Chapter 3
It takes a while until I can bring myself to get up.
I would have loved to just pull the blankets over my head and hide from the world. I even consider sending Johar and his two new best friends back to the mother ship by themselves, so they can go catch Cassie Burnett and her children without me. The thought of being a burden to my father has taken hold in my head, and I feel useless and inferior in every way.
I grimace and then smile mockingly, telling myself that this will be a whole new experience, and that I will surely benefit from it, sooner or later. Probably later, knowing myself. In the end, my sense of duty wins, and I get dressed. I leave my “fancy” colorful clothes hanging in the closet. I couldn’t bear to put them on again. They remind me of this whole fiasco to which I owe my new face, and they show too much skin. Soon I will look just like Sherri, whose veins are clearly visible all over her body. However, I will not be peddling around with it.
Johar has disappeared again. I don’t care where he is. The less I see of him, the better. I hear noise coming from the room next door. Judging from the racket, Shazuul and Hazathel are doing all kinds of things, but packing their bags isn’t one of them. When Johar finally shows up, he puts a small jar in my hand without saying anything. “Open it,” he tells me and looks at me, excited. I unscrew the lid and see a skin-colored paste that smells nice, of fresh herbs.
In the blink of an eye, I am in his arms. I didn’t think about it, even for a second, but just acted on impulse, which is not like me at all. Maybe this is one of the side effects of the virus. It doesn’t matter, because all I can think of is that Johar has saved me from having to run the gauntlet upon our arrival back at the space ship. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whisper and let my tears run freely. He takes my face in his hands, and wipes my tears away with his thumbs.
“Don’t cry, Mara,” he tells me and I choke back the rest of my salty tears. “Why are you crying?”
I hug him even tighter. “Because …” I can barely put my feelings into words. “You are being so nice to me,” I say, even if it doesn’t come close to describing the chaos of my feelings. “I don’t understand. Why? I was not especially nice to you.” He bursts out laughing, and I pull back from him, miffed. “What is so funny about that?”
“Not especially nice? You were a stuck up little pig,” he says, but takes the sting out his words by drawing me into his arms. Does he always have to be so brutally honest? “Maybe I see something in you that nobody else can. And maybe I think that the Mara that is inside you, is worth being tormented over.”
“What do you see in me?” I wait for his answer with bated breath.
“A woman who has wings but doesn’t know how to use them. A woman who has intense feelings but doesn’t know what to do with her emotions.” I have to look away, because he has hit the mark. “I see a woman for whose affection I want to fight,” he finishes.
“For a cyborg of few words, you sure are quite the poet,” I make light of the situation, but I am not being fair. Just because I can’t stand it when someone really likes me, doesn’t mean that I have to put these feelings down. “I am sorry,” I say again, meaning that I am sorry for pretty much everything that has happened over the last few days. Then I look up at Johar’s face. I can tell that it wasn’t easy for him to talk about his feelings. He looks proud, and a little embarrassed, and also sad. He lowers his head, and our lips get closer and meet in a kiss that is so sweet that it takes my breath away. With it, I say everything that I cannot put into words, and I think Johar understands me. There is a knock at the door, and then another - this time, a little louder. We separate from each other, but continue to look deeply into each other’s eyes. How could I ever have thought that a cyborg couldn’t have feelings? I have only known Johar for a few days, but he feels things more intensely than anyone else I know.
The crippled Sethari and the scorpion man come into our room. “It is time,” Hazathel’s voice booms, and I give the little jar a longing look. The contents would cover my blue lines. But I can take care of that once we are on the little space glider. For some strange reason, neither the inn keeper nor the taxi driver give me a second look. Even the official at the space port only gives me a bored look, before waving us through.
The mother ship is waiting outside Betania’s atmosphere. Johar announces our arrival and communicates that we have guests, while I put the cream on my face. It works perfectly, covering every single blue line without changing my skin tone. Johar points to a spot I missed on my neck. When he touches me, I have the overwhelming desire to snuggle up to him. I savor the moment, practically indulging in the feeling of wanting to be near him. I do not give in to temptation. How will this continue with us? I don’t just mean with Johar and me, but also our mission. As the mother ship appears on the screen, I ask him where we will fly to next. “During the five days that I was out of commission, you were surely able to talk to Shazuul, right?”
Johar nods, but doesn’t take his eyes off of the computer screen. The small dot representing our destination is approaching much too quickly for my taste. Everything inside me is balking at returning to the ship and taking up my old life again.
“Shazuul says that Cassie was not alone when she escaped. She was with a few Qua’Hathri and women from Earth.”
“That means you are expecting some resistance when we find them?”
“It will not be easy,” he admits. “Especially, since I have no way of knowing how many warriors are protecting her. Shazuul,” he looks behind him, where Shazuul and Hazathel are practicing card tricks – the illegal kind, of course, like how to make a card disappear up a sleeve. “Shazuul described to me the ship on which they fled, and also its captain.” His mouth forms a grim line on an even grimmer face. “That man is an old acquaintance of mine. He has been flying the route back and forth between Betania and Prodor 5 for years.”
“He flies only that one route? Why?”
“Let’s just say he transports things that should not be traced.”
“Can you give me a few more details?” I ask. “He is a smuggler, I get that. But what does he smuggle? Jewels? Drugs? The more I know about this nameless man, the better – you yourself told me that.”
“His name is Carson O’Hare,” Johar explains. “He would never touch drugs, much less smuggle them. He is a rustic type, a little rough around the edges, but sincere.”
I look at his profile. Ten minutes until we dock at the mother ship. I check the skin on my face one more time before we arrive. “Everything is fine, you can’t tell at all,” Johar assures me. He reaches over for a second and squeezes my hand. “Let’s talk about this later. I need to focus right now.”
I realize that he has not answered my question about what this rough, but sincere Carson smuggles. Johar is a master at evasion. He doesn’t have to lie to keep things from me. He just doesn’t tell me.