by Jenny Foster
“Leave the talking to me and stay in the background.” Ah, yes.
“I will try,” I respond a little boisterously. I just can’t keep from needling him a little.
“No, Mara,” Johar says and takes a step towards me. His hand moves as if he wants to touch me. He drops his arm at the last second. “Trying is not enough. You will let me take the lead, or you will stay here. Is that clear?”
I nod, intimidated by his tone. “Okay,” I raise my hand to placate him. “I will only speak when spoken to.” I go out into the hallway where our two other teammates are already waiting for us. Hazathel nods at me curtly. Shazuul makes an excited chattering sound, which I interpret loosely as “it’s nice to see you.” At least one of them is excited about my presence, even if I have no idea why. “You can leave your luggage here,” Johar tells me. “We will not be staying long. Even if we can’t find Carson today, it will be safer to come back on board and spend the night here. I cannot guarantee your safety down there.”
I get the first sense of what he meant by that, when we arrive at the space port on Prodor 5. He and the other two men are armed to the teeth, and Johar, after some hesitation, even gave me two loaded laser pistols and an electro shocker. Shazuul seems to be proud of his martial equipment, but Hazathel is looking at his weapons skeptically. The weapons look like toys in his huge paws, and his scorpion, the sight of which I am slowly getting used to, is clattering in contempt, somehow. I understand, however, when I see the creatures who are hanging out at the airport, that we will need the pistols to scare people off. I see humanoid, reptile-like and unidentifiable aliens, all hanging out in groups, sizing us up suspiciously. None of them is clean, nor dressed well, and now I understand why Johar let me keep my nice clothes this time. Nobody here would take me seriously in the see-through rags he handed me last time, to say nothing of worse things they might have done to me. Women are definitely in the minority here, and I am careful to stay between Johar and Hazathel without looking anyone in the eye. The atmosphere is charged, somehow, and feels like a single blink of the eye could cause a free-for-all.
Instead of going to the capital of Prodor, we go to the small bar by the space port. Even from far away, I can hear clinking glasses, furious shouts and even a bang that sounds a lot like an old-fashioned weapon with bullets in it. Johar’s face has a real smile on it, listening to the noise. “I think we will not have to look for our captain for long,” he explains, directed more at his two male companions than at me. He stops a few yards from the entrance to the establishment and crosses his arms. The noise coming from the bar is getting louder. “It won’t be long now,” he remarks and indeed, the door bangs open one minute after his prediction. Two strong, tentacled aliens drag a bear-like cyborg between them and throw him on the ground in front of us. “You are banned for three months,” they yell at him, wiping their hands on their pants, and go back inside.
The cyborg, who is getting up with Johar’s help, sways back and forth. His right eye is swollen shut, and the metal on his body is covered with scratches. His hair is like Johar’s, falling in a messy pony tail down to the middle of his broad back. The eye that did not get punched, falls on me and widens. I fear the worst, as he tries to gather his dignity, gives me a low bow (or at least, he thinks he does) and tries to kiss my hand. Johar is supporting him, brushing the dust off of him, and then everyone is silent for a minute. I see Johar’s muscles tense, but whatever he was expecting, doesn’t happen. The man, who I assume is Carson O’Hare, throws his arms around my cyborg and picks him up. Johar’s expression is delightful. It changes from embarrassment to joy and relief.
When the bear-like man puts him back down, his expression darkens and he punches Johar in the arm. “Where have you been for so long, you bastard,” he roars, only half joking, and punches him again. This time, Johar catches his fist mid-air. His knuckles turn white as he squeezes the other man’s fist. His opponent’s face turns red, and he slowly sinks to his knees. Johar whispers something to him and the man’s gaze flies over to me briefly.
My father isn’t the only one hiding something from me.
Chapter 6
Pretty soon we are sitting in the waiting hall, drinking tea in a secluded alcove.
I am sure that Carson O’Hare would prefer something stronger, but they only serve non-alcoholic drinks here. That’s probably why the hall is so empty. Johar introduced us quickly, and left my last name out of it, of course. Hazathel, Shazuul and I are quiet most of the time, while Johar starts the questioning. At first, O’Hare refuses to reveal anything about where Cassie is hiding. “I can’t tell you anything,” his bass drones in my ear, “my reputation is on the line.”
I raise my eyebrows in question, but he does not do me the favor of elaborating further. “Can we do anything to lessen the damage to your reputation?” my cyborg wants to know and puts a bag bursting with money on the table in front of him. The captain’s eyes light up for a second (even the swollen one, it seems), but then he turns his head from it. He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, silent. Impatient, I want to reach for my own bag of money, to add what I have to the already hefty sum in front of us, but Johar shakes his head inconspicuously.
“I can imagine,” he begins slowly, “that we could add some information to the money that might be useful to you and your next transactions.” What is he talking about? I frown. Hazathel is looking at everything around us, just not me, and then I know that something isn’t right here. Even the scorpion man knows more than I do!
O’Hare tries to keep his expression neutral, but I can tell that he likes this proposition. Johar empties his cup and asks me to get another round of this delicious beverage from the counter. Now I really want to know what is going on. Our eyes meet over the table, and I have to make a decision. Do I trust him, or do I insist on controlling him? Curiosity and my bad conscience are fighting with each other inside me.
I go get more tea and take my sweet time. When I return, the captain has disappeared.
We leave the tea - actually, the dish water that they sell as tea - here. I pay, since I am the only one who still has any money in her pocket. We check in and take off, less than two hours after our arrival on Prodor 5. “That didn’t take long,” I say, as Johar is starting the space glider. Hazathel looks almost disappointed because we didn’t encounter any trouble, and even Shazuul is playing with his pistol longingly. Johar is the only one who shows any relief.
“We were lucky,” he says and glances at me.
“What did you offer him in exchange for information about Cassie?” I ask him.
“You don’t want to know,” he responds.
“Yes, I do want to know,” I insist.
“No.”
“Yes.” This is becoming too childish for me. “Have you forgotten that we are a team?” I remind him.
“How could I,” he mumbles in an acid tone.
“Enough,” I say softly, but firmly, “You are acting like a moody diva. I am going to say it again, for the very last time: I am sorry.” I take a deep breath. “Now, tell me about the arrangements you made with O’Hare. I will not allow you to endanger the mission by going it alone.” His silence speaks volumes, something he is really good at. I try again: “Come on. If you didn’t want me to find out about the special agreement you made with the pirate captain, then you would have sent me to fetch tea a lot sooner.”
His mouth twitches. “Fine.” I wait, drumming my fingers impatiently on the instrument panel. “As you might imagine, O’Hare likes to smuggle things that earn him fast money. I agreed to give him the times of the next radar checks, as soon as we receive them.”
My eyes practically bulge out of my head. “Are you out of your mind?” What he is suggesting constitutes high treason. The human patrol space ships are always on the lookout for pirates who are smuggling valuable wares. Their coordinates and times are only shared with other ships that belong to humans, so there are no misunderstandings. So
me ships succumbed to friendly fire in the past, after not being recognized as allies quickly enough. He reacts to my rhetorical question by shrugging. The way he does this is so familiar to me, that it cuts straight to the heart, but I suppress my soft feelings. “You are putting yourself in hot water, and taking the rest of us with you,” I accuse him.
“Nobody but the four of us will ever know about it.” He steers the glider in an elegant arc, as if nothing was going on, right towards the port on the mother ship.
“How can you be so sure? O’Hare might sell that information to someone else,” I object with a weak voice.
“He would never do that,” Johar assures me. “Within his own boundaries, he is an honorable man and will not tell on me. In addition,” he makes a complicated and completely unnecessary maneuver with the glider, “the information gives him the chance to make a lot of money.”
I close my eyes, because the way he is ridiculously maneuvering the glider back and forth is making me dizzy. “Then he must deal in more than luxury items.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Johar nod reluctantly. There aren’t many things on which a pirate captain and smuggler can make more money than forbidden alcohol and designer shoes. Both are in high demand all over the universe. Drugs are out of the question, as my cyborg has assured me. I get even more nauseous when I reach the only conclusion that remains. I should have figured it out sooner, I accuse myself in my thoughts. At the very latest, when I found out that Cassie and her troops fled Betania instead of leaving it openly. Damn it. This is about human trafficking, and Johar is probably involved in it, knee-deep. The question is, did he meet O’Hare in his capacity as a bounty hunter, meaning undercover, or, is he earning money on the side dealing in humans? Does he have a nice nest egg in an off-shore account? Anything is possible, at least with this cyborg. The thought of a cyborg planning for retirement is unnerving, because it means that he is planning for a future in which humans play no role, whatsoever.
When we finally dock and go through the lock, I am completely befuddled. I really should report Johar’s unauthorized, and particularly illegal, trade immediately. But since my father is ignoring all of my attempts to make contact, I will keep this to myself for now. This lazy excuse I just made to myself makes me blush. On our way to our quarters – Shazuul and Hazathel went a different way a few minutes ago, probably to empty some poor devil’s pockets in a game of poker – I demand to know what the captain told him about Cassie’s whereabouts. “They are, in fact, on their way back to Earth,” he says. An expression that I cannot interpret flies over his face. “She has five Qua’Hathri with her, one of whom is her companion. There are also three women from Earth.” We go left into the hallway that leads to our quarters. The light is dim, and suddenly everything seems surreal. The hallway appears to be getting longer and longer. At the same time, the walls seem to be closing in around me, as if they wanted to close me in. I gasp for air and reach for Johar’s hand without thinking. He is still walking next to me. The world stabilizes, at least for a few seconds, before everything gets much worse. Because suddenly, I am no longer myself, but am looking at myself through his eyes. I can see myself staring up at him with huge eyes. My mouth is half-open, and if I weren’t panicking, I would laugh at myself. A wave of strange feelings washes over me, and I just want to be engulfed in an abyss. Then, after a painful breath, everything is normal again. I am standing frozen next to Johar, who looks just as startled as I feel. He has pulled his hand away from mine and takes a step back.
“What did you do?” His voice is nothing more than a whisper. While I try to separate the strange feelings from mine, his eyes darken, and he steps back from me even further. Without realizing it, I reach my hand out to him, pleading. “Help me,” I whisper. I notice that I have tears in my eyes, and blink them away. There has to be an explanation for whatever just happened. And then, as if all of that weren’t enough for one day, I see Johar staring at my hand.
Blue lines are forming on the back of it. The virus is spreading.
Chapter 7
I hide in my room and refuse to let anyone in.
At some point, I fall into a restless sleep and dream of my father’s lab. This time, it is a different dream, but no less scary. I am not a child, and Johar is nowhere in sight. The blue lines on my naked body tell me that this must be a real dream, and not a painful memory. I wake up when my father starts to dig his scalpel into my skin in order to cut out one of the blue lines, so he can look at it under the microscope.
The first thing I notice when I wake up is Johar’s absence. I pull the blankets over my head and try to breathe, calmly and regularly, so I can fall back asleep. But there is no way. The dream, and my thoughts that are always centered on the cyborg, make sleep impossible. I gather my courage, get up and, in my pajamas, knock on the connecting door. He opens it almost immediately.
One look at my face and he opens the door wider to let me in. He points to his unused bed without saying anything. I don’t have to be asked twice. He climbs in next to me and pulls the blanket around both of us. It is almost like the night we made love for the first time. Everyone, except for the guards who are making their rounds, is asleep. The two of us have a few hours during which nothing and nobody will disturb us.
“What’s wrong? Bad dream?” he asks and holds me close.
I nod against his chest and enjoy the feeling of safety. “Why can’t you always be like this?” I mumble, and realize that my eyes are closing. I barely hear his answer.
“Why can’t you always be honest?”
I wake one hour before we pass the sun. I look through the glass porthole that offers Johar and me an amazing view of the universe. The fire ball is far enough away so we don’t vaporize into dust, but close enough that it reminds me of our destination: Earth. Johar is awake. “Can we just start all over again?” I ask him. “As if nothing ever happened?” His body tenses and I realize that my words reminded him of when I erased his memory. I sit up. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I explain.
“I know,” he says. “I am just wondering why it is always I who needs to help you when you’re in trouble. Your virus, your nightmares. You only seek me out when you need me.”
I am speechless. That is how he sees this? I jump up, but can’t get out of the bed, because his fingers of steel are holding me back.
“If you run out of this room right now, instead of talking to me, then that will have been your last chance.”
I give in. Johar leans back against the headboard, spreads his legs, and pulls me between them, until my back is resting against his chest. He surrounds me with both of his arms, but I do not feel like a prisoner. Maybe it will be easier to talk to him like this.
“I don’t know what is wrong with me,” I blurt out after a long silence. “You have turned my whole world upside down,” I tell him, accusingly. He just lets me talk, and encourages me only by squeezing me harder. “Before I met you, everything was orderly. I had my work, I had …” I lose my voice.
“You had your work,” Johar repeats. He says it the same way I have just come to understand it, in one single and painful moment – there is nothing other than my work. No friends, no lover. Just my father, and even he is part of my work life.
“Is all of that really so bad?”
“It’s scary,” I reply. I am happy that I don’t have to look at him as I am admitting this. “I have nothing left to hold on to. I am confused, and that scares me, more than anything else. Cyborgs aren’t supposed to have feelings. And they are definitely not supposed to awaken feelings that you aren’t allowed to reciprocate.” I sound whiny, but it feels good to get it out. Johar’s chest is shaking. He is laughing.
“You really thought that a creature who is still half-human would not have feelings? Where did you think the humanity disappears to? That the scientists remove it along with defective body parts?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I never thought about it.” I make up for my oversight by thinking about it n
ow. In doing so, I realize one thing. I am the one who lived her life, before Johar, without emotions, as if in a cocoon. Were there things that made my heart beat faster? That scared me, or made me jump for joy?
No.
“Why you?” I want to know. The question isn’t directed at anyone, but speaking it out loud helps me think. The longer I think about it, the stranger it seems to me that my father sent Johar and me, of all people, on this mission. I list everything that comes to mind, without worrying about any kind of order. “You could have managed this mission without me. You probably would have been able to complete it more efficiently and quickly. My father has a reason for sending us out as a team – but what is it?” I am thinking feverishly. “Where do these dreams come from, the ones in the lab, with you and me, and why do they feel like memories? And if they are memories, why are they surfacing just now? I didn’t even know you existed until the first time we met.” I rub the bridge of my nose with my index fingers. Now I am getting to the worst part, and I have no idea how I should frame these things. “Father gave you a thorough medical check-up before he sent us on the search for Cassie Burnett. It isn’t possible that that he didn’t discover the dormant virus.” I swallow before I ask the question that is burning away inside me. “Did you know that you carry this illness?” I do not put the series of events into words that hang on these words. Did you infect me deliberately so you could make me feel inferior and be able to control me better? Did you act on my father’s behalf?
