Part 2: The Pursuit
Chapter 1
Four pairs of eyes are staring at me when I wake up again.
I recognize Johar’s face which is closest to me. The other ones are blurry behind him. It is a struggle just to keep my eyes open, and all I want to do is to sink back into unconsciousness.
“She has made it through the worst,” a strange voice mumbles. “If she hadn’t …”
“Thank you, doctor, that’s enough,” Johar forcefully stops the man from continuing on. “Let’s go, your payment is waiting for you.” Steps fade away, and the men’s voices grow quieter until they are a distant and meaningless mumbling.
The next time I wake up, I feel mainly one thing: pain. Muted daylight is coming through the drawn curtains, and even the weak light hurts my eyes. My limbs feel as if I have been in a bad fist fight. I try to raise my head to see who is sitting at my bedside, but even that small movement causes pain and dizziness. What in the world happened to me?
The last thing I remember is Johar’s disappearance. One minute he was right behind me and the next he was gone. Then something happened, but I can only recall bits and pieces of it. There was something in me, and I urgently needed to get rid of it. Hazathel and Shazuul were there. Someone screamed, and then everything went dark around me. In the last few seconds of consciousness, Johar’s eyes were there again.
I try to sit up again, but more slowly, this time. The rustling of the bedding, and the soft cries I am making from the pain, wake the figure who is slumped in the chair next to me. Johar sits up straight and shakes his head. “Why didn’t you wake me?” His first words to me are an accusation, a gentle one, but an accusation, nonetheless.
“Because I didn’t want to say anything,” I slur and say the whole thing again, but more slowly and, above all, more clearly. “Because I didn’t want to say anything. Too exhausting.” Even my throat feels raw and sore when speaking. Johar plumps the pillows behind my back and hands me a glass of water. I don’t think I have ever tasted anything as good as that water, and I hold the empty glass out to him. He fills it and watches with a satisfied expression as I empty the second glass in one big gulp, too. I could get used to this, I think with a touch of humor. Someone always by my side, reading my every wish in my eyes.
Less pleasant is the fact that my bladder is making itself felt and I need to go to the bathroom. We are in the same room we rented when we arrived here, and the distance to the bathroom is not small – at least for someone who doesn’t want to move. I make a move to try to get up, but the cyborg, who understands what I am thinking, lifts me out of bed and carries me the few steps to the bathroom. “I can do the rest myself, thanks,” I ward him off, when he straightens up in front of the toilet. My voice sounds stronger now, thanks to the water, and my dizziness is abating, as well. I am happy when I dry my hands off. Someone has removed the mirror from the bathroom, but that doesn’t bother me all that much. I am sure I look pitiful. I haven’t eaten in what seems like forever. Instead, I slept and fought the illness. I can look in the mirror later. It takes me awhile, but I manage to return to my bed on my own two feet.
“So, what really happened?” I ask, as I climb back under the covers. “We should have been underway a long time ago, pursuing Cassie.” I can see everything that happened before the incident at the space port. Including that I slept with a cyborg and then erased his memory of it.
“You caught a strange virus and we had to take you to the doctor first. You would have never made it to the mother ship in your condition, so don’t start making any accusations.” Johar’s voice sounds different than earlier, harder and more merciless, somehow. But he is right. My next question would have been why he didn’t take me to the spaceship that was waiting for us, with its excellent physicians and the sick bay that has every gadget you could think of. I sigh dramatically.
“How many days did we lose? How long was I unconscious? And what kind of virus was this?”
“Slow down,” he tells me and sits back down in the chair next to my bed. Now that my vision is improving, I can see him more clearly. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in three days and the circles under his eyes have a purple and unhealthy shimmer.
“You were out of commission for five days. I made contact with our mother ship and explained the situation to them. So, you don’t need to worry. They are still waiting for us. And your father has been informed, as well.”
I clear my throat, trying to clear the sudden tightness in it. “What did he say?”
“Of course, he was not delighted about the delay, and instructed us to start following Cassie Burnett’s trail as soon as possible,” Johar answers, looking everywhere but at me. I can imagine what lurks behind the words “not delighted.” My father probably pressed his lips together, like he always does, and his eyes probably turned cold, while his voice would have been extremely polite. That is the worst way my father expresses his anger: icy politeness that lets me know, more than any temper tantrum could, how disappointed he is in me, again. “How are you feeling?”
I have to look away, as well, so he can’t see the tears well up in my eyes when faced with this question. “I’m okay,” I say cheerfully. “Better with every passing minute. I think we should be able to leave in an hour or two. Where are the Sethari and Hazathel?”
“Next door. They are sharing a room.” For the first time since I woke up, a small smile appears on his face. “They have been playing poker non-stop for five days, improving their travel fund, as they call it. I think they have been very close to being kicked out of the inn a few times, but since they started giving the innkeeper ten percent of their winnings, things have been nice and quiet again.” He gets up. “I will pack our things and have our glider readied for departure. We will depart tonight, in six hours. You still have some time to get used to being up and about again.”
“You still haven’t told me what kind of virus it was,” I remind him. “And I would really like to know where you disappeared to. I was looking for you!” The last sentence sounded accusing. Johar comes back and sits down next to me again. His eyes are serious, much too serious. I mean, I am okay now, right?
Suddenly I have the feeling that he is keeping something significant from me. This is what it must feel like when your memories have been erased. The thought flies through my head. You know something is there, and you can’t get to it, and you just can’t figure out what it is. It is like an itch that you can never fully scratch, no matter how much you try. It is a short leap from that thought to the next. Something pops up in my memory, and I shiver involuntarily. There was something that was moving under my skin. Something alive.
The cyborg takes my hand. I pull it away, so I don’t feel even more like someone who is terminally ill. “Just tell me what is going on,” I ask him. “It is much worse not knowing. Am I going to die? Is that it?”
To my relief, he shakes his head. “Oh no, you will be completely healthy, very soon. The recovery time is one to two days, as soon as the patient has made it through the worst part of the illness. That is what the doctor said, anyway, and he should know. Your father confirmed the diagnosis, if that is any consolation.”
“Well then it can’t be that bad, can it?” I look at him hopefully. Come on, just tell me that everything is going to be okay, I beg him silently. My heart starts to race when I look in his face. What is he keeping from me? My vision narrows. He leans over me, and the only thing I can concentrate on is what I see mirrored in his gray-green eyes. A figure with tousled hair, dressed in a wrinkled and sweaty t-shirt, looking up at him with a fearful face. But the fear isn’t what makes me scream.
It is the fact that the woman – that I, have a face on which the arteries are clearly visible in blue-violet, like a spider’s net.