From Primary Inversion by Catherine Asaro:
Night had been pressing down on the sunset for over an hour, darkening the reddish-purple streak of sky along the horizon. A day here lasted sixty-two hours, making the sunset go on and on as if it resisted giving up the light. The Arcade was even more crowded now, people taking advantage of the respite from the heat. With thirty hours of sunlight a day, it was usually only cool enough outside for humans to be comfortable during the evening, night and dawn hours.
Overhead the sky was a deep violet. The Delos sun emitted more purple light than average for human habitable planets and the thin atmosphere scattered it less. It gave a purple tinge to the sky as if we were high in the mountains instead of at sea level. Clouds streaked the horizon, their lower edges rimmed with a brilliant pink that deepened as the sunset withdrew behind the Arcade roofs.
We walked through the twilight along a line of bars. Holosigns lit up the dusk: a shocking pink flower suspended over a door, gilded insects flying in ellipses, a cluster of blue-green planets orbiting close to a blue giant star that in reality could never have supported such a solar system. Hologram screens also sided most of the bars, spawning holos everywhere, so that poles of light rotated between buildings, swirling with gaudy purple and red stripes, and arches of light spanned the roofs. Scampering animals sparked and popped like firecrackers as they ran up and down the sides of buildings, or morphed into different species.
Music jangled at us, raucous tunes mixing with seductive melodies. Sounds jumped out as we approached and receded into the general buzz after we had passed. Hawkers called out from doorways, using a slew of languages. [...] The smell of cooking meat and spices filled the air.
I couldn't read most of the holosigns. Pulling down a translation menu in my mind, I overlaid it on an elegant sign that said CONSTANTINIDES.
Translate, I thought.
Greek, the node answered. Translation: Constantinides.
"That helps a lot," I muttered.
"Where you want to go?" Helda asked.
I pointed to a rusty building. One pole topped its roof with a few desultory circles that clanked in the wind. The holosign above the door was in English, which was the only language I had seen among the bars so far that I could read without a translator. "JACK'S PLACE," I said.
Rex peered at the bar. "It sounds vintage Earth."
Helda snorted. "It look vintage wreck."
"Come on, Helda." Rex laughed. "Be brave."
"Why you want to go to this place?" she demanded.
"Because," Rex said, "it looks like it has authentic old Earth atmosphere."
"This is good thing to have?" Helda asked.
I smiled. "Let's give it a try and see."
So we went in, pushing open the door under the sign. Inside, a counter stretched along one wall, its black top pitted with age. Stools lined the counter, each upholstered in a red material that shone from use. Tables covered by red and white cloths filled the room. A man stood behind the counter polishing a glass, stains showing on his cloth and on the white apron tied across his big stomach.
A band was playing on a raised stage in one corner. The instruments were unfamiliar: gourd-shaped boxes with strings pulled tight across the box, gold horns with handles that moved in and out, fat drums. The music had a compelling rhythm, mixing in a sensual blend of sound that made me want to dance with the young man who was singing. Garish cartoon holos flickered in front of the panels that lined the stage.
A woman in a short skirt was waiting on the tables. Taas watched her with a smile. "I like this place," he said.
Rex grinned his agreement. "Let's sit at a table."
[...]
The waitress came over and spoke shyly to Rex in English. "Would you like a table?"
Rex answered in Skolian, giving her his wicked grin. "I have no idea what you're saying, but it sounds beautiful."
"She wants to know if we like tables," I said. Whatever that meant. I pulled down my translation menu. It hung superimposed over the waitress, who was looking from me to Taas to Helda. I knew I probably had the same glazed expression I saw on their faces. Waiting, my spinal node prompted.
Rex smiled at the waitress. "They're meditating," he said in Skolian.
She blinked at him, then looked around for someone who could help her.
Translate 'We would like to have drinks and food,' I thought.
The waitress spoke to Rex. "What can I do for you?" The Skolian translation of her words came into my thoughts, interfering with my attempt to translate what I wanted to say into English. Meanwhile the waitress was turning redder and redder.
"Pah," I muttered. My spinal node was optimized for combat, not translation. Maybe I should have that diplomacy mod added after all. It would augment my social skills and upgrade my language ca-pability. But my spinal node was loaded to capacity with combat roods and libraries, and I had no intention of removing even one. My life might someday depend on it. I didn't want to enlarge the node again, either. My biomech system had reached the limit of what was considered safe even with state-of-the-art bioengineering technology.
Besides, it wouldn't hurt me to practice my English without a computer "whispering" in my ear. Program end, I thought. As the menu vanished, I spoke to the waitress in the best English I could muster without help. "Is okay there we sit?" I motioned at a booth next to the far wall.
"Certainly." The red color receded from her face, and my own cheeks cooled. She glanced at Helda and Taas, who both looked normal again, and her shoulders lowered slightly. The muscles in my shoulders relaxed as well.
She took some big cards from a nearby table and headed for the booth. When we followed her, she looked back at Rex and blushed again.
[...]
She stopped at the booth and fumbled with the cards she had brought, dropping them onto the scratched tabletop. Then she stood blinking at us. So we all stopped and watched her, waiting to see what she would do next. After a moment she turned pink again.
"She wants us to sit down," Taas decided.
"So let's sit." Rex squeezed past her, putting his hand on her tiny waist in the process. Her face went from pink to bright crimson. Then the rest of us sat down.
The waitress spoke to Rex. "Would you like a drink?"
He answered in Skolian. "That voice of yours makes me want to hold you all night."
[...]
"Excuse me?" the waitress asked in English.
"Leave her alone," I said. I picked up one of the cards she had put on the table. The heading on it was made from clear tubes filled with a fluorescent yellow gas. JACK'S PLACE, it announced. Projection holos floated above speckled patches on the card, each 3D image displaying a dish of food. When I turnod the card, the holos showed different views of their offerings.
My translation program gave "synthetic meat sandwich" as the meaning of Hamburger. I tried Hot Dog and got "synthetic meat sandwich." When Beef Bliss came up as "synthetic meat sandwich," I gave up. Didn't Jack serve anything else? I looked at the others. "What do you want?"
"Ale is fine," Rex said. Helda and Taas nodded agreement.
I spoke to the waitress in English. "You ale do?"
She peered at me. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"Ale," I repeated. "Got any?"
"You mean beer?"
I squinted at her. "I think."
[...]
The city of Athens bordered the north and east sides of the Arcade. I had no idea why the Allieds called the place Athens; it was as ugly as its ancient namesake on Earth was reputed to be beautiful. They had laid it out in squares delineated by nervoplex streets and lit by boxy lamp posts. As Rex and I walked along the darkening roads, hovercars hummed by us, their cushions of air exciting the black nervoplex into rippling patterns that bounced back and forth between the curbs. Maybe the people who lived here liked the effect, but it gave me a headache.
The police station was a one-story building chromed with the same blue and silver colors worn by the Arcade police. We entered a lobby with a counter on its far side. As we crossed the room, a holocam tracked our movements from its perch in a corner of the ceiling.
A woman with graying hair greeted us at the counter. "Boro na sas voetheso?" she said.
Translate, I thought.
Greek, my spinal node responded. Translation: May I help you?
The woman looked from Rex to me, her gaze darting over our uniforms, then back to our faces. She repeated her question, her voice higher in pitch this time. What did we want, coming in here dressed like that --
Block, I thought. The psicon flashed and I stopped feeling like a criminal.
Translate 'We would like to make a report' into Greek, I thought. As my spinal node provided the translation, I spoke haltingly, copying the words as exactly as I could manage. But it didn't sound much like the way the node had pronounced it.
"Ti?" the woman asked. The spinal node translated it: What?
I pushed my hand through my hair. "Skolian?"
She shook her head. "Okhi Skolian."
No Skolian, the node translated.
"English?" I asked.
"Okhi English."
How do I say 'interpreter' in Greek?, I thought.
Diermeneas, the node answered.
I regarded the woman. "Diermeneas? Skolian. Diermeneas."
"Epanalabete?" she asked. The spinal node gave that one as Say again?
I gave it another try. "Diermeneas."
"Ah." The furrow lines in her forehead smoothed out. She motioned for us to follow her.
She took us to a small room with a table surrounded by nervoplex chairs. Three of the wails were blank, but the fourth had a large pane of opaque glass. I suspected the glass was transparent when viewed from the other side; the place looked like an interrogation room.
After the woman left, Rex scowled at the chairs.
Excerpt from Primary Inversion by Catherine Asaro, ©1995 Catherine Asaro.
[ Excerpt || Index || Glossary || Bibliography ]
[Discussion goes here]
[ Excerpt || Index || Glossary || Bibliography ]