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 that 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.