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| Originalsprog / Original language |
Oversat til / Translated text |
Out of Night. John W. Campbel
The Sarn Mother looked down on Grayth with unblinking, golden eyes. "You administer the laws under the Sarn," she clicked waspishly. "The Sarn make the laws. Men obey them. That was settled once and for all time four thousand years ago. The Sarn Mother has determined that this thing is the way of progress that is most desirable. It is clear?"
Grayth looked up at her, his slow-moving eyes following from the toe pads, up the strange, rope-flexible legs, up the rounded, golden body to the four twined arms, his lips silent. His steel-gray eyes alone conveyed his thought complete. The Sarn Mother, on her inlaid throne of State, clicked softly in annoyance.
"Aye, different races we are; the Sarn are the ruling race. The Sarn Mother will be obeyed by the slaves of her peole no less than by her people. For many centuries the crazy patchwork has persisted - that the men have had fredoms the masters have denied themselves. Hencefort men shall be ruled as the Sarn. The Sarn have been just masters; this is no more than justice. But be warned, you will see that this thing is administered at once - or the Sarn will administer it themselves."
Grayth spoke for the first time, his voice deep and powerful. "Four thousand years ago your people came to earth and conquered our people, enslaved them, destroyed all our leaders, setting up a rabble of unintelligent slaves. Since your atomic energy, your synthetic foods, your automatic production machinery, and the enormous decrease in human population you had brought about made more of goods for each man, it worked no great hardship.
Before ever the Sarn came to this world your race was ruled by a matriarchy, as it is today, and must always be. To your people it is natural, for among you the females born in a generation outnumber the males five to one."
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Ud af natten. John W. Campbell
Sarnmoderen så ned på Grayth med ublinkende gyldne øjne. "Du administrerer lovene under Sarn," klikkede hun surt. "Sarnerne laver lovene, mennesket adlyder dem. Det blev afgjort en gang for alle, for firetusind år siden. Sarnmoderen har besluttet at denne ting er en del af fremskridtet, som er yderst ønskværdigt. Er det forstået?"
Grayth så op på hende, hans øjne gled langsomt fra tåpuderne op ad de mærkelige ben, der var fleksible som reb, op over den runde gyldne krop til de fire snoede arme, der kom ikke en lyd over hans læber. Hans stålgrå øjne var det eneste, der afslørede hans tankegang. Sarnmoderen, på sin besmykkede trone, klikkede lavt af irritation.
"Jo, forskellige racer, det er vi; sarnerne er den herskende race. Sarnmoderen bliver adlydt af hendes folks slaver, ikke mindre end hun bliver adlydt af sit eget folk. I mange århundreder har det skøre quiltede system virket - at mennesket havde friheder som herskerne ikke har undet sig selv. Herefter skal mennesket blive regeret som sarner. Sarnerne har været retfærdige herrer; det er intet mindre end retfærdigt. Men vær advaret, du skal se til, at dette bliver administreret med det samme - ellers vil sarnerne sørge for det."
Grayth talte for første gang, hans stemme dyb og kraftfuld. "Det er firetusind år siden, dit folk erobrede Jorden og slavebandt vort folk, ødelagde alle vore ledere, og etablerede et system af uintelligente slaver. Jeres atomenergi, jeres syntetiske mad, jeres automatiske produktionsmaskiner, og det enorme fald i den menneskelige befolkning, som I stod for, har skabt flere materielle goder pr. mand, så det bevirkede ikke store trængsler.
Selv før sarnerne kom til denne verden, blev din race regeret matriarkalsk, ligesom den er i dag, og som den altid skal være. Det er naturligt for dit folk, for hos jer, bliver der født fem gange så mange kvinder i en generation, som mænd."
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INFO:
The short story first appeared in 1937
It can be found in: The best of John W Campbell Jr.
ISBN:(no ISBN, The book is from 1976)
Buy the book here
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INFO:
Novellen er at finde i antologien:
Det kom fra en anden verden
(Science Fiction Cirklen 2011)
ISBN:978-87-90592-50-9
Køb bogen her
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When The Music's Over. A. Silvestri (show text)
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When The Music's Over. A. Silvestri
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When The Music's Over. A. Silvestri (hide text)
Skibet var landet i Central Park og havde smadret det meste af den til en økologisk masse. Så var det blevet liggende, i tavshed. I faldet, eller landingen, var der blevet knust en del mennesker og hunde, men parkens jord havde let kunnet opsuge de uhyre mængder blod.
Folk var selvfølgelig strømmet til stedet, havde rørt ved det skinnende metal, havde banket på det og råbt af det. Så kom hæren, selvfølgelig, og opstillede hegn omkring fartøjet, skarpt forfulgt af bevæbnede vagter der patruljerede perimeteren. Diplomater og videnskabsmænd var blevet hidkaldt fra nær og fjern, for at undersøge det besynderlige fartøj, men uden resultater. Alle pejlinger, alle forsøg på kommunikation var blevet mødt med en mur af tavshed.
Der gik et år, der gik to år. Græs og træer skød op på ny, hestevognsturene blev genoprettet rundt om fartøjet, men intet ændrede sig. Verdenssamfundet var fortvivlet.
Efter de første udsendinge ikke havde kunnet finde ud af noget, blev der sendt bud efter filosoffer, forfattere og filmfolk. På trods af at alle disse mennesker fremkom med vidunderlige teorier, var der ingen af dem der kunne finde ud af noget konkret. Til sidst blev de sendt hjem igen, antallet af vagter blev dog forøget. Selv om intet var kommet ud af skibet, ville regeringen sikre at ingen andre skulle kunne finde ud af noget. Det ville få dem til at stå i ekstremt dårligt lys.
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When The Music's Over. A. Silvestri
The ship had landed in Central Park and crushed most of the organic mass. Then it just lay there silent. In that fall, or landing, quite a few humans and dogs had been crushed, but the soil in the park had easily been able to soak up the monstrous amount of blood.
People had of course flocked to the place, touched the shiny metal, knocked on it, and yelled at it. Then the military came, of course and put up fences, closely followed by armed guards patrolling the perimeter. Diplomats and scientists had been called from near and far to examine the strange vessel, to no avail. All hailings, all attempts at communicating had been met by a wall of silence.
A year went by, then two. Grass and trees grew again, the horse carriage trips were reinstated around the vehicle, but nothing changed. The World Community was in despair.
After the first envoys couldn't figure anything out, they sent for philosophers, authors and moviemakers. In spite of all these people producing all kinds of wonderful theories, none of them could produce anything concrete. In the end they were sent home again, but the number of guards was raised. Though nothing had come out of the spaceship, the government would make sure that nobody else figured out anything. That would make them look extremely bad.
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INFO:
Novellen kom første gang i antologien:
I overfladen - Lige under overfladen 2
(Science Fiction Cirklen 2008)
ISBN:978-87-90592-34-9
Køb bogen her
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INFO:
The Short Story appears in the Anthology:
Sky City
(Science Fiction Cirklen 2010)
ISBN:978-87-90592-48-6
Buy the book here
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I overfladen. Sara Tanderup (show text)
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In the Surface. Sara Tanderup
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I overfladen. Sara Tanderup (hide text)
Vi er kun fiskene tilbage. Den sidste måge druknede i fjor, da den forsøgte at lande på vandet. I cirkler havde den fløjet, rundt og rundt over os i dagevis og spejdet efter en ø, hvor den kunne lægge sine æg, men forgæves. Så fangede bølgen den ind. Bugen var så tung af alle de ufødte; den trak nedad som et anker mod bunden. Med lethed tog vi imod, da mågen sank. Vi svøbte den i alger og holdt fest. Det var sidste gang, jeg smagte fugl.
Ellers havde man ofte set dem kredse over vandet, fuglene, sorte mod den døende sol, fra vandoverfladen, hvor man lå og trak luft. Skrig fra dem havde fået os til at dykke igen. Vi ville helst undgå konfrontationen med disse dyr, hvis insisteren på luften var os ubegribelig, men af og til måtte vi op. Vejrtrækning er stadig en nødvendighed for os.
Sild og rødspætter er altid forundrede over denne særhed hos os, som vi deler med hvalerne, som vi dog intet kender til. De fleste omkom vist, da solen skrumpede og gjorde verdenshavet fire gange så koldt. Engang døde en blåhval, mens jeg så på. Den bragte de omkringliggende strømme ud af kurs med sine krampetrækninger, halen der slog som en kæmpemæssig vinge og holdt den oppe i det lyse vand, indtil den gav fortabt. Et suk. Bagefter var jeg nede og røre ved den, da den var sunket til bunds. Den bankede stadig indeni. Mest husker jeg dens varme; at jeg havde lyst til at svømme ind i den, gennem den tandløse mund, at blive del af det hede indre, blandt de endnu arbejdende organer.
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In the Surface. Sara Tanderup
Only we, the fish are left. The last seagull drowned last year, when it attempted to land on the water. It had flown round and round in circles for days, looking for an island where it could lay its eggs, but to no avail. Then the wave caught it. Its gut so heavy from all the unborn, that it was dragged down towards the bottom like an anchor. We caught the seagull easily when it sank. We wrapped it in algae and held a party. That was the last time I tasted bird.
We used to see them all the time, from the surface where we were drawing breath, circling above the water, the birds dark against the dying sun. Their screams had made us dive again. We would rather avoid confrontation with these ani-mals, whose insistence on the air were incomprehensible, but sometimes we had to come up. We still needed to breathe.
Herring and flounder are always astounded by this pecu-liarity we share with the whales, whom we know nothing of. Most of them died when the sun shrank and made the oceans four times as cold. Once a blue whale died while I watched: It disturbed the surrounding currents with its con-vulsions, the tail beating like a giant wing, keeping it in the sun streaked water until it gave up. A sigh. Afterwards I was at the bottom touching it where it had sunk. It was still beat-ing inside, most of all I remember its warmth; I wanted to swim into it, through its toothless mouth, to become a part of that hot inner place amongst the still working organs.
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INFO:
Novellen kom første gang i antologien:
I overfladen - Lige under overfladen 2
(Science Fiction Cirklen 2008)
ISBN:978-87-90592-34-9
Køb bogen her
|
INFO:
The Short Story appears in the Anthology:
Sky City
(Science Fiction Cirklen 2010)
ISBN:978-87-90592-48-6
Buy the book here
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Runner of Pern. Anne McCaffrey (show text)
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Løber af Pern. Anne McCaffrey
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Runner of Pern. Anne McCaffrey (hide text)
Tenna topped the rise and paused to catch her breath, leaning forward, hands on her knees to ease her back muscles. Then, as she had been taught, she walked along the top on what flat space there was, kicking out her legs and shaking the thigh mus-cles, breathing through her mouth until she stopped panting. Taking her water bottle from her belt, she allowed herself a swig, swishing it around in her mouth to moisturize the dry tissue. She spat out that mouthful and took another, letting this one slowly trickle down her throat. The night was cool enough to keep her from sweating too heavily. But she wouldn't be standing around long enough to get a chill.
It didn't take long for her breath to return to normal, and she was pleased by that. She was in good shape. She kicked out her legs to ease the strain she had put on them to make the height. Then, settling her belt and checking the message pouch, she started down the hill at a rapid walking pace. It was too dark-Belior had not yet risen above the plain to give her full light for the down side of the hill-to be safe to run in shadows. She only knew this part of the trace by word of mouth, not actually footing it. She'd done well so far during this, her second Turn of running, and had most of her first Cross by the suggested easy laps. Runners watched out for one another, and no station manager would overtax a novice. With any 1uck, she'd've made it all the way to the Western Sea in the next sevenday. This was the first big test of her apprenticeship as an express runner. And really she'd only the Western Range left to cross once she got to Fort Hold.
Halfway down from the top of the rise, she met the ridge crest she'd been told about and, with the usual check of the pouch she carried, she picked up her knees and started the ground-eating lope was the pride of a Pernese runner.
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Løber af Pern. Anne McCaffrey
Tenna nåede op på toppen, stoppede for at få vejret og lænede sig frem med hænderne på knæene, for at aflaste sine rygmuskler. Så spankulerede hun frem og tilbage på det lille flade stykke, mens hun sparkede med benene og rystede lårmusklerne og trak vejret igennem munden, indtil hun holdt op med at gispe efter vejret. Hun tog sin vandflaske frem fra bæltet og tillod sig en slurk, som hun skyllede rundt inde i munden, for at fugte det tørre væv. Den første mundfuld spyttede hun ud og tog en til, denne lod hun langsomt løbe ned i halsen. Natten var kølig nok til at holde hende fra at svede alt for meget, men hun ville ikke blive stående, så længe at hun kunne nå at blive kold.
Det tog ikke lang tid før hendes åndedræt var tilbage til normalen, det var hun godt tilfreds med. Hun var i god form. Hun sparkede ud med benene for at afhjælpe det pres hun havde udsat dem for, for at nå toppen. Så arrangerede hun sit bælte, undersøgte posen til beskederne og startede ned af bakken i et hurtigt gåtempo. Det var for mørkt - Belior var endnu ikke stået op over sletten, for at give hende fuldt lys på vej ned af bakken - det var ikke sikkert at løbe i skyggerne. Hun kendte kun denne del af stien via overleveringer, ikke fordi hun rent faktisk havde sat fod på den. Hun havde gjort det godt indtil nu, i dette hendes andet Omløb som løber, hun havde allerede det meste af det første Kryds ved at løbe de foreslåede nemme ture. Løbere passede på hinanden og der var ingen stationsbestyrer, der ville overanstrenge en novice. Hvis hun var heldig, kunne hun nå hele vejen til det Vestlige hav i løbet af den næste syv-dag. Det her var den første store test af hendes lærlingetid som ekspresløber. Det eneste hun egentlig manglede, var at krydse den Vestlige bjergkæde efter hun nåede til Fort Borg.
Halvvejs nede kom hun til den bjergryg hun havde hørt om, og med det sædvanlige tjek af posen hun bar på, startede hun med høje knæ, det hurtigt løb der var alle Pernløberes stolthed.
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INFO:
The Short Story appears in:
A Gift of Dragons
(Del Rey 2002)
ISBN:978-0-34545-635-9
Buy the book here
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INFO:
Novellen kom første gang i antologien:
Fantastiske virkeligheder
(Science Fiction Cirklen 2007)
ISBN:978-87-90592-25-7
Køb bogen her
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The Mandalay Cure. Anne McCaffrey (show text)
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Mandalay Kuren. Anne McCaffrey
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The Mandalay Cure. Anne McCaffrey (hide text)
Her intercom screen blinked and Amalfi Trotter looked up from the frustration of her life-support-system reports, grateful for an interruption.
"Captain requests a meeting of all officers in the ward-room at sixteen-thirty."
"Fardles, that's barely time enough to get there!" As a Life Support Systems officer, she was quartered on 9 deck, in the bowels of the troop carrier Mandalay.
With one hand, she toggled the acknowledgement switch as she began to strip off her coverall, stinking dirty from her latest wriggling tior of the air-conditioning systems. She'd been positive that she woould find dead vermin to account for some of the pong that soured the Mandalay's air. She was a conscientious officer and had done her best with filters, purifiers, and deodorizers to neutralize the pervasive reek.
She lay awake in her bunk night after night, trying to figure out what could be generating or perpetuating the odors, which, she was certain, were one of the chief reasons why she - and most of the complement of the Mandalay - didn't sleep well. It was that kind of a nightmare combination of stenches. Perversely enough, the heads on all decks were reasonably free of unpleasant odors.
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Mandalay Kuren. Anne McCaffrey
Hendes interne kommunikationsskærm blinkede og Amalfi Trotter så op, fra de frustrerende rapporter om Life-support-systemet, taknemmelig for en afbrydelse.
"Kaptajnen anmoder om, at alle officerer deltager i et møde i officersmessen klokken seksten - tredive."
"Suk, der er knap nok tid til at nå derhen!" Som officer for Life-support-systemet var hun installeret på dæk 9, inde i maven på troppe-transporten Mandalay.
Med den ene hånd berørte hun modtaget knappen, mens hun begyndte at smide sin kedeldragt, stinkende og beskidt fra hendes seneste krybetur igennem ventilations systemerne. Hun havde været sikker på, at hun ville finde døde skadedyr som grunden til noget af den dunst, der gjorde Mandalays luftforsyning sur. Hun var en samvittighedsfuld officer og hun havde gjort sit bedste med filtre, rengørere, rensere og lugtfjernere, for at neutralisere den gennemtrængende stank.
Hun lå vågen i sin køje nat efter nat, mens hun prøvede på at finde ud af, hvad der skabte eller vedligeholdt den stank som, det var hun sikker på, var en af grundene til at hun - og det meste af tropperne på Mandalay - ikke sov ordentligt. Det var en mareridtsagtig blanding af lugte. Mærkeligt nok var lokummerne på alle dæk nogenlunde fri for ubehagelige lugte.
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INFO:
The Short Story appears in:
The Girl Who Heard Dragons
(Tor 1994)
ISBN:0-812-51099-2
Buy the book here
|
INFO:
Novellen kom første gang i antologien:
Fantastiske virkeligheder
(Science Fiction Cirklen 2007)
ISBN:978-87-90592-25-7
Køb bogen her
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Thume Translations, Kingosvej 27, 9760 Vrå. CVR: 33795610
Lea Thume: Mobil + 45 21 30 44 21 E-mail lea@thume.dk
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Uddrag af oversættelser. Excerpts from my Translations.