by Jenny Foster
I smile at the attendant, and he steps back, startled. I realize that my feelings must be written all over my face. The smile probably looked more like a snarl. Behind me, the cyborg clears his throat, and I turn around, ready to put him in his place. But before I can say anything, he speaks up. I looked into his gray-green eyes for a split second too long. “I suggest we meet an hour after our departure, so we can study what’s in the file and determine our next steps.” He may have formulated this as a suggestion, but his tone leaves no doubt that this should be taken as an order. Everything bristles inside me, but since I was going to say exactly the same thing, I agree. I grab my bag, which has passed through the lock without a problem, and turn around. My quarters are at the front of the ship, where there is a nice view of the depths of the universe. I have just set off in that direction, when the red alarm lights flash to life and a shrill warning tone almost makes me deaf. Now what, I think, and stare at the cyborg who is looking down at the two security officers. You can really say “down”, because the huge machine-human stands head and shoulders above the two of them.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, making my authority known. I look at the cyborg, but it is one of the officers who answers.
“Mr. Johar here,” he practically spits the formal address at his feet, “has illegal weapons with him.” He holds out an old-fashioned dagger to me and points to a tangle of metal, ropes, rubber cords and various other things, all of which look pretty harmless to me. No, I don’t ask the cyborg why he needs all of it. I will ask him later about where he got the antique-looking dagger. Now, all I do is give the guards the signal to let him pass and to hand him his luggage, but the pimpled one with the protruding Adam’s apple stands his ground.
“I am sorry,” he says, with an oily voice that sounds exactly the opposite. “But these kinds of weapons are not allowed on a space ship of this class. I have to confiscate the dagger and handcuffs.” He waves the metal shackles back and forth, suggestively, in front of my nose. The cyborg, who is standing next to me with his arms crossed, stares down at him without a word. I, on the other hand, don’t have the patience to deal with the bastard politely any longer, and I put on my best mask.
“Don’t lie to me,” I say, with an ice-cold voice, something I learned from my father. “I can tell when someone isn’t telling the truth.” Indeed, his eyelids twitch, an undeniable sign of his increasing uneasiness. We scientists have a bad reputation among the people. They accuse us of being ruthless and lacking compassion. I use this to my advantage, mercilessly. “If you don’t want to end up as a test subject on my father’s table, then I suggest you let Johar pass.” I straighten up to my stately height of five-feet-two-inches, and stand close to the officer, purposefully invading his personal space. I can smell his rancid sweat, but he still isn’t ready to give up.
“I will report this to your father,” he spews towards me. Small droplets of spit hit my face, and I have to force myself to not wipe them away with the back of my hand.
“You do that,” I say. I say the next sentence so softly, that he has to lean forward to understand me. “I will dissect you myself, while you’re still alive. It will give me the utmost pleasure to implant your brain into a primate and put you on exhibit in a freak show.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Johar flinch. I suspect he is laughing, but since he has his head down, and his hair is falling in his face, I can’t be sure. Everything I just threatened is total nonsense, of course. We would never do anything like that, and in any case, it would be a waste – any monkey is smarter than the puffed-up wretch who is standing in front of me.
In the end, he hands the bag to Johar, including the dagger, and gives me a murderous look.
When we are out of sight, the cyborg stops. “Thanks,” he says. “That was very nice of you.”
“It wasn’t nice,” I say. He really has a nice voice, deep and relaxed. Not gentle, it is too rough for that. Masculine is the word that comes to mind, and I push the thought out of my head right away. “It was necessary so our departure wouldn’t be delayed.” I speed up and get into the elevator ahead of him. He gets in next to me and I notice how quietly he moves. You can barely hear his footsteps on the smooth plastic floor. “Deck four,” I say with a loud, clear voice. He is silent. Damn it. That means that his quarters are also on the upper deck. Just like a high ranking officer.
****
It turns out that he is in the quarters right next to mine. Our rooms are connected by a door. I tell myself that this is nothing unusual for officers who are leading a mission together, even if my stomach churns in warning. I should be able to hear what he is doing through the thin walls – unpacking, showering – but there is no sound at all. Yes, cyborgs shower, too. Their metal is water resistant and doesn’t rust, and the rest of the human needs to be cleaned and fed like a pure and genuine human being. I distract myself by taking a nice long shower and afterwards, I put on my favorite shirt and old jogging pants. I pull my light-colored hair into a knot at the back of my head; tightly until the skin on my face is taut. The strict hairdo gives me a sense of security, which I think I will need. If all crew members are like the guard – dumb and arrogant at the same time – then this will be a difficult trip. At least we don’t have a human captain on board. Navigation is accomplished through the body computer module, and it takes its orders directly from me and Johar. As long as we don’t tell it any differently, it will keep heading towards our destination at an even, moderate speed.
The cyborg is already waiting for me in the conference room. I sit down and push the file over to him, since I finished reading it after my shower. I wait until he has scanned through all of the pages and has digested the information. If the papers were to disappear for some reason, I would be able to access his storage system. These are the kinds of small differences that separate him from the human community, I think to myself. No human can think and act as factually as a cyborg, and their expanded capabilities exceed what is normal. They are merciless fighters and show no mercy. Somehow, that which once was human in them, disappears when their artificial limbs, expanded memory and optimized muscles are put into action.
He catches me staring at him, lost in thought. His cool look makes me blush, and I fight against it with great difficulty. Why do I feel like he can read my thoughts? He releases me from my embarrassment by snapping his fingers and giving the order to display the map. On it, we can see Earth and, some distance away, our destination. Betania is the name of the planet where the pregnant Cassie and her Qua’Hathri warrior were last seen. “Your father noted, in the file, that the signal that shows the existence of the children went silent about 262 sun miles from Betania.” He stands up and puts his index finger on a spot that is precisely, down to the last millimeter, 262 miles away.
I stand up, too, and go over to him. Not so I can see the projection better, but because I don’t like having to look up at him from a seated position. “That means that they have left Betania and are now on their way to another planet,” I think out loud. He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye that I can only describe as wry. I continue on, slowly, without letting the ridicule in his eyes upset me. “But since my father programmed the ship’s computer to fly to Betania, I assume that we will start our investigation there.
“Your father didn’t program it. I did,” he corrects me. “I am responsible for tracing the prey. You are in charge of the medical part when we have the woman, her children, and perhaps the fathers on board.” A normal person would consider his voice to be expressionless. I hear pride in it. Pride that he can make important decisions, and has a role with so much responsibility.
I will need to keep an eye on him. He is displaying far too many traits of a human for my taste, and that won’t go well if it lasts. If he still thinks that I intervened with the guards out of pure friendliness towards him, then there could be complications. A cyborg, who is too attached to a human is useless. I will certainly not be the kind of human who encourages a Halfling like him
in that way. “What are your plans once we land on Betania?”
“I will make inquiries, and take up their trail. Find people who knew them and who know where they are headed.” He shrugs, as if this were all too obvious. It probably is, for him.
“Good,” I say. “I will accompany you.”
He raises his eyebrows. “No. It could be dangerous, and I don’t work as a team.”
“I don’t, either,” I remind him. “But my father gave the order for us to lead the mission together, so that is what we will do.” I try my trick of stepping closer. But either he doesn’t have personal space like humans do, or he doesn’t care. Instead of stepping back, he gets so close to me that our bodies are almost touching. I am proud that I stand my ground, but I am a little uneasy being this close to him. The cyborg is standing so close that I can feel his body heat, which is a little higher than a human’s because of the mechanics that are always working inside him.
For what feels like an eternity, we look in each other’s eyes. I try to figure out what is going on in his head, but am not successful. His expression tells me nothing. I wonder if he only lets me see what he wants me to see. Finally, he gives in, reluctantly. “Fine. But you will follow my instructions to the letter, and not get involved.”
I do not take orders from cyborgs! But he defeats me with my own weapons. “As you just said – your father gave the order, and we are partners on this mission. I won’t do anything that will endanger the success of the hunt, do you understand?”
That is bitter. But looking at it from a purely factual standpoint, he is right. And I definitely want to accompany him. Not just because I want to keep an eye on him, but also because I feel like having a little adventure. Finally, I can turn my game of “what-ifs” into reality.
If the cyborg will let me.
Chapter 3
The trip to Betania is so boring that I even seek out the cyborg’s company.
After three days, I can finally call him by his name without cringing. I don’t know if that’s good, but since we have to work together, I am trying to make the best of it. He is, and remains, taciturn, and only speaks when someone asks him something, or when he needs to clarify something that has to do with our assignment. We eat together with the other officers in the canteen, but those men and women bore me. I have absolutely nothing in common with them, and never know what to talk about with them. About the fun they have on the gym deck together, when they play ball against each other? About their advancement potential in the strict hierarchy of the fleet? I almost have the impression that they like Johar more than they like me. He sits in the officer’s mess in the evenings and plays poker, or hangs out in the machine room to talk shop with the mechanics. All of them have gotten used to his metal-covered face a lot faster than I was expecting. By the third day, nobody thinks it is strange that a cyborg is sitting at the table with the officers. The women are even giving him appreciative looks. The man, who at the beginning our trip was so confrontational with Johar, seems to be the only exception.
I find this strange. Why do the people on the ship have such a high tolerance for the cyborg? The humans who live on Earth usually keep their distance from them. It is for good reason that the cyborgs only have visitor permits in human territory. It is something like a restricted permit. The only other cyborgs on board are the women from the wellness area on the ship, and they do not sit at the same tables as the human members of the crew. Well, yeah. It would be pretty embarrassing if a cyborg woman, who massaged away some first officer’s tension the night before, was now sitting at the table with him for breakfast.
By now, I know Cassie Burnett’s file by heart, and could draw her face, if necessary. She is a small, delicate blonde. She looks a little timid in her picture, but if she is the Qua’Hathri warrior’s companion, then there must be more to her than meets the eye. And I can’t forget that she also let a man, who isn’t exactly harmless, into her bed. His name is Zeyliv, and he was one of the first men whose genes were expanded by my father, always in search of creating the perfect warrior. In Zeyliv’s case, it was the genes of a feline predator. These made him faster, stronger and more aggressive. I know that my father also experimented with other animal species, but the feline predator genes were his favorite. Fast, effective and overly callous, they were his pride and joy until their escape.
The closer we get to Betania, the more excited I get, and the quieter the cyborg gets. During the day, I often see him in the conference room, where the see-through window panes offer an amazing view of the universe. He just stands there and stares out the window. As soon as I come into the room, he turns away as if he were doing something forbidden. What does he see out there? There was only one time I was able to catch a glimpse of his face while he was looking out, because it was dark out and his face was mirrored in the window. I could see a mix of anger and vulnerability in the way he pressed his lips together, and also in his eyes. Somehow, I felt like I was seeing something much too personal, and I snuck back out without a word.
I find him there again today, one day before our planned arrival on Betania. “Tomorrow, we reach our destination,” he takes the words right out of my mouth.
“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” I answer and sit down in one of the uncomfortable chairs. He sits down next to me and looks at me. “The man who is the father of one of Cassie Burnett’s children, is something like a ruler on the planet. His status is somewhere between an elected representative of the people and an all-powerful king, but it looks like he can depend on his people’s support. So, we will look for this man first and find out what he knows.”
Johar doesn’t even try to hide his skepticism. “That would not be a good beginning for an investigation,” he starts. I feel a flash of anger and want to say something, but he raises his hand in an authoritative way. “I know that it is very difficult for you to work with me like your father demanded.” He looks at me appraisingly. “But like I already said, this part of the mission is under my control. How old are you? 25?”
“What does my age have to do with anything?”
He gives me a thin-lipped smile, which isn’t meant as an expression of his goodwill. “I am already over 50 years old and know what I am doing. You, on the other hand, surely do excellent work in your own area of expertise, but when was the last time you were on a dangerous outside mission?”
I am silent and feel myself blush. He is right, but does he need to rub it in so directly? “I completed basic training,” I begin, but Johar snorts depreciatively.
“That so-called training isn’t worth two cents in the real world.” He keeps looking right at me. “This planet is inhabited by animal-humans who were created by your father in his lab.” I examine his expression, but cannot find any judgment in his chiseled features. “What would you do if a gorilla-human started running towards you, with the intention of killing you? Dazzle him with your sweet smile, and ask him for mercy?”
“Enough. I get it,” I hiss and stand up. He gets up, too, and reaches for my wrist. But I am not finished yet, even if I can’t pry his fingers of steel open. “You have made it perfectly clear that you are indispensable for the success of our mission. The only thing I can’t figure out is…,” I pause deliberately and lower my voice, “why you are so hell bent on excluding me from everything and going it alone?” My words have the desired effect. He lets go of me, and his eyes bore into mine. “Maybe I should send a report to my father that you are out of control? Or turn you off as a precaution?” My hand goes up to the button on his neck that would take him out of commission. For a second, his face is filled with blank hatred. Even the metal plate seems to glow with anger. What I am hinting at has to knock some sense into him: a cyborg who is out of control is taken out of commission. His mechanical parts, as well as human parts of his body would be disposed of.
He steps back from me and gives me room to breathe again. “Okay. What is your alternative suggestion?” I smile at him, calm and collected, despite my r
acing heart. I am trying to show him that I am open to reasonable arguments.
He, too, answers with a calm, almost expressionless voice. “My suggestion is that I find a place to stay near the space port and begin my inquiries there. If the ruler of the planet impregnated a woman, he didn’t just let her leave. There must have been some kind of incident. He is not going to just let you in on why he let the mother of his child leave. There will be rumors, and I will go after them.”
“We will go after them,” I say. “I am accompanying you.” With that, I turn around and leave him to stare out at space for as long as he wants to.
Chapter 4
When he comes to my quarters the next morning, I realize that I have given in, at least as far as our procedure is concerned.
Johar gives a short knock on the door connecting our two rooms, and doesn’t wait for me to say “Come in.” He is holding a mountain of clothing which he throws on my bed without saying a word. The pillows and sheets are still damp and crumpled from my second night in a row of disturbing dreams. But now, his move distracts me from the memory of my dreams, because I can’t believe that I have to squeeze into these colorful rags. The bright colors are one thing. The fluttering, half see-through fabric is another. I pick up one of the tops, examine it, and then look at another. They are all, at least, one size too small for me. I will look like a stuffed sausage in them. “You can’t be serious,” I say, but it is dawning on me that I don’t have a choice. In my head, I promise my father a long talk when we are finally back on the mother ship. “Where did you dig up these things? In the department for colorblind whores?”
“That is about half of the truth,” Johar responds. This morning, his voice is coaxing and as smooth as silk, different than normal. He is wearing tight pants, a loosely cut shirt and boots made of the finest black, and probably beautifully soft, leather.
