Chapter 4
Our arrival is less sensational than I had feared.
None of the crew points at me, and nobody makes any snide remarks, either, about the two eccentric creatures we have in tow. This may be because Hazathel’s scorpion is making itself big, raising its tail with its poisonous stinger. Suddenly everyone seems to have something to attend to. I wonder what it must feel like to have a soul animal like that. Was this a byproduct of my father’s research, or was it intentional? I would imagine that an army of animal warriors, to put it simply, could mow down the any opponent quite effectively, and also create fear and panic in him. I hope that I will have a chance to talk with Hazathel without him finding out whose daughter I am.
In contrast to Hazathel, Shazuul does not create fear and panic in anyone. Most humans hate the Sethari, with good reason, but since he is missing his sucking snout, Shazuul is merely a laughing stock, nothing more than a shadow of a Sethari.
I see one of the navigation officers pull his weapon and take aim at Shazuul. He shoots. He isn’t aiming at the Sethari’s body, but right in front of his feet. Shazuul jumps into the air, startled. The officer continues to make him dance for about half a minute. After that, he is quiet, because I have confiscated his weapon and assigned him to three weeks’ kitchen duty. That is a decidedly humiliating assignment for a man of his abilities, and I can almost feel his hatred. No, not almost – it hits me and makes me stagger. For a split second, I can see myself through his eyes: the arrogant, cool daughter of the eminent scientist Ruthiel. The woman who seeks adventure, and is now, protected by a cyborg and the whole damn crew, except for one. He thinks that his orders require him to protect my life with his, but, should push come to shove, he will let me die. Those are his words, not mine.
Johar’s hand goes to my elbow inconspicuously, and I am more than thankful for it. Which orders? Did I really just read the navigation officers mind, or was that a hallucination? Automatically, I want to wipe my hand across my forehead, but Johar stops me. This whole thing has me so confused that I almost forgot about the skin-colored paste that is protecting me.
Hazathel and Shazuul are assigned to guest quarters on the officers’ deck. I can tell that the serving woman is not pleased about having to tend to them, but, thank God, I do not receive any information about what she thinks of me. It must have been a hallucination. Nobody can break into another person’s head and read his thoughts. That is unnatural.
But in their own way, so are cyborgs and animal-humans and the virus, too. I need to get used to being a freak.
Johar goes into his room, and I am alone with my thoughts. To help get myself straightened out, I first write a thorough report for my father. It ends up being a little longer than normal. At the end, I add that the illness that I contracted in the line of duty has not diminished my capabilities in any way – just in case he is planning to summon me. I do not want to break off the mission. I do not want to fail. On impulse, I add a p.s.: did you give the crew any orders concerning me? Then, before I can change my mind, I hit send and step into the shower.
I am not alone for long. Johar comes into my bathroom about ten minutes later. His expression is ... strange. He looks like a man who is utterly determined. He looks furious. With thin lips, and without worrying about the fact that he is still dressed in the black clothes that he was wearing when he left here a few days ago, he steps under the hot water with me. He puts both hands in my hair and pushes my head back all the way. He kisses me almost violently, pushing his tongue into my mouth and biting my lower lip. He comes over me like a force of nature to which I have to succumb, so I don’t get swept away. His hands race over my body without taking the time to dwell anywhere tenderly. He isn’t hurting me, but he is making his intention of possessing me known. I come up for air between two kisses. “What is going on with you?” I want to know. His answer consists of pulling me out of the shower without allowing our bodies to separate from each other.
My nipples are hard, and the water is dripping off of me. He pushes me out of the bathroom mercilessly. He is dripping wet, but it doesn’t bother him in the least. His long hair, which is usually tied back so neatly, curls around his beautiful face in wet strands. He looks like a crazy pirate who has lost most of his senses because of lust, and I want him more than I have ever wanted any other man. We only make it halfway to my narrow bed before we sink to the floor, tangled up in each other. I can’t tell anymore where his body starts and where mine ends. I could very well have four arms and as many legs, because we are a single ball of lust. He tears his shirt off with one pull, and his pants come off next. And then he is inside me, his hot skin covering mine.
“Why did you do it?” he asks me. Johar underlines each word by thrusting into me, not exactly gently, either. I freeze for a second, but my answer will need to wait until later. I know exactly what he means. There is only one thing that could have made him this furious and aroused at the same time. He somehow managed to retrieve the memory of our night of lovemaking. How in the hell did he do that? There is no time for a detailed discussion. We do not resolve our differences. Instead, we take them out on each other, and our bodies are the battlefield. Johar bites into my neck and I claw at his back. With all my strength, I contract my muscles around his hard cock, and it doesn’t take long for both of us to come. He collapses on top of me and breathes into my ear. I brush his hair out of his face, because it tickles.
I want to say that I am sorry, but I don’t want to repeat myself.
“How did you find out?” I ask, instead.
He pushes himself up and pulls out of me. The feeling of loneliness, as he separates from me, is cruel. It has something final to it, just like his cool gaze. Johar’s eyes seem more gray than green right now, almost as if the color has disappeared along with his affection for me. I remember that is was he who first spoke the word “love.” Now I wish I could turn back time and fix my mistakes. What he says delivers a blow, and I flinch under it as if it were a real, physical punch. “Your father told me,” he replies and grabs his things, which are strewn all over the room.
“What … no … why?” I stammer with a little girl’s voice that doesn’t even seem to belong to me. I am still lying in the same position he left me in, arms and legs spread wide.
“Why don’t you ask him,” Johar suggests. His voice is ice-cold. I can hear the cyborg in it: mechanical, emotionless and free from everything that makes him who he is. His lips, which had just been wandering all over my skin, pull into a mocking smile. I sit up and try to cover my nakedness. “I can understand that you are furious with me,” I begin, but he interrupts me.
“Furious? No,” he responds. His face is a mask, frozen and expressionless. “I can understand that it is embarrassing for you to have sex with a cyborg. So it is natural to just erase the memories.” But he cannot keep his hatred for me and his anger in check any longer. “I had thought that you maybe didn’t take … after your father,” he spits at me. “I had hoped that there was something that connected us. I cannot believe that I spoke about love and then you just turned me off.”
“It was for your sake, too,” I tell him, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. “I didn’t want you to …”
Again, he does not let me finish. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We will complete our assignment, deliver Cassie Burnett to your father, and then we will go our separate ways.” He turns around and goes through the connecting door.
I get back into the shower, so I can wash all traces of Johar off of me.