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.
“Why can’t I wear my normal clothing?” I know that my voice sounds grumpy, but I really don’t want to run around on Betania looking like a floozy. I want to be able to ask questions and inquire about Cassie Burnett – but if I go out in the streets in these clothes, nobody will take me seriously.
“What are you afraid of?” Johar asks me. Since I make no move to pick something out, Johar reaches into the mountain and pulls out a bright red dress. He throws it at me and I catch it instinctively. The fabric is soft and smooth and it smells like sweet fruit. “The disguise is perfect. Nobody will think we are anything other than what we say we are. On top of that, I will be able to fade into the background discreetly while everyone stares at you. Your conspicuous clothing, alone, will ensure that.”
“Oh, really? And what are we dressing up as? As a pimp and his newest conquest?” I run the dress through my fingers, full of doubt, and hold it up to me. It’s true. Nobody who sees me in this conspicuous glittering getup will give Johar a second look, cyborg or not. It is gradually getting on my nerves that he is always right.
“I am a free tradesman, you are my lover, and I am trying to show you a good time. That’s how we can be seen everywhere, from the department store to the neighborhoods of ill repute.”
Free tradesman – please! In his black outfit, he looks like a pirate who takes what he wants. I sigh and ask him if we couldn’t switch roles. He doesn’t smile, but just raises his eyebrows. I give in and snap up the dress without a word. When I come out of the adjoining bathroom, he nods, satisfied – nothing more. There is no mirror in my room, so I look at my reflection in the window. The result is … strange, almost shocking. The tight bodice is pushing my breasts up, shaping them nicely, and the long, full skirt has several layers, with a long slit that shows plenty of leg. I look like a run-down, sensual lady of the harem. Johar comes up behind me and undoes the knot in my hair. His fingers run through my thick, light brown hair and tousles it, until several strands fall in my face. Suddenly, my eyes look huge, and my lips, sensual. Without any further comment, he hands me a pair of silver slip-ons that are supposed to be tied with long straps. I look at him, clueless. Feminine frills are foreign to me, and I have no idea how I am supposed to tie the straps so the little thin shoes stay on right for at least half a day.
Johar pushes me down gently, until I am sitting on my narrow bed. He kneels down in front of me, and takes one of my feet in his hands. His hands look big, and my feet look small, almost like the feet of a princess. His thumb brushes against my instep, and the only things going through my head are relief: I am happy that I just got out of the shower, and my feet don’t smell, and that I had all of my hair removed before the trip. That’s the only concession to being a woman that I really value. His hot skin brushes my ankle as he ties the straps, and I hold my breath. What is it about him? He is in my thoughts more and more. His insubordination brings me to a rage, and I don’t know a single other being who can make me lose my cool like he can. And he is only half a human, if at all!
When he is finished, he puts my skirt back into place and stands up. He moves as gracefully as a dancer, light-footed and elegant. This, even though his muscles are big enough to show underneath the black fabric of his shirt. I think about when he was standing in front of me, clothed only in a loin cloth, in my father’s lab, and lick away the small drops of sweat that are starting to gather on my upper lip. His eyes are dark and shadowed, and I can see my distorted face in the metal plate on his cheek. That brings me back to my senses immediately, because I can see myself, looking up at him, with slightly parted lips and big, wide eyes.
He holds his hand out to me, and after everything he has just done for me, it would be only polite for me to take it. He pulls me to my feet with one swing, and to top it all off, I lose my balance and stumble towards him. Johar catches me, and for a second, my head is leaning against his chest. I forget that he is a machine-human, because his muscles are under warm, human skin, and I can hear his regular heartbeat. I blink, and the moment in which I have forgotten myself is gone. I am me again, Dr. Mara Ruthiel, and he is Johar, the cyborg. Just as it should be. I open my mouth to tell him something like, “This here never happened” or “Don’t ever breathe a word of this to anyone,” but that would give all of this much too much meaning. I clear my throat and act like nothing happened, even if my racing pulse makes me a liar. “I suggest we take one of the unmarked space gliders to the space port on Betania.” I clear my throat again, to get rid of the hoarseness.
“Already taken care of,” he answers smoothly. “Nobody will be able to trace the ship to its point of origination. I changed the electronic signature accordingly. The ship’s computer will show that we just came from Earth, where we just spent the last 3 weeks getting rid of our freight. You visited your family, while I pursued my shady dealings.”
“That is close enough to the truth,” I remark. “Even if one of us misspeaks, it would be hard to expose it as a lie.”
“You mean if you misspeak.” He says this with a slight jerk, as if it were new to his vocabulary. “Nobody has ever caught me in a lie.”
I raise my eyebrows, because this sounds like a double-edged sword. You could easily think that he is pursuing his own plans. But if that were the case, I tell myself, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to tell me in a roundabout way like that. “What about our names?” I ask. “Is my name … Leyla Shurikova? And you are … hhmm … Lysander Eaglethorpe.”
He shakes his head with a funny little sigh. “And here I thought you were a cool scientist who wouldn’t stick her nose in romantic trash. Leyla Shurikova? Lysander Eaglethorpe? The three moons will set and take the Earth with them before I use that name.”
“So I stay Mara Ruthiel and you, Johar,” I state the obvious.
“You need to keep your last name to yourself at all costs,” he sets me straight, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek so I don’t curse loudly at my own stupidity. The look he is giving me isn’t exactly friendly. “Betania is inhabited by creatures from your father’s lab. I can’t imagine that they have fond memories of him.”
“My father never touched anyone who was innocent,” I counter, infuriated by his silent insinuation. “All of the people he modified genetically were felons who were given amnesty in exchange for …”
“For their willingness to become monsters?” Johar finishes my sentence.
“So that is how it is for you? Do you see yourself as a monster, as well?”
“First, this isn’t about me, and second, I am only echoing the generally accepted opinions of humans,” he takes the wind out of my sails. I don’t know what to say, because it’s true. In human’s eyes, all mixed beings, whether genetically or mechanically modified, are suspect creatures, even though we need them to do the unpleasant jobs, or to serve as cannon fodder in our wars. This insight isn’t new to me, but suddenly, it feels different, so emotionally charged, and full of different meaning. I must be spending much too much time in Johar’s presence, and need to be careful.
“Then let’s go,” I end the discussion about ethics and morals and, for my own safety, I grab a small, hand-held laser pistol from my night stand. Unfortunately, Johar hasn’t thought to bring a matching purse for me, so I will need to hide it inconspicuously on my body somewhere. The question is where I can find such a spot under these layers of chiffon. Finally, I put it in the waist of my skirt. But Johar ruins all of my effort by pulling the weapon back out and putting it back in my nightstand.
I throw my hands up and open the door. I have had enough; I am fed up. I just want to put this damned assignment behind me, as quickly as possible, and get back to my quiet life! As I storm out, I almost smack right into one of the officers, I think about what I must look like to them. The man looks at me, stunned, but I go right by him, my head held high, and leave Johar behind.
The rest of the way to our small airport is like running the gauntlet. The only thing that is missing, is for them to point at me with their fingers. Johar has caught up to me, and is staying close behind me. He matches his stride to mine and doesn’t say a word until we are finally on board the little space glider that will fly us down to Betania. We are the only two on board, and I sink into the copilot’s seat. Johar will never catch me making a mental mistake again. After all, he is playing the role of the good-looking pirate, who is making a stop on Betania with his lover, and from what I know about the average space smuggler, he would probably not let his love interest steer the space glider. Indeed, Johar takes his seat and starts the small, maneuverable vehicle.
We leave the sister ship behind, and fly towards the green planet. The crew will wait for our return, always out of reach of the satellites the Betanians have put in place to guard their planet. The sooner, the better, I think. I realize that I will be alone with Johar for an entire day, maybe longer. Our roles will demand that we sleep together in one room, take our meals together and that he will even touch me in public. A strange murmur starts in my stomach, which I identify as excitement. This is how it is, I think, when a favorite game suddenly becomes reality.
My game of “what-ifs” has all of a sudden turned serious.