Chapter 2
Something about this assignment isn’t right at all.
While I hastily pack my bag, I think about this strange assignment and the even more strange circumstances surrounding who is accompanying me. The thing that bothers me the most is that my father gave a cyborg the explicit job of taking care of me. Just like all of the other men and women, who serve on this space ship, I have been trained very well. I can handle weapons with skill, and I usually hit my target. I can oppose any oncoming opponent by throwing him over my shoulder and almost debilitating him. I can make bombs using only few things, most of which can be found on almost any planet. I can free myself from bonds and have solid basic skills in seducing an enemy, just in case I need to make him let down his guard. I can definitely manage without a babysitter. And If I did ever get into a situation where there was no way out, I have my poison ring. Thanks to a clever mechanism, its spike would fill me immediately with a painless, fast-acting poison.
The other, much more interesting question is, why my father prepared this assignment in secret – and why he isn’t going himself. He might be quickly approaching 70, but thanks to a life-prolonging serum, he is as fit as a forty-year old – and one who is in damn good shape, at that. The only thing that marks him as a senior is his white hair. Other than that, he has the health values of a much younger man. I throw my underwear (not pretty, but comfortable) and my shirts (ditto) on top of the pile of clothing, without going to the trouble of folding any of it. Who cares if I run around in wrinkled tops and baggy pants? Anyway, they will be hidden by my lab coat. If we really do run into a head of state, I would have to wear a uniform like everyone else, and that is already on board, thanks to my father, along with all of the other official stuff.
I arrive on board the ship at the same time as the cyborg. I just can’t get used to calling him by his name, but maybe I should, to keep the peace. I notice that I am grimacing, thinking about the fact that we are supposed to be equal partners. I am supposed to coordinate with a machine-human. What was my father thinking? Surely, he has his reasons, but I am still grumbling because he hasn’t shared them with me.
I smile at the attendant, and he steps back, startled. I realize that my feelings must be written all over my face. The smile probably looked more like a snarl. Behind me, the cyborg clears his throat, and I turn around, ready to put him in his place. But before I can say anything, he speaks up. I looked into his gray-green eyes for a split second too long. “I suggest we meet an hour after our departure, so we can study what’s in the file and determine our next steps.” He may have formulated this as a suggestion, but his tone leaves no doubt that this should be taken as an order. Everything bristles inside me, but since I was going to say exactly the same thing, I agree. I grab my bag, which has passed through the lock without a problem, and turn around. My quarters are at the front of the ship, where there is a nice view of the depths of the universe. I have just set off in that direction, when the red alarm lights flash to life and a shrill warning tone almost makes me deaf. Now what, I think, and stare at the cyborg who is looking down at the two security officers. You can really say “down”, because the huge machine-human stands head and shoulders above the two of them.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, making my authority known. I look at the cyborg, but it is one of the officers who answers.
“Mr. Johar here,” he practically spits the formal address at his feet, “has illegal weapons with him.” He holds out an old-fashioned dagger to me and points to a tangle of metal, ropes, rubber cords and various other things, all of which look pretty harmless to me. No, I don’t ask the cyborg why he needs all of it. I will ask him later about where he got the antique-looking dagger. Now, all I do is give the guards the signal to let him pass and to hand him his luggage, but the pimpled one with the protruding Adam’s apple stands his ground.
“I am sorry,” he says, with an oily voice that sounds exactly the opposite. “But these kinds of weapons are not allowed on a space ship of this class. I have to confiscate the dagger and handcuffs.” He waves the metal shackles back and forth, suggestively, in front of my nose. The cyborg, who is standing next to me with his arms crossed, stares down at him without a word. I, on the other hand, don’t have the patience to deal with the bastard politely any longer, and I put on my best mask.
“Don’t lie to me,” I say, with an ice-cold voice, something I learned from my father. “I can tell when someone isn’t telling the truth.” Indeed, his eyelids twitch, an undeniable sign of his increasing uneasiness. We scientists have a bad reputation among the people. They accuse us of being ruthless and lacking compassion. I use this to my advantage, mercilessly. “If you don’t want to end up as a test subject on my father’s table, then I suggest you let Johar pass.” I straighten up to my stately height of five-feet-two-inches, and stand close to the officer, purposefully invading his personal space. I can smell his rancid sweat, but he still isn’t ready to give up.
“I will report this to your father,” he spews towards me. Small droplets of spit hit my face, and I have to force myself to not wipe them away with the back of my hand.
“You do that,” I say. I say the next sentence so softly, that he has to lean forward to understand me. “I will dissect you myself, while you’re still alive. It will give me the utmost pleasure to implant your brain into a primate and put you on exhibit in a freak show.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Johar flinch. I suspect he is laughing, but since he has his head down, and his hair is falling in his face, I can’t be sure. Everything I just threatened is total nonsense, of course. We would never do anything like that, and in any case, it would be a waste – any monkey is smarter than the puffed-up wretch who is standing in front of me.
In the end, he hands the bag to Johar, including the dagger, and gives me a murderous look.
When we are out of sight, the cyborg stops. “Thanks,” he says. “That was very nice of you.”
“It wasn’t nice,” I say. He really has a nice voice, deep and relaxed. Not gentle, it is too rough for that. Masculine is the word that comes to mind, and I push the thought out of my head right away. “It was necessary so our departure wouldn’t be delayed.” I speed up and get into the elevator ahead of him. He gets in next to me and I notice how quietly he moves. You can barely hear his footsteps on the smooth plastic floor. “Deck four,” I say with a loud, clear voice. He is silent. Damn it. That means that his quarters are also on the upper deck. Just like a high ranking officer.
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