The Genome

Chapter 1

Alex gazed into the sky.

Its appearance was strange. Irregular. Unprecedented.

The kind that happens over worlds still unspoiled by civilization. The kind of sky that might happen over Earth, humanity’s home planet, a world trashed and flushed clean three times over.

But over Quicksilver Pit, the industrial center of the sector, a planet of three shipyards with all the necessary infrastructure, this kind of sky simply should not be.

Alex gazed up.

Clear, iridescent blue. Scattered threads of clouds. Pink glow of the setting sun. A glider gamboling as playfully as a puppy in a snowdrift. Never before, not through the hospital window, not on the planetary news programs, had he seen such a sky over Quicksilver Pit.

There was something odd about the whole city today. The setting sun splashed a warm pink over the walls of the buildings. The last remnants of dirty snow clung to the support columns of the old monorail, spaced out along the highway. Once in a very long while, a car would rush by, as if afraid to tear the silence, slipping away so fast it seemed in a hurry to escape this suddenly unfamiliar, pink world.

Or maybe this was the way the world should look to a person just emerging from five months’ confinement to a hospital ward.

“No one meeting you?”

Alex turned to the guard. Whiling away his time, bored in his plexiglass booth, the guard cut a strapping figure. Ruddy cheeks, shoulders three feet wide, a stun gun on his belt, and a bulletproof vest over his uniform—as though someone planned to storm the hospital.

“I don’t have anybody.”

“You from far away?”

“Uh-huh.” Alex reached for his cigarettes. Drew the smoke of the strong local tobacco deep into his lungs.

“Need a taxi? You’re dressed kind of light for this weather, friend…”

The guard was evidently eager to help.

“No, thanks. I’ll take the rail.”

“Comes once an hour,” warned the guard. “It’s free public transport, for the naturals…”

To be honest, he looked like a natural himself. Not that you could tell anything by looks.

“That’s why I’m taking the rail, ’cos it’s free.”

The guard gave Alex a once-over, then glanced at the hospital buildings behind him.

“No, no, I am a spesh,” explained Alex. “I’m just broke, that’s all. Work insurance plan. I couldn’t have paid for the treatment myself. They could have brought me here in a basket… well, maybe they did. I don’t remember.”

He slashed a hand across his own waist, indicating the invisible line that, five months ago, had divided his body and his life in two. He felt an overwhelming need to share, to talk to someone who hadn’t seen his medical charts, someone who would listen, appreciate, click his tongue…

“Rotten luck,” sighed the guard. “Well, now you’re all right? Main parts back to normal?”

Alex stepped on the cigarette butt and nodded in response to the guard’s conspiratorial smirk.

“Like new… Well, thanks.”

“For what?” replied the guard in surprise.

But Alex was already on his way to the road. He walked fast, not looking back. They had really done a splendid job of patching him up. He couldn’t have wished for better treatment… especially in his situation. But now, since having signed the last insurance document half an hour ago, affirming that he had no complaints against the medical personnel and proclaiming his condition “identical to pre-trauma state,” nothing connected him to the hospital anymore. Absolutely nothing.

Or to this planet, for that matter. But leaving Quicksilver Pit would be much harder.

On the side of the highway, he waited for a speeding car to pass, a luxurious, sporty, bright-red Cayman. Crossed over to the monorail support column, and walked up the spiral staircase—the elevator, of course, was out of order.

“Well, we’re on our own again, just you and me. Right, Demon?” he said into the air. Then glanced sideways at his shoulder.

Alex’s clothes really were all wrong for the weather, even this unexpected thaw which had burst upon the city on the eve of Independence Day. His jeans and shoes, bought for pennies donated by a local charity fund, were more or less all right. But the leather vest over a sleeveless jersey looked weird.

At least his Demon seemed to be having a good time.

It lived on his left shoulder: a color tattoo some four inches tall, a small demon with a pitchfork in its hands, who stared into space with a gloomy and disapproving air. Its long tail was wrapped around its waist, probably to keep the Demon’s legs from getting tangled up in it. The Demon’s short gray fur looked like a set of fuzzy clinging overalls.

For a while Alex stared suspiciously at the Demon’s little face. It wore an inquisitive, calm expression. Self-assured.

“We’re gonna make it, bro,” said Alex. He leaned over the guardrail of the train stop, looked down below, spat onto the shiny steel rail.

There was nobody else around. Maybe the free municipal transport was unpopular, or maybe it was just that kind of day. A day of a blue sky, a pink sunset, the end of a holiday. Yesterday the whole hospital had celebrated… Even Alex, formally still a patient, was given some alcohol, mixed with glucose and vitamins.

Here at the height of some thirty-two feet, gusty wind reigned supreme. Alex even considered going back down and taking shelter behind the column while he waited for the train. But, after all, it was more interesting up here. There was a panoramic view of the city, its even rows of skyscrapers, its grid of straight roads already showing bright flashes of ads. It was a very geometrical city. On the other side, beyond the empty, long-derelict fields, he could make out the dim outlines of the spaceport. The port was too close to the city, Alex thought… Well, maybe that was what had saved his life. His surgeon had let it slip that the life-support IC unit, to which Alex had been connected, spent its back-up battery power and clicked off just as he was put onto the operating table.

Who could have ever guessed he would actually need his comprehensive insurance policy one day? Someone in the office of the Third Freight-and-Passenger station would gnash his teeth signing off on the medical bills. Well, they didn’t really have a choice.

“We’ll make it,” he promised his Demon again. Spat once more onto the rail. Felt a slight tremor. The monorail car was drawing near.

It moved at a very leisurely pace. Alex estimated its speed at thirty point two miles per hour. It was completely covered with spirited graffiti, as though the car was trying to compensate for its lack of speed by the intricate brightness of its decoration. It was almost dusk, and some of the signs and drawings gave off a dim phosphorescence; others sparkled, flowed, changed colors.

“Don’t you dare not stop…” murmured Alex anxiously, but the monorail car was already slowing down. With a hissing sound, it opened its wide door, decorated with a fairly talented caricature of Quicksilver Pit’s president, Mr. San Li. Alex smiled at the thought of how much better this would have looked in the hospital than the obligatory copies of the president’s portrait in every ward. He entered the monorail car.

The inside didn’t look any better than the outside. Hard plastic seats, a derelict TV screen on the dead-bolted partition separating the passengers from the driver.

The passengers fit right in.

A dozen young hoodlums, sprawling in their seats in the back corner of the car. Typical naturals of the type that make do with dirty work. All were drunk. All were dopers. All were staring at Alex with the same torpid curiosity. Just a few paces away, dozing off in her window seat, sat a girl of about fifteen, as dingy and scruffy as the rest of them, dark circles under her eyes.

Alex sat down at the head of the car. With a jolt, it started up again.

“What do we think of the locals, Demon?” he asked, glancing at the tattoo. The Demon’s little face twisted into a grimace of disgust.

“I’m with you,” whispered Alex. Tried to make himself a little more comfortable, fully realizing the futility of the attempt.

Well… At least it was warmer inside… He thought he might even nod off for a bit, while the monorail was crawling through the suburbs.

“Get away from me!”

Alex turned around.

Great. Just what he needed. A chance to be heroic. Right out of the hospital.

One of the guys had moved next to the girl. He was slowly, unhurriedly unbuttoning her coat.

“I said, shove off!” said the girl harshly.

The other naturals just watched. Both their pal and Alex. Hell, would they have had the guts to try this if he were wearing his master-pilot uniform?

Not likely.

But who would think him a spesh now?

The girl glanced at Alex. The expression in her eyes was nice. Incongruous with the rest of her appearance.

“Tell me, Demon, do we need this?” asked Alex.

The tattoo on his shoulder didn’t say anything. It couldn’t talk. The Demon’s lips were tight, and its fists opened slightly, letting out its claws. Its squinting eyes filled with fiery red.

“You sure?” asked Alex with a sigh. Got up and walked toward the girl. The guy next to her immediately turned, tensed. He wasn’t as drunk as he let on. The whole group got quiet.

“She isn’t interested,” said Alex.

The guy licked his lips, got up. Alex saw rough, bulging muscles rolling under his coarse sweater. Looked like an altered body. Probably modified for physical strength. Really bad news… Guess this wasn’t just public transport for the naturals.

“She’s interested,” the guy informed him. “Just playing hard to get. The way we do it ’round here. You got that? Two’s fun, three’s a crowd, get it?”

A harsh slurring accent made his speech barely intelligible. Seemed like in pursuit of physical strength, all other functions had been minimized.

Alex looked at the girl.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m all right, thanks.”

The Demon on his shoulder looked perplexed.

“Yeah!” said the fellow triumphantly, bending towards his newly subdued prey.

“I said shove off, you jerk!” said the girl sharply. “You stupid, or what?!”

Alex leaned on an empty seat. The situation was getting interesting.

The guy let out a low growl—his small mind just could not process the need to retreat. He stretched out his hand, casually sinking it into the girl’s open coat.

“I warned you,” she said.

Her first blow doubled up the pseudo-natural. Her second, with spread-out fingers, broke through his sweater, where a bloodstain instantly appeared. The third blow smashed his head into the window. It crunched, covered with a web of cracks, but held together.

A moment later the girl was standing next to Alex. The hoodlums, stunned, sat speechless.

“Any of you move, and you’ll catch hell,” said the girl quietly.

The fellow slowly sank to the floor. Groaned, holding his head in his hands.

Alex glanced sideways at the Demon.

The creature smirked, crouched, as if ready to leap off his shoulder to join the fray with relish.

“I liked it, too,” said Alex. The car slowed down, the door hissed, opening.

“We’d better get off,” Alex told the girl.

“I’ll manage,” she answered curtly.

“I almost believe you. But how’ll you manage the police? Let’s go.”

Somewhat cautiously, he took hold of her arm. The girl obeyed.

They jumped out onto the platform, and the monorail door closed behind them. Could the driver have stopped just for them? The naturals had already come back to their senses. Some of them were helping the altered fellow get to his feet. His head wobbled slightly as he tried to walk. Others were shaking their fists at the window.

“I wasn’t bothering them!” exclaimed the girl.

She raised her hand, shaking off a few droplets of blood.

“That kind doesn’t need any bothering.”

Alex watched the monorail depart. It had already sped up to about forty miles an hour, probably the best it could do. As if the driver had decided to get the brawlers as far apart from each other as possible.

“Did you notice—that guy was also a spesh?”

“A spesh?” she said with a note of curiosity, omitting the “also.” Maybe she didn’t want to deny the obvious, or maybe she just hadn’t noticed. She sniffed, got out a crumpled handkerchief, wiped off her hand.

“Yeah, maybe. He recovered too fast.”

Alex watched the girl with growing curiosity. She really couldn’t have been more than fifteen… and considering the obvious alteration of the body…

“What’s your name?” he said. The girl glanced at him as though he was asking about her banking code. “I’m Alex, spesh.”

“Kim…” and after a short pause, she added, “spesh.”

“And this is Demon,” Alex turned slightly, showing her the tattoo on his shoulder. “Just Demon.”

The Demon smiled an ingratiating smile, crossing its legs, hiding its tail behind its back, and leaning on the pitchfork as though it were an elegant walking stick. Kim’s face promptly grew serious.

“It… He wasn’t like that before. I saw…”

“Of course. Demon can change.”

A look of distrust came into her dark eyes. Well… Quicksilver Pit was, after all, a backwater place, despite its status as an industrial center.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Alex. “It’s just an emotion scanner. See?”

Kim didn’t pretend to understand and just shook her head.

“It’s not much, really. A liquid-crystal screen inserted right under the skin. Look at my Demon, and you know what I’m feeling. Afraid or angry, thinking or daydreaming… it’s all right here.”

“Wow! Neat…” The girl stretched out her hand, threw a questioning glance at Alex, then cautiously touched his shoulder.

The Demon smiled very slightly.

“I like that,” said Kim. “And you don’t mind being all exposed like that?”

“When I mind, I turn off the lights.” At this, the Demon’s smile grew a bit wider.

“I see,” the girl nodded. “Thanks for your help, spesh Alex. Best of luck to you!”

She ran down the stairs, lightly, easily, not a hint of fear at the shaky railing and more than a thirty-foot drop below her. Alex leaned over, watching her descend, barely visible in the dusk. They were somewhere at the very edge of town; all around stretched row upon row of dark and seemingly abandoned buildings. Maybe these were warehouses, maybe long-closed factories, or tenements so ugly that no one could bear to live there.

“Hey, friend-spesh!” shouted Alex, as the girl reached the ground below. “You hungry?”

“Very.” Kim answered simply. “But I’m broke.”

“Wait up!”

Alex glanced at the Demon. It shrugged.

“Yup, we’re out of the habit…” agreed Alex, and jumped over the railing. Thirty-two feet. Free-fall acceleration on Quicksilver Pit was twenty-seven point two feet per second. He turned in the air, assuming the right position, bending his knees at impact, and then squatting slightly to counteract inertia. A leap like this would cost a natural a broken spine. Alex’s body reacted precisely as it was designed to.

A soft, muted wave of pain rolled through him, while the reconstructed tissues absorbed the impact. Alex straightened, looked at the girl.

Kim stood in a fighting pose, a strange one impossible for any natural, a stance from the yu-dao martial art. Legs forward, as though they had been broken and twisted at the knee, torso leaning backward, left hand, palm open toward Alex, at her face, and right arm thrust forward.

A sixth-level defensive stance.

“I’m not attacking,” said Alex quickly. “Friend-spesh, this is not an attack. I was simply trying out my body.”

Kim straightened up smoothly. It seemed to Alex that he could hear the light rustle of her joints coming out of fighting mode.

“Who are you, spesh Alex?”

“A master-pilot.”

With a glance, the girl assessed the height of his recent jump.

“Thirty-two point two feet. My impact velocity was…”

“You’ve been modified for gravity overloads?”

“Exactly. I retain mobility at six Gs and consciousness at twelve.”

“And measure distances like a radar.”

“Both distance and velocity.”

Alex stretched his hand toward her.

“Friend-spesh, I have the money to buy dinner for two. Would you accept my offer, no strings attached, no payback expected?”

At this, the girl relaxed. Alex only hoped she would not catch a glimpse of the Demon, would not notice its mischievous smirk. He had addressed Kim with deliberate courtesy, according to all the rules of etiquette, as if addressing a lady and not the girl that she was, despite all her abilities as a spesh, after all.

“I accept your offer, friend-spesh,” she said quickly. “I don’t see any harm in it.”

Dinner for two was quite a bit of an exaggeration. A light snack for two would be more like it, and at one of the cheapest fast-food joints at that. But Alex had not wasted his last opportunity for a square meal, back when he was still in the full care of the hospital.

And Kim, it seemed, had long been enduring financial difficulties.

The menu choices at McRobbins were few and well known to every child. Still, Alex handed the girl a menu.

Kim ordered heavy whipped cream, a protein shake, some vitaminized ice cream, and two glasses of mineral water. Without a second’s hesitation over her choices, she traced her finger along the menu, touched the picture of the “enter” button. Threw Alex a questioning glance.

“Coffee for me,” he said. “Just coffee.”

“I spent all your money?” Kim asked bluntly.

“Yes. But that isn’t a problem. I am fully formed, and you…” Alex lowered his voice, “are a nymph.” The girl’s face blazed red.

“Take it easy,” continued Alex quietly, “please relax. Everyone goes through this. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“How did you know?”

“The food. You ordered a very typical meal. Fat, protein, carbohydrates, vitamins, minerals, water. Nothing else. How long do you have till pupation?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kim, I’m not your enemy.”

“I have no idea!” she shouted. A family at a nearby table—two naturals and their son, a boy-spesh—stared at them. The boy’s eyes, narrow and too wide-set, were unnaturally bright. It occurred to Alex in passing that he could not even begin to guess the direction of the boy’s transformation.

“Kim…”

“I really don’t know,” the girl said a little more calmly. “My metamorphosis is off track. According to the schedule, the chrysalis stage should have happened a month ago.”

Alex shook his head. Awful. Really awful. An off-track metamorphosis was no joke. He ought to keep away from the girl, but… he might have already made one step too close.

“You have medical insurance?”

“No.”

“I won’t even ask about money, but parents? Friends?”

Kim was silent, her lips tight. Mad, it seemed, at the stupid questions.

“I see.”

Alex reached for his cigarettes, lit up. Glanced sideways at the Demon.

The little devil held its head in its hands, its little face looking lost and scared.

“I’ll be going,” Kim said quietly. “Sorry.”

“Stay where you are,” said Alex curtly. “Your order is on its way.” A young fellow in bright orange shorts, a white T-shirt with the McRobbins logo, and a smile on his face, unloaded all the cups and glasses one by one upon the table. Obviously a natural, he took the girl for a sweet tooth, and the strange selection of food told him nothing.

“Where is the nearest place to stay, friend? Something cheap?” Alex stretched out his arm, holding a credit card by its activation center. The waiter moved his wrist over the card, and his electronic bracelet beeped softly, reading off the payment.

“Hilton, of course,” he answered. “The closest is a five-minute walk down the boulevard toward the center.”

No surprise, no contempt. McRobbins did not get any other kind of customer. Only those who stayed in the cheapest chain hotels and preferred municipal transport.

“Thanks, friend.”

The fellow left, obviously not hoping for a tip. And he was right. They simply had no money for it.

Alex took a sip of coffee—surprisingly tolerable—and watched the girl.

Kim was eating.

She started off with ice cream, and that was bad. Everything was bad, of course, but especially the carbohydrate craving. It was a sign that pupation was close; otherwise, the nymph would have picked the protein shake first. Time was running out.

At this point, Alex did not even want to look at the Demon.

Kim shook her head, as though the soft, slightly melted ice cream was hard to swallow. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She gulped down half a glass of water, scraped out the ice cream cup, and without a pause, with the same spoon, moved on to the whipped cream.

Really awful. Her body had already stored up enough protein for the metamorphosis. Well, actually, it only seemed like there was enough. Skin and bones… Breasts were barely noticeable under the sweater. What was going on here? The creation of a fighter-spesh was one of the most expensive genetic procedures, affecting the whole body. To disrupt this kind of metamorphosis with bad nutrition, sleep deprivation, and stress was like having an unusually large diamond and then failing to cut it properly.

“Thanks very much, Alex.” Kim was finally done with the food. She had looked as if she was forcing herself to finish the protein shake. Her eyes were now glazed over, drowsy. “I guess I… needed that…”

Alex nodded. He had not decided anything yet, or maybe was afraid to admit to himself what he had decided.

“Why is your Demon looking away?”

The tattoo on his shoulder had changed dramatically. The Demon was crouching and looking away, the tip of its ear twitching nervously.

“It’s like a cartoon,” said Kim, not waiting for an answer. “Was it a part of your transformation, or can it be added afterwards?”

“Afterwards.”

“I’ll also… get one… just like it.” She was getting really sleepy.

“Let’s go.” Alex got up. Grabbed her by the arm. A fighter-spesh should have reacted to the sudden movement, but Kim did not even twitch. “Let’s go. Quickly now.”

The girl followed him as if hypnotized. The transparent doors of the eatery opened, letting both of them out into the street, where the cold wind revived the girl a little.

“Not so cozy out here, is it?” she said with a laugh. “Why are you holding me like that?”

“We’re going to a hotel,” answered Alex without stopping. “You need to sleep.”

“Yes, I do,” agreed the girl. She seemed drunk or drugged. And in some sense, she was—her body had already begun to release endorphins into her bloodstream. “It’s so uncomfortable out here.”

Alex knew all too well what she meant. The chrysalis stage was the most dangerous time in a spesh’s life. As its onset approached, a person suffered intense agoraphobia. To remain out in the open was not just uncomfortable, but insanely frightening.

“We’ll walk really fast,” Alex told her. “We’ll get to the Hilton and get a tiny, cozy room, nice and quiet. I’ll put you to bed, cover you up with a blanket, turn off the light, and you’ll get some sleep. When you wake up, everything will be fine.”

“All right,” said Kim. “Let’s walk really fast.”

She let out a light, faltering giggle, familiar to any man whose girlfriend had ever had too many drinks. A second later, the tone of her voice changed completely.

“You won’t harm me? Will you?”

The girl put her hand on Alex’s shoulder. She was not quite tall enough to hug a grown man, but Alex fully realized that even these slender fingers, now barely touching his neck, were capable of breaking his spine in an instant.

Suspiciousness, at times completely unreasonable, was also a sign of approaching pupation. And the two of them were, after all, practically strangers.

“I won’t harm you,” replied Alex. “Let’s hurry up. It’s cold.”

“All right.”

The boulevard was deserted. There were few people on Quicksilver Pit who enjoyed walking at night, so it was empty and completely dark. Walking fast along the street, Alex felt the girl’s hand tremble a little on his shoulder. It trembled, getting dryer and more and more feverish.

Damn! What was he doing?

The waiter had not lied. The Hilton really was close. Alex knew that a long, long time ago, before the space era, the hotel chain had been considered posh and expensive. But at the beginning of the galactic expansion, its owners made a bet on cheap mass lodgings. As it turned out, their bet paid off.

The outside of the hotel, a squat three-story structure, did look rather decent. Its walls, covered by plastic-crumb panels, retained their juicy orange color for decades, and the laser ad hovering in the air above it was as truthful as it could be. It promised “maximum comfort at minimal price.”

With Kim hanging onto him, barely able to shuffle along, Alex pushed his way into the hotel lobby.

The night clerk, a natural of about forty, threw an appraising glance at them. Gave a friendly smile. To him, of course, it all looked very simple—a spesh out for a good time had picked up a young natural for the night. Alex had no intention of arguing with him.

“A room with minimal parameters… for three hours,” said Alex, catching a glimpse of the price list. That completely cleaned out his account.

“Second floor, number twenty-six,” said the clerk, reaching out with his cash scanner. Alex took out his credit card, approved the transaction. “Hey, you’re with him, kiddo?”

“Yes,” said Kim, almost inaudibly. “I’ll get to bed, get a blanket, and we’ll turn off the light.” At this, the clerk discretely winked at Alex.

“Let’s go.” Alex had a feeling that the girl might collapse any second now. “Let’s go where it’s dark and quiet…”

This seemed to have the desired effect. Hanging on to him, Kim moved towards the elevator.

Alex had kept his promise about the silence. The Hilton management knew how irritating noise could be to the customers of their hotels, be it street noise or the sounds coming from the adjacent rooms. It wasn’t sound-suppressors they had installed, of course—the thin walls had been filled with cheap vacuum foam.

The lights in the tiny room came on mercilessly bright, showing its squalid interior—a double but rather narrow bed with unimaginably bright-colored bedding of synthetic fibers, two plastic chairs, a plastic table, a cheap screen on the wall, and a half-open bathroom door with a sticker above the knob, proudly proclaiming that it was “Sterile.”

Kim whimpered feebly, covering her eyes with her right hand. Her left was still clutching Alex.

“Dim the lights!” ordered Alex, forgetting for a second where he was. Cursed. Touching his finger to the sensor, he lowered the brightness of the lights. The ceiling lamps dimmed, turned a pallid blue for a second, and began flickering in a happy disco mode. After a few more attempts, he managed to achieve a dimmer pinkish tone—cloying, but easy on the eyes.

“It hurts,” complained Kim weakly. Her receptors surely had a higher pain threshold, and now she was also in a state of pre-metamorphosis self-anesthetization. But pain was still breaking through all the barriers.

“Hang in there, give me a second,” said Alex, scooping her up into his arms. “You do understand what is happening to you, right? You’ve entered your chrysalis stage.”

She said nothing, giving only a limp nod. Alex put her on the bed, started unbuttoning her coat.

“But you promised… not to hurt me…” said Kim.

“Don’t worry. I only want to help.”

He peeled off her coat, her jeans, and her sweater. All she had on now were thin panties, freshly soaked with blood. She must have felt herself bleeding—she made a weak attempt to cover herself with her hand.

“You’ve got your period?” asked Alex.

“No… Too early.”

“I see.”

Hesitating no longer, Alex took off her soiled underwear, flipped the blanket open, and arranged her body more comfortably on the bed. Kim did not help him in any way, but offered no resistance, either. All better now. She must have postponed the metamorphosis as long as she could. Not consciously—the mind had no control over the process—but just by realizing how vulnerable she had been. Alex’s presence had broken the delicate balance between the genetic program and the pupation-inhibiting hormones. The girl put her trust in him, and the tightly wound spring had started to unravel.

“Does the light bother you?” he asked.

“No…”

Her voice was changing. The larynx was being transformed.

“Kim, try to understand what I am saying. It’s very important, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You are entering a transformational trance. Soon you’ll start seeing things… all kinds of things. Your body will be changing according to the prescribed program. Everything will be fine, I’m sure. But it will hurt a little. You think you can handle it?”

The girl nodded weakly. A few drops of blood slid down from her nostrils.

“Thirsty?”

“No… Not yet.”

Alex sighed. What he knew of the chrysalis stage was no more than any other spesh with a basic education and personal experience of the process. The main thing was that the transformation should take place under a specialist’s care. And in case of a disrupted metamorphosis—in the hospital.

Damn it…

His pockets were empty.

And he knew nobody here.

A strange planet, a strange town, and a strange girl, entering the chrysalis stage…

He slid his hands under her little, trembling body, lifted her up.

Eighty-five, maybe eighty-six pounds. Unforgivably little for a metamorphosis. And… there was something else alarming, irregular. A body-mass imbalance uncharacteristic of humans.

“Kim!”

The girl opened her eyes.

“Are you cyborged?”

“No…”

“No artificial organs? Pacemakers, transplants, built-in weapons?”

“No.”

“Is your body biologically clean? Completely? No foreign objects?” He could be mistaken. His sense of balance was enhanced for the rare occasions when a master-pilot had to use a really tiny craft, such as a glider or even a rocket pack.

But Kim was silent, looking at him in fear.

“You can’t enter chrysalis if you have implants, kid! Your body won’t be able to handle it!”

This was a complete disaster. If for some reason the girl had been slipped an artificial organ, she was doomed.

“Swear on your life…”

“What?”

“Swear that you’ll keep…”

Her hand crawled down her stomach, stopping somewhere above the right kidney. For a second, her fingers weakly pressed and stretched the skin. Then a shiver ran down her body, and the skin beneath her fingers came open, revealing a small pocket.

It was not an artificial organ, after all. Not even a built-in gun. Just a hiding place, a practically undetectable cavity.

“Here…”

Alex lowered Kim onto the bed and carefully took a heavy crystal out of her hand.

A truncated cone with a one-point-nine-five-inch base. Clear as a diamond. And as expensive as a diamond of its size.

Alex lifted the crystal up, looked through it at the light. The ceiling lamp’s pink glow turned white. He squeezed the crystal and felt a tough resilience.

Exactly. A gel-crystal.

“Where did you get this?” was all that he managed to say.

“Keep it safe…” Kim’s fingers squeezed his wrist with such force that Alex gave a slight gasp from the pain. “Swear to keep it safe!”

“I swear.”

How absurd. A homeless, starving child was carrying around a huge fortune. Crystals of this size were used on star cruisers, in planetary computer centers, in virtual reality bases, and in navigational centers of the largest spaceports. There were probably not more than five or six such crystals on the whole planet of Quicksilver Pit.

“You promise me?”

“I promise.”

Alex leaned over and touched his lips to her forehead.

“Sleep. I know how to care for gel-crystals. Don’t worry.”

She believed him. She simply had no other choice. After a few seconds, the girl’s eyes closed, but it was not sleep. Obeying the program, her consciousness faded.

Alex threw the blanket over her.

A short respite, an hour, an hour and a half at the most. Now her body would begin to prepare for the metamorphosis.

Still, she probably wouldn’t make it.

Clutching the crystal—though it was almost impossible to break, he did not wish to take any chances—Alex walked over to the table. Put the crystal into a glass, then poured in some water from a decanter. That was good for gel-crystals.

Glanced sideways at Kim. The girl’s breathing was slow and deep. Her nose had stopped bleeding… for now.

“Computer,” said Alex forcefully, inwardly ready for the terminal not to work.

To Alex’s relief, the screen flooded with a dim white light. The management of Hilton didn’t exactly have to make information services available in a unit of “minimal parameters.”

“This is the basic service mode,” announced the computer courteously. “Your connection is limited to the local city area. Only free information services will be provided.”

Alex hissed through clenched teeth. Wanted to look at the Demon, but changed his mind. Most likely, the Demon would be sitting with its back to him. Perhaps it had even left altogether, offended by its master’s stupidity.

“Information on gel-crystals,” said Alex.

“Completed. Limited mode.”

Great…

“Gel-crystals with base diameter larger than one point nine inches.”

“Completed. Limited mode.”

“Crimes connected to this group of crystals.”

“Completed. Limited mode.”

“Theft of crystals with base diameter larger than one point nine inches.”

“Completed.”

Alex smiled.

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to access any secret police archives. Well, this would have to do.

“List the last five cases.”

“Unable to comply. Gel-crystals of specified size were objects of theft three times. Shall I list data?”

“Yes. Brief descriptions only.”

“Year 2131. Base crystal of space liner Sri Lanka. Stolen during mutiny on board ship, supposedly by master-pilot Andreas Wolf, spesh. Recovered and returned to the Lunar Express corporation after the mutiny had been suppressed. Currently used on space liner Sri Lanka. Further details not available.”

Alex scowled. He already knew this case, but it hadn’t immediately come to mind. He hadn’t connected the shameful story of the spesh who led a mutiny and the theft of the crystal.

“Year 2164. Gel-crystal of amusement complex Andalusia, planet Athena. Stolen by technician Dyeri Doneskou, natural. Recovered during an attempted resale. Recycled upon loss of function resulting from improper storage conditions. Details?”

“No. Next.”

“Year 2173. Base crystal of space cruiser Tron. Stolen by an unknown person. Never recovered. Further details unavailable.”

Alex looked at Kim in considerable doubt. She was a spesh, certainly. But to believe that ten years ago, as a child, she could have stolen the gel-crystal from a military ship…

“Is the gel-crystal from the Tron still being searched for?”

“No information available.”

Made sense. The military gave no rewards for the return of stolen articles. And they seldom asked for police assistance with any internal problems. Remarkable that these details had leaked into the open infonet at all.

So then, could it have been the space cruiser Tron?

Alex squatted in front of the table. Looked at the glass, where the now-invisible crystal lay.

It was not just its intrinsic value. If this was the crystal, and if it still contained all of the data from the military fleet’s flagship… even ten years old…

“How come I always get myself into shit, and when I do, it’s always up to my ears…?” Alex asked rhetorically.

The crystal could not answer him, the girl was asleep, and the computer did not consider it an appropriate question. Alex sighed. Well, there was no proof, after all. It could very well have been a completely different crystal.

“Computer. Access the employment vacancy pages.”

“Completed.”

At least this service was available.

“Vacancies on the planet Quicksilver Pit for a master-pilot, spesh, thirty-four years of age, six years of experience, first-class qualifications, no restrictions, confirmed loyalty, misdemeanor record clean… um… no restrictions, full medical clearance as of today. Display text only.”

There were vacancies. Five of them, to be exact.

Alex moved up to the screen.

The first announcement made him smirk. Orbital and sub-orbital freight transit. A Hamster-class barge. To offer this job to a master-pilot… Someone had a real sense of humor. Thirty credits per week. No sign-up bonus. Free lodging at the Hilton.

“Delete the first entry.”

The second and third opportunities were not much better. Two freight routes—Quicksilver Pit to and from the hyperterminal, and Quicksilver Pit to and from the asteroid belt. Two barges, one Hamster-class, the other a Badger. Sixty credits per week. Lodging at the Hilton or in a company-sponsored apartment.

“Delete the second and third entries.”

Were master-pilots a dime a dozen in this place? Or… maybe there really was no demand for speshes of his skill level.

The fourth vacancy caught his attention. The space liner Goethe. Second master-pilot. The independent company Solar. One hundred credits. Full benefits. A sign-up bonus equal to one month’s salary. All expenses paid. There were, however, some special conditions… a non-negotiable five-year contract.

“Delete.”

The fifth vacancy was a military one. A fleet-supply vessel. Seventy credits with full benefits. A one-year contract. A very attractive offer.

Except it would be a military thing…

“Delete.”

The girl moaned weakly. Alex turned to her. Kim awkwardly rolled her head on the pillow. Her eyes were open.

“The crystal…”

“Everything’s fine. It’s safe.”

“Uh-huh.”

She lost consciousness again.

Well, she did realize how precious the crystal was, if she could interrupt her own trance for it.

“What am I going to do with you?” said Alex under his breath.

An off-track metamorphosis was no joke. She would be getting visions any second now. She might turn violent, and a fighter-spesh out of control—that would be a disaster. But even if she stayed quiet, she would still need food, she would need rest, and medicine. All that cost money, and he had none.

“A new entry just in,” the computer informed him. Alex read over the new vacancy announcement that had appeared on the screen.

Spaceship Mirror. Unclassified vessel, assembled on Earth. Master-pilot, simultaneous appointment as the ship’s captain. As the ship’s captain!

Alex gave a start. Stared intensely at the dry lines of the announcement. No established routes. Two hundred credits per week. Sign-up bonus equal to two months’ salary. All-expenses-paid lodging on board the ship and “rank-appropriate accommodations at all spaceports.” The Sky Company. A two-year contract.

“This doesn’t happen,” said Alex firmly. “Ever.”

Could not resist the urge to glance at his shoulder. The Demon really was sitting with its back to him, but had now turned its head and stared at Alex quizzically.

“Contracts like this don’t come along, especially… at just the right moment,” announced Alex. “Right?” The Demon was obviously in complete agreement.

“Delete entry?” queried the computer.

“Don’t you dare… Details!”

“No further information available.”

“Open data on the spaceship Mirror and the Sky Company.”

“No information available.”

A contract like this should be snapped up at once—that is, if you were stupid. Two hundred credits per week was too much, even for the combined position of captain and master-pilot. No information on the company, or on the ship, no further details of the contract… Before you enter into anything, you should always know how to exit. This was a rule Alex had learned after his first contract, which he signed thinking it was for one year, but which actually dragged on for three.

And the main thing—the rank of captain! This was more than a contract. It was a whole new destiny.

Kim moaned.

“It’s a real bind, ain’t it?” Alex asked the Demon. The tattoo frowned back at him.

“Go back to the contract for the space liner Goethe,” said Alex.

“Access denied. That contract has been signed.” Alex licked his lips. Took out his credit card. Stretched his arm toward the screen.

“Request to sign the contract with the Sky Company for the combined position of captain and master-pilot of the spaceship Mirror.”

About ten seconds passed, and then came the computer’s reply:

“Your application has been accepted.”

From a slot below the screen a small sheet of paper slid out. Alex read over it quickly. It was an absolutely standard contract, approved by the union. With a tiny little quirk. Alex still had no information about the ship or the company…

“You have five minutes for deliberation.”

“Inquiry on the date of departure from this planet,” said Alex.

“No later than in three standard days.”

“Information on all crewmembers.”

“The choice of crewmembers is left to the captain’s discretion.”

“Such tasty cheese can only mean a mousetrap,” Alex murmured.

He didn’t know why the contract bothered him. He could not formulate his misgivings. Perhaps because it was simply way too good…

“Switch to contract-signing mode,” Alex ordered the computer.

The text of the contract appeared on the screen.

“I, Alexander Romanov, master-pilot, spesh, citizen of Earth, agree to the standard labor contract, as it appears on the screen, with the Sky Company, and take upon myself the responsibilities of captain and master-pilot of the spaceship Mirror for two years.”

“Accepted,” reported the computer. “Your information has been submitted to the union of pilots and the Sky Company. Shall I transfer the money into your account?”

“Yes.”

“Completed. Shall I provide the documentation on the spacecraft?”

“Yes. In hard copy.”

Alex felt the mousetrap snap closed somewhere behind him. But at the moment, he had more important things to worry about.

“Switch to shopping mode.”

“Unable to comply. Your room is configured to minimal parameters.”

“Pay for this room for the duration of twenty-four hours at maximum parameters.”

“Accepted.”

“The nearest pharmacy with emergency delivery services. Switch to video mode.”

Somewhere in the downstairs lobby, the night clerk probably smirked, seeing that Alex had purchased an extra twenty-four hours at maximum price. No surprise there—the spesh had decided to prolong his pleasure.

“Hope he has this much fun with his next date!” murmured Alex, catching a sidelong glimpse of the girl’s motionless body. And the computer screen was already showing the face of a girl-natural, dressed in the pale-green uniform of a pharmacy clerk.

Chapter 2

Pupation began exactly at midnight, as though Kim’s body had been consulting a clock. The girl yelped, then stretched out, tossing off the blanket. She tensed up on the bed, slowly twisting into a rigid arch. Alex twirled an anesthetic ampoule in his fingers, but decided to wait. Metamorphosis was always a very unpleasant process, even if the expected transformation was minimal. And in the case of a fighter-spesh, especially when the normal schedule was disrupted… She vomited—nothing but bile. Alex brought her some water, helped her up to drink. It was unlikely that she understood what was happening, but she greedily put the glass to her lips.

Then the bleeding started. Pupation was always much harder on women than it was on men, for physiological reasons. According to Alex’s estimations, she must have lost at least one point five pints of blood. He gave Kim two intravenous injections of blood substitute, three point five ounces each, but did not manage to give her the third injection. He had run out of time. Her veins started slipping away under his fingers. The girl’s whole body quivered. Her pores oozed blood and sweat. Alex sat quiet near the bed, every now and then cleaning it up with anti-bacterial wipes. The used ones already formed a small dirty pile on the floor. The Demon on his shoulder scowled in disgust.

“Just deal with it, pal,” Alex told it. “Someone had to wipe up my blood and shit, too.”

Yes, but—the Demon could have pointed out—those were nurses, naturals, who were used to this kind of work and were getting paid to do it. But colloidal tattoos could not talk.

At two in the morning, the girl’s body stiffened. Her pulse was barely discernible, and her heartbeat was very slow and labored. Alex accessed a medical database, read the recommendations, then lifted Kim out of the bed, took her to the bathroom, and put her into warm water. The bathroom had, of course, a kit for the handicapped, and Alex strapped Kim’s body in, so she wouldn’t drown.

He spent the next quarter of an hour, a short respite promised by the computer, airing out the room. He sealed the soiled clothes and wipes in a plastic bag. Went out into the hallway and got a cup of coffee from the vending machine.

When he got back, Kim had already ripped one of the straps and was trying to reach the warm cloudy bath water with her lips.

“Silly thing,” said Alex, taking her out of the bath. “You’re a mess, aren’t you?” The girl said nothing. At this stage, she retained only basic animal instincts. But in his arms, she suddenly relaxed, let herself be lowered onto the mattress, greedily gulped down two glasses of mineral water, and then lay quiet.

Alex stood for a moment watching her, then shrugged his shoulders in dismay. Apparently, the initial transformation of the body was finished—her inner organs had undergone modification. But outwardly, Kim did not in any way resemble a regular fighter-spesh, with their thick grayish skin, wider-set eyes, sculpted musculature, and enlarged fingers.

The next stage of the metamorphosis should have been the stabilization of the body. But here, the girl surprised him.

Her transformation started all over again. A second wave of body modification was possible, but such genetic programming was rare—extremely rare.

This time Kim began crying out from the pain. Her cries were very weak—she was too exhausted to cry—but so piteous that if anyone had heard her, the police would surely have stormed the room five minutes later.

Alex gave her two injections of a narcotic painkiller. A quarter of an hour later, unable to stand it, he gave her a shot of cardio-stimulant and added another dose of the narcotic.

The Demon on his shoulder indignantly twirled a finger near its temple.

“I know, I know. If she dies, I’ll get blamed for it all,” Alex agreed.

When he attempted to listen to her heart again, all he heard was silence.

But the girl’s breathing was regular.

It took a couple of minutes, but finally it occurred to him to listen all over her rib cage.

Her heart had moved to the center of her chest.

“Holy shit, girl!” was all he could say, straightening his back. The girl, of course, could not have known in advance all that would happen to her. And she had not had the time to tell him all the details of her metamorphosis.

This could very well be a logical transformation for a fighter-spesh. It might save her life if someone shot straight at the heart.

Around four o’clock in the morning, Kim quieted down. Her breathing grew deeper, more even. Her heart, having settled in the middle of her chest, beat calmly and rhythmically. On the other hand, her cheeks looked hollow, and her ribs and pelvic bones stuck out as though she had been starved for a week. The pocket in her abdomen opened and the skin sucked in, crater-like, making apparent the muscle ring around the opening. This kind of thing in a fighter-spesh was not quite as useless as it was strange. It would be more likely to benefit a smuggler, but who would need a smuggler-spesh?

“Your parents sure had some funny ideas,” said Alex, and wiped the sweat off the girl’s face. It was hard to believe that only a few hours earlier, she had knocked out a huge guy with just three blows.

But the stabilization process was proceeding smoothly, as if it was taking place exactly as planned, in a hospital ward, and under the watchful eye of experienced doctors. Alex ran out of wipes, so he patted the girl with a wet towel and sat down at the window for a smoke. It looked as though she had managed the physiological transformation just fine. But a spesh was not just a collection of muscles, nerves, and inner organs. There was also the mind. And that was, after all, the most important thing.

Kim moaned.

Alex put out his cigarette, sat down beside her, took her hand. A friend of his, a navigator-spesh from the Third Freight-and-Passenger station, had been convinced that any spesh coming out of the chrysalis stage got a fixation on those who were around when it happened, undergoing a sort of imprinting. As an example, he had offered his own case. He later married the nurse who had taken care of him during the transformation. Alex did not contest the beauty of this theory, although he himself had never felt any special attraction to the doctors and nurses who had been with him during his metamorphosis. If any imprinting had left its mark on him, it must have been his liking for the strong sweet coffee he was given repeatedly during his pupation.

The girl started saying something. Clearly, but in a strange language. Not in Lingua, or English, or Chinese, or German, or Russian… Alex had almost decided to turn on the computer for a synchronous translation, but changed his mind. That would be like peeping through a keyhole.

“I don’t want this!” Kim said all of a sudden. Her voice had not changed much, and Alex was happy about that. Wouldn’t it be just dandy if she kept the same body but acquired a loud, commanding tone of voice!

“Like it or not—you’re in,” he said. “Hang in there.”

“Don’t… Please… don’t…” Kim begged piteously. Alex stroked her cheek. The girl’s mind was now lost in the realms of dream and fantasy. It was one thing to change the body. Another thing altogether to change the soul. This was the most delicate part of the metamorphosis. Now Kim was experiencing situations pre-programmed before she was born. She was adapting to them. Learning to love her future profession.

Alex remembered his own metamorphosis very clearly. The intoxicating feeling of flight. The depths of space. The scattered diamonds of stars. Piloting a craft through a stellar photosphere, through asteroid belts, through the violent atmospheres of giant planets, through space torn by attacking squadrons…

To be honest, he was not sure that he had even needed such a psychological crash course. He had always wanted to be a pilot anyway, since early childhood. And it was true happiness to know that your dream would inevitably come true.

But a fighter’s dreams had to be different.

And the weak barrier between fantasy and reality could be breached at any second. A fighter-spesh could kill with one blow.

Wouldn’t that be ironic—the girl would wake up in the morning to see the lifeless corpse of the guy who had struggled to pull her through all night long.

It occurred to Alex to tie her up. But that could only do harm. If her clouded mind took his actions for aggression, he would be done for.

“Hang in there, kid,” he said. “Just a little bit longer. The worst is already over.”

He was lying, but it was a necessary lie.

“You know…” Her voice was quiet, but… there was something about it. A kind of unimaginable, heartfelt honesty, a shy courage, frankness, gratitude.

“You know, when I first saw you, I realized, it was forever…”

Alex choked on his own breath. Kim’s eyes were still closed. She was lost in her own fantasy world.

Alex glanced at his Demon, as if for reassurance. The Demon’s jaw dropped.

“Yeah…” said Alex. “It would be nice to hear somebody say that to me. Kinda stupid of me, I know, but I’d like it.”

Kim was smiling, her eyes closed. He wiped the sweat off her face again. Thought a while, and then said to the Demon, “Then again, maybe not. After that kind of thing, it’s hard to be a jerk, but I’d have to, anyway.” The Demon nodded its approval.

“Balmont,” said the girl suddenly. Was quiet for a second. “Aivazovsky. Gauguin. Michelangelo.”

Alex shrugged. Went to the window, turned up its transparency level. A murky sunrise was already on its way, dimly seen through clouds and smog—the way it was supposed to be on Quicksilver Pit. Yesterday was over, gone, past.

“Poe. Shelley. Shakespeare. Keats. Nabokov. Akutagawa…”

“Pushkin,” suggested Alex, without turning.

“Pushkin. Lermontov. Fet…”

Kim was quiet for a moment and then started up again, talking faster.

“Verlaine. Rimbaud. Burns. Heine. Goethe. Schiller. Baudelaire. Whitman. Wilde.”

“That’s right, don’t get stuck on the Russians,” said Alex. “A solid classical education. I approve. Except—what good is it to a fighter?”

“Basho. Sappho.”

“Which order do you recite them in, I wonder…”

“Chopin. Tchaikovsky.”

“Are we done with the poets, then?” asked Alex.

“Dante…” said the girl with a hint of doubt. “Gumilev. Bykov. Robespierre.”

“What’s that?” asked Alex, suddenly interested. Looked back at Kim. She licked her lips and started talking very rapidly.

“Churchill. Lenin. Marx. Gandhi. Gates. Dan Lao Wang…”

Alex lowered himself into a chair, closed his eyes, stretched out his legs. He was very tired. And the girl kept talking and talking, zooming through Earth’s history with the ease and precision of an artillery round. The list was slightly unbalanced in favor of music and poetry, but politics, art, architecture, and science were covered.

Seemed like Kim really was following the track of her metamorphosis. The facts loaded into her prenatally were now exploding in her mind like tiny bombs. Behind every name she recited was a whole image of the person, complete with dates of life and death, life events, paintings and poems, lines from speeches, rumors, maybe even films and archival videos.

All that was nice. But totally useless for a fighter-spesh.

Alex dozed off.

Several times he was awakened by silence. Kim would get quiet, and then start speaking in German, which Alex barely knew, then switch to Japanese, English, Russian, Chinese. She was long done with the names. Now she was simply holding conversations with nonexistent people. Conversations about nothing.

“Your offer is very flattering, monsieur…”

Then Alex would again sink into sleep. He was trained to rest sporadically, dropping off for a few minutes, waking up instantaneously to evaluate the situation, then going back to sleep. It was a very useful skill in his line of work. But no one had ever instructed him in World History. No spesh had any need for that.

“Yes, Your Highness…”

The pilot slept.

“Alex…”

He opened his eyes.

The girl was sitting on the edge of the bed, with a sheet wrapped around her. Her cheeks were hollowed, and her eyes shone feverishly. But she was fully conscious.

And not at all different.

“Where’s the crystal?”

Alex threw an indicative glance at the table. Kim jumped up, holding the sheet to her chest, walked toward the table, and took up the glass.

“In here?”

The pilot gave a silent nod.

Kim’s fingers slid into the water. Felt the invisible facets of the crystal, and her face immediately relaxed.

“Turn around… please.”

He turned around. When he looked back at her again, the glass was half-empty and no longer contained the crystal.

“I went through my metamorphosis?” asked the girl.

Alex nodded.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Kim laughed softly.

“I… I was so scared. An off-track metamorphosis can kill you, right?”

“It tried to. I didn’t consent.”

“Alex…” She immediately became serious. “Friend-spesh, I am grateful for your help. I will pay you back in kind.”

“I believe you.” Reluctantly, he got up from the chair. Last night’s impressions had already faded a bit. Only fatigue remained.

“Take a shower, and I’ll get us some breakfast, room service. You hungry?”

“Famished.”

“All is well, then.”

He searched her face for any traces of change. If only her eyes now had vertical pupils, or she had pointy ears… or there was any change in her skin tone and texture…

Alex reached over and patted Kim on the cheek. She smiled, accepting this display of affection without any embarrassment.

Her skin was just skin.

“Why does your Demon look so puzzled?”

Alex gloomily glanced at the tattoo.

“Because he’s stupid. Kinda like me. Go wash up.”

“Thanks.” She leaned toward him slightly, getting on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. Then, giggling, vanished behind the bathroom door.

“I just don’t get it!” said Alex bluntly. Was it possible that the metamorphosis did get off track after all? The psychological phase went fine, but the body remained unchanged? But her heart did move. And then there was that pocket under her ribs… Well, the pocket had been there before.

He went up to the computer screen and ordered a hearty breakfast for three from the hotel cafe. He had no doubt that Kim could handle enough food for two.

When she came out, looking refreshed in her cheap hotel bathrobe, the breakfast had already arrived. Scrambled eggs with mushrooms, boiled veal, tons of toast and juice, plus coffee—Alex had his own ideas about breakfast for a young spesh girl.

“Oh, I can’t eat all that,” protested Kim, catching a glimpse of the table.

“It only seems like a lot. Come here.” He unwrapped her robe, and the girl tensed up a little. Alex did not pay any attention to that. Touched her chest.

Okay, fine. Her heart was in the middle. Her lungs had probably equalized in size. Where her esophagus and trachea had moved was anybody’s guess.

“Kim, what were you supposed to transform into?”

“Something wrong?” she asked quickly.

“I’d have to know what’s right before I could tell you if anything is wrong. What were you supposed to become?”

“A fighter-spesh… I think.”

“You think?”

“No one ever told me much about it.” Kim kept looking down at his hand. “I think I was meant to be a fighter-spesh… I have… I mean, I had a friend… He was programmed to become a fighter… and… we had the same training…”

“Weapons, hand-to-hand combat, tactics and strategy?” Alex moved his hand away.

“Yes…”

“Weird. You know that a fighter’s skin, for example, changes in texture and takes on a grayish tint?”

Kim frowned. “I actually think that’s beautiful…”

“I won’t argue with you. But it didn’t happen to your skin. And you have no other signs of change.”

“Something went wrong, then? I’m not done with my metamorphosis?”

She was really scared.

“Maybe, maybe not. Every specialization has its own sub-categories. I am not an expert on fighter transformations… You’ll have to see a doctor. Sit down and eat.”

Kim ate fast, and that was not at all surprising. What was surprising was that she nevertheless managed to eat gracefully, even beautifully.

Alex finished his eggs, drank his coffee, and went over to the computer screen. His ship’s documentation was waiting there in the printer tray.

He started to read, fully expecting to be unpleasantly surprised.

But as he read, he grew more and more confused.

Mirror was an interstellar-class vessel built for versatility. Something between a pleasure craft and a passenger ship, it had a biodome, good rigging, very decent weapons, and a great set of engines. A dream of a ship. An up-to-six-member crew, and space for twice that number of passengers. All in all, this was not a contract Alex would have turned down even if he had a lot of time to really think it over. The rank of captain, and the right to pick his own crew…

“No one is this lucky…” he murmured.

“Alex, where did you get the money? Yesterday you were broke.”

“I found a job.” Alex folded the sheet, stuck it in his coat pocket. “Kim, where are you from?”

“Far away.”

“Okay. Do you have anywhere to go in this city? A place to live, a way to make some money?” Her eyes looked a little frightened.

“No. I mean, yes… but I’d rather not.”

“I see,” said Alex. “I have to leave for now. You can stay here. You can wait for me or just rest up and disappear.”

“I’ll… wait for you.” The girl lowered her eyes.

“Okay. Get your card, I’ll transfer some money over. You’ll need to change.”

“I don’t have a card.”

“An ID? Even a child card?”

“I have no documents.”

Another nuisance. Alex walked to the computer screen, opened an account, and transferred some money to a hotel credit line.

“Anyway, order some clothes. Try to eat often. Not a lot, but often.”

“I know that.”

Alex nodded and said nothing more. Nothing of the necessity to avoid too much physical activity in the first few days after the metamorphosis, nothing of the possible dizziness and fainting spells, nothing of the benefits of a sauna—the hotel had one.

“Block the door behind me,” he told her.

Quicksilver Pit had been colonized about two hundred years before, probably after the completion of the very first hyper-channel station on the Moon in the middle of the twenty-first century. Alex probably could have found out the exact history on the information net, but he wasn’t all that interested. What difference did it make which of the stations, searching blindly through the vast ocean of hyperspace, had plotted a channel from Earth to Quicksilver Pit?

In any case, the planet had not escaped the common fate of all the early Earth colonies. It was an outpost, and amid its boundless jungle, the first villages, garrisons, and factories had been founded. The first steps had been careful, but later, once it became apparent that the local biosphere was defenseless in the face of humanity, development grew more and more active. An emigration wave from the overpopulated Earth, mass cloning of infants, which increased the population growth rate dozens of times above normal—all that was commonplace.

Except that this colony still seemed incapable of getting rid of the yoke of an industrial giant—it had too many minerals and fossil fuels, and an infrastructure that was too well developed. The planet was suffocating in industrial waste, but human greed still had the upper hand. In Alex’s opinion, the situation would probably remain unchanged for another twenty or thirty years.

He left the Hilton and managed to avoid any inquisitive glances from the clerk—the shift had already changed. In a little side street nearby, a few bored cab drivers were whiling away the time in their old clunkers.

“To the port,” said Alex, sitting down next to a cab driver.

“Spaceport?” asked the guy for some reason. He was a pleasant-looking middle-aged natural.

“You have some other kind?”

“The airport… and the river port to the north…” came the upbeat reply, while the driver was steering onto the street. “And we have three different spaceports ’round town.”

“Central civilian.”

“Uh-huh.” The driver whipped the car into the sparse traffic flow, ran through the sensors of the route-finder, and took his hands off the steering wheel. To Alex, that seemed a little rash—the old navigation system didn’t look reliable at all. But he chose not to say anything.

For a few minutes, they rode in silence. Against all expectations, the car moved smoothly, keeping its distances, without needlessly jerking around.

“You from far off?” inquired the driver.

“Yup. From Earth.”

“I’ve been there,” the driver reported, noticeably proud of the fact. “Nice place. Our old mother-planet and all… But ours is better.”

“Home is always best,” replied Alex tactfully. He was well aware of colonial attitudes. It was either complete self-abasement and adoration of Earth, or proudly protruding chins and careful avoidance of all the facts.

“I was in the army,” said the cab driver. “For four years. Left as a sergeant… you know. We had exercises on Earth. For three weeks.”

“Really?”

Alex couldn’t have cared less about the driver’s heroic military feats, which were most likely just a few peacekeeping assignments. And the details of the fellow’s visit to Earth were also of no interest to him. But politeness prompted him to keep up the conversation.

“Yes, sir! For three whole weeks. We were in… whatchamacallit… America.”

“North or South?”

“There’s two of ’em?” The driver laughed, honestly accepting his ignorance. “Well, it was cold. Must’ve been the north one, then. We went to hunt the… em… penguins. It was close, just hop across the straits in a boat, and have all the fun you want. Don’t get me wrong, it was all legal, with a license.”

“I don’t like hunting.”

“Too bad. Most fun a man can have. War and hunting… But war… well, that’s dangerous.”

Alex barely suppressed a smile. A very heroic and manly approach.

“By the way… can I pay the fare in advance?”

The cab driver looked him over one more time, probably doubting his creditworthiness. Which was odd: if he had doubts, why take such a passenger?

Alex reached for his card and activated it. Caught a glance of the amount on the ticker. Very reasonable.

“Thanks.” The driver seemed content. “And why are you off to the spaceport?”

“I’m a pilot.”

“Oh… well then…” The driver laughed uneasily. “Thought naturals couldn’t be pilots.”

“I’m a spesh. We have practically no differences in appearance.”

“They changed you a lot?”

“Enough. If, for instance, we ran into that truck head on…” As Alex said this, the driver hurriedly looked at the road and even touched the steering wheel. “… you would be smashed into paste. Too much inertia. And I would survive. And probably walk away from the accident.”

“You’re a funny guy.” Saying this, the cab driver did, nevertheless, leave his hands upon the steering wheel. “But your clothes… they ain’t pilot’s.”

“Yeah, well… I’ll change ’em.”

“And that tattoo of yours… Hey, take a look at what I got in the army!” Alex pensively looked at the driver’s hand. Every finger was decorated by an image of a naked girl. The little finger had a flirtatious nymphet, the ring finger a curvy black girl, the middle one a long-legged model with blond curls, the index finger a stripper wrapped around a pole, and the thumb an Asian beauty crouching in a strange pose. On the hand itself reclined a cocky soldier wearing a suit of force field armor and also, for some reason, a dress-uniform beret. Even from the back, he looked sated and relaxed.

“Nice work,” Alex agreed.

“I’ll have to get rid of it, though,” sighed the driver. “I mean, it’s a good souvenir and all, but… my daughter’s getting older now… it ain’t decent. She’ll look at Daddy’s hand—and he’s got a whole harem instead of fingers—”

“That’s just your normal army thing,” said Alex, “a whole harem instead of fingers.” The driver looked at him guardedly, but the pilot’s face remained impenetrable.

“That a joke?” he asked uncertainly.

“Of course not. Tell you what. Erase only the girls. Keep the soldier. That’ll be your souvenir.” At that, the driver’s face lit up.

“Hey, yeah! Smart! Didn’t even occur to me…”

“Yeah, well…”

The car was already passing the widely separated supports of the monorail, somewhere in the vicinity of the hospital. Alex was surprised at how light traffic was.

“For freight transit, there’s the underground route,” said the driver, having guessed the reason for Alex’s surprise. “They run passenger capsules, too. Who the hell likes to be under there, though…”

This was apparently a sore spot—the subway must have been drawing away some of the better-tipping passengers. For a few minutes, the driver told Alex the history of the subway project. To listen to him, the subway was completely worthless to everyone except the corrupt bureaucrats from Town Hall.

Alex closed his eyes. He regretted having kept up the conversation, after all. He should have just paid the fare and taken a nap. Half an hour of sleep—that wouldn’t have been half bad.

“Hey, I like that little tattoo you got,” the driver complimented him. “I mean, it ain’t all that much to look at, just a snot of a thing. But the little devil’s face is well done! You can see how he’s tired, and bored, and… er… maybe stuck-up, even. Like he doesn’t give a damn about anyone.”

“That’s bad,” murmured Alex. “I didn’t order that.”

“Come on, it came out good!” The driver seemed to have grown more comfortable with Alex. “You’re a good guy, for a spesh. No, don’t get me wrong… I personally have no problem with you guys. But the speshes, well… sort of look down on us naturals sometimes. Right?”

“It happens.”

“I even wanted to get a specialty for my little daughter, when I found out my wife was expecting. Not too expensive here, you know. The government helps out, you can pay in installments for ten years. But guess what happened?”

“What?”

“We didn’t agree. Know what I was thinking? It’d be best for the kid to be a good technician. Always in demand, good pay, and, like I said, it ain’t too expensive. Back in the army, we had this independent plumbing contractor, a young lady-spesh. You should’ve seen her get those rusted bolts off barehanded! Caught leaks by ear sixty feet away! And, boy, could she blow out those sewer pipes! And a real looker, besides. Well, I tell my wife… but she’s all in tears—says: ‘I don’t want my daughter to spend her whole life in sewers and basements!’ What the hell? I mean, work is one thing, life is something else. So I ask her, what you want then? She says: ‘Let the girl be a model.’ Now you tell me, ain’t that just loony?”

“Yup.”

“Those specifications ain’t subsidized by the government… they cost something terrible… And what kind of work is that, anyway—shaking your ass on a catwalk?! And you know what? One day they want ’em skinny as a rail—next day they only want the chubby ones. How do you know what they want next?”

Alex was quiet.

“Hey, spesh, you asleep?”

He did not answer, and the driver fell silent. Seemed even a bit offended. He stopped the car at the spaceport a little too abruptly, as though wishing that Alex would smash his face into the windshield.

“Thanks,” said Alex, opening his eyes. He really had dozed off, but his body reacted quickly, readjusted to the inertia, and fixed itself firmly in the car seat, as soon as the car’s brakes engaged. “Good luck to you.”

He did not leave any more tip than had already been included in the fare.

The central civilian spaceport of Quicksilver Pit was not all that its name suggested. Sometime in the past, it had been the main loading dock for ships traveling into orbit. But about twenty years before, another civilian spaceport had been built, farther away from the capital and capable of receiving the larger, modern spaceships. The new spaceport did not receive the title of Central, though in reality that’s what it was.

Alex smoked, standing near the automatic glass doors. There were lots of people around, but this spaceport seemed more crowded because the buildings themselves were small. Periodically, as each shuttle arrived, a crowd would spill out through the doors. The people all looked alike, as if they were clones. Each shift on the orbital factories and shipyards lasted three days and three nights, but there were a lot—a whole lot—of factories orbiting Quicksilver Pit.

Throwing away his cigarette, Alex entered the building. He had suddenly realized that he was simply putting off his last steps toward the ship as long as possible.

Port authority clerks scurried around. Menial workers in uniforms and civilian passengers crowded around registration desks. Security officers strolled back and forth, every one of them a spesh—of deceptively small stature, with narrow shoulders.

Alex walked through the crowd toward one of the entrances leading to the service tiers of the spaceport. He noticed several security officers pause some distance away to keep an eye on him.

He said, looking at the camera panel, “Alexander Romanov, spesh, captain and master-pilot of the spaceship Mirror, the Sky Company, Earth-based.”

His identity chip, implanted under the skin just below his collarbone some twenty years before, pulsed almost imperceptibly. A full-blown identity check, complete with an express genotype analysis, was in progress.

Alex waited patiently while the molecular detectors in his capillary net caught a brand-new lymphocyte, just entering the bloodstream, then split it apart to compare it with the one they had on file. It was impossible to fool the identity chip in maximum vigilance mode. Even if you surgically removed it from the body and placed it in a vial of the owner’s freshly drawn blood, it would not give a false result. The identity check could take a few minutes, but security was more important than convenience.

“Identity established, access permitted,” replied the computer terminal. It was a human voice, so it must have been an actual operator, rather than a machine, which had performed the screening. The force field blocking the entrance changed its polarity, allowing him to pass. “Do you require assistance?”

“Is the floor plan standard here? The spider room in the usual place?”

“The usual place,” replied the operator. “Proceed.” The rank of captain would have allowed Alex to use the transit platforms. But it was not a long walk, so he preferred to go to the spider room on foot. It was a subtle pleasure that was hard to explain—to walk through the wide, half-empty tunnels stretching under the buildings of the port, to nod to the passers-by. There were no passengers here, no tradesmen, no pickpockets, none of the scum that accumulated in any transit artery like cholesterol in human veins. All who remained here were his people. Even if not all were speshes.

The spider room was the spaceport name for the accounting and contract departments. The name reflected both the appearance of such departments and their functionaries, and the eternal antagonism between the technical workers and the paper-pushing bureaucrats. The spiders often retaliated with a vengeance. At times, Alex felt that if it were up to them, no ship would ever leave port.

“Are you here on business?” inquired the guard at the entrance to the bureaucratic realm. The question was almost a ritual one, and Alex had heard it in dozens of spaceports.

“No, I’m just a masochist,” Alex retorted, as usual.

The guard smirked and touched a sensor, unblocking the entrance. He would probably have been happy to let a terrorist into the spider room, but for some reason no terrorist ever turned up to threaten the lives of accountants.

Alex walked in.

The spider room was utterly quiet. Many other departments preferred to have some background music. Not here. Well, maybe they did have music, but for each individual workstation.

Twenty spiders, or to be exact, she-spiders, turned their heads simultaneously and peered at Alex. Almost all of them used the simplest neuro-shunts, and delicate bundles of wires stretched down from their temples to the desktop computers. Only a few accountant-speshes went without these dubious ornaments. Neuro-terminals were built into the headrests of their chairs.

“Good morning,” said Alex.

He always felt slightly uncomfortable entering a spider room. It wasn’t fear or hostility… more like a nagging feeling of shame at bothering these people with his seemingly petty and useless business, while they were busy solving truly important problems.

The spiders were quiet, busy with their silent network dialog. Only one girl, the youngest and prettiest one, was moving her lips—she had not yet rid herself of this useless habit. Alex had no intention of taking advantage of her weakness, but her mouth moved so distinctly that he could not help reading her lips. “He’s hot… girls, let me… come on…”

Oh, no! All that would mean was that she’d take three times longer than necessary to process his documents.

One of the accountant-speshes gestured to him to come up. That was good. He could hope that this spesh-woman, in her virtual detachment, would not take too long.

“Name?” said the spider. Her eyes were closed, and she did not even bother to take a look at the pilot for politeness’s sake. The information from the computer receptors was enough for her. Well, at least she was nice enough to talk to him in person rather than using a computer speaker and a voice synthesizer. She had a pale, bluish face, thin lips, swollen eyelids covered with red traces of capillaries, and short, smoothly pulled-back hair.

“Alex Romanov, spesh, master-pilot…” he began, and the spider lifted her hand, indicating that he had provided enough information.

Alex stopped in mid-sentence. Stood there, looking at the spider’s desktop computer. The screen was turned off, so he had no way of knowing what the spider was doing at the moment. Perhaps she was preparing someone’s contract. Or looking for ways to evade taxes. Or sorting warehouse cargo. Or maybe she was making love to a partner on the other side of the galaxy. The little computer with a small sticker proudly proclaiming “Gel-Crystal inside” allowed her to do a whole lot. Even if the crystal was only the size of a match head…

“The spaceship Mirror of the Sky Company,” said the spider.

And opened her eyes.

This was so unexpected that Alex started.

It was as though a mighty sorcerer had whispered a magic word, turning the computer’s living appendage human again.

The spider turned out to be rather young. Even pretty. If only she would change the hair, visit a cosmetologist, and replace her work overalls with a dress…

“Your papers,” she said.

Alex did not understand her. He reached into his pocket for his copy of the contract. But the she-spider was already handing him the freshly printed ship permit.

“Identity stamp.”

Alex licked his finger, touched it to the stamp. A few rainbow waves ran through the thin plastic sheet.

“Good luck,” said the spider.

“That’s it?” asked Alex, utterly confused.

“Yes. That’s it. Is there a problem?”

“Well…”

“The ship is launch-ready. You have your permit. Can I help you with anything else?”

He had nothing to say. The spiders had done their part. The way they were supposed to… in an ideal world. But for some reason, this time there were no long excursions into Alex’s life story, no such questions as: Were you really an enuresis sufferer at the age of five? What were the reasons for your deep emotional attachment to your paralyzed grandmother? Did you drink a lot before the bar fight on Zasada?

“Thank you,” said Alex. “Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“No… nothing.”

He turned and started to walk toward the door, feeling the gaze of all the spiders on his back.

What in the world was going on?

Was this their customer appreciation day?

Were quality assurance inspectors watching every spider room employee?

Did Alex’s face remind the spider of her high school sweetheart?

Too good to be true was also bad. The guard looked at Alex in surprise. Then asked, “That bad, eh?”

“Yeah… seems like it…”

“Early this morning, another spesh… the guy barely walks in, then rushes out all red in the face, hands shaking. Turns out he’s missing some info about relatives on his mother’s side. They told him to go get it. Three days’ running around at least, he said. No one’s ever been interested in these relatives, and now all of a sudden… For some insurance discount, can you believe that? For his own good. And the ship he’s been hired on is leaving tonight.”

The guard laughed without malice, with compassion, even. He himself must have had occasion to deal with the spiders.

“Insurance is a good thing,” said Alex. Nodded to the guard and went on to the transit platform, left by someone nearby. Maybe it had even been left there by that other spesh, the unfortunate guy who was now fighting with the spiders of the imperial archives.

According to the papers, his ship was waiting not in the hangar, but right out on the landing field. This probably meant it had not been on the planet for very long. Alex stood on the platform, lightly holding onto the handrail—a part of his specialization, imprinted through repetition, was the habit of always having at least three balance points when on a moving object. The platform glided out into the main tunnel and hurtled along at full speed underneath the landing field.

Alex suddenly realized what had been bothering him from the very beginning.

The right to choose his own crew.

Things like that just weren’t done. Well, to be exact, they could be done, but only with the vessels built on this planet. But Mirror had been assembled on Earth.

Someone had to have been in charge of the ship on its way to Quicksilver Pit. Okay, so it may have not been a full crew; it could have been the bare minimum—a pilot, a navigator, and a power engineer. But to hire people for a one-way trip and then to start looking for a whole new crew on another planet—that was absurd. Earth could offer a far better choice of specialists than a colony world, even a well-developed one.

And then there was the useful tradition of keeping at least one member of the previous crew aboard. Every ship had its own unique character, and an experienced person could often save not only time and money, but the very life of the vessel.

Weird…

The platform slowed down, stabilized under an exit shaft, and slowly started rising. Sixty-five feet up, through layers of rock and then the concrete pad of the landing field… Alex glanced at the Demon. It seemed thoughtful and wary.

Right. Something was odd, but what could it be…? It was like that old joke about speshes that had been making its rounds among naturals for the last hundred years—“I smell a rat, but where is it?”

“But we needed the money. We couldn’t let the girl die, could we?” Alex asked the Demon.

Judging by the little devil’s face, they very well could have. So what was up?

The ship was an experimental model? Something dangerous, still being tested—trick a crew into it, and watch what happens? Not likely. Judging by the papers, it was a very good ship, and it had no unexpected novelties. All the equipment was standard. A dangerous route, perhaps? Also bull. People got lured into danger by money, insurance, discounts… anything but lies. There would always be volunteers to stick their heads into a lion’s jaws, why make people do it against their will?

Something barely legal? The same objections applied.

So it wasn’t about the ship. Everything was always about people, not metal.

Alex shook his head and tried to toss his doubts away. Not for good… just to put them away into a far corner of his mind.

The platform slid out through the open aperture of a hatch, wobbled a little as it adjusted to the new bearing, and sailed on over the landing field. After a few seconds, Alex really did forget all his troubles.

He was home….

Although it had lost its former prominence, the spaceport was still fully alive. Two shuttles were landing simultaneously. At a distance, Alex identified them as a couple of old Manta Rays, maybe the third or fourth model. He guessed what they were not so much by their shape as by the piloting trajectory and landing speed. In the middle of the field, spreading wide the three rings of its supports, stood a heavy Cachalot freighter, probably of the maximum tonnage allowable in this spaceport. From it crawled a line of auto-loaders clutching tanks and containers in their grippers. Working on a delicate pleasure ship, Otter, were small repair-robots that crawled along the ship’s surface, checking and repairing the skin.

Here was the only place worth living. Here and in flight.

Alex was smiling.

His mood was no longer affected by the dull grayness of the sky, where smog and rain clouds blended into a foul-smelling cocktail. Above this sky was another, clear and boundless, created for the freedom of flight… for him personally.

Then the platform skirted the Otter, and Alex saw his own ship. Mirror stood in the launch-ready position. It looked as though a giant discus hurled by a titan had stopped in midair and remained, hovering above the ground, in no hurry to soar into the sky. A bio-ceramic disc of ninety-eight point four feet in diameter, six supports, three main engines in a slightly unusual arrangement clustered in the stern… well, that might even be a good thing. The bulge of the bridge deck was slightly larger than average for a vessel of this size. It looked like co-piloting was possible.

Alex swallowed to get rid of a lump in his throat.

Mirror was blindingly beautiful. The perfect ship, with its enlarged bridge, its unusual engine configuration, the tender green of its armor…

It was love at first sight. Just the ship’s appearance was enough.

The same feeling as when a person capable of love is shaken at the sight of a face in a crowd. There might be dozens, hundreds, or thousands of other faces around, but they all are no longer important.

Sometimes Alex regretted not being able to love other humans. But only till he fell in love with a ship.

“Hello…” he whispered, gazing at Mirror.

The platform slowed down. Alex jumped down onto the concrete and walked up to the ship. Reached over, touching the armor carefully with just his fingertips. The bio-ceramic surface was warm and resilient. Alive.

“You know who I am…” said Alex quietly. “Right? You can see me… Hello…”

He went around the ship, touching the armor with his hand as far up as he could reach. The ship was silent. It was studying him, too.

“Do you like me?”

Now he was glad that there was no one aboard. This was his moment. Or, rather, he shared this moment with the ship.

“Receive your captain.”

The identity chip below his collarbone remained motionless. Mirror had not requested a full identity check. And that was nice. It was a sign of reciprocity. Of trust.

A hatch opened overhead, and down slid a ladder with a small platform on the bottom end. Alex stepped onto it and let the ship take him up inside.

The cargo bay turned out to be standard. Three high-speed spacesuit blocks, a strapped-in scooter. Alex waited for the skin plating to grow together beneath his feet, stepped off the platform, which had become part of the floor, and walked over to the central hall of the ship.

So far, everything was as usual. The configuration of the ship dictated the layout of the inner quarters, with only one alteration—the side engines had been moved aft and replaced by battle stations. The inspection should always start with them. Then he had to open the envelope with instructions in the captain’s quarters, and only after that, proceed to the bridge. But now he did not give a damn about the prescribed procedure. He started walking toward the bridge. The ship ran a gentle wave of light in front of him along the hallway, adjusting to his speed rather than setting the pace.

“Captain’s access,” said Alex, stopping in front of a hatch.

This time, his identification chip pulsated. The ship could not give him complete control without a full identity check.

Then the hatch door drew itself into the wall.

The bridge was indeed constructed for two pilots. Alex stood for a moment, evaluating the small oval space—the screens in the walls shone with a matte whiteness, the pilot chairs were open, the reserve panels fully charged.

All was normal. He had been afraid that a two-person bridge on such a small ship might turn out to be uncomfortable. But so far he saw no such thing. The captain’s pilot’s chair was slightly in front of the other one—an appropriate symbol. Maybe two pilots would even be a good thing.

Although a lot depended on who became the co-pilot.

Alex walked over to the pilot’s chair. Lay down, fastened himself in manually.

The ship waited patiently.

Alex closed his eyes.

Was it fear? No… not fear. More like excitement, the kind a teenager feels before his first kiss, when it is already sure to happen, lips nearing each other… but everything still undiscovered, wonderful, never experienced by anyone ever before…

Alex had been a master-pilot on ships far larger than Mirror, but had captain’s access only on the old training-vessel, a Heron, one of three at the flight academy.

To continue the analogy—the Heron was a whore. An experienced, skillful, good-natured prostitute, each day instructing another young novice in the art of flying. Alex remembered his first ship, thought of it often with warmth and gratitude, but now everything was different.

Or would be…

“Contact…” he said, dropping back in his pilot’s chair.

And felt a warm wave take root in the back of his head, and then, flaring up, rush through his body. The altered neurons of the occipital lobe of his brain entered into a resonance with the neuro-terminal.

The world vanished. It died away in a blinding flash, and then was reborn.

Alex turned into his ship.

He stretched. Every bit of his discus-shaped body quivered slightly on its supports. Felt the beat of the ship’s gluon reactor. He turned on his sensors and took in the space around the port. The newly-landed Manta Rays, a Cayman just entering the stratosphere, sharp needles of gliders, dipping and soaring over the city, beyond the no-fly zone…

But this was not yet the complete confluence. Somewhere very close, almost interwoven with his consciousness, the ship had its own life. It was lending him its body—it became an extension of his mind—and yet it was watching him from a distance. Alex turned off the sensors and remained in the dark silence of the inner space.

One-on-one with the rainbow-colored haze.

“Touch me…”

Iridescent fog, sun-illuminated clouds, swarming lights.

“Become one with me…”

The rainbow trembled and spilled into a rain of flares.

They became one being.

Spaceships, like supercomputers, fully automated factories, ocean liners, and other semi-animate creatures, were not true individuals. Humans did not need competitors. Some people thought that the artificial minds of ships were limited to the intelligence level of dogs; others compared them to rats. Which comparison was most flattering was a matter of opinion.

But at this moment, none of that mattered.

They had formed a whole—the man, with all his memories, skills, and experience, and the ship, a collection of specialized programs—connected to each other by a single moral and ethical matrix. The ship could be sad, or happy; it knew fear and enmity, attraction and disgust. Sure, maybe only at the level of a dog or a rat, a cat or a pig. But he would let all those who had never experienced a confluence have their endless battles of wit.

Alex knew a simple, secret truth. Every ship had a soul.

And only those who became captains could fully know this soul.

“I won’t hurt you…”

The ship could not reply. Words were used by the service programs, which were intricate, well trained, capable of keeping up a conversation, and utterly brainless.

But as for that which made up a ship’s soul, there was only non-verbal communication, in the brief instant of unity with its captain.

“I love you…”

The ship had no face, no age, no gender, no voice.

Only a rainbow-colored web of emotions, forever frozen on the brink of self-awareness.

Loving a ship was as absurd as having sex with an animal. Officially, no one ever used the word “love” to describe the relationship between a ship and its captain. They called it “empathy” or “emotional contact.”

Yet everyone knew the truth.

This was what made up the very attractiveness and the sharp bitterness of the captain’s position. To leave your ship was like leaving your sweetheart. Sure, this relationship could diminish—its brightness could fade. A captain could even wish to leave his ship, and a ship, by the same token, could refuse to accept its captain. There were those who went from ship to ship with the flippancy of a Don Juan. And then there were ships that did not accept anyone, did not go for any “emotional contact.”

Still, being a captain was nothing to be flippant about. Sooner or later, everyone who had ever said “contact” while in the captain’s chair reached this realization.

Now this moment had arrived for Alex.

The rainbow-colored web touched him, shyly, tenderly, carefully…

Alex waited, now just as incorporeal, stretched out over black darkness, wide-open to everything.

“Love me…”

And a warm rainbow washed over him.

Chapter 3

His legs were slightly shaky. Alex got up from the captain’s chair as it softly pushed him up, just the way he liked it to.

Everything had changed.

The world had acquired meaning. A unique and all-important meaning.

He wondered if those who could love other humans ever felt this way. He doubted it.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Now the ship was all his. It could fly with another pilot and obey the orders of the flight control or a military patrol officer, but only if Alex did not cancel the orders. Although “order” was the wrong word. They were not orders or even requests; they were more like wishes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he said. “Prepare my quarters. And quarters for a couple more people—no, make it three more, just in case.”

“Your quarters are ready,” reported the ship’s service computer.

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

This time, there was no reply. Alex’s words had been addressed to that part of the ship that could not talk.

“Sushi, sir?”

A waitress stopped next to his table, a small aquarium cart hovering near her shoulder. Alex stretched his neck a bit to take a look at the cart.

“Yes, please.”

“Traditional-style or roasted?”

“Roasted.” Alex did not bother mentioning to her that it was not his mistrust of the local cuisine, but a habit, well established from his school days, of cooking, if only slightly, any protein that was not from Earth. “I’d like a large serving, please. From the right corner, at the very bottom.”

“At the bottom, the krill’s already asleep,” said the girl uneasily. She lifted up a glass colander. The cart obligingly lowered itself and drew out little panels with cooking forms, an oven, and a small press. “I could make a few runs at the top…”

“No, no. Right from the very bottom,” said Alex, looking at the iridescent dots inside the aquarium. “When krill is slightly drowsy, the flavor is better. Oh, and double the spices, please.”

“All right.” The waitress seemed to like the order. Alex watched her as she gingerly scooped out the slumbering krill from the bottom of the aquarium, skillfully poured it into a bowl, stirred in the seven-spice mixture, squeezed the krill mass with a small hand-press, then sliced it into thin strips and tossed it onto a burning-hot stone plate.

“Please don’t fry it all the way through,” hastily added Alex. “Just a little, to make the chitin a bit crunchy.”

In a moment, he had a serving of sushi on his plate. It was wonderfully fresh, with a lot of spicy, fragrant steam rising from it. Amazingly enough, Quicksilver Pit’s oceans remained practically unpolluted, and all the seafood was natural. Alex knew that artificial protein was much cheaper, more nutritious, and less dangerous than the natural stuff. But a marked preference for natural foods was a tradition among pilots.

Besides, Alex rather liked it. He was grateful to his parents for not including a modernized digestive system into the parameters of his specialization. Of course, it took up extra space, required extra time for eating, and extra energy was expended on digestion. But the alternative—forever eating artificial protein at McRobbins—no, thanks!

He poured some light soy sauce over his sushi and took a taste. Wonderful! The Maguro sushi had not been brought yet, but the spaceport’s Japanese cafe was so good that Alex already expected all the food he ordered to be delicious. Although, judging by the price, the Maguro sushi would probably be made with cloned tuna tissue, growing in a bucket in the kitchen somewhere. Still, it wouldn’t be pure synthetic protein with added artificial flavors.

By the time a waiter changed his plate, Alex was already full and quite content with life. He surprised the waiter by asking him for a telephone. He had changed out of his motley outfit and into a standard captain’s uniform with master-pilot badges, but had simply forgotten to bring a communicator from the ship. Confluence did have its aftereffects. An odd mixture of exhilaration and languor still lingered within him.

He dialed the number of the hotel room computer. Kim answered almost immediately. The display screen of the borrowed telephone was tiny, and the hotel equipment was also far from perfect. Still, he could tell that the girl’s expression was calm.

“Everything’s okay?”

“Uh-huh.” She sniffed. “I’m practicing.”

“What?”

“Trying out my muscles. Is it normal that I don’t get tired?”

“Probably. But don’t overdo it, okay?”

They were both silent for a few moments.

“You coming back?” she said at last.

“Yes. Will you be there?”

Her smile was barely discernible, or maybe Alex was just imagining it.

“We’ll see. Probably.”

“Get some rest. Don’t wear yourself out,” said Alex. Hung up and handed the phone back to the waiter, who had tactfully stepped aside to give Alex a bit of privacy.

Too bad the long sleeves of his new uniform hid the Demon. He toyed with the idea of cutting out a little window in the sleeve’s deep-blue cloth and covering it with a piece of see-through plastic…

His crew would die laughing… that is, when he got a crew.

Actually, the crew was the very reason he was still at the spaceport. In the rare instances when the hiring was left to the captain’s discretion, there were two ways to do it. You could consult the official search on the infonet. Hardly anyone ever did that. Or you could hold a series of personal interviews—the method preferred by anyone with any common sense. The spaceports’ watering holes were the places to conduct such interviews.

Alex wondered how many people were already watching him from afar, curious, anxious, waiting for him to finish his lunch.

The Maguro sushi was good, but Alex had to force himself to finish it. He ordered some sake and an expensive Earth-made cigar. He liked sake, but didn’t care for cigars. But it was a signal well understood by every astronaut, so he had to forget about cigarettes for now.

The waiter stood nearby with a tray, upon which was a box of cigars, a guillotine cigar cutter, and a massive crystal lighter. Alex took his time lighting up.

“Happy hiring, sir,” said the waiter, and he left.

Everyone who had worked at a spaceport for at least a week would know exactly what it meant if a captain smoked a cigar.

“May I?”

Alex threw an appraising glance at the first candidate.

He was a young or recently rejuvenated man. Dark-haired, with features that revealed a predominantly Asian genetic heritage. He was dressed in civilian clothes. The outward traces of his specialization were very faint—his pupils were too narrow in the dim cafe light, his forehead was high, and his posture unnaturally straight, as though he was a well-drilled soldier. This was a pilot. A master-pilot.

“Please…” Alex gently pushed the bowl of hot water holding the bottle of sake towards him. This, too, was a sign.

They had a drink in silence, openly evaluating each other. At this point, the interview could be cut short. The pilot could simply get up, thank Alex for the sake, and leave. Or Alex could put down his cigar and look away. That would mean “no.” They would not work together well.

“You’re also a pilot.” The man broke the silence first.

“Yes, I am.”

“A master-pilot,” he was thinking aloud, “and you’re looking for another master-pilot? You must have a large ship.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

“Good. But what I have is a small, multi-functional vessel.”

The pilot winced. He asked with a hint of hope, “Are there a lot of duties besides piloting?”

“Not really.”

“Then what you need is a regular pilot,” said the man firmly. “Two master-pilots on the same ship is kind of odd.”

“You’re right. But I have orders from the ship’s owner. The co-pilot has to be a master.”

There was a spark of curiosity in the man’s eyes. He hesitated for a second, but then shook his head.

“No… It won’t do. Good luck to you, Captain.”

“Not interested in the terms of the contract?” Alex asked him. He liked the stranger, and the man did not look as though he’d been riding high lately.

“No, thank you.” The pilot smiled dryly. “Don’t want to be tempted.”

He gave a quick nod and got up. That was it. And everyone saw that it was he who had refused the offer, and not the captain who rejected his candidacy.

Alex drew in the cigar’s thick, heavy smoke. No, cigars weren’t his thing.

He understood the pilot’s position perfectly. For a master to agree to co-pilot, he would have to be really desperate. He would rather drag a clumsy Hamster full of pig iron around the orbit than play second fiddle on the most interesting routes. But the owner’s instructions were perfectly clear.

A six-member crew.

A captain with the specialization of master-pilot. Another master-pilot. A navigator. An engineer. A fighter. And a doctor.

No cargo specialist, no trade expert… Or, to be more precise, these positions were optional, in case they were an additional specialization for one of the crewmembers. So they were not being hired for trading missions. There would be no linguists or xenopsychologists. That would mean no contact with the Others was expected. All the work would be taking place within the Human Empire.

And yet…

The requirement for two master-pilots could only mean lengthy and difficult routes.

A fighter on board meant possible visits to troubled planets.

A doctor meant very long trips.

All this was hard to reconcile. Even more disquieting were the possible reasons for giving Alex such easy access to the rank of captain and carte blanche in hiring the crew, when its odd composition could only mean highly unusual and difficult trips.

“May I?”

Alex looked up.

A very serious and intelligent face. A light-haired Europeoid of a rare, unmixed genotype. Judging by the badges on his uniform and the visible signs of specialization, he was an engineer. A Star of Valor on his lapel meant he was a retired military man. And if an honor ever truly had to be earned, it was the Star of Valor. He was an ideal candidate… But… but Alex did not like him for some reason.

They studied each other for a few seconds.

“You are probably right, Captain,” said his would-be engineer politely. “We won’t get along. Too bad. I’ve been out of work for a while.”

“Would you care for a drink?”

“No, thank you. You obviously have a long day ahead of you. I wouldn’t want to waste your time.” He walked away. Alex followed him with a gloomy stare.

A professional. A good spesh, and a good man. But they wouldn’t work well together. When you spend half your life in a hermetically sealed tin can, you learn to see that at first glance.

His hiring spree had started out badly. And in some places, they believed that if a captain rejected the first three candidates right off the bat, you shouldn’t bother approaching him. You wouldn’t have any luck. Astronauts were the most superstitious people in the universe.

“Captain?”

The woman hadn’t even observed the customary interval. Leaned on the table with both hands, inclining slightly towards Alex.

“Looking for a crew?”

She was not young. Tall, almost as tall as Alex. Black. Beautiful. But not a natural kind of beauty. It was the work of plastic surgeons who make a transformed body look more attractive. Her face had a kind of geometrically precise diamond shape. Her eyes were too large, almost like Kim’s. Her hands and nails were oddly shaped… She had the pin of a cargo specialist on her blouse. The expression on his face had probably given something away.

“Don’t need a cargo tech?” asked the woman bluntly.

“Unfortunately not. My ship is small. Not a freighter.”

“Excuse my intrusion then, Captain…”

“Wait!”

“Yes?” The lady slightly raised her eyebrows.

“Your specialization is not cargo technician.”

“You’re right. But a small ship won’t need a doctor, either.”

“Actually, we do.”

“Curious…” After a few seconds’ hesitation, she sat down. “Will you offer me a drink?”

“Yes, of course.”

Alex hastily filled up a small cup, handed it to the woman. They clinked their cups.

“What kind of ship do you have?”

“Mirror is an unclassified vessel assembled on Earth. Most parameters are of a modernized discus yacht of moderate tonnage. A six-member crew, myself included.” Alex caught himself cajoling the woman. Almost trying to ingratiate himself to her.

“Curious,” she said again. “Does it at least have a sick bay? Or is that combined with the galley?”

“A fully equipped sick bay. Must have been stripped from a destroyer.”

“Hell.” She laughed a bit uneasily. “Must have been? Have you been the captain for long?”

“A couple hours.”

“Right. Who else is in the crew?”

“Just me.”

“Okay, I get it.”

She twirled the sake cup in her fingers, still not in any hurry to drink.

“Details?”

“Union base pay for unclassified ships, plus a twenty percent bonus. A two-year contract.”

“And where are we flying?”

“Don’t know.”

“Purpose?”

“Don’t know that, either.”

“Sounds marvelous, Captain…”

“I know how it sounds. But I have already accepted the offer.”

“Perhaps you just didn’t have a choice?”

She had guessed right, so Alex decided it would be better to say nothing.

“All right… I’m Janet Ruello, forty-six years of age, doctor-spesh, cargo technician…” She hesitated a split second and continued, “… gunner-spesh, linguist-spesh, junior pilot-spesh, ready to consider your offer.”

Alex pushed away his sake cup. Looked hard at Ruello. She was absolutely serious.

“Four specializations?”

“Five. But the fifth one is irrelevant.”

“I’d like to know what it is anyway.”

An angry irony appeared in the woman’s dark eyes.

“Executioner-spesh. Officially, it has another name, but that’s what it is. Actually, that is my main specialization.”

“You’re from Eben!” exclaimed Alex, finally catching on. “Damn…”

“Yes, I am.” The woman glared back at him. “The planet Eben is quarantined. I was born there. I served in the Mutual Understanding Corporation until the age of thirty. Was taken prisoner of war during the battle of Pokryvalo. Five years of psychotherapy. Temporary citizenship of the Empire, with a permit to work and reproduce.”

Now it was clear to Alex why this woman with five—well, let it be four—specializations was wearing the pin of a cargo technician, a profession she had acquired on her own.

“What is your decision?” she asked dryly.

“May I ask you something, off the record?”

“Yes. I think that would be fine…” She looked suddenly embarrassed.

“Do you have any experience with determining specialization?”

Janet shrugged.

“Well, I’m not an expert, of course, but I have some experience. It’s standard procedure in our fleet to determine which specialization will turn out to be the dominant one, and whether there are any physiological conflicts in the body. For example, the work of a doctor and a detective cannot be combined for psychological reasons, and the jobs of a navigator and a pilot because of physiology. Everybody knows that, but there are many situations which are much more complicated.”

Janet, it seemed, was happy to talk. Alex nodded, satisfied with her answer, and then asked, “And why did you lose the war so quickly? Ten years ago, Eben’s fleet almost matched the firepower of the Imperial forces. And you had all that training… each person had at least three specializations, right? I mean, what happened?”

“You really don’t know?” A slight note of surprise flashed in Janet’s voice. “We had not been trained to fight against humans! Quite the opposite… We believed that the human race had to rule the universe. Another six months, or a year, and nothing could have stopped us, believe me. Oh, Deus Irae! Our Liturgy-class space cruisers could have blasted off a star’s photosphere, turning it into a supernova! The cleansing fire that would have burned away all the planets of the Others!”

“Good thing you didn’t have the time to build those cruisers!” said Alex, closely watching Janet’s reaction.

“Not so. Two cruisers were ready. They couldn’t have broken through to the sectors of the Others, but to blow away the Sun or Sirius—child’s play!” she laughed without mirth. “My dear Captain, we could not fight against humans! It was a shortcoming of our own propaganda. We could cajole, or beg, or explain… take prisoners and brainwash them… but to kill our own kind…”

“The Empire also suffered losses…”

“Mostly by accident. Sometimes as a result of nervous breakdowns. Some officers shot to kill and then sent a ray into their own heads, as soon as they realized that they had killed their blood brothers. You didn’t have such problems.”

“Last question, Janet. Forgive me, but I have to ask.”

“Go ahead. I understand.”

“What is your present attitude toward Eben’s ideology? Put yourself in my shoes… to have a person aboard who was born to exterminate any non-human intelligence…”

“I still hold firm to my view that the human race is the ideal one in the universe. Chosen by the Creator.” Janet was silent for a moment, and then added rather dryly, “Alex, you do understand that the consequences of a specialization are irreversible. Absolutely irreversible.”

“But how do you manage to lead a normal life, if you still believe that so strongly?” Alex looked around to see if he could find at least one of the Others. Quicksilver Pit was far from the frontier, but some trading vessels of the Others did fly here. Too bad—there were no non-humans in the cafe. Not a single bulky, clumsy Fenhuan, wrapped into folds of pseudo-feathers, nor a small and agile Bronin, nor a Zzygou… not that those “fragrant” creatures would be allowed to come into a restaurant.

“Now I am convinced,” said Janet very firmly, “that the xenocidal methods of our ruling church were a disastrous mistake. They are unacceptable for moral and ethical reasons, because by killing the Others without being threatened ourselves, we would be dropping down to their level. The human race must conquer the galaxy by peaceful methods, by perfecting our technology and biotechnology, expanding to other planets, creating beauty, and multiplying vigorously. That is the way to drive the defective races to extinction, clearing the galactic space for us humans. I am even inclined to think that we would then have a duty to preserve their cultural monuments, establish museums and memorials, and use every opportunity to keep the remnants of their worlds’ biodiversity in zoos and on reservations.”

“And you live your life based on these convictions?”

“Yes, of course. In the ten years since my liberation, I have given birth to four healthy and intelligent children, and specialized them in socially useful, peaceful professions.” She thought for a moment, and then added, “Well, nominally peaceful… You don’t have to worry, Captain. When I see one of the Others, I won’t remember any methods to exterminate it. Unless there is imminent danger.”

“All right, then. If the contract and the ship suit you…”

Janet nodded. A slight smile appeared on her face.

“I think they will suit me. I would prefer a job in cargo, but being a doctor won’t be bad. All my other specializations are much more unpleasant. You need recommendations from previous employers?”

“Yes, please. I have no doubt that your qualifications are excellent, but that’s the procedure.”

Alex handed her one of the copies of the contract he had brought with him, and they had another drink to seal the preliminary agreement. Then Janet left.

Alex’s cigar had long smoldered to ashes. In any case, he was supposed to order another one, and so he did.

A medical doctor from Eben… that was a great irony of fate. Well, fate was a master of irony.

He had absolutely no doubts about Janet’s professional qualities. All of her other specializations were a definite plus, even if she never got to use them. She was practically incapable of aggression towards humans because of the shortcoming of Eben’s propaganda machine, the shortcoming which had enabled the Empire to quarantine the planet, to seal it off from the rest of the galaxy.

But would Janet lose it at the sight of a non-human? Would she remember her specialization of executioner-spesh? No, that was hardly possible. She had, after all, been released by the military psychologists, free to interact with society, even have contact with the Others. The psychologists must have been sure of their tactics. Come to think of it, that was a very clever solution to the problem. They did not touch the main postulate of the Ebenian worldview—namely, the idea that humanity was the master race. All they did was convince the POWs of the necessity of using peaceful means to achieve galactic domination. So out of a hundred thousand raging prisoners who would never again see their unfortunate home world, they got a hundred thousand well-qualified speshes who were also fanatically loyal to humanity. The military was forbidden to recruit them, as far as Alex knew. In the military, their faith might acquire thousands of new believers, and the psychological blocks could be dashed to pieces.

“Captain?”

This fellow was very young, barely twenty. Obviously right out of the academy.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a vacancy for an engineer-spesh?”

People were all so impatient today for some reason! Alex had had occasion to witness a hiring ritual conducted by his former captain, Richard Klein—or Roaring Richard, as others used to call him behind his back. During the hiring, Richard seemed to be a completely different person—thorough, patient, even somewhat drowsy. And those who approached his table behaved the same way…

“Yes, I do.”

“Will I suit you?”

The guy was also a typical Europeoid, and, of course, a spesh—otherwise he could not be an engineer. His skin was really pink, ruddy. He had a bit of a baby face, with sparkling, slightly bulging eyes. His long dark-gray hair lay heavy on his shoulders like a lead screen, which was its function, after all. Making a person resistant to radiation was no easy task. To give just one example—while at work, his testicles had to be retracted inside the pelvic cavity.

“Take a look at the contract,” said Alex, handing the fellow a copy. “Gluon reactors, have you had any experience with them?”

“No real work experience,” replied the youth absently, reading through the contract. “But I know them well. My last year of school, that’s all we studied. And I got here on a ship with gluon engines.”

“Did you get your training on Earth?”

“Yes, of course.” He paused to think about one of the contract stipulations, and it occurred to Alex that the young fellow might not be as naive as he looked.

A sudden thought made Alex ask, “And what was the name of the ship that brought you here?”

“The Intrepid. It was a yacht, with a name like a military cruiser…” The fellow looked up from the contract, then nodded. “I like your offer. I don’t really want to fly large ships, just yet. If you agree to take an engineer with only two weeks’ work experience, I’ll be on my way to pack.”

“Well, we’ll risk it, son,” said Alex, unsuccessfully trying to give his tone of voice a dash of Richard Klein’s haughtiness. “We all had to start somewhere, right?”

Naturally, he wouldn’t tell the youth that the post of engineer was the only one where a young recent graduate would actually be preferred. The reason was that any experience working with one type of reactor did nothing to prepare you to work with another type. The behavior of the gluon stream was not statistically predictable, and taking aboard a young novice who was not overloaded with habits would be better than working with an experienced veteran.

“Thank you,” said the youngster candidly. “You won’t regret it, sir! I, Paul Lourier, nineteen years of age, engineer-spesh, accept your contract.”

Unlike all the others interviewed so far, he did not even ask to see the ship. He just signed the contract. Alex promised himself that he’d fight to get the fellow a bonus at the first opportunity. Such acts of trust should be rewarded.

“May I?”

The next candidate was wearing a plaid kilt and a loose-fitting bright blue shirt. He was sturdy, and red-headed, but with his almond-shaped eyes, he looked positively Asian. He had an earring in his left ear, and a clip player in his right. His long hair was tightened into a braid. His cheeks bore iridescent spiral drawings—maybe tattoos, maybe just cosmetics. For a few seconds, Alex tried to determine the man’s specialization, then gave it up and nodded. Poured a cup of sake.

This candidate also chose to take the bull by the horns.

“Do you need a navigator?”

“Yes.”

“Then take a look at this.”

He produced a pack of recommendation letters and put them down before Alex.

The collection was impressive. Five years of service in the Imperial Forces on a great variety of different types of vessels, from torpedo boats to battle cruisers. He had changed ships suspiciously often, but at the same time, his recommendations were stellar. “Energy conservation”… “Calculation of hyper-jump in a battle situation”… “During an instrument failure, accomplished ship orientation manually”… “Successfully repaired equipment… guided solely by intuition, despite a complete lack of experience in the area…”

“Puck Generalov, you’ve changed your place of employment rather frequently,” noted Alex. And something else bothered him about the stellar recommendations. But what was it?

“That’s just my personality.” The navigator straightened a fold on his kilt, threw one leg over the other. Took a tiny sip of sake. “Just personality. But no one has ever had any complaints about me as a professional.”

“Are you conflict-prone?”

“That would be reflected in the documents, Captain.”

“That’s right. Still… I have a small ship. Will a job as a navigator on a yacht suit you?”

“Absolutely. I like small and fast ships.”

Generalov took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, took one out, struck a match on the tabletop, and lit up. Then he inquired, “By the way, I’m gay. Does that bother you?”

“Should it?” said Alex, confused.

“Well, you know, there are many different approaches to ethics…”

“I’m from Earth. You don’t have to worry about me being prejudiced,” answered Alex dryly. Something was still bothering him, but what was it? “I guess you’d want to see the ship? I expect all the crewmembers to show up for a meeting tomorrow morning.”

The navigator nodded again. And mentioned casually, “Oh, and by the way, I am also a natural. Would that be a problem?”

Alex was stunned, speechless.

Of course, not all astronauts were speshes. Only a few occupations absolutely required a modified body and mind—engineers, tactical commanders, linguists, and a few other rare professions. All the rest were theoretically open to the naturals. Alex knew some among ship doctors, among gunners… he had even met one natural who had been a pilot, though the guy was very old. But to become a navigator! To hold in your mind the five-dimensional picture of the universe, fifteen hundred main hyper-channels, a minimum of thirty thousand known routes, and at least three hundred thousand gravitational peaks…

A navigator did not just have to have increased intuition and a sense of space as good as a pilot’s. First and foremost, he had to have a mind that worked like a computer, a transformed nervous system, with strengthened logical capacity and reduced emotional reactions… This was what had roused Alex’s suspicions. In all the recommendations, however stellar and laudatory, there was no mention of the word “spesh.”

“I don’t have to worry about your being prejudiced, right?” asked Generalov politely. Alex forced himself to nod.

“No… You don’t have to worry… I’m taking you aboard… that is, if the ship and the contract suit you.”

The kilt-wearing man watched him, picking at his ear clip. Maybe he was trying to tune it to another station, or maybe he was simply nervous.

“There’s the answer to your question,” he said all of a sudden.

“What question?”

“Why I change ships so frequently. You fell into the usual trap. It’s hard to admit to being prejudiced, but working alongside a natural is unpleasant. You’ll take me aboard and then try to get rid of me at the first opportunity. With the best of references, of course, because pilots can’t lie.”

“Yes, we can.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Captain. We haven’t signed the contract yet—I can ignore seniority for the moment. So let me just say…” Generalov puffed his cigarette, smiled. “… this would, by the way, be another chance for you to back out. Who needs a troublemaker for a navigator? And no, Captain, you are not capable of lying. The capacity for love is removed in all pilots, and that’s very useful. Those who love are not inclined to take risks, except, of course, for the sake of those they love, and a pilot must be ready to die at any moment. But to balance it out, all your other moral qualities are enhanced—integrity, kindness, loyalty, generosity. I bet you’re the kind of guy who would jump out on the road to save a lousy mutt, and rescue kittens from a tree, and contribute to charity funds, and give alms to every beggar you pass. So, for you, lying is an agonizing process, extremely unpleasant and almost impossible. Pilots prefer to keep things back, or to dodge the question, rather than lie. You do resent me, don’t you?”

“No,” Alex forced himself to say.

Respect lit up Generalov’s eyes for a moment.

“You are a strong man, Captain. What’s your sign?”

“Aries.”

“And I’m a Virgo.” Generalov smiled. “It’s a good combination, you know. We’ll get along. Give me that contract of yours!”

Alex silently handed him the form.

Puck looked through the standard lines, shrugged at the numbers.

“Not bad…”

He licked his finger and pressed it down to the identification point. Then he separated the sheet in half, gave one part of it back to Alex, and stuck the other into a pocket on his kilt.

“You are now a crew member of the spaceship Mirror,” Alex told him.

At this, Generalov straightened up, as though he had been pierced through with a stiff pole, and his face lost the smirk he’d been wearing.

“Your orders, Captain.”

Only his eyes still retained a tiny spark of irony.

“To change into a standard navigator uniform. Get rid of facial paint. Be at the ship tomorrow at nine a.m.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

“That will be all.”

“Permission to spend the evening in the bar, Captain.”

“That is your business,” said Alex after a moment’s contemplation. “But I need you to be in top working shape in the morning.”

“Of course.” Puck seemed to be waiting for other orders.

“Have you been job hunting a while?”

“A month.”

“Okay. Are there any master-pilots here in the hall?”

Generalov did not even look around.

“Only one. The one who approached you first.”

“All right… see you tomorrow.”

After the navigator left, Alex threw back his sake in one gulp. Found the waiter with a glance, made a light gesture in the air, as if signing his check. That sly natural had really put one over on him! One should never underestimate the genetically unaltered, never! First that absurd question about his attitude toward gays, as if it were any of the captain’s business who his crewmembers slept with. And then, after Alex had declared that he wasn’t biased, came the real blow.

A navigator who was a natural… impossible!

And what would be the reaction of the other crewmembers? Janet, who had five specializations? The young engineer, just out of college?

Well, if any of them protested, that would be another reason to back out… no, unfortunately, Janet had not signed the contract yet. Unless Paul Lourier refused to trust his life to a natural…

For a second, a crazy thought flashed through Alex’s mind—what if he were to ask, or even to order, the engineer to oppose Generalov’s candidacy? Paul had signed the contract earlier, and from a formal point of view, Alex had a duty to consider his opinion.

The thought came and passed, leaving an unpleasant trace. On one point, Generalov was absolutely right. Lying was hard for pilots. This was part of the price they paid for the stars. Along with their inability to love other humans.

A waiter came. Alex paid his bill and quickly left the dining hall. Two vacancies remained unfilled, but he had an idea about one of them. It was a crazy idea, but it was worth a try.

The hotel front desk had yet another clerk behind it this time. This fellow did not pay any attention to Alex and beamed at the mere sight of the captain’s uniform. Such important customers were rare at the Hilton.

Alex went up to his room and touched the doorbell sensor. Caught himself feeling intensely curious. Had Kim really waited for him, or had she preferred to disappear, having first cleaned out the room’s credit line?

One always had to pay for believing in people’s honesty. But Alex found a strange, perverse pleasure in it on those rare occasions when his faith was vindicated.

Kim opened the door.

She had waited!

Alex shook his head, though he was glad to see the unfeigned joy on the girl’s face.

“Kim… I asked you to block the door. You didn’t even look through the peephole.”

“How do you know?”

“When the door camera is on, the lens turns on an infrared light. I can see it clearly.”

“Oh…” Kim stepped back from the door to let him pass. “Well… I didn’t have to look. I knew it was you.” Now it was Alex’s turn to be surprised.

“How did you know?”

“By the sound of your steps. You have a peculiar walk, as if you’re trying not to lift your feet from the floor.”

“Oh? I hadn’t ever noticed…” Alex closed the door. Looked down at his feet. “Do I drag my feet?”

“You don’t drag them, you just hurry to put them back down. And you never let both feet leave the ground at the same time!” Kim jumped up. “What are you so serious about? I am sorry I didn’t look through the peephole. I’ll get in the habit, I promise!”

“If both your feet leave the ground, that means you’re running…” Alex bit his lip. Both your feet… and if your feet and legs and pelvis leave without your consent, that’s called a work-related injury. “Kim, I get it. There’s no artificial gravity on Hamsters and other system freighters. I trained on those for about six months. And got used to depending on Velcro. Or maybe it was a part of my specialization. To never lose my balance points.”

Kim’s interest in the subject seemed to be exhausted.

“That’s great. Very useful precaution, friend-spesh. See how I’ve spent your money?”

She spread out her arms and whirled around, all the while trying to keep him in her field of vision.

“I see. You’ve changed.”

Her worn-out jeans and sweater had been replaced by a black pantsuit. In it, Kim resembled a young professional. Her white blouse and a tiny black tie further enhanced this resemblance.

“Does it look good on me?” asked Kim.

“Yes, very good.”

The girl smiled.

“And you look good in your uniform.”

“You even look a little older,” Alex continued. “You might pass for someone who’s had her metamorphosis six months ago and been through some accelerated training courses already.”

“Why? Is that important?”

“Probably. We have to talk, Kim.”

She immediately got serious. Alex took her by the hand, led her into the room, and made her sit down in a chair. He sat down in front of her, then got out his cigarettes and lit up.

“Give me a cigarette.”

Alex lit another cigarette and handed it to her.

“We have to talk” is a magic phrase. One of the few that instantly puts a person into a serious mode. No one ever says it in order to talk about the weather or to discuss weekend plans.

It is very instructive to watch the reaction of a person expecting a serious conversation. Some people get nervous, some withdraw into themselves, some prepare for a confrontation.

Kim simply braced herself.

“What is your name? Your full name?”

“Kim O’Hara.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen. As of one month ago.”

“Are you from Quicksilver Pit?”

“No.” Kim shook her head.

“Then where are you from?”

“I won’t answer that.”

Alex sighed. He never expected this conversation to be easy, but the girl’s tone of voice was really beginning to trouble him.

“Kim, I must know.”

“Why?”

The girl switched to a counterattack.

“Kim, do you have friends or relatives on Quicksilver Pit?”

Silence.

“How long have you been on this planet?”

“What is it to you?”

Great. Why did it have to be this way? You try to help, and all you get is ingratitude!

“All right.” Alex interrupted the silence that had stretched between them. “Let’s figure out why I need to know this. Yesterday, I pulled you through an off-track metamorphosis. Right?”

Kim took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. Whispered:

“I am thankful, friend-spesh…”

“You don’t have to thank me. I could not act otherwise, so I can take no credit for that. But for the same reason that I had to help you…”

Kim looked at him in surprise.

“For that very reason, I can’t just walk away and leave you to your fate. Do you need help?”

The girl lowered her eyes.

“Do you or don’t you?” asked Alex harshly. “I got hired onto a ship. Okay? In a couple of days, I’m leaving Quicksilver Pit, and I may be gone for a very long time. Do you need help?”

“Yes. I do.”

“That’s better.”

Well, no, it wasn’t really better. But at least it was out in the open.

Kim got up, went over to the window, and stood still, gazing into the dim evening sky. She stuck her hands in her pockets and again stood still, having suddenly lost all her happy enthusiasm.

Alex bit his lip. Was this real, or was she just pretending? Either way, it was useless. Apparently the girl did not really understand the reason why he cared about her.

“Where are you from, Kim?”

“Edem.”

“How in the world did you end up here?” Alex was feverishly trying to visualize the route. Damn… the opposite side of the human sector of space! No less than seven hyper-channel trips or a direct jump in a courier ship. But there were no direct flights from Edem to Quicksilver Pit. There was no demand for them at all. “You’re very far away from home.”

“I don’t have a home anymore. I ran away from my family.”

“Why? No, never mind. That’s not important. How did you get over to Quicksilver Pit?”

“I’m gifted.”

“I believe you, Kim. But before the metamorphosis, you were legally still a minor. To traverse two hundred light years without any documents, or any money…”

“Who said I had no money?”

Alex nodded. She was right.

“All right. But why Quicksilver Pit?”

“I had my reasons to head nowhere but here.”

“Kim… if you won’t trust me, like you trusted me yesterday, it won’t work between us.”

“And what is supposed to work?”

It seemed she was crying, after all. Quietly, inaudibly. To walk over to her now, to hug her, to console her, would be the most natural thing to do. And absolutely the wrong thing to do.

“Are you a fighter-spesh?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you mean, you guess so? Kim, every child-spesh knows what he or she is going to be. If a geisha-girl and a boy-doctor play doctor together, they play differently. The girl will be interested in the erotic part of the game. She’ll study the rudimentary sexual reactions. The boy will try to listen to her chest, get her pulse, feel her bone structure, and examine her tonsils. If an architect-child builds a sand castle, that castle will last for a week. How did you play as a kid? Did you like to fight?”

“Yes.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course.”

“What about playing with dolls?”

“I wouldn’t mind a doll even now.” Kim giggled suddenly. “When I ran away from home, I took Lucita with me. She’s my favorite doll. But she was lost with my bag… on a ship.”

Alex rubbed his forehead. He had had occasion to see girl-speshes who were honed to become fighters. Did they play with dolls? Maybe, but for some reason, he thought that the future fighters were more likely to use their dolls for practice, as punch dummies…

“I played doctor, too,” said Kim suddenly. “But I don’t know what was more interesting to me—the pulse rate, or the sexual reactions.”

“Kim, my ship needs a fighter-spesh.”

The girl turned to him.

“Really?”

“Yes. But you have no ID. And no fighter certificate, either. How about we go to the nearest clinic tomorrow, run a genetic analysis, and have your new documents issued?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“They’ll come looking for me, don’t you see that?”

“You’ve had your metamorphosis. You’re of age now. Even if, according to your specialization agreement, you owe your parents the reimbursement of its cost, that can’t infringe on your individual rights…”

“No!”

Her voice had risen to a shout. To keep insisting would be pointless.

“But you have nothing against employment on a ship?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll think of something, Kim. If you are really a fighter-spesh, then everything’s all right.”

The girl looked at him, frowning. Alex patiently waited.

“Why do you even bother helping me?”

He answered with a question. “How much do you know about pilot-speshes?”

“Nothing. Well, you told me you guys have strong bones and a good eye…”

“And we also have a heightened sense of responsibility. A pilot never forsakes his crew or his passengers.”

“But… I’m not your crew…” The girl came closer to him, sat down on the floor beside his chair, looked deep into his eyes.

“Yesterday, I had no crew, Kim. I helped you out on the monorail, fed you… and things just kept going from there. So there’s no point thanking me for my selfless kindness. That’s just the way I’m made. See?”

“How strange…” All her recent tears had vanished without a trace. Kim stretched out her hand, touched Alex’s face. “So you’re… not free?”

“What makes you say that?”

Her hand was caressing his face, slowly, as though she were a blind girl, exploring his features.

“You are forced to be kind and caring…”

“Kim, we are all forced to do different things. A soldier has a duty to give his life for humanity, a doctor to save the life of a patient, a pilot to protect his crew. Even the naturals aren’t any more free than we are. We speshes change at the moment of metamorphosis, when the nucleic bombs go off. The naturals are also coerced all their lives as well, by their parents, school, society…”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s the same thing, Kim. I know that I have a heightened sense of responsibility towards others. So what? Is that a bad thing? If I were a cynical, heartless bastard… like a detective-spesh, for instance… then I’d have something to worry about.”

“You wouldn’t worry. You would think that was the right way to be.”

“Kim…”

Alex gently pulled her up from the floor, sat her down onto his lap.

“You are right about some things, of course. But I’m not at all bothered by the details of my specialization. That would be like complaining about being beautiful, or healthy, or smart. If everyone were specialized in at least a few basic moral qualities, life would be better.”

Kim nodded. But she still looked rather uncomfortable. Could it be the material basis for his actions that kept bothering her?

“Kim, don’t worry about it. I’m glad I could help you out. I would have done it even without any kind of specialization. You are a very nice girl.”

“You like me, then?” She looked into his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Alex…” Her fingers slid up through the pilot’s hair. “Don’t misunderstand me, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“Maybe you think I am sorry for you. It’s not that. Or that I am trying to repay you for your kindness. It’s not that, either…”

Alex put a gentle hand to her lips.

“Kim. Don’t.”

The girl shook her head.

“No! You don’t understand! Alex… I know things never happen like that. You don’t believe me!”

“Kim, I do believe you, but…”

“No, you don’t! You think I’m a little horny bitch. And that I got over from Edem that way, too…”

Alex kept his silence. He did not exclude that possibility, but did not think it the only option, either.

“Maybe you think this is the way I want to repay my debt… but it’s not that. Honest! Do you believe me?”

Alex gazed into her eyes for a second. Many people were skilled in the art of lying. But was it possible to lie like this?

“Kim, I do believe you. Are you sure you have to do this?” Instead of an answer, she leaned over and kissed his lips. Her kiss had none of the maddeningly alluring skill of a real geisha-spesh. It was an ordinary kiss of a girl with very little sexual experience. But at the same time…

Alex suddenly realized that he had absolutely no wish to change her mind.

For a few minutes they kissed, greedily, rapturously. Alex took off Kim’s tightly fitted jacket, unbuttoned her blouse. Still kissing him, she swayed her shoulders, sliding out of her clothes. She kept clinging to Alex, as though shy of her nakedness, and that helped him chase away the pesky memories of the previous night, when her naked body held no erotic appeal, only fear and pain.

Damn…

Damn!

“Kim,” said Alex, trying to move away, “Kim, Kim, wait…”

The girl sat still, looking at him a little fearfully. She had already managed to unzip her pants and half-take them off… a real scene from an erotic comedy…

“Kim… you just had your metamorphosis…”

“So what?”

Her voice shook a little. She was a lot more excited than Alex.

“Kim… you can’t have sexual contact for at least a week. When I was done with my metamorphosis, my girlfriend came to visit, and the doctor warned us right away to wait at least a week…. That’s the general rule.”

“But why?”

“Kim…” The pilot hugged her tightly. “Let’s not. Your development already got messed up once. Let’s not rush things.”

For a second she stared at him, shocked and speechless, as though she wasn’t sure if the pilot was telling her the truth or just kidding, clumsily. Then her lips started trembling.

Alex held her back as she tried to free herself from his embrace. Hugged her, whispered in her ear:

“Kim, it’s gonna be all right. Don’t rush things. I’ll make you a crewmember. Wait just a little while.”

“You don’t like me!” whispered Kim, sobbing.

“I do… Kim, honey, don’t cry. I just don’t want any harm to come to you.”

“It’s all your stupid sense of responsibility!” she yelled, lifting her wet face for a second. “It’s all your specialization! And nothing would’ve happened! I feel just fine!”

There was no point in arguing, so Alex said nothing. They sat for a few minutes in the chair together. The girl sobbed quietly, clinging to Alex and no longer trying to wrench herself free. Then, fidgeting awkwardly on his lap, she pulled on her pants, leaned away slightly. Asked, in a probing tone of voice:

“You really are attracted to me?”

“You haven’t noticed?”

Kim wiped her eyes with her hand.

“Friend-spesh, don’t lie to me, okay? I had only two men in my life, so I don’t know, maybe I’m ugly…”

“Oh, come on,” said Alex with a sly grin. “You know you are a very pretty girl. Fighters’ looks aren’t programmed, so this is entirely your own achievement.”

“Vladimir also said that.”

“Vladimir?”

“My first guy. He was a good friend of my parents, and I liked him, too. My parents arranged for him to be my sex instructor. But we didn’t meet for very long. Vladimir was a very busy man. An artist-spesh. His paintings are even exhibited on Earth. He did my portrait, too, by the way.”

“You have interesting customs,” said Alex.

“Why do you say that?”

“On Earth, where I come from, it isn’t customary to have real sex instructors. We do have training at school, but only in virtual reality.”

Kim shrugged.

“Earth is a rich planet. And technology-crazy. I… I had a virtual lover, too. But that’s not really common. Everything ought to be natural, as my school sex teacher used to say.”

Alex thought in passing of the crystal the girl was hiding in her altered body. Its capacity would have been enough to teach every last schoolgirl on Edem…

Why are other people’s secrets always so tantalizing?

“Kim, you want to go out to eat?”

“At McRobbins?”

“Ugh.” Alex scowled. “Today I took my post as captain. This calls for a celebration. I’ll find out which restaurant in town specializes in Earthly cuisine, and we’ll go there.”

“Will you get me some ice cream?”

“Absolutely.”

“Yeah!” Kim smiled and slipped off his lap. “Then give me a sec, I have to put myself together.”

She disappeared behind the bathroom door, and there came the sound of running water. Alex got up and walked over to the window.

Was there any trace of yesterday’s sky?

No, not even a tiny bit. A thick, ragged layer of dirty, gray clouds. Neither winter, nor spring; neither snow, nor rain. A cold, lead-colored drizzle filled the air. Faded, cheerless rainbows clung to the streetlights.

“It must feel great to be a ship’s captain!” yelled Kim from the bathroom.

“It’s awesome!” replied Alex.

And smiled.

The warmth of the captain’s chair.

Darkness and the multi-colored web.

The breath of another soul.

I love you.

Love me.

Be one with me.

How hard life must be for those unable to ever experience it…

Chapter 4

They were all waiting at the ship.

Janet, feigning indifference, was looking over the blister of the battle station on the left side. Alex could tell immediately that she liked the vessel a lot.

Puck and Paul were discussing something. Judging by the embarrassed look on the engineer’s face, he had just been hit with the news of the navigator’s biological status. Although the young fellow looked only slightly shocked.

Upon seeing Alex, Paul straightened his back. Kim walked at Alex’s side, trailing slightly as she gazed inquisitively around the landing field. Generalov turned around and also straightened. He had washed off the face paint, and Alex was pleased. Janet limited herself to just a nod—she was not yet a member of the crew. But a tightly packed bag, the kind suited for a minimum of personal belongings, was dangling from her shoulder, and that was encouraging.

“This is Kim O’Hara,” Alex introduced the girl, “our… possibly, our fighter-spesh.”

Paul looked surprised, but glad, too. Puck’s face remained unreadable. Janet was silent.

“Paul Lourier, our engineer. Puck Generalov, our navigator. Janet Ruello… possibly, our doctor.”

“Still having a problem finding a co-pilot?” inquired Janet politely.

Alex nodded. “Yes. I hope to solve the problem today. Do any crewmembers have any objections to the candidacy of Janet or Kim?”

Generalov coughed. Glanced sideways at Paul, as if hoping for his support, and then asked bluntly:

“Captain, as far as I know, having a fighter-spesh on board presupposes dangerous trips, right?”

“Possibly. Dangerous trips, or a paranoid boss.” Alex gave a dry smile. It’s always important to distance yourself from the company owners.

“And you’re certain that Ms. O’Hara is adequately trained?”

“In the case of a fighter-spesh, the word ‘training’ doesn’t really apply.” Alex regretted these words as soon as they left his lips. Now it looked like he was pointing out the natural’s deficiency. Puck could play all the games he wanted, flaunting his naturalness and professional mastery, pushing people’s buttons… but he still couldn’t help feeling deficient.

But Generalov kept his cool.

“I agree with you, Captain. But in case of real danger, I would prefer to have a male fighter aboard. And it’s not in any way connected to my sexual preferences.”

Alex looked around at Kim. The girl was fingering her white lace collar and smiling at the navigator—a sweet, happy smile.

“Puck, imagine a stranger approaching our group. Whom would he not see as dangerous?”

“All right. I see your point,” nodded Generalov. He did not even glance at Kim. “But a fighter-spesh should not be so much a camouflaged killer, as a warning presence.”

“I hold a different view. The fighter has to guarantee security.”

“And she will be able to guarantee it?”

Alex looked at Kim, caught her questioning glance, and gave a slight nod.

The next split second, the girl was already standing next to Generalov. Her right hand was squeezing his throat, and her left gripped his genitals through the fabric of the uniform.

“Which do you prefer, pain or death?” asked Kim in ice-cold tones. “Choose now.”

Puck tried to stir, but that proved to be a bad decision. A grimace of pain contorted his face, and he froze.

“Choose now,” repeated Kim.

No one needed a more vivid proof of the fighter’s capabilities. No natural could have covered the distance so fast—the movement was imperceptible to the naked eye. Moving in accelerated time was possible only after a total transformation of musculature and the nervous system. Alex said quietly:

“Let our navigator go, Kim.” Another split second—this time Alex managed to see a faint shadow and feel a slight movement of the air. He tried to estimate the speed of Kim’s movements, but couldn’t do it very exactly. In the neighborhood of ninety miles an hour.

Of course, no spesh could keep that speed up for more than a minute. But there wasn’t any need for that. They would all be dead by now, if Kim had wanted.

“Puck, do you still have any doubts about her training?”

What a fine beginning for their work together… a hateful quarrel between two crewmembers.

Puck cleared his throat, rubbing his neck.

“I take it back, Captain.” He finally looked at Kim. Lowered his head slightly.

The girl returned his polite and rather ceremonious bow. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair awry. Those were the outward, the most innocuous, manifestations of what had just happened. Now she ought to have something sweet to drink. A full sugar bowl of coffee, for instance, followed by a piece of meat. Her cells needed to recuperate.

“Good going, kid!” said Janet unexpectedly. “Well, Captain, shall we take a look at the ship?”

The person most interested in the ship was Kim. She had probably never flown on a discus yacht. In the cargo bay, she stared at the transparent six-and-a-half-foot-tall plastic cylinders, then looked at Alex in bewilderment.

“Those are spacesuit units,” he told her quietly. But not quietly enough. Generalov heard him and turned his head. A great opportunity to stick it to the captain—a fighter-spesh who had no knowledge of the most elementary features of a ship!

“Captain, permission to test out the wardrobe functions.”

“Go ahead,” said Alex. What was the natural up to this time…?

Puck stepped over to one of the units, slapped his hand on the sensor to make the cylinder come open. A thin split appeared in the plastic, then widened to make an opening. The navigator stepped in, and the two sides reattached.

“A full-blown test,” Janet said, in a mildly mocking tone. “Show-off…”

The plastic clouded up a little as the spacesuit gel filled the inside of the hollow cylinder walls. Then tiny sprayers opened up, and a billowing gray mist filled the cylinder. Invisible force field needles stitched the mist into thick fabric, tightly wrapping Puck from head to toe. Only the navigator’s face had a clear space in front of it.

The unit worked fast. When the air inside the cylinder cleared, Puck was fully enveloped in a silvery suit. The spacesuit bulged a little on his back, around his waist, and under his chin—that is, everywhere the gel molecules were forming not just a flexible armor, but also the life-support systems. The face shield of the helmet was the last to condense out of the mist.

The cylinder opened, and Puck stepped out into the cargo bay. He gave Kim a tiny wink, and Alex felt a slight twinge of concern. Was that a sign of respect on Generalov’s part? Or was he flirting, despite his declared orientation?

“Captain, the cargo bay systems are functioning properly. Spacesuit assembly time—fifteen seconds.”

“Thank you, Navigator. Will you be taking it off?”

Generalov looked at his new suit with obvious pleasure.

“With your permission, sir, not yet.”

Alex shrugged. Narcissism was a flaw that could be lived with.

They left the cargo bay and entered the ship’s main hall. Puck was the last to follow. His silvery armor crackled slightly, making its final adjustments to his body.

“Everything’s standard,” said Alex, stopping. “Six cabins are at our disposal.”

“Will the quarters also be assigned the standard way?” inquired Janet.

Alex nodded. Although… which order would she consider standard? Their crew composition was a little odd.

“Starboard side—captain, fighter, navigator; spaceport side—co-pilot, doctor, engineer. Any objections?”

“Makes sense,” confirmed Janet. “A direct hit to either side would still enable the crew to function. Your permission to occupy my quarters?”

“Should I consider this an indication of your joining the crew?”

“Yes.”

Alex silently reached for a copy of the contract and handed it to Janet. The black woman threw a passing glance at the text, licked her finger, and forcefully pressed the identification point. Then she gave Alex his part of the copy.

“I’m glad,” said Alex. He could have found more heartfelt words, but there was hardly any need for that. Janet was from Eben, so she would not be all that sentimental.

What she said next confirmed his opinion.

“Captain, where is the sick bay?”

“One second.” Alex looked at Puck. Narcissistic and irritating as he may have been, he was still worried about only one thing at this moment. Only a navigator could feel almost the same level of attachment to the ship as a captain. “Puck, will you be able to find the navigation module?”

“Yes, of course. I am familiar with discus yachts.”

Generalov looked straight down the hall. A door at the end led to the bridge, but there was another door next to it.

“You may go inspect your work station.”

“Aye-aye, Captain…” The navigator quickly headed down the hall. His space suit had fully adjusted to its new owner, and now his movements were absolutely quiet.

“I envy him a little,” remarked Janet suddenly.

“Why?” said Alex.

“Are you familiar with navigation, Captain?”

“Somewhat. The required academic minimum, plus two refresher courses.”

“Then you would agree that those are very interesting sensations, Captain.”

The hatch door of the navigation module opened in front of Generalov. He looked back at his fellow crewmembers, and then stepped in.

“Let’s hope I didn’t make a mistake,” said Alex. All of Puck’s recommendations may have been great, but Alex was still worried.

“If necessary, I will be able to set a course from any point in space,” Janet promised him.

“I don’t doubt it. But I’d rather not bring shame upon myself and disappoint the bosses…” Alex stopped himself. No need to share his concerns with the crew. A captain could be aloof, or close with his crew. In a small ship, the latter was even preferable. But a captain should never show any signs of weakness. He had no right.

“In any case, everyone should be given a chance,” he concluded. “Paul?”

“Yes, Captain.”

The young engineer was obviously not a chatty type. Or had been brought up in the spirit of strict subordination.

“Where is the reactor on this ship?”

“Aft, Captain.”

Alex grinned.

“What about the engines? Are you sure that they and the gluon reactor all fit in the rear of Mirror?”

“The reactor module is located aft on this ship, Captain.” Paul shyly returned the captain’s smile. “In between the engines. We have a tandem gluon reactor called Niagara, the newest technology available to the civilian fleet. Radiation screening is done entirely by a force field, with no hard shield. It’s really beautiful, Captain, even in the parts of the spectrum that can be seen by a non-specialist.”

“Paul, you must have had great teachers!”

“Thank you, Captain. I am also grateful to my academy. But this isn’t a typical ship. The thing is, I’ve already flown on it.”

“Flown on it?”

“Then it was called The Intrepid. I don’t know why anyone would change a ship’s name. Granted, the original one didn’t fit very well.”

“Paul, are you sure?”

The engineer blushed.

“Captain, my quarters were second on the port side. There is this tradition, you see…”

Alex walked quickly to the quarters that Janet would be occupying. Put his hand on the lock.

“Open. Captain’s orders.”

The right for inviolable private space was recognized even on military ships. The identity chip under his collarbone pulsated, confirming Alex’s special authority.

The door slid into the wall.

Alex entered the cabin—the usual furnishings, comfortable and functional, like a solitary prison cell. Well, maybe the info terminal was too large for a prison.

The bathroom unit was really tiny. Alex silently sat on the toilet lid, turned his face to the wall.

The small inscription, carved into the plastic with a pocketknife, was not particularly original.

“Tested and approved. Paul Lourier, engineer-spesh.”

Alex looked up. Janet, Kim, and Paul were in the room, staring at him. Paul looked embarrassed, and Janet smiled a barely perceptible smile. Kim didn’t understand a thing. Had he now taken his pants down and started doing what people normally do on the toilet, she would probably have taken it for some kind of elaborate space ritual.

“There’s a penalty for this kind of thing, Engineer.”

“Yes, Captain. Already received it, Captain. Tradition, Captain.”

Why were the greenhorns always such sticklers for tradition?

Alex got up, and the damned toilet behind him rumbled softly, starting the self-cleaning cycle, just in case. Damn those simple electronics!

Kim snickered.

“Janet, would you mind if Paul took these quarters, and you took the third on the port side? I suspect this is his only chance to avoid getting another penalty.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Alex looked at the engineer next.

“Paul Lourier, I need to see you tonight in my quarters. I will have a few questions for you.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

“Now you may get settled in here… or go inspect your work station.”

“Aye-aye, Captain. I’ll check the reactor.”

“Janet.” Alex nodded to the doctor. “I have a special request for you. Do you know where the sick bay is?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Thank God. According to the schematics, it’s right before the recreation lounge.” He shifted his gaze to Kim. “You’re coming with us.”

While Janet was inspecting the sick bay facilities, Alex and Kim sat on an examination table. The doctor-spesh didn’t need any assistance, although Alex had some idea about the equipment around them. A universal regeneration unit, a folding surgical table, anabiosis capsules attached lengthwise to the wall—after all, if you’re dying, what do you care whether you sleep standing up or lying down? Sick bay was painted a range of soothing green-blue tones, and light—a calming yellow sunshine—was flowing down from the entire ceiling.

“Was I right to behave the way I did with the navigator?” asked Kim quietly.

“Yes.” Alex nodded. “Strange as it seems, it was the right thing to do.”

“What’s so strange about it?”

“Well, you humiliated him. In front of the whole crew. After that, we could expect anything.”

“But instead he…”

“Yes. Stopped doubting you, and that’s great. Did you expect this reaction from the start?”

“Of course.”

“Why of course?”

“He’s used to flaunting his deficiency.” Kim lifted her eyebrows. “He’s even proud of it. And if a spesh demonstrates something that a natural simply can’t do, Generalov doesn’t get offended, not in the least. Quite the opposite, he’ll find a chance to demonstrate his navigation mastery, and then he’ll be proud of himself. That would make him our equal, you see?”

“Interesting.” Alex shrugged his shoulders. “I can certainly see that happening. But you didn’t have enough information for a conclusion like that. I hadn’t told you anything about him, really…”

“For me, it was enough.”

“Impressive,” said Alex.

Janet finished inspecting the regeneration unit and walked up to them.

“Captain, I am more than happy. A good ship, and an excellent sick bay. This isn’t the newest equipment, but all these models have been proved absolutely reliable.”

She really did look happy—maybe she had still been worried about the “sick bay/galley” combination.

“I hope we won’t have to use any of this equipment.”

“Of course, Captain. Permission to look at the rest of the ship?”

“Wait a minute, Janet. I have a request for you… a personal favor to ask.”

Janet looked thoughtfully at him, then at Kim.

“All right, Captain.”

“Could you do a genetic test on Kim?”

“Depends on what kind of test…” A look of surprise appeared briefly on her face. “A test of your mutual compatibility?”

Kim snorted.

“No.” Alex strained to keep his cool. The thought that he was planning to start reproducing with a fourteen-year-old girl was a bit much. But the favor he was about to ask her was just as strange. “Janet, I’d like to make sure that Kim really is a fighter-spesh.”

“Captain?”

He sighed.

“The situation is rather strange, Janet…”

“I think I’m beginning to get the picture.” Janet was talking to him, but all her attention was concentrated on Kim.

“Kim had her metamorphosis the night before last.”

“Really…”

Janet leaned on the table next to Kim. Authoritatively took her by the chin, turned her face to take a closer look. Alex had no idea what she must have seen. But the look of slight mistrust left her eyes.

“It’s not in the traditions of the Empire to take aboard speshes immediately after transformation.”

“Of course,” agreed Alex. “But there is no direct rule against it, either.”

“I believe you. But what does genetic analysis have to do with it?” Kim herself had been silent, allowing them to discuss her fate. Alex suspected her silence wouldn’t last much longer.

“She does not have a fighter-spesh certificate.”

“I can issue that without any tests,” said Janet calmly. “Her ID has all her medical information. Specialization type, altered genes, and the probable somatic profile.”

“She doesn’t have an ID. She’s… lost it.”

Janet was silent for a minute. Then she said firmly:

“Captain, any person, spesh or natural, who loses an ID can go to the nearest clinic. After a genotype analysis, the central databank will release the information on their identity.”

“We cannot do that, Janet.”

A brief glance from Kim was his reward for the “we.”

“Why not?”

“Kim has severed all ties with her past. She doesn’t want her family to know where she is. And if the databank receives an inquiry, they’ll certainly notice it—then there will be no avoiding them.”

“Why?” the doctor was genuinely surprised. “I’m pretty well acquainted with the laws of the Empire, Captain. After the metamorphosis, a spesh becomes an absolutely autonomous person. She has the right to work, to keep in touch with those she chooses, to enter into or cancel any kinship alliance, to live or commit suicide…”

Alex sighed, threw a questioning glance at Kim. He could not offer any objections at all—Janet was absolutely right.

“I’m from Edem,” said the girl.

“A little patriarchal, but a nice planet.” Janet gave an encouraging nod. “Kim, what are you afraid of? You are a fighter-spesh, so you are quite capable of protecting yourself from any unwanted attention. And the law is totally on your side. We can go to the spaceport’s clinic together…”

“No!”

Kim jumped up, backing away from them. Janet and Alex exchanged glances.

“We’re wasting our time,” said Alex. “Janet, perhaps it might be better for you and Kim to talk alone.”

“No,” cried Kim. “I won’t talk to her alone!”

“Why not?” Janet’s voice was still warm and soothing. “Kim, I like you, let’s not quarrel, okay?”

Kim relaxed a little.

“It’s not you…”

“It’s him, then?” Janet nodded toward Alex. “He’s harmed you?”

Kim must have thought that was funny.

“It’s hard to harm me.”

“It is indeed. Let’s discuss the problem and find some way to solve it, all right?” Janet stretched her hand toward the girl.

Kim hesitated a moment. Then she limply slapped the doctor’s palm and sat back down between them. Janet was silent, looking at the girl.

“I’ll be killed if they find me,” said Kim shrilly.

“It’s hard to kill a fighter-spesh,” rejoined Janet, not really challenging the remark itself.

“It’s hard, but possible. They’ll send another spesh. Or two.”

“Why? In that case, my dear, they would incur serious problems with the law. Especially since you are now under double protection—of the Empire itself, and of the space fleet union.”

Kim gave a crooked grin.

“You know, you’re older than I am, but I swear I know more about problems with the law!”

“Maybe you’re from an influential, conservative family, and your clan is upset with your escape?”

Alex thought Janet’s version of events was quite likely. But Kim shook her head.

“No. But I do know what I’m talking about. The moment I surface… I’m a goner. I’ll be dead, and you guys will all be in a bind.”

Alex expected a reproachful, or even an indignant, reaction from Janet. To bring aboard a girl-fighter who was more of a danger than she was a defense… But apparently, Janet really did like Kim.

“Well, you tell me. If that’s the case, what can I do?” The doctor spread out her arms. “A spesh-certification is easy to issue. You are a fighter-spesh, I am sure of that. But I have a duty, dear, to establish your identity first. And you don’t have an ID.”

Kim was silent.

“We have one other option, Janet,” said Alex hesitantly, with a slight quiver in his voice. He had entered a tricky realm of loopholes, something he had never liked to do.

“And what might that be, Captain?”

“You could issue Kim a fighter-spesh certificate. Then…” Janet frowned, shaking her head, but Alex continued, unabashed. “… then Kim and I go to the nearest registration center. And file a temporary marriage contract—based on the spesh-certificates. They’re identification enough to do that.”

“I understand that they’re enough. But I refuse to issue a fake certificate.”

“Janet, wait! After the marriage, Kim gets a new ID, with the name Kim Romanov… Kim, will you take my last name?”

Kim was staring at him wide-eyed, still not quite comprehending.

“… and there are no inquiries to the databank. The information will be entered there, but so what? How many girls named Kim are in the galaxy?”

“But I can’t break the law!” Even Janet’s patience had its limits.

“And you won’t be breaking any laws. We’ll all come back to the ship right away, and you’ll enter all the information from her new ID. Suppose I asked you to issue a temporary certificate and promised to show you the ID a little later. You could go for this tiny infringement, couldn’t you?”

“Not a single computer in the world would let this through. How can I write that the spesh-certificate was issued based on a document that hadn’t been received yet? Are you telling me you can travel back into the past, Captain?”

“Yes, I can.”

Janet was silent.

“Ship time is determined by the captain. I could run the clock by Greenwich Time. Or by Great Beijing. The time at home port. The time of the planets we visit. You see? What time is indicated on your documents?”

“Ship time…”

“You see? If anyone checked, everything would look as though…” Alex took a deep breath. “… the ship’s captain had entered into a marriage union with a member of his crew, after which the bride had a genetic test that confirmed her status as a fighter-spesh…”

“Wait a second!” Janet waved her hand. “Are you serious, Captain? Are these just theoretical guesses or…”

“All captains use this trick. The union knows all about it, but they let it slide.”

“They use this trick? To sneak aboard girls with no documents?” asked Janet quizzically.

“No. To give the crew additional bonuses, or get an extra contract on the side, to hide unauthorized shore leave… for many other small infringements. No one can track all of this down, Janet. Planets live according to their own time. And so do spaceships.”

Janet looked at him darkly.

“I have long reconciled myself to the fact that the Empire is a crazy and anarchic world, Captain. But I didn’t expect this kind of craziness.”

“Will you help us, Janet?”

“But I would know that the law had been broken,” she said wistfully.

“Yes. You would. But I do believe Kim. She has no other way to become legal and re-enter society. If you refuse, you would, in fact, be killing the girl. And you are a doctor.”

Janet sighed. Looked at Kim, who sat motionless, tensely awaiting her answer.

“Take off your clothes. You can leave your underwear on.”

“Thank you, Janet,” said Alex.

“You’re a madman, sir. And you’re dragging me into your madness. Keep in mind that I am breaking the law not for you personally, and not even by your order!”

Alex nodded.

Kim had already taken off her suit and was standing there, waiting.

“Over here.” Janet waved her hand. “You’ll have to step into the white circle for a minute or two. It’s a computer scan, nothing to be afraid of.”

“Is this really necessary? The genetic analysis and…” began Alex. Janet glared at him.

“Listen, Captain! You’ve already dragged me into this shady business! So spare me your advice! I must do a tomography scan.”

She turned and walked over to the main sick bay control panel. Kim cast a brief, stealthy glance at the doctor’s back and then dipped her hand under her little camisole. Another second, and the heavy, warm crystal lay in Alex’s hand.

Kim, the picture of innocence, stood in the circle of the tomographer, while Janet did her magic at the control panel. Alex lowered his gaze to look at the iridescent cone in the palm of his hand.

He was under no obligation to report his crewmembers’ personal belongings. Besides, the crystal was not the object of an official search. And maybe it wasn’t even a real gel-crystal. With a price ten times higher than a ship like the Mirror. Maybe it was just a masterful fake.

An appeal based on your own stupidity was always the best defense.

“All right, that’s it. Get dressed,” said Janet brusquely. “No, wait a minute.”

She got a syringe out of a small cabinet, tore open the packaging.

“You afraid of blood?”

“Not blood, but I’m afraid of shots,” said Kim gloomily.

“Sorry to hear that,” rejoined Janet, unsympathetically. She took hold of the girl’s arm and brought the syringe over to the inner elbow. There was a smell of disinfectant, and the transparent little barrel filled up with blood.

“You could do a skin test instead!” protested Kim belatedly. Backed up toward Alex, put an urgent hand behind her back, taking advantage of the fact that Janet had turned around again for a moment. Alex silently returned the crystal.

“No, I couldn’t. This isn’t a fully equipped clinic, it’s just an express-analysis lab. That’s it, we’re done, get dressed and go to your quarters.”

Kim seemed to realize that there was no point in arguing, and especially in trying Janet’s patience. She quickly dressed, darted an indignant glance at Alex, and left.

“Why did you send her away?” inquired Alex.

Janet pensively studied the syringe barrel. Sighed.

“Just in case. Captain, are you aware that the Zzygou race has been attempting to send spies into human society?”

Alex took a deep breath, mentally counted to ten.

“That’s paranoia, Janet. Any Zzygou could be detected from ten yards away. Even if you’re blindfolded. By odor alone.”

“They’ve found a way to neutralize the odor, and the guise of a young girl is their best-developed transformation,” said Janet dismissively. “This could be the reason for having no documents, and the unwillingness to undergo genetic analysis…. One minute, Captain.”

Alex waited while she divided the blood between a dozen test tubes and took reagents out of cabinets. It was useless to argue with her. As useless as derision, or appealing to reason. He had to keep in mind that Janet was, after all, from Eben. What might seem like crazy paranoia to Alex was for her a routine precaution, as normal as washing fruit before she ate it.

“This is our express field methodology,” she commented while dripping the reagents into one of the test tubes. “It could give a false positive, but it’s generally reliable. Let’s not wait for the results of the serum reactions, especially since they can be falsified by injecting the necessary anti-glutinogens into the bloodstream. Okay, here we go…”

The doctor silently examined the test tube.

“What’s supposed to happen?” Alex asked. He tensed. Paranoia was contagious.

“Already happened. The blood coagulated.” Janet shook a small lump of red jelly onto her hand. “See?”

“And what does this mean?”

“That Kim is human, of course.” Janet went over to the sink and thoroughly washed her hands.

“I could have told you that from the get-go, Janet, without any crazy tests!”

“But this way, I know for sure.”

She was from Eben… Alex half-closed his eyes. If he could see his Demon now, what would it look like? Weary, annoyed, or beside himself with rage?

“Janet, let’s do a specialization analysis.”

“Okay, just a minute.”

Janet went back to manipulating her test tubes. She opened a flat plastic case, which turned out to contain at least a hundred tiny vials. She took a speck of something out of each one, then began adding that to the blood in the test tubes.

“I thought you were going to do the genetic analysis,” remarked Alex.

“This is the genetic analysis. These vials contain the indicators for a number of specific genes. If a reaction occurs, then Kim has that particular gene.”

Leaving the test tubes on the table, Janet walked over, sat down next to him.

“Do you have a cigarette, Captain?”

“Here, please take one.”

Janet lit up. Some ashes fell to the floor, and she nodded approvingly when a small cleaner bug crawled out of a corner with a rustling sound.

“I have my quirks, Captain… you’ll have to be tolerant of them.”

“I understand…” And then he blurted out, before he realized it, “My whole crew has quirks, damn it!”

“Is this your first flight as a captain?”

Alex bit his lip. This is what happens when you spill your guts.

“Yes.”

“It’s all right. It’s easy to get used to. I’ve been a captain on a torpedo boat… in my past life. Two hundred subordinates. Do you think any of them were without quirks?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, a few. Five or six people at the most. The ones who could hide their quirks. Ah! The first test tube’s lost its color!”

Alex looked at the tabletop.

“And what does that mean?”

“It’s called the cheetah-gene. Responsible for the transformation of the musculature, makes you capable of short-term super-overloads. Well, we saw this one in action recently. So, as I was about to say, Alex… if you ever need help… or advice from a former captain… you can always count on me.”

Alex searched her face for any sign of irony or ridicule. No, Janet was serious.

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

“The second and third test tubes,” Janet noted. “The remodeling of neurons, the increased pain threshold, and accelerated synoptic reactions.”

“Then Kim is a fighter?”

“Yes, of course, Captain. I had no doubts about the results of these tests. And here is the fourth test tube… transformation of the retina and the eyeball… by the way, you should also have a positive on this test. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“The possibility of inheritance?”

“Exactly. If you ever decide to have progeny with Kim… What is it, Captain?”

Before he answered, Alex also lit a cigarette. The doctor waited patiently. Two more test tubes changed color—but Janet had no comment on what was happening.

“Are you well acquainted with fighter specializations, Janet?”

“Reasonably well. I’m not a geneticist, of course, but…”

“Does etiquette constitute any part of a fighter-spesh’s preparation?”

Janet frowned. “Pardon?”

“Yesterday, Kim and I were at a restaurant. A very decent restaurant, by the way… Well… the girl acted like a young lady from the highest circles of society. I’ve had etiquette lessons at the academy, but next to her, I felt like an uncultured natural.”

“And how do you know how many restaurants she’s been to? Captain, if the girl is from an influential Edemian family, she must have had very expensive and well-qualified teachers.”

“Possibly,” murmured Alex. Why hadn’t he thought of this obvious possibility? Maybe because he was used to measuring everyone according to his own standards—those of a provincial bumpkin, who received his first lessons in proper conduct at the flight academy?

“Okay… There was no modification of the skin,” reported Janet after a brief look at the test tubes. “Well, you don’t need a test to see that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Skin modification—the grayish tint and increased resilience—is not a necessary characteristic of a fighter. And all the main things have already been established, so I can issue a certificate.”

“One more thing, Janet. During her metamorphosis, Kim enumerated all these poets, artists, political figures…”

Janet frowned. “Now that is strange, Captain. Are you saying she’s been pre-programmed with some knowledge of history?”

“Yes.”

“And not just military history, but the cultural realm?”

“Exactly. She didn’t recall Alexander the Great or Kutuzov, or Moshe Dayan, or Lee Dong Hwan, or Mbanu.”

“You consider him a great commander?” Janet grinned wryly. “In reality, his glory is slightly exaggerated—he wasn’t the one who made the main decisions; it was his flag-officer… Well, that’s beside the point… You amaze me, Captain. It really is a strange education for a spesh.”

“And there’s one more thing, Janet. How sexual are the fighters?”

“Same as ordinary people. They are not hetaera-speshes, after all.”

“Well, Kim is… how should I put it… a bit oversexed.”

“Captain, as far as I understand, you helped the girl out of trouble, got her through metamorphosis… now you’re getting her onto the ship. Couldn’t this be a very natural reaction on her part? A crush on the heroic pilot-spesh, a desire to have him, to win his love in return… A mixture of gratitude and calculation?”

“It didn’t look like it, Janet. Last night, the girl offered herself to me. I wasn’t really against it…”

“I can imagine,” Janet chuckled. “I’m sorry, please continue…”

“I suggested that she wait a while… After the metamorphosis, the body should have time to rest.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“We went to a restaurant. It was all very nice. Kim behaved as though she was a member of the highest aristocracy… she was a little flirtatious with me, nothing more than that. But when we got back to the hotel, the whole thing started up again. Changing into her pajamas turned into a strip tease. A couple remarks about the weather got her started telling erotic stories straight out of her own limited experience. Then she offered me a few fun diversions.”

Janet was silent. Looked at the test tubes, got up, started rummaging through her vial rack.

“I’ve had a few dealings with hetaera-speshes,” said Alex. “It’s an expensive pleasure, but every now and then you indulge yourself…”

“So?” Janet poured the remnants of blood from the syringe into a clean test tube. Threw in a few tiny crystals from a vial.

“I could swear that Kim is specialized as a hetaera—that besides being a fighter-spesh, she is also a courtesan-spesh. Is that even possible, from a medical point of view?”

“It’s difficult, but it is possible… Very difficult, Captain. The hetaera’s body modification is minimal, but the psychology is changed completely. A fighter has to kill, with no scruples, no hesitation. Kill anyone who can be defined as an enemy. A hetaera has to love. Really love—selflessly, purely… to give herself to love completely. And at the same time, to be able to step aside, to forget her love, as soon as her services are no longer required. It would be very difficult to combine the two specializations, Captain.” Janet shook a test tube side to side in the air. “It would be more reasonable to suppose that after the metamorphosis, her hormones were out of balance…”

“Well, if we remember history… back when all people were naturals, they somehow managed to combine many roles. Napoleon was a great military leader, right? And at the same time, he was quite a womanizer.”

“With all due respect, Captain, that’s nonsense. In the past, there were people who might today be described as speshes. Military leaders, womanizers, scientists, artists. But every spesh today is a result of the most complex genetic alteration. All the unnecessary stuff is eliminated. Let’s take you, for example—you’re incapable of love, right?”

“Right.”

“By the same token, a fighter might be capable of love, but only to the ordinary human degree. There!” Janet lifted a test tube containing a few drops of pinkish liquid. “You see that?”

“What does it mean?”

“Modified pheromones. One of the characteristics of a hetaera. To be completely sure, it would be best to test for the VIII-Operon, responsible for hyper-sexuality, but I don’t have the right serum…” Janet put aside the test tube, rubbed her forehead. “You’re right. I’m wrong. Kim is both a fighter and a hetaera. Most intricate work!”

“But who would need such a combination?”

“There are several possibilities. To make a female bodyguard, for instance, one who would also be able to provide sexual services. It would be very expensive, very complicated, almost foolish… but possible. It’s not right, Captain…” She looked at Alex gloomily. “Do you understand what has happened? And what the consequences may be?”

“Not just yet.”

“Kim has fallen in love with you.”

“So it seems, but…”

“A hetaera has to achieve reciprocation! Do you see? That’s her specialization. Her reason to exist!”

“I don’t intend to keep her away permanently, Janet! If it’s so important for Kim…”

The doctor sighed.

“It’s not sex that she needs, Captain. To be more precise, it’s not just sex and not only sex! She wants you to fall in love with her!”

“But I’m incapable of that.” Alex threw up his arms. “If something’s not given, it’s not given. I understand that love is a wonderful, pleasant, sacred feeling…”

“Pleasant…” snorted Janet. “Ah, Captain… sometimes I envy you pilots, incapable of love…”

“Maybe Kim could fall in love with someone else?” Alex suggested tentatively. “Puck is out of the question, but what about our young engineer?”

“That would be nice. Let’s hope that her specialization as a fighter will distract her from the hetaera part of herself. But you made a very dangerous and painful step for everyone involved when you took the girl under your wing.”

“I realize that already.”

“Shall I issue the certificate?” asked Janet bluntly. “Or is it not worth it? You could still give her some money and let her fend for herself.”

“It’s too late for that. Go ahead and issue the papers.”

Janet nodded, as if she had never expected another answer.

“Pilot…”

Alex could not decide whether the word contained ridicule or pity, or was only the assertion of a simple fact.

Probably the latter. After all, he had never had a right to choose, ever. His parents had made the choice, nine months before he was born.

And he appreciated their decision.

Chapter 5

The courthouse was close to the spaceport. Alex sincerely hoped that the staff would refrain from asking too many questions.

And on the whole, his hopes were realized. Half of the short line in the cozy waiting room consisted of visitors from other planets. Even among this colorful crowd, one family group stood out. They were visitors from High Valley—two tall husband-clones, naked but for their small metalized loincloths, and their plump wife, wrapped in brocade and fir. Crowding around them was a large litter of half-naked children, still too small to tell their gender. Only the eldest had a white bow in its braided hair. That was the one for sale.

A little farther off stood two Zzygou. They really did resemble two adolescent girls. Only their airtight, transparent overalls with a sealed air circulation cycle gave these odorous creatures away. Alex wondered what they were doing there. Maybe they had decided to register a marriage under Imperial law? Not likely. Zzygou didn’t have the concept of family. More likely, they were there to finalize some business transaction with humans.

Five stalwart mercenaries from Baghdad-3, looking warlike in full battle garb, their skull crests fanned open, were probably also waiting to sign some kind of contract. After all, they had no labor union of their own to make sure their agreements were issued properly.

Looking around, Alex was pleased. In this company, he and Kim looked downright respectable. There was a good chance that they would attract no special attention at all.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen a real Zzygou!” Kim whispered in his ear, getting on her tiptoes. “They are just like humans, aren’t they, Alex?”

“Only on the outside,” said Alex. He decided not to mention Janet’s recent suspicions. “Could you kill them?”

“Do you need me to?” asked Kim, businesslike. “Right now?”

Alex choked, grabbed her firmly by the arm. “No! No! It was a theoretical question. I just wanted to know if you were ready to fight with the Others.”

“I’m ready,” said Kim calmly. “If you ever need me to, just tell me.”

The girl looked at the pilot, and Alex saw that she wasn’t just ready. The thought filled her with enthusiasm. Not so much the thought of killing, but the opportunity to please him.

Janet was right. He had gotten himself into a very delicate situation.

“I’ll tell you,” he promised her. “But a fighter’s job is not just killing left and right.”

“What then?”

“Being ready to do it. Ideally, being ready every minute of your life.”

“All right.” Kim smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m ready!”

The two Zzygou, blissfully ignorant of their close call with fate, were talking to each other, pressing together their transparent head-shields. The line moved gradually forward. The big High Valley family left, and the mercenaries barged into one of the back rooms. The only ones left in front of them were the two Zzygou and a gloomy, well-dressed man with a large-headed, hunchbacked midget on a chain. The midget stared into space with a blank, stupid expression. A thin thread of drool hung from its half-opened mouth, and its left eye twitched repeatedly. Alex tried to remember which planet had a fashion of keeping freaks as pets, but couldn’t think of it and turned away. Wasn’t his business, after all. The galaxy was a big place.

The Zzygou got called in, and with a polite nod to the rest, they left the waiting room, holding hands. Then the little tag on the hand of the midget owner lit up. The man was apparently lost in thought, and he didn’t notice the signal. The midget darted an angry look up at him, yanked the chain, and hissed:

“Iven!”

The man started, looked down at the midget, and said wearily:

“You and your shenanigans, Miles…”

He stopped short and walked toward the door, above which a small light signal was flashing. He dragged the miserable midget behind him. The chain jingled, and the midget minced along, throwing its arms wide at every step.

“You remember your part?” said Alex quietly. Kim nodded, furrowing her brow.

“Yes. To say nothing and just smile.”

“Put all your charm into your smile, if the clerk is a man. Be shy and quiet, if it’s a woman.”

His little tag started blinking. Alex peeled it off, threw it on the floor, then got up and straightened his uniform.

The office they entered was tiny, apparently used to take care of lone visitors or couples. The older woman sitting behind the table had a small bundle of wires coming out of her temple. Another spider, making her living in the boundless web of data.

Kim demurely lowered her eyes.

“We would like to register a marriage contract,” said Alex, putting their spesh-certificates on the table.

“Duration?”

“Twenty-four hours.” Alex smiled.

The spider moved the certificates toward the center of the table. Apparently, that was where the scanner was located. She looked pensively up and to the left, where she alone could see her virtual screen. Then she asked:

“Your IDs?”

“Did you bring yours, Kim?”

The girl shook her head. Alex looked at the spider. “Are they really necessary, ma’am?”

The spider frowned, still looking up into space.

“No. No, but… Kim, you received your spesh-certificate an hour ago?”

The girl nodded.

“You see,” Alex felt it was high time to launch into an explanation, “she’s just had her metamorphosis. She was so excited when she finally got the certificate… we just couldn’t wait to try out its legal potential. Surely… she couldn’t get married with a minor’s card!”

The spider pursed her lips. The excuse sounded more or less reasonable… but something seemed to worry her.

“But why a twenty-four-hour marriage? To try out the certificate? Or do your religious beliefs require formal permission for sex?”

“Do you have to know these details?” asked Alex harshly. The whole plan was going to hell.

“I don’t,” agreed the spider. “But I have a right to put a hold of up to three days on a marriage contract. Because one of the people involved is young, for instance.”

Having seen a pair of happy teenagers, as young or even younger than Kim, leave this very room half an hour ago, Alex was barely able to suppress a harsh remark. Kim was the one to rescue the situation:

“Alex, dearest, show her your labor contract. Chapter eight, paragraph seventeen B.”

“I don’t have it with me,” Alex answered, trying to recall the text. What did she mean? Chapter eight… financial provisions. “Besides, I can’t show it to anyone without the company’s permission…”

The spider looked really curious. Kim turned to her and said, still smiling shyly:

“We are from the same ship, ma’am. We have a provision for a fifteen percent bonus for married couples. To boost crew morale. I haven’t signed the contract yet, and so…”

The woman pursed her lips. Murmured:

“Your company lawyers don’t have any brains. Well, at least you’re not making up stories of sudden romance.”

Alex was silent, leaving further discussion completely to Kim.

“The registration of a twenty-four-hour marriage costs five spacenyans. Whose account should I charge?”

“Mine,” said Alex quickly.

The spider coughed, got up from her chair, winced as her wires caught on the corner of the table and got got detached from the contact plate.

“Alexander Romanov and Kim O’Hara, in the name of the planet of Quicksilver Pit and on behalf of our president, Mister San Li, I congratulate you upon your entry into a temporary marriage union. During the period of the contract, I hope you get to know each other better”—here, even the spider could not help smiling—“so that the present contract can be extended for a longer period of time. Your marriage is now recognized by His Imperial Government as legal on the planets of the Empire, as well as beyond its borders, for the entire period of the contract.”

The pleasant, though somewhat willfully improvised, version of Mendelssohn’s wedding march, which had been playing during the entire speech, ceased.

“Any special wishes?” the spider politely asked, obviously not expecting any such wishes. Her right hand was already sliding around in the air, filling out all the items of the marriage contract form.

“I would like to take the last name Romanov,” said Kim quietly.

“Why?” asked the woman in surprise.

“It sounds exotic.”

The spider shrugged her shoulders.

“As you wish. You want your property rights separated? Genetic rights stay with the genes’ carriers? Personal debts and felonies do not transfer onto the family unit?”

Her fingers fluttered in the air, weaving new threads into the data web.

“My warmest congratulations, Alex and Kim Romanov… Would you like to make a small donation to the planetary home for orphaned children of astronauts? Or for the development of medical technologies?”

“For the children’s home,” said Kim. She looked at Alex, and he nodded.

“Five nyans? Ten?”

“Ten.”

“I thank you on behalf of the grief-stricken orphans of astronauts…. Your marriage contract is now valid. Congratulations.”

With a slight bow of her head, the spider handed them two marriage contract documents.

“Thank you.” Alex caught Kim under her arm and dragged her out of the office.

“What about my ID?” whispered Kim as soon as the office door closed behind them.

“We’ll get it from another spider,” Alex explained. “Any manipulations with the law should be done one step at a time. When none of the bureaucrats break any rules, they don’t give a damn about the final result. Janet turned a blind eye on the time manipulations, one spider registered the marriage based on the spesh-certificates, and another one will now issue you a new ID.”

“So the whole thing is based on the fact that a spesh has two identity documents?” asked Kim.

“Exactly.”

“So naturals couldn’t have pulled it off?”

“Naturals never have any problems with the Imperial bureaucracy. The spiders just let them slide.”

A smiling waiter handed Alex a cigar. The restaurant was half-empty today. The workday was in full swing, and it was past the lunch hour. Alex thought wearily that he would probably have to sit around till very late in the evening.

“May I, Captain?”

It was the master-pilot he had met the other day. To approach a hiring person the second time, having once rejected the position, was considered somewhat rude… but Alex nodded yes. The man silently played with his sake cup. It seemed hard for him to start the conversation.

“I’ll be very glad if you have changed your mind,” ventured Alex.

The pilot drank up his sake in one gulp. Murmured:

“This is a hole of a planet, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Really?” the pilot rejoined, with a sudden ironic note in his voice. “I’ve been trying to get hired onto a ship for two weeks now, and there hasn’t been anything better than a Hamster!”

“Strange. When I was looking for a job, I saw several galactic-route positions…”

“You don’t mean to say that you… got your job as a captain from an infonet search?” He looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

“I did.”

“That means I am phenomenally unlucky,” the pilot scowled. “Astonishingly unlucky. I haven’t seen a single decent offer, let alone a captain’s post. Yesterday, a promising option did pop up, on a passenger liner… a local one, from this stinking garbage pit… Well, they didn’t take me! When I tried to register the contract, they told me to collect all the info about all the relatives on my mother’s side! Another great idea from the spider room….”

Alex snorted.

“Yes, I heard about that. When I went to have my papers issued.”

“I hope you’re not based here?”

“No, on Earth.”

“That’s good…” The pilot rolled the sake cup between his fingers. “Show me your contract, Captain. If I still suit you, of course.”

He placed his papers on the table in front of Alex, took a copy of the contract. Alex absently looked through the recommendations and evaluations. Xang Morrison, thirty-nine, free stations citizenship. Those born in space made the best pilots in the universe. A decent work record. Even better than Alex’s own, to be honest.

Quicksilver Pit wasn’t Earth or Edem. But it was a large and well-developed planet. And to have a master-pilot unable find a job here? For two weeks?

Very strange.

“Not bad,” said the pilot with bitter resentment, putting the contract aside. “Looks like the owners aren’t tight.”

“So it seems.”

“What is the Sky Company about?”

“I don’t know.”

“And where are we flying to?”

“Don’t know that, either.”

“Well, isn’t that nice…”

“They can’t require anything illegal,” said Alex with a shrug. “It’s a perfectly standard, union-approved contract.”

“I can see that. Captain, I won’t lie to you… two master-pilots can’t be happy on a tiny ship like Mirror. Can you take me on temporarily? Till you find another pilot? Then just give me the slip… I’ll get drunk while on duty, if you want, or show insubordination, or something. Just help me leave this awful hole!”

Alex thought for a moment. Morrison waited, tense and visibly on edge.

“But not until I find a good replacement…”

“I will be as diligent and obedient as a graduate on his first flight. Just find someone to replace me and kick me off on some halfway decent planet. Even New Africa will do.”

Alex couldn’t suppress a wry grin. To take aboard a pilot, knowing that he had no intention of staying for any length of time…

“Please, friend-spesh…” said Xang quietly.

“Go on and sign the contract,” Alex decided. Crunched the cigar in half in the ashtray.

His crew had been hired.

One hell of a weird crew, to tell the truth.

He himself, a master-pilot who could use some more work experience, just out of the hospital. A woman soldier and executioner from Eben in the role of a doctor. A girl barely out of metamorphosis as a fighter-spesh. A touchy natural navigator. A co-pilot who couldn’t find a job for two weeks, sitting at a huge transport crossroads. A young engineer who had brought their ship to Quicksilver Pit, thinking he was done with it… only to go right back aboard.

If Mirror’s routes proved to be half as odd as the crew, he was in for an exciting life.

The communicator beeped in his pocket, and Alex took it out, feeling a strange pleasure mixed with embarrassment. A captain’s communicator was slightly larger than standard, loud orange in color… one of the few symbols of power.

“Captain…”

He recognized Generalov’s voice. In a second, the visual matrix opened up above the receiver. The navigator was at his workstation. Wearing his spacesuit. With his hair braided in the form of a pretzel on top of his head. And… a discreet red-and-blue ornament glowing on his left cheek. It was probably pointless to try to reform him.

“Captain here.”

“A direct communication from the owners. I’m transferring it to you.”

Alex closed the hologram, switched off the speaker, and touched the communicator to the back of his head, to the computer interface. This was the only way to guarantee the privacy of the conversation. He was intrigued—they hadn’t bothered contacting him when he first got hired, so he had no orders as far as the crew or the ship itself. Had it only now occurred to them to contact him?

“Alexander Romanov?”

The sound imitation was perfect. The voice seemed normal, secretarial. Just polite enough, just formal enough.

“Yes.”

“Are you using a private channel?”

“Of course.”

“Mister Li Tsyn, the Director of the Sky Company, wishes to speak with you.”

Alex realized that visuals were not being transmitted. But he straightened his back anyway. He wasn’t in the habit of having official conversations while picking his nose, or scratching his foot, or even simply lounging in a chair.

“Mister Romanov?”

The owner’s voice turned out to be one of an elderly but still sturdy man.

“Yes, Mr. Li Tsyn. I am listening, Mr. Li Tsyn.”

No formal introductions. No questions or congratulations on the new job… Mr. Li Tsyn could have used the same tone of voice to talk to his coffeemaker or his vacuum cleaner.

“Have you hired a full crew?”

“Yes, Mr. Li Tsyn…” Alex looked sideways at Morrison, who was in the act of pressing his finger to the contract.

“Good. Today you will take aboard three passengers and put yourself at their service. They will provide all the necessary route information.”

“Yes, Mr. Li Tsyn.” Alex could imagine the company director as vividly as if the visuals were on. A fat old bastard lounging in a luxurious armchair, petting a girlfriend… maybe even that same secretary…

“Mr. Li Tsyn has finished talking with you,” purred the secretary, as though reading his thoughts. “Are there any questions?”

The tone of her voice presupposed that there shouldn’t be any. That was why Alex asked:

“Mister Li is not in the habit of talking with new employees?”

“He is. You’ve talked. Any other questions?”

Under the inquisitive eye of Morrison, Alex forced himself to smile. The co-pilot could hear Alex’s part of the conversation.

“No, thank you. Goodbye.”

The transmission ended.

A direct call from Earth… wow… that cost a pretty penny.

“What are the orders, Captain?” inquired Morrison. It was an ambiguous question—orders for Alex himself, or orders for Morrison? Alex chose the second option.

“Be on the ship in an hour. We might be leaving tonight.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

The ship was all in order—this much, at least, was going right. Kim and Janet were in the sick bay; the black lady seemed to have taken the girl under her patronage. Turning on the surveillance system, Alex looked into the sick bay for just a second. Janet and Kim, both leaning over a table, were taking apart an assault ray gun, the Perun, the most powerful hand weapon allowed on small-tonnage ships. Kim was probably better at handling guns, theoretically speaking, but Janet had experience behind her… bitter, hard-won, but valuable experience as an Ebenian soldier.

Inside his navigation module, Generalov was still blissfully immersed in his work. Alex watched him for a few minutes on the screen of the captain’s control panel. Constant practice and self-training were typical for a spesh. And although Puck wasn’t a spesh, that was what he was doing—plotting imaginary routes in virtual space. Just now, Puck was plotting a course from Quicksilver Pit to Edem, Kim’s home world. At first, that track seemed far from perfect to Alex—the navigator had ignored the stationary space-tunnels, which were in constant use, and was taking the ship through “pulsing” tunnels. That would cause them to lose time—pulsing tunnels opened on intervals ranging from three to a hundred and twenty hours. It was also financially deleterious. The use of a pulsing tunnel cost twice as much. And finally, Alex did not see any distance advantage at all. The ship’s route was drifting farther and farther away from Edem.

When Generalov plotted a trek from Zodiac to Lard Crest, Alex finally realized what he was up to. Here they had no need for any tunnels, as the ship would be propelled by its own hyper-generator. And afterwards, covering two parsecs and arriving at the Crest, the ship would find itself at the stationary tunnel Lard Crest-Edem.

The solution was beautiful, and, as far as Alex could tell without being plugged into the machine, perfectly reasonable. They won with respect to time, to money, and to the ship’s resources.

“Cunning natural,” murmured Alex in delight, and switched over to the engineering module. This time he did it openly, initiating a two-way communication channel.

Young Paul Lourier was standing near the gluon reactor. He was swaying slowly, as though meditating in front of the energy stream flowing less than two feet away from his face.

Nothing was safer or deadlier than gluon energy. It was almost cost-free, not counting the cost of the reactor itself. No radioactive waste. No collateral radiation. If the reactor ran stable, of course.

But it was no easy task to achieve working stability with a reactor manipulating the very basis of all matter. At this level, the laws of physics started tripping up. There were no easy answers and ready-made schemes. While the reactor was in minimal-capacity mode, everything was still predictable, and it could always be turned off. But as soon as it moved into full capacity, the process would start “drifting.” And a great many different radiation flows would start appearing out of nowhere. The titanium body of the reactor could turn into gold or graphite, and once Alex even saw a reactor whose walls had turned into a cylinder of solid crystal. Mirror had a tandem Niagara gluon reactor with absolutely no walls, only force fields around the core.

Outwardly, the gluon flow looked like falling water, and Alex appreciated the imaginative approach of the design engineers. It looked as though two transparent, slightly bluish currents were cascading in front of Paul, taking their source from a gold-colored plate inside the ceiling and disappearing into a similar plate in the floor.

“Engineer,” Alex called out.

Paul turned around slowly. His eyes were half-closed, and a smile haunted his lips. He enjoyed familiarizing himself with the driving chains of the reactor—a typical spesh’s reaction to his work. Alex wondered what Paul saw. Probably not flowing water. Paul’s vision was rather different from Alex’s or Kim’s. He could see most of the known radiation bands and visually estimate a flame’s temperature to a fraction of a degree. Now a whole magical fireworks display was playing out before him… neutrons slipping past the force field, bursts of gamma rays, fanlike X-radiation, slow and clumsy alpha particles…

“Are you free?” asked Alex.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Meet me in my quarters.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

Lourier shook his head, tossing his heavy hair off his forehead. Glanced once more at the gluon streams and left the camera’s field of vision.

He was apparently an excellent engineer. Young, but familiar with this very reactor. Burning with enthusiasm. What more could a captain hope for?

Alex threw his coat off, rolled up his shirtsleeve, and looked at the Demon. The little devil was wincing. Sad and hopeless, as though a nameless ache was gnawing at him.

“I sense it,” Alex whispered. “I really do feel it. Something’s wrong.”

A spark of curiosity appeared in the Demon’s eyes.

“I don’t know what it is yet…” Alex confided. “But I swear I’ll figure it out!” The Demon probably had little faith left in his promises, but its tiny, cartoonish face did look slightly more relaxed now.

A door signal beeped, and Alex hurriedly rolled his sleeve back down.

“Captain?” Paul hesitated at the threshold.

“Come in.” Alex waved him to a chair, suggesting with his entire manner that the talk would be informal. “Want some coffee? Wine?”

Paul nodded awkwardly. By tradition, as they came off duty, engineers were used to having some dry red wine. But he apparently did not consider himself off duty just yet.

“Coffee, please.”

Alex waited a few more minutes, exchanging small talk with the engineer. And only when the fellow seemed to have relaxed a bit did he bring up the serious business.

“I was really surprised by what you said before, Paul.” The engineer looked at him questioningly. “Tell me how you got onto this ship the first time. Why were you let go?”

The young man was silent for a second, obviously formulating his answer.

“I graduated from the university in Lyon, got my engineering degree. We had been warned that finding a good job while still on Earth would be difficult. And I’d already been thinking about a trip to some outlying parts to look for a position. But then this trip turned up… a one-time thing, one-way. To take a yacht called the Intrepid over to Quicksilver Pit. I checked it out in the handbooks—there’s a huge transport crossroads here, and speshes are in high demand. But the planet’s own academy is rather small. The trip over was uneventful, just three people aboard—a master-pilot, a navigator, and me. Got our pay here… it was all legit. Started looking for the next job, and met you.”

“So there was nothing unusual?” probed Alex. Paul looked at him in surprise.

“What could be so unusual about driving a ship from one planet to another?”

“Well, the fact that you all were dismissed, and a whole new crew had to be found. Why?”

Paul shrugged his shoulders.

“Were you bringing anything to Quicksilver Pit? Cargo? Passengers?”

“No.”

“Were there accidents during the flight? Non-compliance with orders?”

“Not at all!”

“Who recommended this trip to you? Who hired you on?”

“A fellow graduate from the academy. He had gotten a job on a military cruiser… well, you know… he has family connections…. As for hiring, it was done through the net, as usual. I sent an inquiry to the Freight Company, then got the contract…”

“The Freight Company?”

“Yes. It’s a small company, specializing in incidental deliveries and driving ships from planet to planet. The company is affiliated with the lunar shipyard, the one where this ship was built.”

Alex was silent. Everything Paul told him was plausible. The surplus of speshes on Earth wasn’t at all surprising, and neither was the custom of driving empty ships from place to place.

One problem remained. Driving crews were never formed for only one trip. To hire three people only to dismiss them—what for? Why not keep the three of them aboard and hire the rest of the crew on Quicksilver Pit? Or even hire the entire crew on Earth in the first place?

There was a possible answer, but it was way out of the ordinary.

“Forgive my questions, Paul, but I am a bit uneasy about this whole thing.”

He watched the youngster’s face closely, but Paul just smiled a shy smile.

“I’m not all that experienced in these matters, Captain.”

That made sense. Stupid of him to seek advice from a greenhorn. His communicator beeped. The sound was soft, so it wasn’t a secret call.

“Yes?”

“Captain”—the voice of the ship’s service program was soft, soothing—“the co-pilot Xang Morrison has arrived on board, sir.”

“Thank you.” Alex switched off the connection. “Paul, go to the cargo bay. Welcome the co-pilot aboard, give him a tour of the ship, and show him to his quarters.”

Paul nodded, getting up from his chair. Alex hesitated for a moment, and added:

“Oh, and please don’t scratch your name on the john anymore. Or on your bed. Despite the tradition. All right?”

He was curious to see the engineer’s reaction to his words.

Paul smiled and left.

Alex sat for a time, staring at the closed door. You should never enter a place without knowing how to exit. Or whether there is an exit. Or what awaits you outside.

But he’d already entered. Breaking the company contract was impossible without forever ruining his chances of other employment.

“Increase plating transparency,” he said, getting up from behind the table. The outer wall of his cabin vanished, opening a vista of the spaceport.

A boundless concrete field, with various vessels scattered here and there, big and small, old worn-out orbital clunkers and new interstellar liners. Though not too many of them…

And above it all, a gray sky. A sagging layer of dirty gray clouds and smog, several miles thick. How could anyone stand living here?

It suddenly occurred to him how richly the planet deserved its name of Quicksilver Pit. Not only because of the huge mercury deposits of the south continent: the famous Mirror Lakes, as beautiful as they were deadly. Those lakes had become the foundation for the entire planetary economy and killed off tens of thousands of workers. But the planet’s sky was also a quicksilver pit. It was beautiful, in its own way, and just as merciless. The lid of a gravity well with a teeming mass of millions of people, both speshes and naturals, forced together at the bottom.

“I’m so ready to get out of here,” Alex whispered to himself.

Gray clouds swirled into washed-out spirals. A fiery needle cut through the sky—somewhere far away, a tiny orbital ship had been launched. Alex followed it with his eyes, until the tiny flame was engulfed by the clouds.

Then he turned around and went to the bathroom unit. Took down his pants, sat on the toilet. Turned his head and cast a gloomy look on the pristine, white plastic wall. The laser in his Swiss Army knife was very weak, even at the maximum setting. Alex had to apply himself.

“Took on the rank of Captain,” he scrawled on the wall, and then added his signature, clear and easy to read.

Alex conducted their first drill late that night. Kim and Janet, of course, were not fully involved. The crew took to their battle stations according to the ship’s schedule, but Alex had no intention of putting the ship’s weapons systems on line. Some jumpy spaceport security officer might take it the wrong way.

Morrison took his pilot’s chair first—Alex didn’t mind. Let the co-pilot get used to the ship. He’d had it pretty rough lately…. Alex stood at his pilot’s chair in front of the control panel and watched its tiny flashing lights. The engineer was at his station. The navigator went to his. So did the co-pilot. And only when all battle stations had reported ready did the captain lay down in his chair.

The automatic straps fixed him in place with a soft click. This was an almost pointless precaution—after all, if gravity compensation failed, all living tissue would be torn apart. Still, even the craziest instructions had been issued for a reason; behind them was somebody’s life and somebody’s death.

“Contact…”

A warm wave washed away the cozy, tiny world of the pilot’s module.

Space opened up all around him in every direction. The planet, the cosmos, the ships. The glowing rainbow—the soul of his vessel. And other people’s consciousness like fiery vortexes circling around him.

Never before had Alex experienced this, seen the world this way—being in its center, at the very rainbow. The old Heron didn’t count—it had been a one-person ship.

His crew was waiting.

Alex reached for a small white vortex. He felt sure that was Kim, and he was right. The vortex curved toward him and its heat splashed onto Alex, a mixture of adoration, lust, flirtation… and a pure, completely unbridled readiness to destroy. Alex touched the vortex, as if slapping his hand onto hers, and recoiled away from her. Back towards the rainbow, towards the ship.

A dark-red clot of fire. Janet. She did not rush toward the captain. Just saluted him with a brighter flash. A cold, dying star… ready to explode at any moment and turn into the devouring blaze of a supernova.

A nebulous cloud of blue light. Like high-temperature plasma, bound by a magnetic trap. Alex watched Puck with intense curiosity, trying to see how he differed from the others. The navigator could not use a bioterminal because the neurons of his brain had not been altered. He entered the ship’s net with a primitive cable, like some spider from the spaceport accounting office. But it did not look as though that created any problems. The cloud glowed, greeting the captain.

A quivering white zigzag. A captured bolt of lightning. When Alex first entered the virtual space, the zigzag lengthened, straightening itself. The engineer. For some reason, Alex had been sure that Paul would look precisely this way. Nothing fancy, no quirks—the way a novice astronaut, just out of school, should look.

And finally, the other master-pilot. An emerald-colored spiral and a handful of precious gems, connected by an invisible thread and circling around the ship’s consciousness. Xang did not react to the captain’s presence at all. That was a bad sign.

Alex moved toward the rainbow light.

“It’s me…”

The rainbow brightened, and every color of the spectrum turned painfully vivid and distinct. The six colors that naturals saw in rainbows turned into the seven colors scientists had thought up. Then split apart into strips of turquoise and threads of carrot-orange, veins of crimson and belts of canary-yellow, shadows of gray and filaments of sand.

“Take me in…”

A warm touch. Whispering foliage. Sunlight. A mother’s embrace. A gentle sea wave. Soft breeze. Sweetness and tranquility. Restrained passion. Intoxicating lightness. Giddy excitement. Restful contentment. Quiet exultation.

No ordinary human could ever experience it. All of this at once. All of life’s pleasures, all this happiness accumulated bit by tiny bit. Alex, a small boy of five, racing toward the edge of the sea, seeing it for the first time in his life. Running and laughing, overflowing with joy, into his mother’s open arms, into a rolling wave… Alex, overcome with delight, holding Pawlie, his dog, warm and real, and Pawlie enthusiastically licking his face. Alex, celebrating his thirteenth birthday, the cake in front of him twinkling with multicolored candles, and his father, so young, brimming with pride, saying that his son would become a pilot next year, would be a person destined for nothing but happiness… Alex, already a student learning to use his new abilities, in a city park, kissing a girl-natural, his first real lover, inexperienced, but burning with desire to gain that experience with his help… Alex, wearing his pilot’s uniform for the first time, standing on parade square, and the legendary master-pilot Diego Alvarez attaching badges to the young pilots’ uniforms, finding a special word of encouragement for each of the graduates… Alex, sweaty and worn out, sliding out of the pilot’s chair, barely able to walk… but the throat of the channel, which had suddenly narrowed, is already behind them, passed, and he passed it, an inexperienced third pilot, none of his five hundred passengers realizing how close death had come… Alex, barely out of the hospital, alone and lost on a strange planet, saving a girl-spesh, helping her get through the most difficult time in her life…

This was something new. He didn’t realize just how happy and proud he had felt about rescuing Kim. But memory lives by its own rules, so now that night would always be with him, as well as the quiet exaltation of a man who had done some good…

Suddenly, something pricked him. Almost imperceptibly, and immediately washed away by a warm wave of iridescent light. And yet it did prick him, before it vanished…

Before he became one with the ship.

And the crew became a part of his own self.

Alex sent out an order, without so much as a thought, and not in any verbal form. The white lightning flashed brighter, giving off energy. The emerald spiral lifted Mirror off the concrete blocks, then folded in the supports, checked all the equipment one last time. The bluish light opened like a fan, displaying hundreds of take-off trajectories. The white vortex and the red flame, his two fists, tensed up, ready for a personal battle with the entire planet of Quicksilver Pit, with the entire galaxy….

Now that Alex was in complete confluence with the ship, all of them became one whole, connected by his will.

Exactly the way it all should be.

Alex got up from his pilot’s chair and stretched. Everything around him still seemed irregular, unreal. The bridge looked too small after the boundlessness of space. The co-pilot getting out of his chair was no longer an emerald spiral. His own beating heart had replaced the silent stream of energy.

“Seven minutes, thirty point five seconds,” murmured Xang. “Do you think that’s enough for the first training session, Captain?”

“Quite enough.”

Alex felt that the tone of his voice had changed, but he couldn’t do anything about it. And why should he? Now he really had become the captain.

That was the whole point of the training session—to get a feel for every crewmember and to place his own image into their psyches. That was the goal, not the synchronization of all their actions, which was unavoidable anyway.

“Captain?”

He looked at Morrison.

“Do you wonder what you look like from the outside?”

Alex reflected a moment and nodded. “I do.”

“A white star. So bright it hurts to look at it… even in virtual reality. A tiny white star. And when you had your confluence with the ship, the rainbow seemed to explode from within.”

“Was it beautiful?” inquired Alex.

Morrison hesitated a little before he answered. “Don’t know. Impressive, bright… beautiful, perhaps.”

But he didn’t sound all that sure.

“Thank you, Xang. You’re an excellent pilot. I think we will split our bridge duty time equally.”

The co-plot looked suddenly perplexed. “Captain?”

“Is that all right with you?”

“Hell, yes!” Xang got up. “But why?”

“Because you’re a good pilot,” said Alex. He couldn’t see the Demon, but knew that it had a spiteful smile on its face.

Piloting was any pilot’s supreme pleasure. To merge with the ship completely, to become a metal bird soaring among the stars—what could ever be better than that?

Only one thing was better—to be the ship’s captain. And Morrison had no idea of this little secret. He was only a pilot, just like Alex had been so recently.

“Thank you, Captain.” Xang’s voice quivered. “Damn… it’s so unexpected.”

“It’s all right, Xang.” Alex left the bridge and stopped outside in the hall, looking down its length. The engineer stuck his head out from the door of his engine room at the end of the hall, saluting the captain with a wave of his hand, and then dived right back in to be with his beloved gluon streams. It was as if he didn’t even need any comments about his recent performance. Then Janet and Kim simultaneously rushed out of the narrow passageways leading to the battle stations. Roaring with laughter, they gave each other high-fives, then a hug, and only after that, both turned to Alex. He smiled back. Somehow outer space always increased women’s longing for same-sex love, and Alex would have gotten jealous… had he felt more than just a friendly attraction to Kim. Jealousy was a mere derivative of the main function unavailable to him.

Then a door closest to the bridge opened, and Generalov came out into the hall. He was still in his spacesuit, though with the helmet folded down.

“Good,” said Alex. “Really good.”

Puck grinned a crooked grin. The slight tension vanished from his eyes.

“The route to Dorian was remarkable,” Alex said with sincere praise. “I never had any plans to go there, but the route you plotted was great. I never should have doubted your abilities.”

The navigator reveled in this, like a young girl upon hearing her first compliment. It occurred to Alex that the analogy was to some extent true, and he hastened to add, now in a more formal tone of voice:

“But the track toward Zodiac, which you plotted earlier today, is far from optimal.”

“Now, wait a minute, Captain!” Puck cried out in dismay. “The optimal route would require going through the tunnel in the Monica-3 system!”

“Yes. And what’s wrong with that?”

“That region is not recommended for small ships, Captain.”

“But neither is it forbidden, right?”

“No. But any pilot would prefer to avoid the Bronins’ ritual zone.”

“Puck, please keep in mind that I’m not just any pilot.”

“And neither am I,” added Morrison, appearing suddenly behind his back. “I’ve had occasion to use the Monica-3 tunnels.”

“And what were your impressions?” said Puck with curiosity.

“Painful. But only pilots have to worry about it.”

“How come speshes are always so suicidal…” murmured Puck.

“Did you say something, Navigator?” said Alex.

“No, Captain. I’ve taken your wishes into account. Next time, I will be guided only by the maximal optimization of the route, not by its safety. Excuse me.”

He turned around and disappeared into his module. The door slammed behind him.

“Looks like we’ve offended him….” said Morrison softly.

Alex thought in passing that what had offended Generalov was the co-pilot’s intrusion. When he talked to him one-on-one, the navigator was still open to suggestion. But when faced alone with two speshes, he immediately retreated into his shell.

“I shouldn’t have interfered,” sighed Morrison, as if reading his mind. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Let’s go have a drink,” said Alex. “After all, we’ve just had our first training session, and a rather successful one, I should say.”

“Alright. The girls are already there, I see.” Morrison shifted his gaze away from the empty hall. “Captain… just in case… are you involved with Kim or Janet?”

“Not yet.”

“Would you mind if I courted the girl?”

“Absolutely not.” Alex smirked. “Hell, you’re also a pilot… so why these questions?”

“Well, you never know,” Xang explained as they walked down the hall. “Of course, we can’t love, so we’re spared the emotional prejudices… But I once worked on a ship, a medium-tonnage freighter, nothing out of the ordinary… well, the third pilot was involved with a navigator girl, and his reaction was quite hostile. His religious beliefs didn’t allow being unfaithful, you see.”

“Thank God, I’m an atheist.”

“That settles it, then.” Morrison nodded.

“There’s just one thing, Xang. The girl’s in love with me. But I won’t be upset if she chooses you as a more appropriate object of affection.”

Xang smiled contentedly, but said nothing. He had needed so little to put him in a good mood! Only seven minutes of contact with the ship.

They passed by several closed cabin doors and reached a small circular lounge. Passengers and crewmembers always shared the recreation hall on small spaceships, and the furnishings were a compromise between asceticism and luxury. The compromise was never a happy one, and this lounge was no exception. The plastic walls were decorated by still lifes in heavy wooden frames that were way too fancy. The oval-shaped table was made of ordinary foamed metal, but two small sofas and armchairs were constructed from wood, though they did have safety straps. A tiny field bar was incongruously filled with exquisite beverages—from Earthly wines to Edemian cognacs and ambrosia. And small emergency lights surrounded the delicately wrought crystal lamp on the ceiling.

It all looked as though the unknown designer had simply tossed together bits of standard interiors to create a random mix of passenger lounge and crew lounge.

The door leading to a tiny kitchenette stood open, and Janet was already bustling around in there. Alex happily noted her willingness to get snacks ready. Had Janet been a feminist, no one could have gotten her into a kitchen, even at gunpoint.

Kim was sitting in an armchair near the wall with a goblet in her hand. She gave them an unusually gloomy look as they walked in.

“When the captain enters, one should stand up,” said Janet quietly without turning. Kim jumped up, all but spilling the contents of her goblet.

Hiring Janet was beginning to look like the best decision Alex had made in the last few days. If anyone could make a true astronaut out of Kim, it would be a lady from Eben.

“However,” Janet continued in the same tone of voice, “traditionally, female crewmembers do not abide by this rule and salute the captain’s arrival with a nod… or a charming smile.”

And she turned around, demonstrating that smile to Alex.

“Thank you, Janet,” he said. “Kim, please sit down.”

“Sandwiches, anyone?” asked Janet without even a hint of formality in her tone, as she came out of the kitchenette with a tray in her hands.

“Wow! Thanks.” Xang sat down sideways next to Kim. He smiled at the girl. “Friend-spesh, you look great on watch!”

Kim snorted. Looked at Alex with piercing intensity, as if she had heard them talking in the hallway… Damn it!

Alex felt his face turning red. But of course! Less than eleven yards of hallway was nothing to Kim’s enhanced hearing!

“And you must be that dangling bit of green snot I saw?” she asked Morrison in all innocence. There was a silence. Then Morrison faked a laugh.

“Usually my virtual image inspires more pleasant associations, you little white vortex.”

“My first impression was more pleasant,” said Kim bluntly.

Now Morrison also caught on. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, threw a guilty look at Alex.

What could be done now? To Kim, it looked all too obvious. Two boors decide to share her, and the one she loves agrees to give her up without so much as a second thought.

The situation was saved—to the extent that it could be—by Paul. The engineer was leaving his module. Alex heard the squelching sound of the hermetic hatchway, then waited a moment. Of course, everyone but Kim knew exactly what was happening. But Kim couldn’t help herself and asked:

“What’s he doing now?”

The “bit of green snot” was first to answer. Xang was uncommonly persistent, it seemed.

“The engineer’s job, even on clean gluon reactors, always carries the risk of irradiation.”

Kim shrugged, unimpressed by such rudimentary information.

“His body is thoroughly specialized,” Xang continued. “His skull and his pelvic bones contain a lot of lead, to act as a screen. His ribs are fused into a single bone-and-cartilage plate, for the same reasons… But protecting the reproductive organs has always been one of the main challenges. You see, Kim, the irradiation of the testicles may lead to unwanted mutations.”

“They should have more women engineers,” said Kim darkly.

“That’s what we were doing on Eben,” noted Janet. She languidly reached for a huge sandwich and took a bite.

“In the last few decades,” continued Morrison, completely unabashed, “the most rational solution to this problem has been adopted… Hi, Paul!”

The engineer nodded, entering the lounge.

“The solution was found in one of the practices of sumo wrestling,” said Xang. “In case of emergency, Lourier draws his testicles into his pelvic cavity, where they are completely safe from radiation.”

“Wow!” Kim looked at the engineer with admiration. “Is that hard?”

“It’s a bit tough to explain to someone not in the trade,” said Paul, reaching for a sandwich. “Generally, it isn’t. The main thing is not to rush it, otherwise it hurts a little.”

“Captain, what are you drinking?” asked Janet.

“Red wine, please”—Alex bowed his head slightly toward Lourier, and Paul returned the polite gesture—“out of solidarity with the professional traditions of our engineer. You did a good job, Paul.”

“Thank you, Captain. We have a great ship. It’s a pleasure to work with it.”

Finally, Generalov also appeared. He paused in the hallway and looked at his fellow crewmembers.

“Captain, I’ve checked the alternative route through the Monica-3 tunnel. There’s a seventy-two percent chance that it won’t give us any time advantage.”

“Why is that?” asked Alex.

“Such is the probability of a ritual battle of the Bronins at the moment we reach that system. Even if we manage to avoid getting involved in the fray, all the maneuvering to escape pursuit will take anywhere from nine hours to three days.”

“We’ve passed through Monica-3 in three hours,” interrupted Morrison.

“You lucked out.”

“Please, sit down, Puck.” Alex nodded. “You’re probably right. Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, I would, thanks.” Visibly proud of his victory, Generalov sat down next to Paul and quietly noted, “You did a great job, man….”

“You’ve provided interesting energy consumption challenges, sir,” replied Paul, reserved as usual.

Janet poured everyone some wine. She seemed not to mind her impromptu role of hostess.

“Attention, please.” Alex got up. “Fellow crewmembers, I will be informal.”

Generalov smirked, sprawling in his chair. Kim took a sip from her goblet, still glaring at Alex. What was she drinking? Juice or wine?

“This is my first flight as a captain,” said Alex. “And to be completely honest, I became Mirror’s captain by chance.”

“You lucky…” said Morrison under his breath, although there was no longer any tension in his tone.

“Yes, I am,” agreed Alex. “All thanks to Kim.”

The girl lifted her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing.

“You all are here by chance…”

It would be interesting to catch a glimpse of the Demon now. Would a skeptical grin appear on its little face?

“And we’re all quite different. Janet is from Eben… her knowledge and experience are unique.”

The black woman smiled dryly.

“Paul is only just beginning his astronautical career, which promises to be outstanding.”

The engineer lowered his gaze.

“Puck is the only natural I know who works as a navigator. And he’s great at it.”

The expression of Generalov’s sour face showed that he’d heard such compliments a million times and couldn’t care less—life was a joyless business, after all.

“Kim is probably the youngest… as well as the loveliest fighter-spesh in the universe.”

The girl peered at him searchingly.

“And Xang hesitated so much before signing the contract, it became a matter of pride for me to persuade him.”

Morrison threw up his arms with a deep sigh and left his right arm resting on the back of Kim’s chair.

“Here’s to our crew, which is becoming a real team, a close-knit, happy family!” concluded Alex.

They clinked their glasses.

“Good wine,” reported Morrison, with a knowing air. “You know, I worked on a small ship from the Barton Company for two years. We shipped wines from Earth. Those were the best wines! And half a percent of every shipment was written off as damaged during transportation… but we were a very careful crew, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t know how I managed for two years!”

Janet noted thoughtfully:

“I first tried alcohol when I was thirty. When I was a POW. I didn’t want to live anymore… and I had been convinced that a glass of wine would kill me. On Eben, having alcohol, drugs, or tobacco was considered ruinous to your body, a crime against humanity.”

“Poor things…” sighed Generalov.

“We had many other pleasures in life,” said Janet. “No doubt we were missing out on some things. But that’s inevitable, after all. We all choose to miss out on some things, to have others instead.”

“You should take everything life has to offer!” said Puck with great conviction.

“Really?” Janet slit her eyes quizzically. “Then why don’t you have sex with women?”

“I tried it. Didn’t like it!” hastily replied Generalov.

“Maybe. But you’re missing out, a lot! You’re not taking everything life has to offer.”

Generalov winced, but kept quiet.

“And I simply have to have alcohol,” said Paul. “It’s part of my metabolism, and if I don’t have at least two ounces of pure alcohol every twenty-four hours, I get sick.”

The conversation resembled a weird roll call. Kim was about to say something, but at that very moment, the hidden speakers came alive.

“Captain.” The ship’s service program chose to address Alex alone. “Three life forms are approaching the ship.”

“Our passengers are here… damn!” Morrison waved his hand in the air, holding an empty glass. His other hand was already on Kim’s shoulder, and the girl didn’t seem to notice. “What if they demand an immediate launch?”

“We’re the crew, so we go by the rules.” Alex got up. “Janet, let’s go meet them. The rest of you, relax.”

He should have taken Kim with him. But Alex didn’t want to risk introducing such an unusual fighter-spesh to the passengers at the very first meeting.

They walked out into the cargo bay. Alex hastily straightened his uniform, using the shiny surface of a spacesuit unit as a mirror. Janet stretched her arms toward him, quickly straightening out his collar. Said in a quiet, soothing voice:

“Everything’s all right, Captain. Don’t be nervous.”

Alex smiled in reply. He didn’t have to pretend in her company. He said:

“Computer, open the outer hatch and take in the newcomers.”

The hatch in the floor came open, the ladder slid down. It was already dark outside, and only the intermittent flares of launching ships lit up the figures below.

They stepped onto the platform all at the same time. The ladder started its ascent, drawing them inside.

Two young girls, probably Kim’s age, stood at the front. They were pretty, dark-skinned, and smiling, completely identical twins. Each held a little suitcase.

Behind them towered a tall man. So tall, in fact, that Alex’s own height of over six feet seemed hardly worth mentioning. The man was a Europeoid, his light hair cut very close, and his piercing eyes were a cold, icy blue. His clothes looked civilian but fit like a uniform. His voice was very low and heavy:

“Alex Romanov, captain of the spaceship Mirror.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“Yes.” There was no need to repeat what the man had already said.

“Very well.” The man extracted from his pocket a carefully folded sheet of paper. “I am Danila C-the-Third Shustov. You are now at my service.”

Alex took the documents out of his hand without looking at them. Who would have thought! A clone! He glanced sidelong at Janet.

Something was happening to her. Her face was absolutely still, frozen. Dead.

“Let me introduce my wards and fellow travelers,” C-the-Third Shustov continued. “Zei-So and Sey-Zo, our distinguished guests from the Zzygou Swarm.”

Alex unintentionally held his breath for a second, though that was not necessary. These Zzygou did not stink. Had no odor at all. They were just like humans.

“Greetings!” sang out the Zzygou in unison. “Best of luck and health to you, servants!”

Janet stood as still as a statue.

“Show us to our quarters,” said the clone.

Alex turned to Janet, using all his willpower to overcome his own stupor. His heart was pounding.

If the woman from Eben lost it, she would kill both of the Zzygou with her bare hands. And that thuggish bodyguard, as well. At the very least, she’d try.

“Doctor-spesh!”

Janet slowly transferred her gaze onto Alex.

“May I ask you… I order you to start preparing the sick bay for launch, immediately.”

“Sick bay is ready,” said Janet in an even, empty tone of voice.

“Conduct a thorough test of all systems.”

She stood absolutely still for a few more seconds, then nodded and walked out of the cargo bay. One could only rejoice that it was impossible to slam an automatic door.

“There are sick people aboard?” inquired the clone.

Alex heaved a deep breath. Exhaled.

“No, but better safe than sorry. I will show you to your quarters myself.”

“We thank you, servant,” tunefully sang out the Zzygou.