sex. At least I hoped so.
The relaxer worked smoothly, untensing muscles under strain from the extra gravity and my intense workouts. A touch of mood enhancer drained away the lingering sadness over upsetting Byrd, and a mild synaesthesic made the rather ordinary décor dance with pretty colours. When the bar staff turned up the background music as the place grew busier, the pulse of the music throbbed through my veins. I leaned back and enjoyed being totally and utterly responsible for nothing and no one at all.
The burr of conversation didn’t disturb me, though as night fell, the ambient noise level became quite loud. But something at the edge of my hearing demanded attention. I looked around, but the bar crowd hadn’t changed in character.
A flash of movement outside. The sounds came from there. Angry voices that I couldn’t make out. I strained to see the source, and a second later, it came into view. Two people, one tall and lean, the other short and stocky like a multigenerational heavy gravity resident. Neither wore a uniform. The shorter one, the origin of the anger in the tones I detected, was dark-skinned, wearing weathered, shabby clothes.
I turned up the Glimma’s sensitivity, and it told me the taller individual’s accent was Aglaoniken, the shorter one’s that of a Second Wave colonist. The short one was coming off worst, with the taller one sneering down at the other with the advantage of over half a metre.
The colonist swung wildly at the Aglaoniken, who easily blocked the blow, then shoved back brutally, closing in and adding a fist to the face, sending the Second Waver flying into a solid piece of street furniture.
I leapt to my feet and was out through the doors within seconds. The Aglaoniken had already walked away, utterly unconcerned by what state the Second Waver might be in. No point in pursuit, so I crouched down by the fallen form. Out, and unrousable. Freck.
I moved the victim into a safe position, then called emergency medical assistance. As the EMAs took down the information, I noticed to my relief, there were now signs of consciousness, though not of coherency. I did my best to increase awareness, talking and pressing hands and so on. My Glimma translated the odd babbled word here and there, but “my child” and “help” were the only ones that made sense. The rest were “[DIALECT UNKNOWN]”. Either the city’s language database didn’t extend to what many people on the planet spoke, or this stranger wasn’t actually a Lepauten colonist.
By the time a medical response team arrived, the victim’s consciousness levels were much better, startling blue eyes open more than closed.
“Any ID? Got a name?” one of the techs asked.
“No idea.” I produced my own ID and said I wanted to travel with them, which they were fine wi
th.
We’d travelled barely a minute before the victim suddenly roused and made a bolt towards the vehicle doors. The tech yelped, startled, but I managed to grab our would-be escapee. “Easy, friend. You’re safe. We’re talking you to a hospital.”
“My child...my child....” Dazed eyes searched for answers in my face.
“I don’t have your child. Relax and let them look after you.”
The tech wielded a hypospray and the patient went lax, shooting me a drugged glare of betrayal from under sinking eyelids.
The tech cleared the hypospray nozzle and ejected the dose vial. “What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know. I saw two people arguing outside the bar. This one and an Aglaoniken. Looked like the Aglaoniken had something this one wanted.”
The tech made a face. “Bloody natives. They’re more trouble than they’re worth. Wish they’d stay out of the city. Always bitching and moaning about the miners.”
If the two were arguing over a kid, it was an issue less trivial than “bitching”, but I held my tongue. I was, after all, the stranger here, and I knew nothing of the local politics.
Having no connection to the victim, I could not be given any information about treatment or condition, but I did leave my details and where I could be contacted in case the colonist wanted to get in touch. I felt I should do more but since I didn’t even have a name for them, I could hardly contact their family and offer assistance.
In the end, I returned to the hotel, and while I ate my last meal for the day, I connected the Glimma to the Aslam’s databases and searched for the missing dialect. Turned out not to be that hard to find. Lepaute City’s default setting assumed visitors wouldn’t need the Second Wave colonist dialect. I just needed to deliberately select it, and after a bit of fiddling, I did. I replayed the conversation in the emergency vehicle, and this time most of the words translated fine. Still a jumble, but the key word which the Glimma now showed me was ‘taken’. “My child...taken.”