by Jenny Foster
“What are you afraid of?” Johar asks me. Since I make no move to pick something out, Johar reaches into the mountain and pulls out a bright red dress. He throws it at me and I catch it instinctively. The fabric is soft and smooth and it smells like sweet fruit. “The disguise is perfect. Nobody will think we are anything other than what we say we are. On top of that, I will be able to fade into the background discreetly while everyone stares at you. Your conspicuous clothing, alone, will ensure that.”
“Oh, really? And what are we dressing up as? As a pimp and his newest conquest?” I run the dress through my fingers, full of doubt, and hold it up to me. It’s true. Nobody who sees me in this conspicuous glittering getup will give Johar a second look, cyborg or not. It is gradually getting on my nerves that he is always right.
“I am a free tradesman, you are my lover, and I am trying to show you a good time. That’s how we can be seen everywhere, from the department store to the neighborhoods of ill repute.”
Free tradesman – please! In his black outfit, he looks like a pirate who takes what he wants. I sigh and ask him if we couldn’t switch roles. He doesn’t smile, but just raises his eyebrows. I give in and snap up the dress without a word. When I come out of the adjoining bathroom, he nods, satisfied – nothing more. There is no mirror in my room, so I look at my reflection in the window. The result is … strange, almost shocking. The tight bodice is pushing my breasts up, shaping them nicely, and the long, full skirt has several layers, with a long slit that shows plenty of leg. I look like a run-down, sensual lady of the harem. Johar comes up behind me and undoes the knot in my hair. His fingers run through my thick, light brown hair and tousles it, until several strands fall in my face. Suddenly, my eyes look huge, and my lips, sensual. Without any further comment, he hands me a pair of silver slip-ons that are supposed to be tied with long straps. I look at him, clueless. Feminine frills are foreign to me, and I have no idea how I am supposed to tie the straps so the little thin shoes stay on right for at least half a day.
Johar pushes me down gently, until I am sitting on my narrow bed. He kneels down in front of me, and takes one of my feet in his hands. His hands look big, and my feet look small, almost like the feet of a princess. His thumb brushes against my instep, and the only things going through my head are relief: I am happy that I just got out of the shower, and my feet don’t smell, and that I had all of my hair removed before the trip. That’s the only concession to being a woman that I really value. His hot skin brushes my ankle as he ties the straps, and I hold my breath. What is it about him? He is in my thoughts more and more. His insubordination brings me to a rage, and I don’t know a single other being who can make me lose my cool like he can. And he is only half a human, if at all!
When he is finished, he puts my skirt back into place and stands up. He moves as gracefully as a dancer, light-footed and elegant. This, even though his muscles are big enough to show underneath the black fabric of his shirt. I think about when he was standing in front of me, clothed only in a loin cloth, in my father’s lab, and lick away the small drops of sweat that are starting to gather on my upper lip. His eyes are dark and shadowed, and I can see my distorted face in the metal plate on his cheek. That brings me back to my senses immediately, because I can see myself, looking up at him, with slightly parted lips and big, wide eyes.
He holds his hand out to me, and after everything he has just done for me, it would be only polite for me to take it. He pulls me to my feet with one swing, and to top it all off, I lose my balance and stumble towards him. Johar catches me, and for a second, my head is leaning against his chest. I forget that he is a machine-human, because his muscles are under warm, human skin, and I can hear his regular heartbeat. I blink, and the moment in which I have forgotten myself is gone. I am me again, Dr. Mara Ruthiel, and he is Johar, the cyborg. Just as it should be. I open my mouth to tell him something like, “This here never happened” or “Don’t ever breathe a word of this to anyone,” but that would give all of this much too much meaning. I clear my throat and act like nothing happened, even if my racing pulse makes me a liar. “I suggest we take one of the unmarked space gliders to the space port on Betania.” I clear my throat again, to get rid of the hoarseness.
“Already taken care of,” he answers smoothly. “Nobody will be able to trace the ship to its point of origination. I changed the electronic signature accordingly. The ship’s computer will show that we just came from Earth, where we just spent the last 3 weeks getting rid of our freight. You visited your family, while I pursued my shady dealings.”
“That is close enough to the truth,” I remark. “Even if one of us misspeaks, it would be hard to expose it as a lie.”
“You mean if you misspeak.” He says this with a slight jerk, as if it were new to his vocabulary. “Nobody has ever caught me in a lie.”
I raise my eyebrows, because this sounds like a double-edged sword. You could easily think that he is pursuing his own plans. But if that were the case, I tell myself, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to tell me in a roundabout way like that. “What about our names?” I ask. “Is my name … Leyla Shurikova? And you are … hhmm … Lysander Eaglethorpe.”
He shakes his head with a funny little sigh. “And here I thought you were a cool scientist who wouldn’t stick her nose in romantic trash. Leyla Shurikova? Lysander Eaglethorpe? The three moons will set and take the Earth with them before I use that name.”
“So I stay Mara Ruthiel and you, Johar,” I state the obvious.
“You need to keep your last name to yourself at all costs,” he sets me straight, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek so I don’t curse loudly at my own stupidity. The look he is giving me isn’t exactly friendly. “Betania is inhabited by creatures from your father’s lab. I can’t imagine that they have fond memories of him.”
“My father never touched anyone who was innocent,” I counter, infuriated by his silent insinuation. “All of the people he modified genetically were felons who were given amnesty in exchange for …”
“For their willingness to become monsters?” Johar finishes my sentence.
“So that is how it is for you? Do you see yourself as a monster, as well?”
“First, this isn’t about me, and second, I am only echoing the generally accepted opinions of humans,” he takes the wind out of my sails. I don’t know what to say, because it’s true. In human’s eyes, all mixed beings, whether genetically or mechanically modified, are suspect creatures, even though we need them to do the unpleasant jobs, or to serve as cannon fodder in our wars. This insight isn’t new to me, but suddenly, it feels different, so emotionally charged, and full of different meaning. I must be spending much too much time in Johar’s presence, and need to be careful.
“Then let’s go,” I end the discussion about ethics and morals and, for my own safety, I grab a small, hand-held laser pistol from my night stand. Unfortunately, Johar hasn’t thought to bring a matching purse for me, so I will need to hide it inconspicuously on my body somewhere. The question is where I can find such a spot under these layers of chiffon. Finally, I put it in the waist of my skirt. But Johar ruins all of my effort by pulling the weapon back out and putting it back in my nightstand.
I throw my hands up and open the door. I have had enough; I am fed up. I just want to put this damned assignment behind me, as quickly as possible, and get back to my quiet life! As I storm out, I almost smack right into one of the officers, I think about what I must look like to them. The man looks at me, stunned, but I go right by him, my head held high, and leave Johar behind.
The rest of the way to our small airport is like running the gauntlet. The only thing that is missing, is for them to point at me with their fingers. Johar has caught up to me, and is staying close behind me. He matches his stride to mine and doesn’t say a word until we are finally on board the little space glider that will fly us down to Betania. We are the only two on board, and I sink into the copilot’s seat. Johar will never catch me making a m
ental mistake again. After all, he is playing the role of the good-looking pirate, who is making a stop on Betania with his lover, and from what I know about the average space smuggler, he would probably not let his love interest steer the space glider. Indeed, Johar takes his seat and starts the small, maneuverable vehicle.
We leave the sister ship behind, and fly towards the green planet. The crew will wait for our return, always out of reach of the satellites the Betanians have put in place to guard their planet. The sooner, the better, I think. I realize that I will be alone with Johar for an entire day, maybe longer. Our roles will demand that we sleep together in one room, take our meals together and that he will even touch me in public. A strange murmur starts in my stomach, which I identify as excitement. This is how it is, I think, when a favorite game suddenly becomes reality.
My game of “what-ifs” has all of a sudden turned serious.
Chapter 5
We land at the space port without having spoken with each other.
Johar steers the aircraft smoothly into one of the landing boxes and we put control behind us without a problem, thanks to the forged papers the cyborg shows to the Betanian official. The cyborg gives one of the waiting porters some money and tells him to take our things to our accommodations. I want to stop and ask him a bunch of questions: Why didn’t he tell me that we already have a hotel, and who packed my things? But he pulls me forward without any consideration, until we have left the grounds of the airport, where he waves for a taxi. The “taxi” is a slimy, stinking imitation of a vehicle, and is pulled by two animals that look somewhat like horses – but they are bigger and much more muscular that anything I have ever seen in the natural history museum. Their eyes show an unreal intelligence that doesn’t really fit an animal.
While we are being taken to our hotel, I get my final instructions, from Johar, concerning my role. I shouldn’t talk too much, better yet, not at all, and should be content with looking good and smiling secretively. “I imagine this won’t be easy for you,” he begins, and this time, I am the one to raise my eyebrows.
“What? You mean the part about looking good?” I taunt him. I am surprised at myself. A loosey-goosey remark like that is completely out of character for me. Is it possible that freedom is going to my head? Or is my character trying to match what I am wearing?
“Actually, I meant the part about not talking a lot,” he responds. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he has made an awkward joke. That is the first sign of insecurity I have seen in him. A wave of excitement and courage grips me, while all around us, the neighborhood is getting more and more dubious. The houses that were a bright white near the airport are getting dirtier and dirtier, just like the streets. The streets were paved before; but now, there are more and more potholes which our driver avoids smoothly. I have lost all feeling for time, and don’t know how long we have been underway, but the further we go into the city, the more mixed the alien races we see. Colorful, big, small, human-like and completely strange looking creatures are mixed together into a view of the whole universe. The smells change, too. Exotic spices, cooking aromas and waste water all combine to create an odor that makes me slightly nauseous.
We stop in front of a crooked, brown house. A sign that used to be legible is hanging in front of the door. The only recognizable things on it are the remains of a space ship and a few animals that are going on land in pairs. Noah’s ark? I must have said that out loud, because he shakes his head as he helps me from the cart. His hands go around my waist, and once again, his fingers briefly brush my naked skin. I let it happen without saying anything, since this is part of my role. “The inhabitants of this planet have a soul companion from birth onwards, which manifests itself as an animal,” he explains quietly. “It probably has something to do with the animal genes that were implanted in them. They are already in their second generation here, but their children have the companions, too.” Why didn’t my father tell me anything about this? There was nothing in the file about this unusual characteristic of the Betanians. I wonder what else he hasn’t told me. Do these soul animals present a danger to us? I ask the cyborg about it and he gives me an unhappy smile. “You should definitely be careful,” he tells me. “When a Betanian is furious, his animal is, too. They reflect the exact mood of their owners.” He looks out and says that we can talk more about it later. “We are almost there and don’t want to forget our disguises.”
Johar puts a hand around my waist, and tells our driver to take our luggage into the shabby inn. He throws him a shiny coin, which the man catches easily, and puts away with a grin. Inside, I say good-bye to the thought of spending the night in a clean bed, and throw my arms around my cyborg. With a smile that forces the corners of my mouth to its limits, I reach into his hair and pull his head down to mine, until his ear is at the same level as my ear. “You couldn’t have found a better place to spend the night?”
He smiles back, just as fake as I do, but much more convincing. “Disguise,” he whispers back and takes my hands out of his hair. I almost regret this, because it is so soft, and smells good, covering up the smell that is all around us here. A woman waddles over to us, wiping her hands on an apron, before holding out her hand to Johar. She gives me only a cursory glance before writing me off as unimportant, and giving all of her attention to the man who has the say here. I take the opportunity to look at the place more closely, and to watch the woman. Despite her weight, she is quick on her feet. When she snaps her finger, a thin little man appears out of nowhere. He is accompanied by a bear, and I have to keep myself from retreating in fear. The man and the bear are a strange pair, but obviously nobody here takes any notice of the soul animals, so I do the same thing – but not without giving the dancing bear a last suspicious look, before we follow the man up the steps.
Our room is a real surprise. It is relatively big and clean, and even has its own bathroom. The double bed, with a romantic canopy of fine muslin, is a shock, however. I look around, a little panicked, but it is the only bed in the room. It was only theoretic knowledge before, but now, my brain translates it to reality. The cyborg and I will be sleeping in one bed. The little man sets our luggage down while Johar tests the mattress with a lewd grin. I can tell I am blushing as he pats the spot next to him invitingly with his hand. I go over to him, lie down next to him and hiss in his ear furiously that he shouldn’t overdo it. The slow grin he gives me is well-suited for making me even angrier.
When we are finally alone, the smile disappears from his face. “You really need to try harder,” he reproaches me. “Otherwise I will send you back immediately. I will not allow you to cause the mission to fail.”
This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I jump up and push him in the chest. It feels like trying to push a boulder. He doesn’t move at all. “Don’t overdo it, half-human,” I say softly, even though I want to scream. I learned from my father that soft threats are much more effective than loud yelling. The cyborg grabs my wrist and pulls me down to him, until I am lying right on top of him. I refuse to do him the favor of flailing around and trying to defend myself. Instead, I am as stiff as a board. “If you think you can intimidate me with your physical superiority, you are fooling yourself,” I say, and stare at him directly. He narrows his gray-green eyes, but he doesn’t let go of me.
“And you are fooling yourself, if you think you can make me submissive by insulting me,” he retorts. “If it is so hard for you to play your role, maybe you would be better off in your lab. Did you ever think of that?”
“I am not here by choice,” I remind him.
He lets go of my wrists, and I crawl off of him immediately. It is an extremely undignified move, because the dam skirt layers slide up and wrap around my legs so I almost fall. “So what’s the plan? What are we doing next?”
“We will stay in our room until tonight - actually, you will stay in the room. I will be downstairs in the bar room and will find out where we can find the information we are seeking.” He gets up
and ties his hair back with a hair band. This makes his sharp cheek bones and his slightly slanted eyes even more prominent. He urgently needs a shave, because his beard is starting to cover his chin and cheeks. But maybe this is part of the smuggler look he is trying to cultivate. Even the metal plate in his face seems less like an aid and more like something he wanted, like jewelry or a tattoo.
I swallow back my grumbling, even though it’s hard for me. For a split second, I consider just turning the impertinent cyborg off. All of them have an emergency switch which not only turns them off completely, but also makes them still. Their human parts, like the organs they still have, continue working while the cyborg himself is unconscious.
Johar tells me that he will be waiting in the parlor for me at 6 o’clock for dinner, and leaves.
I make good use of the time until our joint dinner. First, I take an extravagant bath, and then I write a detailed report for the record and send it to father. When I look at the clock, it is close to six, so I get changed. The clothes that Johar packed for me are not very different, except for the colors. He seems to have a preference for bright colors, because he packed everything from emerald green and ruby red to a dark violet. I decide on the purple dress, because it at least covers my stomach and hips. I have no idea how cold it will be on this planet tonight. A pair of black slip-ons without straps complete the outfit, and I am ready for our excursion.
It is loud and full in the barroom, but Johar has staked out a table for two and stands up politely as I approach him. Hooting and hollering from the other men follows me to the table, but when Johar gives me a kiss on the mouth, the noise dies down, and the men turn back to their beer jugs or to the waitresses who are scurrying around.
