Chapter 5
It takes a few days for us to reach Prodor 5.
My days are bearable. I stay out of Johar’s way, and only speak with him when necessary, about things concerning our mission. My father is unreachable for me, no matter how often I try to contact him. I write message after message. After the tenth email, I give up, and realize that he is keeping something from me – but what? There is no reason for him to give Johar his memories back. And how did he find out about it so quickly? That is the most important question occupying my mind.
All the erased memories from cyborgs, robots and androids are stored in a central databank. If you hit the erase button, then the memories are sent there, in sound, picture and traces of emotion. The recordings are used to help understand mistakes that have been made. For instance, if an android runs amok and commits a massacre (this actually happened in the early days of such technology), then his storage is erased, so you can still use his body, but experts can review his “thoughts” for hints about how this malfunction happened. They watch the recordings meticulously, and usually find the deciding time where things started to go wrong.
My father must have access to this databank, and must have also found out about the deletion. Did he add a function to Johar that alerts him to deleted memories? That might be possible, but since Johar was one of the first cyborgs my father created, this would have been extremely foresighted. It is definitely possible that he – meaning my father – has motives that are not clear to me, but he must have known that giving Johar his memories back would create difficulties for me. Was this punishment for my behavior? He can’t approve of the fact that I was intimate with Johar, but he really did find out about it extremely quickly, enabling him to act so soon.
I ponder and ponder this, without finding a solution. I finally give in to the unpleasant reality that there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that I can do about it. I will confront my father when I see him, when he can’t ignore me so easily.
Occasionally I see Hazathel, Shazuul and Johar playing poker. They have obviously infected Johar with their passion for playing card games, but since there is absolutely nothing to do until we can start looking for Carson O’Hare, I let it go. I fill my days with making useless lists, on which I write everything I know about our target. I can’t deny any longer that there are many more things that I don’t know, and I fill a whole page with those things. I take my meals in my room, a privilege I have as a scientific officer.
My nights, on the other hand, are pure hell. I dream a lot more than I usually do, and often wake up bathed in sweat, my heart racing. I can’t remember ever having been awakened this much at night. Usually, my cheeks and pillow are wet from tears. I am in the lab, over and over again, and see Johar lying shackled to the operating table. Sometimes the scene changes, and I am the one lying on the cold metal table without being able to move. What is new, is that these dreams are colorful and loud now, and even the sleeping pills I got don’t help. All they do is make my tongue feel fuzzy.
Two hours before we reach the planet, I throw a few of my belongings into my bag. This time, they are primarily one thing: practical. When my fingers touch the soft leather jacket that Johar bought for me on Betania, I sigh longingly and bury my nose in it. Of course, it doesn’t smell like Johar, but for a few seconds, I am back in our room on Betania, seeing him in front of me, feeling his hot hands on my skin and his lips on mine.
I am lovesick.
This is completely unbearable! A cyborg, of all people, has managed to win my heart, I think, and shake my head. If only he hadn’t broken it, too! I could have lived with anything else. With the fact that he turned my world upside down. With the fact that he is half-machine. And with the fact that our relationship probably would not last long, and would have to be kept secret. Maybe the cyborg is also furious with me, because I made that decision so that nobody would find out about our night of lovemaking. I sob into the jacket, because I suddenly feel like a lousy person. Johar took care of me, and probably even saved my life. He got the concealing paste for my face and was there for me, even when he still thought that I had slept with another man. He had stood by me.
Instead of telling him that I was grateful to him, that I had feelings for him, I put him in his place by manipulating him. I have no idea if this is love that I am feeling. How could I, anyway, since this is the first time that I want to spend actual time with a man, instead of just half an hour of moaning and sweating. Whom can I ask what the symptoms of love are? Nobody. I cannot confide in anyone. I am alone with my pounding heart, my longing and the small moments of happiness when I catch a glimpse of him.
Someone knocks on my door while I am reading about the climate on Prodor 5. A pleasant 64 degrees during the day, and down to -10 at night. “Come in,” I say, and am rewarded with the sight of Johar. My stomach churns when I see him. His long, dark hair is pulled back tightly. He is wearing the same black clothes as last time, and now that I know what is hiding under his tight pants, I blush at the memory.
“Are you ready?”
I nod silently, grab my bag and trudge after him. A surprise is waiting for me at the docking station. Hazathel and Shazuul are coming with us. Johar didn’t tell me about that. I ask him for the reason. Just because I am persona non grata, right now, doesn’t mean that he can just do whatever he wants. We are a team, damn it!
Cool gray-green eyes look just past me, as if the wall behind me were highly fascinating. By now, I know him well enough to understand that he has his own plan in mind. “The more varied our group is, the less we will attract attention on Prodor 5,” he explains. “The bottom dwellers of the universe gather there and it can’t hurt to have Hazathel at our side. Let him earn his return to Earth. Surely that meets with your approval, doesn’t it, Mara Ruthiel?”
I clench my teeth. Yes, I have earned this rebuke. Yes, I understand what he is trying to tell me (I am the daughter of my ice-cold father, blah, blah, blah). Yes, I have sinned, and he will only forgive me if I kneel before him long enough, throw ashes on my head and beat my chest in lament. Maybe. “Is there anything I should know?” I ask and brush an imaginary fleck of dust from the sleeve of my leather jacket. His eyes rest on my jacket for a second, and his expression softens for a split second. Then the moment is gone, but my heart is leaping with joy. He does care about me, after all. The hope racing through my veins is sweet and a smile plays on my face.
“Leave the talking to me and stay in the background.” Ah, yes.
“I will try,” I respond a little boisterously. I just can’t keep from needling him a little.
“No, Mara,” Johar says and takes a step towards me. His hand moves as if he wants to touch me. He drops his arm at the last second. “Trying is not enough. You will let me take the lead, or you will stay here. Is that clear?”
I nod, intimidated by his tone. “Okay,” I raise my hand to placate him. “I will only speak when spoken to.” I go out into the hallway where our two other teammates are already waiting for us. Hazathel nods at me curtly. Shazuul makes an excited chattering sound, which I interpret loosely as “it’s nice to see you.” At least one of them is excited about my presence, even if I have no idea why. “You can leave your luggage here,” Johar tells me. “We will not be staying long. Even if we can’t find Carson today, it will be safer to come back on board and spend the night here. I cannot guarantee your safety down there.”
I get the first sense of what he meant by that, when we arrive at the space port on Prodor 5. He and the other two men are armed to the teeth, and Johar, after some hesitation, even gave me two loaded laser pistols and an electro shocker. Shazuul seems to be proud of his martial equipment, but Hazathel is looking at his weapons skeptically. The weapons look like toys in his huge paws, and his scorpion, the sight of which I am slowly getting used to, is clattering in contempt, somehow. I understand, however, when I see the creatures who are hanging out at the airport, that we will need the pistols to scare people off. I see humanoid, reptile-like and unidentifiable aliens, all hanging out in groups, sizing us up suspiciously. None of them is clean, nor dressed well, and now I understand why Johar let me keep my nice clothes this time. Nobody here would take me seriously in the see-through rags he handed me last time, to say nothing of worse things they might have done to me. Women are definitely in the minority here, and I am careful to stay between Johar and Hazathel without looking anyone in the eye. The atmosphere is charged, somehow, and feels like a single blink of the eye could cause a free-for-all.
Instead of going to the capital of Prodor, we go to the small bar by the space port. Even from far away, I can hear clinking glasses, furious shouts and even a bang that sounds a lot like an old-fashioned weapon with bullets in it. Johar’s face has a real smile on it, listening to the noise. “I think we will not have to look for our captain for long,” he explains, directed more at his two male companions than at me. He stops a few yards from the entrance to the establishment and crosses his arms. The noise coming from the bar is getting louder. “It won’t be long now,” he remarks and indeed, the door bangs open one minute after his prediction. Two strong, tentacled aliens drag a bear-like cyborg between them and throw him on the ground in front of us. “You are banned for three months,” they yell at him, wiping their hands on their pants, and go back inside.
The cyborg, who is getting up with Johar’s help, sways back and forth. His right eye is swollen shut, and the metal on his body is covered with scratches. His hair is like Johar’s, falling in a messy pony tail down to the middle of his broad back. The eye that did not get punched, falls on me and widens. I fear the worst, as he tries to gather his dignity, gives me a low bow (or at least, he thinks he does) and tries to kiss my hand. Johar is supporting him, brushing the dust off of him, and then everyone is silent for a minute. I see Johar’s muscles tense, but whatever he was expecting, doesn’t happen. The man, who I assume is Carson O’Hare, throws his arms around my cyborg and picks him up. Johar’s expression is delightful. It changes from embarrassment to joy and relief.
When the bear-like man puts him back down, his expression darkens and he punches Johar in the arm. “Where have you been for so long, you bastard,” he roars, only half joking, and punches him again. This time, Johar catches his fist mid-air. His knuckles turn white as he squeezes the other man’s fist. His opponent’s face turns red, and he slowly sinks to his knees. Johar whispers something to him and the man’s gaze flies over to me briefly.
My father isn’t the only one hiding something from me.