“All right, Puck. Prepare the document and send it to me for a signature. Don’t forget to stress the fact that our entry into Cepheidean space would have led to a customs search and imprisonment of our honorable Zzygou passengers. Morrison!”
“Yes, Captain.”
“The jump to Gamma Snakebearer will take six and a half hours. You have the bridge.”
“Aye-aye, Captain. Permission to perform intermediate maneuvers in the Gamma system?”
Alex smiled. Of course: piloting inside a hyper-channel was not any pilot’s idea of fun. Morrison seemed to have decided to eke out every good piloting opportunity he could.
“All right, Morrison. But don’t forget to call me to the bridge right before we exit the channel. The rest of the crew may now rest. Engineer, you may turn the reactor to minimal power output.”
While the ship slid through the invisible currents of hyperspace, it didn’t need much piloting, or energy, or defenses.
“I have the bridge, Captain,” said Morrison. Alex lingered for a moment, watching the colored lights melt into darkness—his crew leaving the control system.
“Be good, now …” whispered Alex. Not to the people—to his ship. A warm wave, gentle and soothing, washed over him in reply as if to say, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine …”
When only the emerald spiral was left in virtual space, Alex left.
The piloting chair straps clicked softly open. Alex got up, stretched his neck and shoulders, looked at the control screens. A smooth gray tunnel—the ship was sliding through the inner side of space. Morrison looked as motionless as a mannequin in the other pilot’s chair. Poor Morrison. He had no way of experiencing this ecstasy. It was great to be a pilot, but being a captain was so much more …
“Have a good shift, Xang,” said Alex gently and left the bridge.
Janet waved to him from afar. But Kim approached him decisively as he neared the door to his cabin.
“Not now, honey …” Alex took her by the shoulder. “I have an important meeting right now.”
Kim frowned.
“Alex, will I be hearing you say that all the time now?”
How was he to maintain any kind of discipline under such circumstances? The engineer, opening his own door, stared at them curiously.
“Kim, come see me in half an hour, okay?” He looked into her eyes. He had no idea what she must have heard in his voice, but she beamed and affected a slight, mocking drawl as she said:
“All right, A-lex …”
Another second, and she disappeared behind her door. Alex entered his quarters, shook his head. Yup. He had a problem. Kim’s specialization was making her seek his love … the one thing he couldn’t give her.
But he had more pressing matters to tend to.
“Computer, put me through to C-the-Third, captain’s priority, open channel.”
The screen came on. To Alex’s surprise, C-the-Third was in his bed, sleeping peacefully. The yacht gravity compensation system was strong enough to protect the passengers from gravity overloads upon tunnel entry, but the clone’s equanimity was in itself worthy of admiration. Either he didn’t give a damn about anything, or flew so often that he felt no trepidation before yet another hyper-jump.
“C-the-Third …”
The clone awoke instantly. One moment he was lying on the bed, wrapped tightly in his blanket, and the next instant he was standing by the side of the bed, looking at the screen.
“Captain here,” Alex felt compelled to say, for some reason. “Come to my quarters. Immediately.”
C-The-Third didn’t say a word. Only nodded and disappeared from the field of vision. Alex sat down in the chair, propped his chin with his fist. He was absolutely calm. The recent incident had taken so little real time that his body hadn’t even had a chance to react by releasing adrenaline. Everything was over. And all pilots were pre-programmed to not worry about misfortunes that hadn’t happened.
If not for Janet …
The door beeped.
“Open,” Alex ordered.
It was C-the-Third. He wasn’t even dressed—he came just as he was, in his pajamas, which were rather childish, blue with little red and white stars. Alex made a mental note to be more careful with the word “immediately.”
“What’s going on, Captain?”
The clone’s harsh tone did not match the cheerful design of his pajamas. And his face wore the look of a man ready to kill.
“Sit down. Would you like a drink?” Alex leaned over and opened a little bar. Glanced at the flattish flasks … not a bad selection!
“Brandy,” said the clone resentfully. “Just a little.”
He waited while the captain poured two glasses of brandy and then asked, a little more calmly:
“So what’s happening?”
“At the entrance to the tunnel, we were almost rammed by a mercury tanker.”
“An attack?” The clone tensed.
“The pilot said their engines misfired. It’s been known to happen on old tubs like that. Their computers are extremely primitive and unstable.”
C-The-Third frowned.
“Captain, this ship is supposed to be well protected … and well armed. If I am not mistaken, according to the law, the guard towers were supposed to destroy the tanker. And you had the right to do so, as well.”
“No, I didn’t. The collision would not have led to a catastrophe—only forced us to enter the tunnel with an uncharted trajectory.”
“Was there a collision?” asked the clone.
“No. You would’ve felt it, I can assure you. We … managed.”
C-the-Third drank up his brandy in one gulp. Asked testily:
“Then what the hell? I knew we weren’t going for a walk in the park. You could’ve told me all about it in the morning …”
“C-the-Third, by a strange coincidence, the new trajectory would have led us into Cepheidean space.”
The clone started. He rolled his empty glass in his fingers and said:
“But it didn’t happen, right?”
“Right. We are on our way to Gamma Snakebearer. Can you imagine what would have happened, had we entered Cepheidean space?”
C-the-Third winced.
“Customs search. Capture of the Zzygou. Or, rather, an attempted capture. I have a duty to protect them.”
“I too have a duty to protect all my passengers.” Alex poured two more drinks. They drank in silence.
“It seems I must thank you.” C-the-Third bowed slightly. “That was an extremely unpleasant situation.”
“Indeed. But not me—Janet Ruello. Well, that’s beside the point, anyway. What do you think is the probability of an accidental collision?”
“Negligible.”
“Agreed. C-the-Third, I don’t like what’s happening. We were hired for civilian service.”
“This is a civilian trip. Ordinary tourism …”
“Is it?”
They looked closely at each other for a few moments. Then the clone shrugged his shoulders.
“Damn it, Captain … I’ve been making these trips for seven years now. Three years for the Pearl company and four years for Sky. I have escorted Zzygou, Bronins, Cepheideans, Fenhuan … and a dozen other races, with whom humans hardly ever have any contact. I am a spesh for these contacts, you see?”
“Yes, I see.”
C-the-Third continued, more softly and earnestly:
“Alex, I have lived through many different incidents. Skirmishes with xenophobes. Aggression on my customers’ part. Once I had to kill a Bronin who suddenly got violent. Another time we were taken over by terrorists from New Ukraine and had to wait eight weeks before a Zzygou patrol ship rescued us. I’ve seen a lot of things … but it’s all ordinary civilian work. Maybe slightly more risky than average … but your salary is probably also a little higher than average, am I right?”
“Who could be behind this? And why?”
“Got anything smokable?”
Alex
silently handed him a pack of cigarettes. They both lit up.
“Tourism business for alien races is not the most developed field …” said the clone pensively, letting out a stream of smoke. “How can you smoke this trash, Captain? But there are four companies, nevertheless. Ours is the largest. An incident causing our passengers’ capture by the Cepheideans would have led to a complete loss of trust in our company. You see?”
“Yes, I see.” The clone’s constant questioning of his understanding was beginning to irritate Alex. It was as if C-the-Third doubted his captain’s ability to put two and two together. “It’s all just the competitors’ underhand plotting, then?”
“Possibly. We will contact the police authorities … and, of course, we’ll have our own investigation right away.”
“Can you imagine what bribing a pilot would cost?”
The clone smiled.
“No, I can’t.”
“Neither can I. If the poor fellow from the tanker gets convicted, he will lose his pilot’s license for good. This kind of thing has no price, C-the-Third. It would be like wagering someone’s life. Like depriving someone of all colors, forcing him to see the world through a dark, murky glass. We pilots don’t have that many simple human pleasures.”
“But there might be exceptions?”
“Yes. Theoretically, a tanker’s pilot could be a natural—his job would then be only one of many joys in life. That sort of thing ought to be forbidden.” Alex halted, remembering Generalov.
“That would be discrimination,” said C-the-Third bluntly. “What if somebody had reprogrammed the tanker’s computer?”
Alex thought for a few moments. Those computers really were primitive.
“An ordinary change of programming wouldn’t work. Without the pilot’s help, the tanker’s computer wouldn’t be able to calculate such a complicated maneuver. Although someone could hack it and control it remotely.”
“Agreed.” The clone nodded. “The terrorists could have been anywhere—one of the guard stations, or one of the other ships waiting in line. They could have put in a remote-operation bio-block, which would simply disintegrate once the action was over.”
“Nasty.”
“Yes, indeed. But any business field has some ruthless people. No one has ever succeeded in making a businessperson-spesh, you know.”
Both of them smiled.
“So did I wake you up for nothing?” Alex inquired.
“Of course not. The situation really was extremely dangerous. In the morning, as soon as we are out of the channel, I will contact the company management.”
“Mr. Li Tsyn?”
The clone scowled.
“No. Mister President doesn’t bother with small incidents. I will contact my matrix, Danila Shustov. He’ll understand.”
“Are there a lot of you?” Alex asked.
“Clones? There were four. But Danila C-the-First Shustov was killed a year ago.”
“Condolences.”
The clone bowed slightly.
“We all work in the tourism business, Captain. C-the-First was in some respects my opposite—he escorted humans in the alien sectors. There was a freak accident. While in the Fenhuan sector, he organized an excursion to the incubation beach. A little girl left her mother’s side to look more closely at one of the eggs. They’re very beautiful, you know. They radiate a whole rainbow of colors, and their singing is lovely, too … She licked her finger and rubbed the egg … wanted a closer look at the embryo.”
Alex winced.
“My brother had no other choice but to take the blame upon himself.” A note of bitterness rang in C-the-Third’s voice. “The Fenhuan performed their ritual cleansing and then sent his remains back to Earth. With profuse apologies, of course. That’s life. But from now on, when our company organizes trips to alien planets, children must be kept on a short leash and wear a muzzle at all times.”
“Makes sense,” said Alex, nodding. “They couldn’t think of that before?”
“They did. But some parents protested. Some still object, of course, but the universe is not a friendly place.”
The clone got up, offering his hand. Alex shook it without hesitation.
“Thank you for finding a way out of the recent situation. I will ask the management to reward your crew, especially you and Janet Ruello.”
“I apologize for disturbing your sleep.”
When C-the-Third left, Alex thought for a moment and refilled his glass. The accident—the near-accident! he corrected himself—had now been explained. Such passions raging in the peaceful tourism business! Well, where didn’t you find them? Even street sweepers and sewer workers must have their own raging passions, hidden from the rest of the world.
Alex imagined a broad-shouldered, squat, long-armed street sweeper-spesh, creeping stealthily in the middle of the night. Reaching into his belly pouch, taking out some litter he’d gathered the day before, and spreading it around someone else’s lot. Laughing quietly, straining his genetically-weakened vocal cords, heading back home, relishing his revenge … But, no! That was nonsense—a street sweeper-spesh was incapable of littering. A natural could do it easily, though …
The door beeped again.
“Open.”
For some reason, he had been expecting a small provocation from Kim. She could arrive wearing only her skimpy PJ’s, for instance, or even wearing nothing at all. Or something she had bought back on Quicksilver Pit—her black-and-silver pantsuit, which showed off her trim figure—or a semi-transparent evening gown …
Alex underestimated her, as it turned out.
Kim wore a simple white dress and sandals. A small black chiffon scarf was tied around her throat.
It was the same provocation, only much more sophisticated. A sweet schoolgirl, freshly dressed for the prom. An element of every adult male’s erotic fantasies.
“Kim …” said Alex softly.
“I totally understand.” Kim sat down on the floor at his feet and gave him a heartrending, beseeching smile. “You’re tired. Don’t send me away, okay? Just don’t send me away … Let me sit here with you for a little while?”
“Kim …” Alex lifted her off the floor, sat her down on his lap. “You’re making a mistake, kid… .”
“A mistake?”
“It’s a mistake to have a crush on me.”
Kim frowned slightly.
“Whatever gave you that idea? I’m just very grateful to you, that’s all …”
“You’re welcome.”
“Besides, we are still husband and wife … for the next eight hours.”
Alex kissed her soft lips. Whispered:
“Kim, it will only make things worse, trust me. …”
“As your wife, I have a right to demand that you perform your husbandly duties.” She gave him a strict, serious look. “I insist!”
Her eyes were ardent, demanding. The eyes of a hetaera-spesh. A hetaera in love.
“I can’t deny my duties,” said Alex. His kiss stopped her from saying anything in reply. He lifted the girl up into his arms and, still kissing, took her over to the bed. He lay down next to her and started taking off her dress, all the while returning her urgent kisses. Kim’s hands slid down his torso and unbuttoned his pants. For a second, she freed her lips from his and whispered hotly and earnestly, as if swearing an oath:
“If anyone interrupts us now, I’ll kill them!”
Alex glanced at her body—her slender, perfect figure, her tousled hair, her fingers flexing in anticipated ecstasy.
“Agreed … We’ll kill them together.”
After all, he had been deprived of decent sex for almost five months, and the dreary virtual sex imitator at the hospital contained only the programs that bored Alex even back in his puberty days.
“Alex …”
Maybe promising to kill was a mistake. She was, after all, a strange hybrid of fighter and hetaera. Quite possibly, violence excited her as much as sex did. She pounced upon him with a passion
he hadn’t seen even in the most experienced professionals.
“I’ll do anything you wish, anything,” she whispered, helping him undress. “Anything. Just love me, you’ll see, no one will ever love you like me, no one … only love me …”
Alex kissed her again without answering.
Sex with her was really wonderful. Alex had never much cared for hetaeras, who were specialized to look like nymphets, but this was something different. He couldn’t help feeling that Kim would be just as seductive in the full glory of womanhood, and in later maturity, and even in old age. Possibly she had been pre-programmed for delayed aging, giving her almost a century of youth. But it was also possible that she would age the way ordinary women did. In any case, the sexual charge emanating from her seemed endless. Alex took her four times in a row. Every time, she had an orgasm. But it seemed she could keep going the whole night and the following day, and never get bored.
She rested for just a few minutes—Alex felt her rapid kisses on his body, and her hot lips, and her quick slender fingers. He opened his eyes and whispered:
“Kim … I’ll pass this time …”
She laughed quietly, pressing against him with the same passionate readiness.
“Was it good for you?”
“Yes, Kim. It was great. Thank you …” He lightly kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re wonderful. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
Kim smiled proudly. But her smile quickly faded.
“Alex …”
“Yes?”
“You know … something’s not right.”
She sat up on the bed, wrapping herself in a thin blanket. She looked suspiciously at Alex.
“Tell me, are you really attracted to me?”
“You couldn’t tell?”
This time, her smile was even more evanescent.
“Alex … well, something’s wrong! You don’t … love me?”
It would be nice to get some sleep now, and not start this senseless discussion …
“No, I don’t.”
“Not at all?” she pressed.
“Not at all, baby.”
“But why?” She tossed her hair back. “You think I’m a sex maniac? I’m not! I won’t ever say a word to you about it, if that’s what you want. I just saw that that’s what you needed.”
The Genome Page 17
