Chapter Text
“Isn’t this just the best?”
Your friend Sadie peers at you from the doorway. You are sitting on the floor, surrounded on all sides by stacks of boxes higher than your head. “Have you finished unpacking already?”
“Mostly,” she says with a light shrug. “I didn’t pack much, just some clothes and books and things. You look like you packed your entire room.”
You let out a snort of good humor. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know what I’d need."
“We’re only going to be here for six months,” she reminds you.
“But we’re on Starkiller Base. How am I supposed to know what to bring to a military installation?”
She furrows her brow. “It is kind of creepy, don’t you think? Like, I get why we’re here but I just don’t get-“
“-why we’re here?” She nods in silent agreement.
You have just moved with your good friend, Sadie, and four other interpreters onto the Starkiller Base for a six-month internship. Both you and Sadie, and you presumed the others as well, had graduated with a degree in linguistics. Fortunately, your little planet hadn’t been ravaged by the wars and skirmishes of the galaxy, letting you study your academic pursuits in peace, and you had taken the time to be fascinated by other planets, other peoples, other cultures, and other languages. You wished you could learn them all, every language ever spoken or signed or communicated in the entire galaxy, but you knew it to be an impossible task. So you took it upon yourself to study only what fascinated you, and to excel in those areas. For instance, you had a special affinity for non-verbal languages, especially languages that relied on hand gestures and facial expressions to communicate. You were never quite sure why this was, but it had always just seemed to come naturally to you.
One of your professors, B, was the one who had initially offered you the internship position. B was from a planet that devalued individuality, even down to their names, which is probably what made him such an excellent interpreter. Interpreters, you knew, were very hard to find in a galaxy that was ravaged by constant battles, as people were constantly forced to choose sides in order to avoid destruction. But interpreters had to force themselves to remain neutral, no matter what the task at hand was, even if they were interpreting the destruction of their planet and all that they held dear to them. You had never been in an example quite that extreme, but it was that kind of blind insistence on neutrality that was valued in this trade. It was this kind of detached devotion to the craft that instilled B with excellent interpreting skills, something that he sought to pass on to a younger generation. For you, it wasn’t really a struggle of moral conscience. Things were just easier when you didn’t have to worry about right and wrong. You let others wallow in their tribulations and their struggles; all you had to do was pass on the message. The only thinking required was to analyze the content for its message, dissect it down to its most basic form, and then recode it in another language for the recipient and do it over and over again between the two parties. It was a daunting intellectual task, and could by physically demanding as well, there was no doubt about that, but your morality was never, and could never, be called into question. It was implicit that whatever coded message left your mouth or your hands wasn’t yours, and so you couldn’t own to it. As B liked to say, even if you are interpreting a conversation between two conspirators to kill your brother, you must interpret the message unequivocally and honestly.
That was the role of an interpreter, nothing more, nothing less.
The other pesky problem with interpreting was the confidentiality; you, of course, would be privy to all sorts of matters of confidential information and the secret affairs of people’s lives, but you had a sworn duty to never retain the information uttered in your presence. This was impossible, of course, there was always a bit of secret gossip or a useful tidbit of knowledge that you tucked away in your mental stores, but it got easier as time went on to simply blur the strings of messages that you encountered together until it ran through your head like one mangled line of matted text, one syllable indistinguishable from another. It wasn’t like you really cared about this either; secret affairs of other people were none of your business, and you had no intention of making it so. Incidental information, such as learning secret inside tricks to a hobby or trade, was always a delight, but again, hardly ever retained in the mass jumble of words that constantly swam through your mind on a daily basis.
It was probably why B had recommended you the internship position in the first place. You had never really seemed to care for the matters and going-ons of others; in fact, it was just the opposite. You shied away from gossip and instead focused on your favorite part of the job: the language. You loved languages, pure and simple. Each letter, each syllable, or each hand gesture had its own little meaning, its own little secret. You could scratch the back of your head to show humility on one planet and show fear in another. The traditions and the culture and the lore behind each symbolic gesture and word were sometimes so specific and nuanced that they varied not just from planet to planet, but sometimes even on the same planet as well. But that was why you loved it. It was like a secret riddle ready to be decoded.
On this specific assignment, B had informed you that you would be interpreting between an alien species that used a non-verbal mode of communication and the First Order. He had warned you that many considered the First Order to be evil. He had waited and assessed you then, and it had pleased him when it seemed to have made absolutely no difference to you. Evil was a matter of perception, you knew that by now. Everyone had their own goals and ambitions, and that was fine, more or less, but when you put them together and watched them divide by ideologies, you could cluster them up in neat little groups and label one the good guys and the other the bad guys. Of course, the labels could easily be switched depending on perception, which is why it didn’t interest you. You had never been the product of war, never had been truly involved. You had heard stories, but that’s all they were, stories, of places way back in history or on the other side of the galaxy. Soldiers in blue killed the soldiers in red, and soldiers in red killed the soldiers in blue. Blood was spilled on both sides; neither was totally innocent. The whole thing hardly affected the comings and goings of your daily life, and you weren’t about to let it stop you from doing this job.
Or from collecting your paycheck, which was atypically large for an interpreter’s small salary. It was enough to get by on, a sustaining wage at least, but nothing to boast about. It was done more for the love of the job, or in your case, the love of the language, the love of being thrown into a new situation with new variables and ever-changing riddles.
You suspected that it was the money that also prompted this whole arrangement in the first place, as the First Order had apparently struck a deal with the Tortutaru from the planetoid Totackan, not too far from the planet that held your academia. You were well-versed in their language, Tortuarune, mostly in part due to their culture. They were extremely social, yet nosy beings, completely the opposite of you in that regard. They wanted to know everyone’s business, know what secrets they had lurking in the corners of their minds. It is why, you suspected, that they had two brains: one to dwell upon their own thoughts, and one to focus on the minds of others. You knew that the Tortutaru used telepathy in addition to their non-verbal signals, and you remember reading somewhere that the second brain was actually used to keep a constant mental shield up at all times, to keep others from reading their thoughts. It was an interesting notion, but you were no neurologist. How their minds worked didn’t really concern you, so long as they weren’t reading your mind, and you were well-assured that they wouldn’t.
Even though you knew the two parties that you would be interpreting for, you didn’t really have any specifics of the assignment. That was not completely unusual; you were there to transmit information from one party to the other, nothing more. Pre-study need not be applicable aside from the subtle nuances and culture chasms that separated the two parties. You knew you were here with your friend, Sadie, who you had convinced to come on this expedition with you when almost everyone else in your class had dropped out (although you didn’t specifically care that you would be working directly with the First Order, a great many people opted not to be involved), your professor, B, his partner Calix, whom you referred to only as C, and two other boys, Ladson and Shayne.
You knew that due to the delicate nature of war, B and C would be interpreting morning debriefings, and whatever other top-secret information they only trusted to professors with many more years of tenured experience. There would only be four Tortutaru in all, and so each of them would be assigned an interpreter for their own social use on the base, as well as for whatever additional duties they needed to perform. These additional duties, again, you were told, were no business of yours, and you did not ask for any more information than you needed to. You simply had to know the language and culture of each species well enough to interpret any information quickly, accurately, efficiently, and without prejudice or bias. You felt certain you could handle the task.
“All right, gather ‘round,” B calls from out in the living room. You were not quite sure what to make of the living quarters before you arrived, but you actually found them quite accommodating once you were here. The apartment that you shared with your fellow interpreters was actually similar in shape to a five-pointed star. Each person had their own private room and bathroom in one point of the star, with a door to both the outside and the inside, the center of the star, where it came together to form a recreational common room and kitchen to be shared amongst all five units. There was one room for each of you, and B and C shared a room together at the apex of the star.
“Coming,” you call quickly. You jump to your feet too fast and nearly topple over a box of books, but Sadie catches it just in time. She puts it back down quickly and waggles her fingers out, palms down, imitating the water leading to and slipping off the edge of a waterfall. It’s the Tortutarune sign for excess, or overflowing, and you knew what she meant to say in this case. Too. Much. Stuff.
B sighs your name as he watches you stumble and trip your way out of your room. “I told you that you were packing too much.”
“Well, I wanted to be prepared,” you huff as you slump into a seat and cross your arms over your chest.
He shakes his head. “Anyway, you will have plenty of time to unpack later. I know I told you that the Tortutaru would be getting in tomorrow, but they are actually arriving today.” C leans forward to whisper something in his ear. “Or, they may have actually already arrived.” The four of us let out an appreciative giggle. The nature of your work was very fickle; people were always demanding that you adhere to strict schedules, although those schedules were never, ever followed. One party was either early, or, more typically, irredeemably late, and the interpreters were always, always the last to know.
“In any case…” His eyes settle on you. “I need you to get ready soon. In addition to me and C, you and Ladson will also be the escorts to the introduction this afternoon.”
“Escorts?” Sadie exclaims. “That sounds cool. Why don’t I get to go to that?”
B sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. That was why. It made sense that Ladson would go; out of the four of you underlings, he was the oldest and had the most experience.
“Ladson is second to me and C in experience, and we felt that it would only be proper to…” He gestures towards you with his hand.
“Bring a woman around to even out the numbers?” you ask, raising your eyebrows as you tilt your head to the side.
“Precisely,” he replies. “Please do remember that the Tortutaru are very patriarchal in nature. They believe that the males should go out and work, while the females stay behind and attend to any offspring. However, they still consider women to be their equals, so we felt your presence this afternoon would be appropriate, especially considering you and Sadie will be working with them on an ongoing basis throughout this assignment.”
“I suppose it would be appropriate,” you reply coolly. “Remember that they do consider women to be the artisans of language and conversation.” You roll your eyes over towards Sadie. “You know, because they assume we just sit around gabbing all day.”
“Sexism at its finest,” Sadie agrees. You throw your right hand over your shoulder, and she smacks your fingers lightly in a seamless high-five. Ladson smiles good-naturedly, his curly blonde locks tumbling over his forehead as he shakes his head. Shayne just sits in the background, looking bored by the whole affair. You had never seen him before, but you guessed that his stoic nature and his impassive face made him the perfect specimen for neutrality.
“Yes, yes,” B continues. “And, of course, you clearly exhibit a firm grasp on their cultural and social cues.” He hesitates, and if he means to elaborate on this, before changing his mind. “Although I have been informed that they would like you to follow the traditional archaic communication model over the bi-bi approach we initially discussed.”
You tilt your head to the side. “They?” Ladson asks, echoing your confusion. You’re glad that someone else had the good sense to ask that question. Sometimes, people who worked with interpreters before insisted that they knew what they were doing and would throw your own language back in your faces, as if to assume that they knew your process and your methods. Simply put, the communication model meant that you interpreted things strictly word for word, with no cultural information. The bi-bi model, which was short for bilingual-bicultural, basically gave the interpreter room to adjust their behavior in order to incorporate the social cues and cultural nuances that the other parties may not have been aware of. In other words, “they” were asking you to be a socially awkward machine, spitting out words and signs like a translating robot. You could do it, and had been asked to do it on numerous occasions, but that didn’t mean that you liked it. For example, it was harder to say that it was raining cats and dogs, rather than just to express that it was raining heavily. There was always a chance the other party wouldn’t understand the idiom or expression, which could, of course, lead to disastrous results. You had seen it before, although you preferred not to call that horrid affair to mind just now.
“The First Order,” B elaborates. “Of course, we will speak to the Tortutaru about it this afternoon and let them address our concerns. I can understand the traditional communication model for private meetings, but considering that you four were asked here in order to help address their social needs and the customs and practices they are not familiar with…” His voice trails off, as if he’s not sure how to finish his sentence.
“We are sure they will be amenable to our concerns,” C says quickly, and B nods.
“Yes, thank you,” he says quickly. “Now, we will be making introductions with the Tortutaru first, and then we shall follow their lead for the duration of the assignment. You are guests here, but please make no mistake: this is a military installation, and they are at a time of war. Tensions are high, so please do not go anywhere on this ship alone. Do not try to make any friends. Do not tell anyone your purpose here unless explicitly asked: people will see you around with your partner over the next few months. They will soon realize who you are and why your presence is required on board.”
“To provide access to quick, equivalent communication,” C adds. “Nothing more. Please remember that not everyone thinks of interpreters as essential to the process, and some will think that you merely get in the way. Just do what you think is right, and we will regroup and assess your concerns nightly to make sure they are addressed in an expeditious manner.”
“I have a question,” Shayne says suddenly, throwing one arm up in the air as if he were still a student in a classroom. “Can we ask what exactly are they doing here? As you just said, Professor, this is a military installation. What possible good will come of bringing a bunch of telepathic lifeforms on board and getting them involved in the affairs of Storm Troopers? What is the First Order hoping to accomplish? I have a few theories myself, but I am interested to hear your take.”
B purses his lips shut for a moment, studying him seriously. “I wish you had brought these theories to me before we had brought you on board,” he says through gritted teeth. “These are exactly the kinds of questions the First Order does not want you to be asking. You are here for one purpose and one purpose only. You will provide communication between whatever Tortutaru gets assigned to you and whoever they happen to be speaking to. That is your role here. Do that for six months, receive your pay, and then do us both a favor and never speak to me again. I cannot and will not be liable for any punishments that the First Order deems necessary to carry out against you if they believe you are acting against their interests. And that goes for any of you. Do I make myself clear?”
You look down and nod your head quickly, pretending to study the floor beneath your feet with increasing interest. Shayne opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it.
“Do you know their names?” Ladson asks as a way to distill the tension. “Names of the Tortutaru? Names of the upper command here so we know how to properly address them?”
B just rubs at his forehead and sighs as he shakes his head and turns away. “I’m sure that information will be made known to you in time,” C says quickly as B steps back inside his room. “In the meantime, please, you two, get dressed. I think it would be best for all involved if we got down there to meet the Tortutaru as soon as possible so we can figure out how to proceed.”
“Yes, sir,” you say quickly as you get to your feet. You nod in Ladson’s direction and then disappear inside your room. Sadie quickly appears behind you.
“Need any help finding your things?” she asks. You look around at the various boxes scattered about the room and sigh.
“Yes, please.”