The Prey: A SciFi Alien Romance (Betania Breed Book 2)

by Jenny Foster

  A real, love-filled smile makes her face light up, when she hears me say his name. “Oh, yes,” she replies. “Khazaar is my husband. “And he is going to kill your …,” she hesitates before using the information she stole from my head “father.” I remember that she is one of the women who were given to the Qua’Hathri as payment, after they had fulfilled their obligation. I want nothing more than to ask her how it came to be that she fell in love with Khazaar. I think it is odd that you would love someone who was assigned to you by a higher power. On the other hand, I, of all people, should not wonder about the strange ways of love.

  “That could happen,” I say flippantly, in response to Cassie’s remark, even though it gives me chills to hear someone speak of my father’s death with absolute certainty. Couldn’t he just be locked up for life? I have no idea why I still have any sympathy left for the man, even though all he did was use me. But I can’t deny my feelings. I sigh loudly and look at her. I envy her for the absolute certainty she exudes. How can she possibly know if her beloved is still alive? “First, we need to hope that our men will be able to get here soon. Can you hold on that long?”

  She shrugs. “Do I have a choice?”

  I grin, and she smiles back. At this moment, I can fell that we are making a pact. We will survive. And we will also live happy lives with our men.

  Chapter 7

  The next three days are deceivingly peaceful.

  I was able to convince Ruthiel to leave Shazuul alone after the first medical examination. I told him about the surgery in which I replaced the Sethari’s sucking snout, and pointed out that Shazuul is still in a weakened state. “Anyway, we should proceed systematically,” I say, “and devise a plan for what we will test and when. It is important that we leave nothing, and I mean nothing, to chance. You yourself know how much depends on this.” What I don’t say, but still comes across, is the invitation to fame that my father will gain. Should he be able to transfer Shazuul’s telepathic abilities to humans, then he will surely be seen as the savior of humanity. Although, both the government and my father seem to forget that you have to be attacked first, in order to be saved. Since the Sethari were chased off, there just haven’t been any other invaders. I wonder how the government managed to protect its scientists and to promote their experiments, even during the occupation. Is there something to the rumors, after all, that the president was collaborating with the Sethari?

  My father must have knowledge of this, since he profited from the peace before the war-related events. I ask him about it casually, while we are putting together a list of planned experiments, like in the old days. I hope Shazuul will never be exposed to these tests. He looks up from the compilation and looks at me, lost in thought. For a second, things are just as they used to be, and I feel a pang of regret. I am thankful for this pain, because it reminds me that I can’t let myself be drawn in. “Of course,” Ruthiel says. “The Sethari and the heads of the World Federation agreed years ago to, shall we say, an exchange of information.”

  I try to keep my racing heartbeat under control, but the half-mechanical thing does what it wants. “Does that mean that all of these battles were just faked? So the people would believe that the World Federation was trying to take some action against the Sethari?” I remember the dead, and the news reports, in which dead heroes were carried from the battlefield and celebrated posthumously. My stomach churns, and I just want to get out of here.

  “Well,” Ruthiel starts. “It was, at least for a time, in the best interests, of both of us, that the majority of Earth’s population know nothing of the pact. The Sethari supplied us with technical knowledge and with devices. Surely you don’t think that we could have accomplished this much, if we hadn’t profited from the enormous advances in their theoretical knowledge, do you?”

  “And in return, they received nutrition,” I conclude. I try not to think about the images of the corpses that had been sucked dry, and of the farms where humans were kept like livestock, in order to feed the Sethari. I can’t appear to be too weak, I remind myself. Maybe my father deserves death after all. Why did I never suspect any of this? Did I just keep my eyes shut?

  “You are probably wondering why the World Federation entered into a trade agreement with the Qua’Hathri,” Ruthiel interrupts my thoughts. I hadn’t, actually, but it really is a good question.

  “I am sure you will tell me,” I comment dryly and lower my eyes to my list in apparent disinterest.

  “The Sethari had become useless to me,” my father says. I raise my head, and raise my eyebrows quizzically. He bites down on his lip. “For us,” he corrects himself quickly. “We humans learned everything there was to learn from them, and received everything from them there was to receive. We called for help ostentatiously, and paid Khazaar and his men to free us from that scum. Ultimately, we didn’t want to sacrifice any more human lives,” he finishes his half-philosophical musings. I want to break his nose and throw up, all at once. Was I just like him, once?

  I attempt an ambivalent shrug, but don’t know how convincing it is. My father has his eyes on me. He has put his list to the side and looks at me. “You have changed, Mara,” he observes. “For the better, actually. It almost seems to me as if you have found your own path.”

  I think about everything that has happened in the last few days. I have loved. I have felt pain. I have been desperate, and there were moments when I was unbelievably happy. I found the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Of course, I have changed, you idiot, I want to say, and bite my tongue. Ruthiel isn’t finished with his observations yet. “Surely you know whom you have to thank for all of it, don’t you?”

  He actually means himself. “You?” I ask dryly and allow a trace of sarcastic doubt to creep into my voice.

  “You are still mad at me and are disappointed, because I didn’t tell you that you are a cyborg.”

  “You gave me false memories,” I say. “And erased my actual thoughts.”

  “You can have them back, anytime,” he assures me with a smile that seems genuine. “You are living proof that life can be created,” he says, in a frenzy. “You, Mara, are my best creation. You are perfect in every way. At least as long as you didn’t know what you really were.”

  “And now that I know? What am I?”

  “More perfect than perfect,” he responds. “Now you have both in you, and can connect all of your abilities. For over twenty years, you collected experiences as a human. Real experiences, I might add.” He reaches for the cup of water next to him and takes a sip. His Adam’s apple jumps up and down. The only thing I can think is, how easy would it be to squeeze his windpipe shut, with my half-human strength? “You are and always will be my daughter, Mara. Don’t ever forget that. I created you, and I raised you. All of your best traits come from me. And that is no wonder.” He hesitates, but then he can’t resist going on. He comes over to me and positions himself so he can look straight down at me. His gray eyes sparkle with pride. “What I am about to tell you, needs to stay between us. You really are my daughter. I copied my best genes and implanted them in you.” My head is spinning. He gave me a part of himself. Does this mean that I really am his daughter? My legs turn to Jell-O. I am afraid that I will not be able to make my own decisions anymore, and that I am already a lost cause. I pull myself together with everything I have, and hope that he hasn’t noticed my shock.

  “I understand,” I nod. And I think I really do. He really loves me in his own twisted way, and that was probably also the reason why he signed the contract blindly without asking any further questions. He is so damned proud of his possession, that he didn’t even ask about what happened to Johar, or why I was located near the entrance of the caves. He never said a word about Cassie Burnett, even though he must realize by now that disloyal Johar wants to find her just as much as he did. Ruthiel’s pride is his strength and his weakness. He can’t see that I have feelings for Johar, and that this makes me disloyal, too. In Ruthiel’s eyes, the only thing t
hat matters is that I am carrying his genes. He is making the worst mistake any scientist can make. He is relying on an unconfirmed assumption.

  On the second day, he takes me to see Cassie Burnett in an official capacity. She is lying on her bed listlessly. At least she has enough self-control left to not let on that she has seen me before. For a short moment, I think that she is even out of her mind. Her breathing is shallow and unresponsive. While Ruthiel takes notes, I lean over her and slip into her head for a second, before returning quickly. I shiver at what I see. She is somewhere else, and has left her body behind. I hope that her soul, or her spirit, or whatever you want to call the thing that separated from her body – I hope it is safe. The children seem to be doing well. Her stomach has lowered, a sign that birth is imminent. I go back and forth between hope and desperation, because the more days that pass, before Johar’s arrival, the more likely it is that it will conflict with the birth. Would it be better to abduct a highly pregnant woman, whose time of delivery is imminent, or would it be better if she gave birth on the Solarian?

  On the third day, we visit Shazuul, who is doing well. My father falls into one of his legendary temper tantrums when he catches the men playing poker with the Sethari, when they are supposed to be guarding him. I can barely hold back a grin when I see Shazuul look longingly at his winnings while they are throwing him back in his cell. “So much for the quarantine,” my father yells loudly, and punishes the men by placing them in quarantine with Shazuul, for a whole week. He claims that any disease the Sethari could give to the men wouldn’t show itself until the seventh day. This is, of course, pure fiction, but who would ever dare doubt the doctor’s words? New men replace the old guards, who are also locked in a cell under mild protest. Shazuul’s look, something between triumph and relief, burns itself in my memory.

  I am happy about this renewed delay, and almost feel gracious towards my father.

  This changes abruptly when he shows me the new experiments he has started in the meantime. When I see the creatures he has created, I know that I cannot, under any circumstances, leave them behind on the Solarian. Altogether, there are 15 creatures, and they are sitting chained or listlessly in their cells. In some, the human form is still recognizable. Others, however, are so deformed that I can’t even begin to guess how they take in nutrition.

  It seems as if my father is getting crazier, from year to year, and month to month. Secretly, and not for the first time, I pray that Johar will be in touch soon.

  I can’t stand this much longer.

  Chapter 8

  When Johar finally gets in touch on the fourth day, I am so relieved that I want to fall on my knees and give thanks to fate.

  I receive his message directly through the transmitter that was implanted in me. This is the first time I have ever received information in this manner, and it is an extremely strange experience. At some point, in the middle of the night, I hear a voice in my head. It is possible that I even let out a small scream and flinch. I can literally see him in front of me, brushing a strand of hair from his face and looking into the distance with a concentrated expression. I have the impression that they are not in the tunnels anymore, but above Earth, instead. I can feel that he isn’t alone and wonder how much information the transmitter relays – especially, what it relays to Johar about me.

  “You have almost made it,” his voice says. His voice sounds tender, but also fairly worried. “We will arrive at the space glider in one hour.”

  “Then you won’t be able to get to the Solarian today,” I say silently, but with all of my strength. I can feel Johar flinch.

  “You can think completely normally,” he says. “You don’t need to scream in your thoughts. That was pretty loud, Mara. The transmitter is very powerful.”

  “How was I supposed to know that?” I say, or rather, think, now markedly more subdued.

  “We need that time, anyway, so Hazathel can recover. It was very strenuous for him.” He is silent for a moment. “Have you found Cassie?” he asks at the same moment I inquire about Khazaar. “You first,” he says, and waits.

  “I found her, but she is not doing well. Birth is imminent. It could start at any moment,” I explain. “To make matters worse, she has fallen into some sort of trance.” I search for the right words to describe Cassie’s strange, absent condition. “It is like a catatonic state. She just isn’t there. I have no idea what is wrong with her. I think everything is fine, physically. Maybe it’s due to the shock of being kidnapped. Things like this usually happen for mental reasons,” I babble, and stop the flow of my words abruptly when I realize something. I remember what it felt like to be in Cassie’s head. I had the distinct impression that she was somewhere else. My breath catches, when I understand the extent of her abilities. She can make contact with others – even over a distance of thousands of miles. Johar is only able to follow some of my thoughts, since I was not consciously thinking them. He sends me an impatient sigh. “I think,” I say slowly, “that there is much more to Cassie Burnett than we thought. I have the impression that she can travel in thought, if you want to put it that way.”

  Johar goes silent. The silence that fills my head gives me chills everywhere. “Then it is even more important that she doesn’t fall in to Ruthiel’s hands.”

  “She already has, a long time ago,” I fire back, suddenly irritated. “And anyway, she is close to giving birth. What will happen if she delivers the children on the space glider or down on Earth, where she doesn’t have any medical attention? Shouldn’t we wait until the two little ones have been born?”

  This time, the silence drones more insistently in my head. “Johar,” I say, and try to convey all of my love through my thoughts. “I have a bad feeling about this. Can you please tell me more about this mysterious organization you are a member of? It would make me feel better.”

  “Where are these qualms coming from, all of a sudden?” he asks with a hint of mistrust that hurts me. No, more than that. This damned cyborg turned me off, and I let it happen, because I trusted him. And now he suddenly thinks that I will run back to Ruthiel?

  I try to control myself, but my hurt feelings obviously reach the other end of the line. “Fine. I will send you bundled information about us in a second, after we finish our conversation.”

  “You don’t need to get all huffy, just because I want what is best for Cassie,” I snip a little.

  “I am not huffy,” his voices drones in my head. “I am NOT huffy,” he repeats a little quieter. I have to laugh. It is like someone screaming at someone else that he is NOT ANGRY. When I hear my cyborg join me in laughing, I am relieved.

  “How can I open the information?” I ask. It’s fascinating, but also creepy, that the transmitter can relay voices, and also data, from me to him and vice versa.

  “Your system will open it automatically,” he tells me. “However, I will add a password, so you aren’t drowned in compressed data. This way, you will get information one step at a time, almost by osmosis. After an hour, you will feel like you have always known everything I am sending you.”

  “Brain osmosis,” I think and just want to laugh. What else is there that I don’t know about myself? “That is the password.”

  “Good,” he says. “I will be back in touch in two hours. By then you will know if we should leave Cassie and her children with Ruthiel, or if we should come pick you up as soon as possible.” He makes a sound that is part laugh, part snort.

  “Wait,” I cry quickly, before he says good-bye. “What about Cassie’s husband?” At the other end of the line, all I hear is an uneasy silence. My heart starts to race. Cassie won’t survive the death of her husband, this I know for sure.

  “We had to break off the search for him,” Johar admits.

  “Why?” This word contains so many accusations. I want to hold my tongue, but it is too late.

  My cyborg makes a quiet, impatient sound. “Hazathel couldn’t stay down there any longer. And I definitely couldn’t leave him al
one down there, or send him back to the surface without an escort. He almost went crazy down there.”

  I am quiet. What is there to say? Contrary to me, Johar has not met Cassie. The pain will kill her.

  “He really wasn’t doing well,” Johar interrupts my thoughts. I can tell, by the way he says this, that he has also started to question Hazathel’s murky role in all of this. “We will look for Cassie’s husband once we have reached Earth with her children. I promise.” I have the distinct feeling that, in this case, later will mean too late.

  “Wouldn’t it be better for Cassie to have her children here on the Solarian? Surely you could ask one of your fellow fighters to accompany you into the tunnel system. I bet you can find someone who doesn’t suffer from claustrophobia!” My voice is rising, and I realize that I am starting to sound hysterical. Why in the world do I have the feeling that if we don’t find Khazaar, there is much more at stake than just his life? But Johar’s answer is drowned out in static, and I only understand incoherent words.

  “Talk to you later,” I think, just as the connection suddenly goes dead.

  Seventy minutes later, I say the password “brain osmosis,” and sparks start to fly in my head. If this is the slow method of transferring information, then I don’t want to know what would have happened without the password. Now I also understand why Johar wanted to give my memories back to me in stages. I am glad that I am lying on my bed, because my body is shaking as if I had a fever. After half an hour, my pulse has slowed enough for me to be able to think clearly. I hold my breath as I consciously think about the organization. Everything Johar sent me lies like an open book before me.

  Fifteen years ago, my cyborg met the man who was to become his contact person for the first time. He called himself “Charles,” and made their first encounter seem like an accident. He was one of the officers, who were assigned to Johar’s less dangerous missions. He probably saw something in Johar that completely escaped my father over the years. What he saw was the tiny seed of doubt. At some point, they were chasing a man who had managed to hide from Ruthiel for months. When they finally found him, and put the shackles on him, the man pleaded with Johar to just kill him. He would rather die than have to go back to the lab.