Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
LOST
IN
TRANSLATION
By
LARRY M.
HARRIS
_In language translation, you may get a literally accurate word-for-word translation ... but miss the meaning entirely. And in space-type translation ... the effect may be the same!_
Illustrated by Schoenherr
* * * * *
The cell had been put together more efficiently than any Korvin hadever been in. But that was only natural, he told himself sadly; theTr'en were an efficient people. All the preliminary reports had agreedon that; their efficiency, as a matter of fact, was what had madeKorvin's arrival a necessity. They were well into the atomic era, andwere on the verge of developing space travel. Before long they'd besettling the other planets of their system, and then the nearer stars.Faster-than-light travel couldn't be far away, for the magnificentlyefficient physical scientists of the Tr'en--and that would mean, inthe ordinary course of events, an invitation to join the Comity ofPlanets.
An invitation, the Comity was sure, which the Tr'en would not accept.
Korvin stretched out on the cell's single bunk, a rigid affair whichwas hardly meant for comfort, and sighed. He'd had three days ofisolation, with nothing to do but explore the resources of his ownmind. He'd tried some of the ancient Rhine experiments, but that wasno good; he still didn't show any particular psi talents. He couldn'tunlock the cell door with his unaided mind; he couldn't even alter theprobability of a single dust-mote's Brownian path through the somewhatsmelly air. Nor could he disappear from his cell and appear, as if bymagic, several miles away near the slightly-damaged hulk of his ship,to the wonder and amazement of his Tr'en captors.
He could do, as a matter of fact, precisely nothing. He wished quietlythat the Tr'en had seen fit to give him a pack of cards, or a book, oreven a folder of tourist pictures. The Wonders of Tr'en, according toall the advance reports, were likely to be pretty boring, but they'dhave been better than nothing.
In any decently-run jail, he told himself with indignation, therewould at least have been other prisoners to talk to. But on Tr'enKorvin was all alone.
True, every night the guards came in and gave him a concentratedlesson in the local language, but Korvin failed to get much pleasureout of that, being unconscious at the time. But now he was equipped todiscuss almost anything from philosophy to plumbing, but there wasnobody to discuss it with. He changed position on the bunk and staredat the walls. The Tr'en were efficient; there weren't even anyimperfections in the smooth surface to distract him.
He wasn't tired and he wasn't hungry; his captors had left him with afull stock of food concentrates.
But he was almightily bored, and about ready to tell anything toanyone, just for the chance at a little conversation.
As he reached this dismal conclusion, the cell door opened. Korvin gotup off the bunk in a hurry and spun around to face his visitor.
The Tr'en was tall, and slightly green.
He looked, as all the Tr'en did, vaguely humanoid--that is, if youdon't bother to examine him closely. Life in the universe appeared tobe rigidly limited to humanoid types on oxygen planets; Korvin didn'tknow why, and neither did anybody else. There were a lot of theories,but none that accounted for all the facts satisfactorily. Korvinreally didn't care about it; it was none of his business.
The Tr'en regarded him narrowly through catlike pupils. "You areKorvin," he said.
It was a ritual, Korvin had learned. "You are of the Tr'en," hereplied. The green being nodded.
"I am Didyak of the Tr'en," he said. Amenities over with, he relaxedslightly--but no more than slightly--and came into the cell, closingthe door behind him. Korvin thought of jumping the Tr'en, but decidedquickly against it. He was a captive, and it was unwise to assume thathis captors had no more resources than the ones he saw: a smalltranslucent pistollike affair in a holster at the Tr'en's side, and asmall knife in a sheath at the belt. Those Korvin could deal with; butthere might be almost anything else hidden and ready to fire on him.
"What do you want with me?" Korvin said. The Tr'en speech--apparentlythere was only one language on the planet--was stiff and slightlyawkward, but easily enough learned under drug hypnosis; it was themost rigorously logical construction of its kind Korvin had ever comeacross. It reminded him of some of the mathematical metalanguages he'ddealt with back on Earth, in training; but it was more closely andcarefully constructed than even those marvels.
"I want nothing with you," Didyak said, leaning against thedoor-frame. "You have other questions?"
Korvin sighed. "What are you doing here, then?" he asked. Asconversation, it wasn't very choice; but it was, he admitted, betterthan solitude.
"I am leaning against the door," Didyak said. The Tr'en literalistapproach to the smallest problems of everyday living was a little hardto get the hang of, Korvin told himself bitterly. He thought for asecond.
"Why did you come to me?" he said at last.
Didyak beamed at him. The sight was remarkably unpleasant, involvingas it did the disclosure of the Tr'en fifty-eight teeth, mostlypointed. Korvin stared back impassively. "I have been ordered to cometo you," Didyak said, "by the Ruler. The Ruler wishes to talk withyou."
It wasn't quite "talk"; that was a general word in the Tr'en language,and Didyak had used a specific meaning, roughly: "gain informationfrom, by peaceful and vocal means." Korvin filed it away for futurereference. "Why did the Ruler not come to me?" Korvin asked.
"The Ruler is the Ruler," Didyak said, slightly discomfited. "You areto go to him. Such is his command."
Korvin shrugged, sighed and smoothed back his hair. "I obey thecommand of the Ruler," he said--another ritual. Everybody obeyed thecommand of the Ruler. If you didn't, you never had a second chance totry.
But Korvin meant exactly what he'd said. He was going to obey thecommands of the Ruler of the Tr'en--and remove the Tr'en threat fromthe rest of the galaxy forever.
That, after all, was his job.
* * * * *
The Room of the Ruler was large, square and excessively brown. Thewalls were dark-brown, the furnishings--a single great chair, severalkneeling-benches and a small table near the chair--were light-brown,of some metallic substance, and even the drapes were tan. It was,Korvin decided, much too much of a bad idea, even when the colorcontrast of the Tr'en themselves were figured in.
The Ruler himself, a Tr'en over seven feet tall and correspondinglybroad, sat in the great chair, his four fingers tapping gently on thetable near him, staring at Korvin and his guards. The guards stood oneither side of their captive, looking as impassive as jade statues,six and a half feet high.
Korvin wasn't attempting to escape. He wasn't pleading with the Ruler.He wasn't defying the Ruler, either. He was just answering questions.
The Tr'en liked to have everything clear. They were a logical race.The Ruler had started with Korvin's race, his name, his sex--ifany--and whether or not his appearance were normal for humanity.
Korvin was answering the last question. "Some men are larger than Iam," he said, "and some are smaller."
"Within what limits?"
Korvin shrugged. "Some are over eight feet tall," he said, "and othersunder four feet." He used the Tr'en measurement scale, of course; itdidn't seem necessary, though, to mention that both extremes of heightwere at the circus-freak level. "Then there is a group of humans," hewent on, "who are never more than a foot and a half in height, andusually less than that--approximately nine or ten inches. We callthese _children_," he volunteered helpfully.
"Approximately?" the Ruler growled. "We ask for precision here," hesaid. "We are scientific men. We are exact."
Korvin nodded hurriedly. "Our race is more ... more approximate," hesaid apologetically.
"Slipshod," the Ruler muttered.
"Undoubtedly," Korvin agreed politely. "I'll try to do the best I canfor you."
"You will answer my questions," the Ruler said, "with exactitude." Hepaused, frowning slightly. "You landed your ship on this planet," hewent on. "Why?"
"My job required it," Korvin said.
"A clumsy lie," the Ruler said. "The ship crashed; our examinationsprove that beyond any doubt."
"True," Korvin said.
"And it is your job to crash your ship?" the Ruler said. "Wasteful."
Korvin shrugged again. "What I say is true," he announced. "Do youhave tests for such matters?"
"We do," the Ruler told him. "We are an exact and a scientific race. Amachine for the testing of truth has been adjusted to your physiology.It will be attached to you."
Korvin looked around and saw it coming through the door, pushed by twotechnicians. It was large and squat and metallic, and it had wheels,dials, blinking lights, tubes and wires, and a seat with armrests andstraps. It was obviously a form of lie-detector--and Korvin felthimself marveling again at this race. Earth science had nothing tomatch their enormous command of the physical universe; adapting ahypnopaedic language-course to an alien being so quickly had beenwonder enough, but adapting the perilously delicate mechanisms thatnecessarily made up any lie-detector machinery was almost a miracle.The Tr'en, under other circumstances, would have been a valuableaddition to the Comity of Nations.
Being what they were, though, they could only be a menace. AndKorvin's appreciation of the size of that menace was growing hourly.
He hoped the lie-detector had been adjusted correctly. If it showedhim telling an untruth, he wasn't likely to live long, and hisjob--not to mention the strongest personal inclinations--demanded moststrongly that he stay alive.
He swallowed hard. But when the technicians forced him down into theseat, buckled straps around him, attached wires and electrodes andelastic bands to him at appropriate places and tightened some finalscrews, he made no resistance.
"We shall test the machine," the Ruler said. "In what room are you?"
"In the Room of the Ruler," Korvin said equably.
"Are you standing or sitting?"
"I am sitting," Korvin said.
"Are you a _chulad_?" the Ruler asked. A _chulad_ was a small nativepet, Korvin knew, something like a greatly magnified deathwatchbeetle.
"I am not," he said.
* * * * *
The Ruler looked to his technicians for a signal, and nodded onreceiving it. "You will tell an untruth now," he said. "Are youstanding or sitting?"
"I am standing," Korvin said.
The technicians gave another signal. The Ruler looked, in his frowningmanner, reasonably satisfied. "The machine," he announced, "has beenadjusted satisfactorily to your physiology. The questioning will nowcontinue."
Korvin swallowed again. The test hadn't really seemed extensive enoughto him. But, after all, the Tr'en knew their business, better thananyone else could know it. They had the technique and the logic andthe training.
He hoped they were right.
The Ruler was frowning at him. Korvin did his best to look receptive."Why did you land your ship on this planet?" the Ruler said.
"My job required it," Korvin said.
The Ruler nodded. "Your job is to crash your ship," he said. "It iswasteful but the machines tell me it is true. Very well, then; weshall find out more about your job. Was the crash intentional?"
Korvin looked sober. "Yes," he said.
The Ruler blinked. "Very well," he said. "Was your job ended when theship crashed?" The Tr'en word, of course, wasn't _ended_, nor did itmean exactly that. As nearly as Korvin could make out, it meant"disposed of for all time."
"No," he said.
"What else does your job entail?" the Ruler said.
Korvin decided to throw his first spoke into the wheel. "Stayingalive."
The Ruler roared. "Do not waste time with the obvious!" he shouted."Do not try to trick us; we are a logical and scientific race! Answercorrectly."
"I have told the truth," Korvin said.
"But it is not--not the truth we want," the Ruler said.
Korvin shrugged. "I replied to your question," he said. "I did notknow that there was more than one kind of truth. Surely the truth isthe truth, just as the Ruler is the Ruler?"
"I--" The Ruler stopped himself in mid-roar. "You try to confuse theRuler," he said at last, in an approximation of his usual one. "Butthe Ruler will not be confused. We have experts in matters oflogic"--the Tr'en word seemed to mean _right-saying_--"who will advisethe Ruler. They will be called."
Korvin's guards were standing around doing nothing of importance nowthat their captor was strapped down in the lie-detector. The Rulergestured and they went out the door in a hurry.
The Ruler looked down at Korvin. "You will find that you cannot trickus," he said. "You will find that such fiddling"--_chulad-like_ Korvintranslated--"attempts will get you nowhere."
Korvin devoutly hoped so.
* * * * *
The experts in logic arrived shortly, and in no uncertain terms Korvinwas given to understand that logical paradox was not going to confuseanybody on the planet. The barber who did, or didn't, shave himself,the secretary of the club whose members were secretaries, Achilles andthe tortoise, and all the other lovely paradox-models scattered aroundwere so much primer material for the Tr'en. "They can be treatedmathematically," one of the experts, a small emerald-green being, toldKorvin thinly. "Of course, you would not understand the mathematics.But that is not important. You need only understand that we cannot beconfused by such means."
"Good," Korvin said.
The experts blinked. "Good?" he said.
"Naturally," Korvin said in a friendly tone.
The expert frowned horribly, showing all of his teeth. Korvin did hisbest not to react. "Your plan is a failure," the expert said, "and youcall this a good thing. You can mean only that your plan is differentfrom the one we are occupied with."
"True," Korvin said.
There was a short silence. The expert beamed. He examined theindicators of the lie-detector with great care. "What is your plan?"he said at last, in a conspiratorial whisper.
"To answer your questions, truthfully and logically," Korvin said.
The silence this time was even longer.
"The machine says that you tell the truth," the experts said at last,in a awed tone. "Thus, you must be a traitor to your native planet.You must want us to conquer your planet, and have come here secretlyto aid us."
Korvin was very glad that wasn't a question. It was, after all, theonly logical deduction.
But it happened to be wrong.
* * * * *
"The name of your planet is Earth?" the Ruler asked. A few minutes hadpassed; the experts were clustered around the single chair. Korvin wasstill strapped to the machine; a logical race makes use of a traitor,but a logical race does not trust him.
"Sometimes," Korvin said.
"It has other names?" the Ruler said.
"It has no name," Korvin said truthfully. The Tr'en idiom was like theEarthly one; and certainly a planet had no name. People attached namesto it, that was all. It had none
of its own.
"Yet you call it Earth?" the Ruler said.
"I do," Korvin said, "for convenience."
"Do you know its location?" the Ruler said.
"Not with exactitude," Korvin said.
There was a stir. "But you can find it again," the Ruler said.
"I can," Korvin said.
"And you will tell us about it?" the Ruler went on.
"I will," Korvin said, "so far as I am able."
"We will wish to know about weapons," the Ruler said, "and about plansand fortifications. But we must first know of the manner of decisionon this planet. Is your planet joined with others in a government ordoes it exist alone?"
Korvin nearly smiled. "Both," he said.
A short silence was broken by one of the attendant experts. "We havetheorized that an underling may be permitted to make some of his owndecisions, leaving only the more extensive ones for the master. Thisseems to us inefficient and liable to error, yet it is a possiblesystem. Is it the system you mean?"
Very sharp, Korvin told himself grimly. "It is," he said.
"Then the government which reigns over
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