Chapter 8
I feel like we have been under way for hours, but in reality, it probably only takes 30 minutes for us to finally reach our destination.
It is a bar, and, in contrast to the bordello, it doesn’t have a lighted sign, nor is it hiding any pleasant surprises on the inside. It stinks, is dirty and my glass with liquor in it (there is nothing else here) has lip prints on it. The creatures who hang out here hide in dark corners. Many of them are wearing some sort of head gear, pulled down low over their faces. Despite everything, I am happy to have a place to sit down, because my slip-ons are falling apart. The floor is sticky, and I pull my feet up underneath me.
Hazathel winks at the waitress and asks her to send a certain someone to our table. She chatters excitedly and crosses her arms in front of her considerable bosom, but a small coin exchanges owners and her tone changes from unwilling to benevolent. Not two minutes later, the dirtiest Sethari, I have ever seen, waddles over to our table. He looks so pitiful that I am not even afraid of him. His sucking snout, with which he takes in the energy of other living beings, is a stump. I wonder how he eats and why he hasn’t starved to death with such a joke of a sucking snout.
He sits down right next to me and I scoot a little closer to Johar on the hard bench. The years, during which the Sethari subjugated the Earth, have left their mark on us. When the Qua’Hathri came and chased the Sethari away, we were able to breathe a little more easily.
Not that much has changed in the very short time since our liberation. Our president is doing everything he can, but half a year is not enough time for even him to fix everything that was destroyed during the years of occupation. A thought crosses my mind, but it is so fleeting that I cannot grasp it. I try to ignore my surroundings, because I have the feeling that I have overlooked something important. It has to do with the Qua’Hathri warrior. Why does the file not mention his name?
Back then, the Qua’Hathri offered their assistance under only one condition: for every fallen warrior, an Earth woman would go with the Qua’Hathri, to start a new life. My mind starts to race, as I realize that I am on the right track. Cassie and her warrior ended up here because their space ship crashed. Originally, they were headed to the warrior’s home planet. Johar puts his fingers on my hand casually, and squeezes it in warning. Damn, this cyborg knows me too well by now. He must have noticed that I have realized something important, and lets me know that we will talk about it later.
Fine. Later.
Then, maybe we don’t need this disgusting Sethari. I look at him out of the corner of my eye. Even with an intact snout, he would not have been a model specimen of his race. He looks tattered and scruffy, even though his skin is largely covered by lumps. Anyone who has ever seen a Sethari’s rubber skin can never forget it. His wide mouth and little, tiny eyes do not make him more likeable in my eyes. He sits next to me, swaying back and forth unstably, as if even sitting were difficult for him. When he speaks, he presents himself as a being with at least minimal intelligence.
“What can Shazuul do for you?” It takes me a minute to identify the groaning, squealing sounds, which he squeezes out of his throat, as words. Even more time goes by until I realize that he is referring to himself in the third person.
“Your name is Shazuul?” I ask, and in the way that both men roll their eyes, I realize that, in their eyes, I have asked a completely irrelevant question. But the creature’s eyes light up. “Yes! Yes! Shazuul!” he repeats and points to himself.
I squint at him, until his compact figure is blurry in my eyes. With a little imagination, I could believe that he is a moth-eaten, old pet. This will help me keep my revulsion under control. He seems to be happy, in any case, that I am addressing him by his name, and from then on, he only speaks to me. Johar is not happy about it, because every time he wants to ask a question, he has to go through me. Then I pass it on to Shazuul, who answers it, sometimes more cryptically than others.
“We are looking for Cassie Burnett. Do you know her?”
The Sethari nods and hooks his two index fingers together. This sign probably means that they were close friends. In a strange move, he points at his head while repeating Cassie’s name. “Help,” he says, and “helping, Shazuul can help.” None of us understand what he is trying to say, and he seems almost desperate, in his efforts to make himself understood. At some point, he takes my hand and puts it on his forehead. I am so surprised that I am not even disgusted by his skin. “Read,” he repeats.
And then, something strange happens.
Similar to earlier, when I was speaking with Sherri, I first get dizzy and then nauseous. The longer I touch the Sethari, the more Johar, Hazathel and everything else in the background fades away, until even the loud cries for “more beer” are just dull murmurs. I look at the Sethari and notice how I am being pulled in. A gazillion feelings flow from him to me, and I have no way to resist them. His affection for Cassie is the most baffling thing I perceive. But there are also other things that hit me unexpectedly. A determined will to survive, and a melancholy that borders on resignation. And he knows where Cassie Burnett is.
I realize that Johar is removing my hand from the Sethari’s forehead. Suddenly, everything is loud, dirty and smelly again. “What was that?” the cyborg growls at my back. I put a hand on his arm, reassuring him.
“I’m fine, everything is as it should be,” I tell him. “We should offer Shazuul a spot on our space ship,” I say to Johar, who for once doesn’t contradict me. Maybe he is just speechless and doesn’t know how to deal with this insane decision. I have offered the Sethari the prospect of a spot on our ship as bait – and he reaches for it greedily, as if he were drowning.
“Away. Shazuul wants away,” he buzzes. I stare at him hard, and he catches on quickly, this rubber-skinned energy vampire. Now Johar understands as well, that I want information first, before we drag a Sethari with us, because he is waiting calmly for the first nugget that Shazuul gives us. “Shazuul knows captain.” Great. Now we’re getting somewhere. I nod at him encouragingly, but suspicion creeps into his little, tiny eyes. “Name only when on ship.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, which only emphasizes his missing sucking snout. I look at the cyborg and he gives me an imperceptible nod.
“Fine. You can come with us,” I relent.
I see Johar nod in satisfaction. Alarm bells are screeching in my head – rightly so, as he next words prove. “Under one condition. Hazathel here will come with us, too.”
My first thought is to inquire about his mental health, but the scorpion’s quiet rattle brings me to my senses. I suppress the giggle that rises in my throat, when I envision my father’s face as I introduce our new team members. A toothless scorpion man and a crippled Sethari.
I overhear Johar, the Sethari and Hazathel discussing the details of our departure. It is too late to go, today, so they agree to meet at the space port tomorrow at twelve noon. “Make sure your passes are valid. I don’t want any trouble with the authorities,” Johar warns them and gets up. He pays the bill and then we are finally outside in the street. At least the air doesn’t stink as badly, here, as it did in the bar.
It takes some time for us to find a taxi. My feet hurt and I would kill for a bath and clean clothes. At the same time, I feel more alive than ever.
Since I left with Johar to find Cassie Burnett, I have experienced more than I have, in all of the previous years of my life, combined.