Free Lost In Translation by Edward Willett

suspected even dissection would not find the answer, that the boy’s mysterious ability arose from something in his equally mysterious past. Jim had been found wandering the streets of a very rough port city on a mostly military planet, selling his body for food. His very blankness had drawn the attention of a passing Translator; someone like Jim, who could not be read, stood out in a crowd as much as or more than someone broadcasting the strongest hate or anger.
    For more than a year now, Jim had been in training to be a Translator. Karak had heard nothing but good reports about his abilities and commitment. Yet the eerie emotional dead space that surrounded him still bothered Karak every time he had dealings with the boy.
    He noticed Jim watching him, and nodded from Jim to Katy. Jim looked at the girl, and showed his teeth in the alarming human expression that Karak still found hard to believe conveyed friendliness instead of aggression. “Hi! I’m Jim,” Jim said.
    Katy ignored him. The boy closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and blinked at the girl before looking at Karak. “I can’t read her at all. It’s like she’s not even there.”
    Now you know how we feel around you, Karak thought. “Did you not feel her momentary surprise when she entered the car and saw you?”
    â€œNo, Guildmaster . . .”
    â€œYou must learn not to let your own emotions cloud your perceptions of others. The surprise was faint, but it was there. And so is she. Deep inside.”
    The car began to roll, the bumps of the road translating to a slow up-and-down motion inside that always made Karak think of the way his spawnhome swayed when storm-waves lashed the sea-top. “I read all the material you gave me on bondcut, Guildmaster, but I never thought it would be like this,” Jim said. “It’s—frightening.”
    â€œIt is. And I hope you will never suffer from it.” Though you may have already, he thought. Perhaps that explains what happened to you . . . “However, it is not always this way. Katy is an extreme case, because she has suffered without any treatment for a very long time. There has been no one to pull her out of the void left by her parents’ death. It’s like a wound that has abscessed; it has closed up and trapped her inside. It must be lanced: the poison drained, the wound opened to dry and begin to heal.”
    â€œBut . . . Guildmaster, how?”
    â€œI will show you. You have an important role to play. We will begin the process tonight, when we reach the Guildhall.”
    Jim turned his gaze back toward the girl, his eyes bright with . . . interest? Sorrow? Karak wished he knew.
    He settled back for the short trip to the Guildhall.
    Â 
    Katy kept her own gaze on the floor, hearing and understanding everything, yet feeling as if they talked about someone else entirely, someone of absolutely no importance. Vaguely, she hoped they might be able to help this Katy they spoke of, but she doubted it, and the hope slid away into nothingness almost as soon as it formed.
    Ten or fifteen minutes later they stopped, and the car split open to disgorge them in front of a huge stone building like an ancient fortress, lit by more of the pink-and-blue lights. They entered through an oval doorway that slid up at their approach and down behind them, and crossed a dim hall through which their footsteps echoed, then went down a long, arched corridor of white stone, lit by pink-glowing lamps on long black cords, passing closed oval doors to either side. The chill air smelled faintly of cinnamon and roses.
    At a cross-corridor they turned right, climbed a long flight of stairs, and a short distance down another corridor came to a door larger than any they had passed. The spicy/floral scent grew stronger. Karak took something from his watersuit’s belt and pressed it to the door’s surface, and it opened to reveal another large, egg-shaped