Part 1: The Assignment
Chapter 1
My father snaps his fingers, and I jump.
It has always been this way, as long as I can remember. Even my doctor’s title and my age haven’t made a difference. Although I am approaching thirty and am well aware of my issues, I obey his every word. It must be, because I am his daughter, as well as his assistant. He trusts no one like as he trusts me. He tells me this often enough, to placate me when I am going through another rebellious phase. But when he summons me, like such as now, like an impatient boss, I prefer to keep my mouth shut, even though I would have preferred to finish my series of tests.
I turn the samples over to my assistant, with precise instructions, and leave the lab. Here, in this wing, we are looking for ways to make humans resistant to chemical weapons. Actually, I am not here often enough to talk about “we” at all. The resistance research is more like a hobby of mine. The work I do with my father has me stretched pretty thin. The wing where he spends his whole day, and usually the better part of the night as well, is at the opposite end of the space ship. I have to pass through several safety locks, since his research is considered to be top-secret. Because of him, we have to travel roam around in space, always on the go. We change our coordinates as often as we change our underwear. We have a permanent lab on Earth, also, but it is, more or less, just for show, so we can deceive the enemy. Or to lure hostile spies there, so we can put them on trial.
None of the guards stops me, and only one of them takes a closer look at the results of my iris scan. The monotonous life in space has made them complacent, I think. I do have permission to move freely about on the space ship, but what would happen if … if aliens had taken over my body and I wasn’t myself anymore? As absurd as it is, I love this game of “what ifs.” It can really get pretty dull up here (even though the work is exciting), and I like to imagine things. The unfortunate thing is that I am a pessimistic person by nature, so it is easier for me to imagine bad things. I must get that from my father. While he isn’t my birth father, I have spent my entire life with him. A pessimistic outlook can rub off on you.
I enter his lab, and the first thing I notice is the figure standing next to him. His back is to me, but I know what he is, anyway. A cyborg. My father is examining him; meaning, he is checking all of his mechanical parts and is testing the functional capabilities of his pimped-out body. He is naked except for a loin cloth, and I am sure that he is only wearing it because of me. In the lab, I am known for being what others call “a prude.” I prefer modesty. Now, it is something completely different if there is a dead body, or parts of a dead body, on my workbench. Since they are detached, these parts are reduced to just their physical functionality. But nobody can force me to look at this travesty of a human, if he is standing in front of me in all his supposed glory.
Whoever built him really did a good job. His body is flawless, from his long, slender limbs to his perfectly molded muscles. He must have had good genes, in order to be accepted into the program, and the result that his mother, his father and the engineers have produced, is worth looking at. As usual, my father keeps a straight face during the check-up, but those who know him as well as I do, would be able to see the satisfaction written on his face. Underneath his bushy eyebrows, his gray eyes are practically flashing with contentment.
I wait patiently until he tells the cyborg to get dressed. The machine-human turns around and goes to the dressing room. He carefully stays out of my way in the tight space between the operating tables, as if he knows exactly how much I despise him. Finally, I address my father factually and neutrally, just like as we always do in the work environment. It would be ridiculous to call him “Doctor,” but in every other way, our interactions become formal as soon as we step into the lab.
“What can I do for you?” I ask politely, and then look for a hint. Sometimes there will be an open file lying around, or a few samples that have been labeled, pointing to whatever exciting assignment awaits me next. Today, there is nothing to discover. The tables are cleaned off and the files have been put away.
“I have a job for you, and I can’t trust anyone else with it but you.” My heart skips a beat, that’s how happy I am to hear his words. He is stingy with praise, but when he gives it, then he means every word he says. I wait, even though I want to ask him for details right away. What am I supposed to do? Will the job take me far away? It is clear that this has nothing to do with some sort of analysis, because if that were the case, he would have just handed me the samples, together with his instructions. “You and Johar,” he nods over at the curtains that surround the dressing room, “will find someone for me and bring her to me.”
Conflicting emotions explode in me, but I hold my tongue and put on a neutral smile. It’s difficult, but I hold it as long as I can. I do not want to be sent on a mission with the cyborg. I want to travel and hunt alone, and return successfully to Father. Why do I need the silent machine-human, anyway? “Whom am I supposed to find?” His furrowed brows tell me that he has definitely noticed that I only talked about me, and didn’t say “we”, but my father benevolently overlooks it. I celebrate my one tiny indiscretion with another question. “Why should I take the half-human with me?” I happen to be looking at the changing room, so I notice that he is holding himself still. He heard the derogatory term for him. Good. Then he knows what I think of him. The battle lines have been drawn.
“Tsk,” my father says, but only half-heartedly. Even though he, himself, is one of the leading cyber-engineers, he doesn’t think much of them. He prefers genetically modified humans, whom he can optimize with specific goals in mind. “He will be of use, Mara. The target is probably accompanied by an experienced fighter; one whom I can’t imagine that you could just overpower. He is a Qua’Hathri, who is six-feet-two-inches tall and weighs 250 pounds.” He is right. The Qua’Hathri are a warring people, and their skin, which is covered in scales, makes it difficult to injure them. They can become truly berserk, and of course, my father wouldn’t want me to get injured or even be killed.
“And he,” as if on cue, the cyborg pulls the curtain to the side and comes out, “will help me how, exactly?” I let my eyes wander over him. He must be one of the earlier models, because his body and a small part of his face are disguised with metal. The thin, but highly resistant metal layer starts right below his eye and runs over his cheek, down to the corner of his mouth. It’s good that cyborgs don’t smile, because the metal makes the left corner of his mouth immobile, and the crooked smile would surely disturb the human members of my team.
“Johar,” my father says and waves him over to his side, “is one of our oldest and most experienced specimens.” He looks proud and now I know with certainty that the cyborg is from his lab. In general, the mixed human and machine creatures do not have a long lifespan. At some point, the synapses burn out, they flip out, and develop unwanted mannerisms and more. If this cyborg has been in operation for that long, then my father has every right to be proud of his handiwork. “He is the best bounty hunter you could find in the universe. His success rate is 99%.”
I look at him, this hunter, with a new-found interest. He returns my look with his gray-green eyes, which are surrounded with long, black lashes. He has tied his long, dark hair into a pigtail that is hanging over his shoulder. I am sure that a few of my colleagues; those with perverted sexual preferences, would find him attractive. He doesn’t create any erotic sparks in me, that much is certain. I would have to be completely drunk or out of my mind to fall into bed with a machine. And since I don’t do drugs, that would never happen. “Whom are we supposed to find for you?” I return to the topic at hand.
“The woman’s name is Cassie Burnett,” Father informs me. No, us. He is including Johar, and even hands the file to him, first. My hands are twitching and I want to rip the file out of the cyborg’s hands, so I put them behind my back and squeeze my finger nails into my palms until the pain makes the anger disappear. The cyborg raises his eyebrows in a gesture that is so minimal that I may have well imagined it. He hands the folder to me without having looked in it. Is this a peace offering, or does this gesture just mean that he recognizes that my position is higher up in the chain of command? “She mated with two men, one of which is the Qua’Hathri. The other one is one of the creatures that,” he closes his eyes and thinks, “fled 35 years ago and settled on Betania.” His expression is unreadable. He is keeping something from us. I hope he will talk to me again, when it is just the two of us. It is one thing to keep something from the human-machine, but surely he would trust own daughter. He is silent for a few seconds, and I know that the important part is still coming. He licks his lips. It is the only sign of excitement I have ever been able to detect in him.
“She is pregnant with twins. The children have different fathers. Did you know that we implanted a code, into the fleeing subjects, back then, that would communicate the conception of a child to us, and send us a signal?” He doesn’t really wait for my confirmation, but continues on. “This child and his twin are already interacting in the womb with each other. They are exchanging information and are transferring useful traits with each other.” I allow myself a small expression of surprise. That really is a unique opportunity for him, and therefore, for us humans, that could bring us one step closer to the perfect warrior. No wonder he wants to have the mother, including her children.
My heart beats faster, when I think about what this could mean for humans. We wouldn’t have to be afraid of anyone ever again. Many think that Earth and its inhabitants are tempting prey. The last aliens who wanted to subdue us were the repulsive Sethari. The president of the World Federation was able to chase them off of our planet, but the price was high. More people than we could count died in the fight, and in the end, the president had to ask another race of aliens for help. It was the Qua’Hathri, whom my father mentioned earlier, who dealt the Sethari a destructive blow, in exchange for fertile women. A thought occurs to me. “The woman wouldn’t be one of the females the Qua’Hathri received in exchange for their support, would she?”
The cyborg’s eyes are going back and forth between me and my father during this exchange. He doesn’t say a word. But that is okay. As a bounty hunter, he has to collect as much information as possible, especially things that aren’t in the file. My next question is directed exactly at this. “So, the Qua’Hathri is the father of one of the children, and the Betanian is the father of the other one. Do you want them, as well? Dead or alive?” Officially, the cyber engineers and the other scientists are only allotted a certain number of living subjects. For ethical reasons, the government says. But scientists are creative, and their definition of living is different than a regular human’s. If both men are floating on the edge of death, so to say, when we bring them to the lab, they will not show up in the statistics.
“Living,” he clears his throat meaningfully, “would be nice, but isn’t a must-have. They have both fulfilled their function and there could be complications, if you bring them here alive. As fathers, they obviously will have a strong urge to protect their brood and the mother of their children. This could bring out unforeseen strength in them. You two cannot make the mistake of underestimating them” I nod.
Then my father says something that astounds me and throws me off course more than any cyborg ever could. “On this mission, Johar will be your partner. He has the same authority as you do, and you will be equal partners. Do I make myself clear?”
The cyborg’s eyes widen for a second. What is up with this specimen? It’s not just that my father is giving him decision-making power on an important mission, but also that the cyborg is showing reactions like skepticism and surprise. He shouldn’t be able to do that. Maybe he is getting too old. “Can I speak to you alone for a moment?” I ask with clenched teeth.
My father glances at the clock and shakes his head. “We don’t have time for that. A space ship is leaving in an hour. I have prepared everything. All you need to do is pack your things and get on board.” He kisses me on the forehead, which leaves me just as speechless as his instructions. His last words really scare me.
“Take good care of my daughter, Johar.”