The Genome

Chapter 1

The passenger quarters were located on the lower deck. The only way to get to them was through the central hall, passing by the recreation lounge.

Alex led the way, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Behind him came the laughing and bowing Zzygou. And finally, C-the-Third, a clone of the person named Danila Shustov. The recreation lounge was dead quiet—Janet had probably had a chance to mention something on her way to the sick bay.

They went down a narrow, winding staircase to the small circular hallway with six cabin doors facing it. The passenger quarters were double-occupancy cabins.

“We thank you, servant,” chirped the Zzygou.

For some reason, Alex was sure they’d take the same cabin, but they let go of each other’s hands and, with the same astonishing simultaneity of movement, went into two neighboring doors.

“Mr. C-the-Third Shustov…” said Alex.

“I’m listening, Captain.”

“Could you tell me what the Sky Company does, and what the purpose of our trip is?”

The clone showed absolutely no sign of surprise.

“The Sky Company specializes in galactic tourism. We organize cruises within the human space sectors for visitors of the other races, as well as”—for some reason, the clone’s voice quivered—“for human visitors to planets of other civilizations.”

“Our work will consist of transporting the Others?”

“Yes.”

Alex was silent a second before answering.

“Mr. C-the-Third Shustov, in that case, the crew must include a linguist, an exopsychologist, and a doctor specializing in the Others.”

“I am an expert in all these areas,” answered the imperturbable clone. “Captain, please tell me frankly—are you a xenophobe?”

“No.” Alex firmly shook his head. “I’ve even had a few acquaintances among the Others.”

“Then what is the problem? By the way, the term ‘Others’ is offensive. May I ask you to try to call our galactic neighbors ‘persons of another race’ or ‘persons of nonhuman descent’? Or, at the very least, the ‘other race,’ but never just ‘the Others’!”

It would probably have been best to tell him right then and there exactly what the situation was. Tell him about Janet, who was from Eben and whose specialization was executioner-spesh.

Except that the result would be the woman’s immediate dismissal.

“All right, I’ll use the term ‘the other race.’”

The clone fixed a probing stare on him. “Captain, this ship is made especially for cruises with life forms from other planets. Have you looked at the passenger quarters?”

“Not closely. Personal control of the cabins is not my responsibility.”

“If you had bothered to look, you wouldn’t be so surprised now. The passenger quarters are designed to accommodate any life form. Adjustable atmosphere and gravity, a wide range of temperature, programmable food synthesizers…”

“My mistake,” admitted Alex. “But… I’ve never heard of such cruise vessels before.”

“Well, now you have,” shrugged the clone. “How soon will you be ready for launch?”

“Any time.”

“I’m glad to hear that. We’d prefer to start in an hour, an hour and a half.”

Alex nodded.

“And the route?”

“The documents I gave you contain all the necessary information. The honorable Zzygou wish to see the famous waterfalls of Edem. We could, I suppose, make a stop or two on the way, say, at Zodiac. Have you ever seen the drift of the giant lotuses?”

“I haven’t…”

“Neither have I.” The clone smiled. “But it’s rumored to be a marvelous sight. Right now, it’s the beginning of the dry season on Zodiac. Has it occurred to you that working for this company gives you great advantages, Captain? You can travel to some of the most beautiful planets of the human sector, free of charge. Even get paid for it.”

“Yes, of course…” Alex licked his lips, suddenly remembering Generalov’s recent efforts to plot a course from Quicksilver Pit through Zodiac and Lard Crest to Edem.

“Would you mind just one more question, Mr. C-the-Third Shustov?”

“Please just call me C-the-Third.” The clone obviously had no inhibitions about his own origins. “Not at all, go ahead!”

“Why is there no odor?” Alex nodded towards the cabins taken up by the Zzygou.

“The Zzygou are a race of highly advanced biotechnology. They’ve found a way to block the release of merkaptane. It causes them some discomfort, but the Zzygou are willing to endure it for the sake of human comfort.”

“I see. In that case, perhaps you could also ask them not to call us ‘servants’? For the sake of the comfort of the crew.”

“All of us are masters and servants at different times in our lives,” remarked C-the-Third with a melancholy air. “Maybe when I take a cruise through their sector of space, I’ll get to call the Zzygou ‘servants’ as well. But of course, I’ll try to explain the situation to them.”

“Thanks.”

Alex had already braced himself to speak. Almost, but not quite.

“Is everything all right?” asked C-the-Third, looking closely at him.

“Yes, of course. We take off in fifty-six minutes. Agreed?”

The clone looked at his watch.

“Agreed, Captain. I will inform my wards.”

Alex left, without saying a single word about Janet or her problems with the Others.

Strangely, as he entered the recreation lounge, the discussion that had been raging there suddenly ceased. It didn’t look like they were just patiently waiting for him. More likely, they had been saying something unpleasant behind his back. Kim sat tense and annoyed, and Morrison looked uncomfortable, as if he had been forced to defend a position he didn’t exactly hold or argue for something he didn’t really believe.

“Attention, please,” said Alex. Reflected for a second and sat down. He still had some time left, after all.

“We are all ears, Captain,” said Generalov with emphatic courtesy. It was obvious who had initiated the heated discussion.

“Our passengers have arrived,” Alex continued. “As you already gathered, they are two visitors from the allied race of Zzygou and their guide, a specialist in communications with the Others, Danila C-the-Third Shustov. Apparently, we can all call him simply C-the-Third.”

“A clone?” asked Paul for some reason.

“Yes, Engineer. A clone. I hope no one here is a chauvinist? The Zzygou are an intelligent and peaceful race…”

“The hell they are! Who cares about the damn Zzygou, anyway!” Generalov’s politeness suddenly failed him. “Captain, you never warned us that there’d be a clone in the crew!”

“He is not in the crew,” Alex pointed out. “C-the-Third is a Sky Company employee, just like us. His task is to accompany the Zzygou and provide all the necessary services…”

“Sexual services,” sneered Generalov.

“I didn’t delve into the details.” Alex continued to speak with the same even tone of voice, but that seemed only to augment everyone’s annoyance. “Clones have the same rights as all the other citizens of the Empire.”

“You don’t get it, do you?!” Puck clasped his hands in anger. “Cloning is the way to human degeneration! These nasty clones are everywhere! Entertainment clones, government clones, and now, space clones!”

“Why should it bother you so much?” asked Alex. Generalov exhaled heavily. But he answered a bit more calmly:

“It doesn’t. I don’t intend to clone myself. But it’s totally unnatural! Human strength is in human diversity. Nature intended everyone’s genetic makeup to be unique, so cloning is immoral! Don’t you agree, Captain?”

“On the whole, I do, yes.”

“And what would cloning lead to? Do we want to end up like the Zzygou or the Bronins? At least the Zzygou clone naturally, and the Bronins have a very high death rate. Without cloning, they’d go extinct. But if we all start cloning ourselves, we’ll turn into a crowd of scum, living robots with serial numbers. One genotype for pilots, another for garbage collectors, the third one for rulers. Hell, we’ll get mass-produced on a conveyor belt!”

“Puck, you’re exaggerating! Clones in human society make up no more than five percent of the total population. And most of them are residents of far-flung, newly colonized planets. Cloning is essential there.”

“Hah!” Generalov laughed without mirth. “Those are the official numbers! Clones are actually much more numerous. And all the sympathizers, who no doubt would clone themselves at the first opportunity, only pour oil on the flames! Lots of people we consider normal humans are really clones who have changed their appearance and gotten their claws on good jobs! And where there’s a clone, no normal person has a chance! The clone will only have more of his own clones!”

Paul cleared his throat and shyly added:

“Captain, Puck has a point. I also think that giving clones full citizenship rights was a mistake. We had this one guy at the academy, Aristark Yosilidi, a good spesh… very talented. He was offered the chance to clone himself, and he agreed. In fourteen years, seven of his clones will be coming to the academy, can you imagine that? His abilities are very strong, so they’ll all be accepted, no doubt about it. And that means that seven ordinary speshes won’t be able to get in. See? And what if every one of the seven clones also cloned himself? In twenty-eight years, the entire department would be full of Aristarks-C. Yosilidi!”

“Exactly!” Generalov elbowed Paul’s side. “He knows what I’m talking about! He had a chance to see for himself!”

“That’s stupid!” Kim jumped up. “I have two clone friends! One of them wants to be an electronics engineer, like her matrix. But not the other one. She wants to be an assembly-spesh in an orbital shipyard. She wants to build spaceships!”

“If the girls’ specialization is not too narrowly defined, they’ll do just fine, too…” said Morrison without much certainty in his tone, then darted an anxious glance at Alex. It was high time to break up the argument.

“All right, thank you all for an interesting discussion.” Alex got up. “We’ll continue this later, okay? And now, some useful information. We all signed the contract. We all work for a company that pays us a lot of money.”

“That promises to pay us,” interjected Generalov. He probably didn’t really think that the company would risk a fight with the union by deceiving the crew. More likely, he just wanted to have the last word. Now it was plain to Alex why this uniquely qualified navigator never stayed at any one job for very long.

“We take off in thirty-six minutes.” Alex was looking only at Generalov, and the navigator reluctantly hushed. “I ask everyone to be at their posts in twenty minutes.”

“What’s the route?” hissed the navigator.

“It won’t be a problem for you. We’re flying first to Zodiac, and then to Edem. The honorable Zzygou wish to see the most beautiful planets of the human sector.”

Generalov furrowed his brow.

And Kim turned noticeably pale.

“Any special instructions for this flight?” inquired Morrison. “Gravity levels, inertia parameters, jump rhythms?”

“No, nothing. The Zzygou tolerate the human environment well. Any other questions?” No one had any questions. “You all are free to go.”

Generalov, murmuring something under his breath, was the first to leave the lounge. Then Paul followed him, obviously distressed by the conflict and his own participation in it. Morrison looked sidelong at Kim, but she remained sitting as before.

“I’ll go test the ship,” said the co-pilot, and left.

“What’s wrong, Kim?” Alex came closer to the girl.

“You…”

“Forgive me, Kim. I can explain…”

“I don’t want to fly to Edem!” cried Kim.

She seemed to have forgotten about the conversation between Alex and Xang.

“Kim, it’s unavoidable. You’re a spesh. You’re a member of the crew now, so you have to go by the contract.”

“Alex, don’t you get it!? I cannot show up on Edem! I simply can’t!” The girl’s eyes were bright with tears.

Alex gently took her by the shoulder. “Kim, for now, we’re flying to Zodiac. It’s a marvelous planet. The most beautiful one in the human sector, even though your home world might dispute the claim. Do you have anything against Zodiac?”

“No…” Kim leaned forward, pressed herself to Alex’s chest. A frightened little girl… it didn’t matter now that she was capable of killing off the entire crew. “Alex, friend-spesh, I don’t want to fly to Edem!”

“Kim, I have a lot of problems as it is. Janet hates the Others. Generalov hates clones. If you start…” He stopped short of finishing the phrase.

The girl was quiet, hugging him and hiding her face, wet with tears.

“Kim, we’re flying to Zodiac. You hear? We’ll have time to discuss all this. If push comes to shove, we’ll think of something. You could stay on Zodiac, for instance, you could take a few days off… sick leave, maybe?”

“Fighter-speshes never get sick,” Kim informed him. “Well… almost never.”

“We’ll ask Janet… surely she’ll understand your situation?”

“Probably…” Kim’s voice sounded a little calmer. “But I won’t return to Edem! I’d rather jump right out into open space!”

“Kim. We’ll think of something. But for now, please help me, okay? I need your support, friend-spesh.”

The look in Kim’s eyes, when she lifted her face to look at him, was triumphant.

“Will you ever again tell Xang that he can hit on me?”

“I said that knowing you would reject him,” said Alex, almost honestly.

“You better watch out, I might just be tempted. He’s a stud,” purred Kim.

Alex forced a laugh.

“Really? I thought you liked our engineer.”

Kim snorted. “That pink piglet? He’s still just a baby! No, he’s nice, but he’s still a kid. Generalov is much more interesting, but he isn’t interested in me… All right, friend-spesh, I’ll be going to my cabin. My stuff is all over the place. I have to anchor everything, right?”

“That’s the rule. Just in case.”

“But I won’t fly to Edem,” said Kim on her way out. Alex sat down. He wanted a drink, but in twenty minutes he had to be in charge of the ship. Besides, everything had already been cleared off the table.

He had never imagined that being a captain would entail these kinds of conversations. What a stupid tradition it was to appoint pilots to be captains! They should appoint psychologists. Or was it just his luck to have a whole crew of weirdos? Did problems like these ever come up on any other ships of the fleet?

Alex rolled up his sleeve to look at the Demon. The little devil was holding its head in its hands. It was wincing, as though it was suffering from a terrible headache.

And Alex realized that what bothered him was not so much the conversation that had just taken place, but the fact that he still had to talk to Janet. A woman who had almost become his friend and was now caught in the worst kind of trap—a conflict between her spesh duties and the program of behavior precoded into her subconscious mind.

“There’s no time,” said Alex. Got up and went to the sick bay.

The door was unlocked. Janet was sitting in a chair and holding her head in her hands, just like the little tattoo on his arm. As he entered, she looked at him and said in a quiet voice:

“The sick bay is ready for take-off and for receiving patients.”

Alex sat down on the floor in front of her. Stretched out his arm to show her the Demon.

“You see this?”

Janet nodded.

“Do you know what this is?”

“An emotion scanner… I’ve seen them…” she replied in a colorless voice. Then a look of concern appeared on her face. “What’s wrong, Captain?”

“You have a problem. You hate the Others. Generalov has a problem. He hates clones. Kim has a problem. We are under orders to fly to Edem, and she doesn’t want to go there. And I am your captain. All of your problems are my problems now.”

Janet rubbed her forehead wearily.

“Captain… Alex, don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”

“Janet, are you sure?”

“Yes, Alex. I do hate the Others, those Zzygou things especially. They were our first targets, you understand. But I can handle it. Even if I have to wait their tables.”

Alex looked searchingly at the woman.

“Everything will be fine,” she repeated, with a little more conviction in her tone. “Of course, I was shocked. I am a soldier of Eben. But even a soldier doesn’t have to rush headlong into a fight. I can control myself, Alex. Don’t worry.”

“Then I have only two problems left: Generalov and Kim.”

“I’ll try to sort it out with Kim. She seems to listen to me.”

“Thanks.” Alex lightly touched her hand. “Friend-spesh, thanks for your understanding and self-restraint. We take off in fourteen and a half minutes. I have to go.”

“Will you need me at my battle station?”

“No, not really. The space around Quicksilver Pit is well patrolled, so there’s no real danger.”

“But I’d like to be at my post, anyway.”

“All right. I’ll be glad to see you, Janet.”

Alex smiled at the woman and left the sick bay. Looked like there was one less problem to worry about. Or was there?

Janet had been convincing, but could she really control herself?

He had no other choice but to trust her word.

“Accept me.”

He became one with the ship.

And somehow, all that had been bothering him disappeared. All the problems—Kim’s, Janet’s, Puck’s—were really minor things, barely worth noticing, in comparison to the warmth of the ship’s gentle wave.

It must be very similar to love…

Too bad he couldn’t really compare the two.

His crew were specks of colored light in the darkness. His ship—his powerful body. And the ship’s consciousness was still something separate… but it was closer and more important than his own thoughts.

Could he have ever really been happy without experiencing this? Yes… Because he had been happy being just a pilot. And had his parents chosen another specialization for him, he would’ve been happy working in a factory, or demonstrating models on a podium, or collecting edible seaweed in the ocean. He would have been happy regardless, for happiness was a necessary attribute of being a spesh.

Still, how glad he was that what made him happy were the stars, and flying among them, and all these mechanisms and bionics, interwoven to form an expensive toy called a spaceship!

“Passengers, please prepare for take-off. We are leaving the surface of the planet in seven minutes.”

Alex had never before been a captain on a passenger ship. But his memory easily supplied the necessary phrases.

“Time to orbit—twelve minutes, thirty-two seconds. Time to tunnel—forty-four minutes. We will be making an intermediate jump to Gamma Snakebearer, the transport center of the third sector. After that, our route lies through New Ukraine, Heraldica, and Zodiac. Other intermediate landings are possible at the passengers’ request. Our estimated total flight time is twenty-nine hours, thirteen minutes. The crew wishes you a pleasant flight.”

He waited another ten seconds, in case there were any additional orders or questions from the passengers, and then turned off the connection.

All right. That was it. The route had been approved, and now he had complete control over the ship.

Generalov had already made the route viewable to everyone. It was the very route he had practiced plotting that morning.

Alex reached out through the eternal night of virtual space. Touched Generalov, getting his attention. Ordered:

“Private channel.”

A moment later, his consciousness split in two. He was still the root of the ship getting ready for take-off. He was watching the last preliminary tests, feeling the reactor powering up… but at the same time he stood face to face with Generalov. Around them was nothing but darkness. This talk would be just between the two of them, and no other crewmembers knew about it.

“Navigator, I have a serious question for you.”

“I am listening, Captain.” Puck’s virtual image nodded.

“Please leave out the formalities. I’d like a heart-to-heart.”

Generalov looked aside in embarrassment. And said after a pause:

“I am sorry about my outburst. But… I really don’t care for clones.”

“We all have somebody we don’t care for, Puck. Some people don’t like naturals, some don’t like the Others. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“I see,” Puck nodded. “It’s about the route?”

“Yes. I believe that coincidences happen. But everything has a limit. You already plotted this route once today.”

“I was practicing.”

“And you just happened to choose this exact route? Quicksilver Pit-Zodiac-Edem?”

“Yes!”

“Puck, that’s impossible.”

“What are you trying to say, Alex?” Generalov certainly enjoyed being informal. “Are you suggesting that I actually knew about our route beforehand?”

“Of course.”

The navigator burst out laughing.

“You overestimate me. I really was just practicing. The whole crew was practicing, and so was I. You can suspect whatever you want, but I really did choose that route entirely by chance!”

“Puck, that’s impossible. If you’re telling me the truth—can you see why I have my doubts?”

Generalov lapsed into thought.

“I do understand, Captain. I was also really surprised. I was plotting a course… let me see… well, I picked Edem because of our lovely bodyguard.”

“Okay, I suppose that’s plausible. But using Zodiac as an intermediary point? How do you explain that?”

For a moment, Puck’s image got blurry—he must have been calculating all the possibilities. Alex could almost feel the ship’s computer strain to handle the extra burden.

“I have to agree with you,” reluctantly admitted Generalov. “It’s a really good route, Quicksilver Pit-Zodiac-Edem, but there are five more alternatives. None are better than any others—all are within random probability parameters. All I can tell you is that I really did choose this particular one by pure chance.”

“Puck, tell me: before you went into the navigation module, had anyone even mentioned Zodiac in your presence?”

A short hesitation.

“No.”

One minute to take-off.

Alex nodded. He had a lingering, unpleasant sensation—the feeling of having missed something.

“All right, Puck. Let’s get back to work.” He cut off the private connection and concentrated on the ship. Flight control had already given the last corrections for the take-off corridor. The ship’s reactor was slowly increasing its power output, releasing energy to be accumulated and used up by the ship. Lourier’s job was to supply a lot of power, but also not to supply too much.

“Countdown.”

Morrison had already plotted the graceful curve of the take-off trajectory and was waiting with tense anticipation. Alex understood his hopes… he knew the feeling. But he could not let the co-pilot perform his own very first take-off.

“Ten.”

He reached for the tense green spiral and whispered:

“Sorry…”

The spiral moved off to one side, giving Alex full access to the piloting gear.

“Nine.”

The membranes of the plasma thrusters opened.

“Eight.”

The grid of the gravitational engine opened. Of course, no one was planning to take off riding a graviray, which would damage the old launch pad. But for the improbable eventuality of plasma-engine failure, the ship had to have an emergency option.

“Seven.”

Alex’s consciousness reached out to touch each member of his crew, ever so lightly, a brief, reassuring, and grateful contact.

“Six.”

The gluon reactor started pulsing, boosting the energy output. Paul had a wonderful sense of timing….

“Five.”

Alex turned on the engines.

The ship smoothly leaned on its tail, not leaving the surface yet, but standing on its hind supports alone. Gravity compensation worked perfectly, so there was no change in the gravity vector within the ship itself.

“Four.”

A firestorm burst out around the vessel.

“Three.”

The ship quivered, leaving the surface.

“Two.”

They were already standing “in the pillar.” The ship still looked chained to the planet to an outside observer, when really it had already broken free.

“One.”

The energy flooded into the engines, throwing them into full-power mode.

“Zero. Take-off.”

And they were airborne. The ship was piercing the sky with a swift thrust, no longer bound by gravity, or any orders from flight control, or laws of Quicksilver Pit. Somewhere below them were the dirty and malodorous capital, the honorable president San Li, the smog-blackened sky, speshes and naturals, astronauts and planet-dwellers, humans and Others.

Only the ship remained, and the seven humans and two Others aboard it, and the invisible route charted among the stars.

The parting clouds dabbed the ship’s body. The city below them diffused into a murky, glowing blot. It even looked rather pretty from the dark distance…. At sixteen thousand feet, Alex switched over to the graviray and the vessel gave a slight jolt. Darn it! Botched a smooth transition.

“Nice transition, Captain,” said Morrison, as if to calm him down; a slight jolt when switching to another set of engines was almost inevitable. But at the same time, Morrison was reminding him, “I noticed.”

Alex grinned, increasing the traction. Glanced at an Otter coming in for landing through the adjacent corridor. The narrow cone of the gravity engine’s thrusting field trailed behind the ship, and the computer traced an alarming red around its outer edges. The cone presented little danger to any ship that might sideswipe it. At the very worst, there might be minor damage to the skin plating, which would regenerate overnight. And the unwritten laws of the pilots’ fraternity would most probably prevent any official involvement. What’s more, they were well within their own take-off corridor, so it had to be the mistake of the tanker’s pilot. But to allow this kind of situation was considered bad form.

“Co-pilot, that Otter is getting into our tail. Track them.”

Xang started murmuring something at the clowns piloting the tanker. Concentrating on his own tasks, Alex paid no more attention to him.

Mirror was as light as a feather in comparison to the heavy, multi-ton vessels he had piloted for the last few years. Alex couldn’t help remembering an old book that described the ecstasy of a boy who kicked off his heavy winter boots and put on a pair of light summer shoes. Now he was feeling something very much like it.

A lightness. The universe had become not just the place where he lived, but a home he knew and loved, small and cozy, where everything was close to everything else and where he knew every little corner. Even the ship’s responses to his orders were not just precise executions of his commands, but happy continuations of his thoughts. Not a servant, but a friend. Not a machine, but a beloved.

He had experienced this kind of thing a long time ago, before his metamorphosis, when he was still an almost-ordinary kid. He would leave the house with his posse, stay out till late. Sometimes they’d be gone for several days, traveling into the thick northern forests and as far as the Baltic Sea, where they would lie on the jagged cliffs and look down from on high, through the clear water, onto the ruins of ancient cities that hadn’t survived the first ecological storm. “The gang” were five friends. Alex himself. The dark-skinned, redheaded David, who emigrated to New Jerusalem at the age of fourteen, right after his metamorphosis. Builder-speshes were in great demand there. Fam Hoh… poor Fam, he was also a spesh, a fighter-spesh. He died at fifteen, barely out of the academy, taking part in a peacekeeping mission in the Martian Free Cities. He was shot down over the desert, far from the terraformer towers, had to walk back for twenty-four hours, but died, of dehydration, hypothermia, and oxygen starvation. Gene was the only natural in their whole gang, so he was always the butt of their cruel childish jokes, and at the same time the object of their clumsy sympathy… he wanted to become a psychologist. Maybe he did, who knows…. And then there was Nadia, his devoted girlfriend, his first lover, his best friend… She was now a well-known and successful doctor-spesh. But back then, she seemed to have two separate and unrelated lives. When she was with the rest of the gang, she was a fighter daredevil, their total buddy, with whom you could share a heart-to-heart talk and have a smooch or two in a dark little corner. But at home she was always a perfect, sweet, reserved, well-behaved girl…

Alex was always the leader, though no one ever chose or appointed him as such. No one felt any need to, really, or even thought that he was the chief of their little gang. If anyone ever even mentioned that he was in charge, the rest would have laughed at such a preposterous idea. Nevertheless, that was the way it was. His crazy ideas became their common plans, and his pranks turned into group endeavors. If he was in a good mood, everyone shared his joy. That was the way it was till the very day of his metamorphosis. Even Nadia, who had had her transformation earlier, she still kept following him. When did it all change? Probably right after his metamorphosis. He didn’t leave right away. He had to wait till the next admission period at the pilot academy. They kept horsing around, just like before, shaking up the entire tiny town of Izborg… except that Alex stopped being the leader. And no new leader emerged.

Maybe the reason was that a pilot-spesh should never show too much initiative?

But now it all came back, because a captain was responsible for making decisions for everyone.

He was feeling that connection again. A oneness with all those around him. And this connection was strengthened not by orders or contractual formalities, or rules, or ranks, or by the crew’s love for him… It was something else, elusive and unutterable. Something that had helped him lead all of them—the smart boy David (a hut David had built at the age of seven lasted till the gang came of age), the pugnacious Fam (who was always careful, as any spesh should be, to match his strength to his opponent’s), the inhibited, shy boy-natural Gene (Alex really hoped his dream had come true), and Nadia, with her biting sense of humor…

His crew had turned out to be a good one, after all. Despite all the quirks and problems. The navigator continuously posted alternative routes, the co-pilot controlled the ship well, the engineer made available just the right amount of energy for any given moment. And the battle stations scoured the space around the ship for possible targets, even though the orbits around Quicksilver Pit were considered absolutely safe.

They reached orbit and almost immediately started their acceleration toward the mouth of the hyper-channel. Alex gave all the piloting over to Morrison and called up a detailed chart of the channel.

The channel turned out to be not just old, but ancient. Now, in his state of confluence with the ship’s memory blocks, Alex had access to its entire history. The channel had been cut from the Moon station during the second colonization wave. These days, there was a museum in place of the Moon station, and most of the worlds colonized back then were in a state of decay—either utterly abandoned or barely scraping by. Quicksilver Pit seemed lucky by comparison.

Alex practiced the channel entry several times with a time-dilation computer program. There were six possible trajectories that would fit within the assigned time interval and take Mirror towards Gamma Snakebearer and then to Zodiac. Alex chose the trajectory that would give them the most temporal advantage, and he went through it several times.

All was well. They would dive into the channel behind a couple of heavy trucks, keeping all the required distances. There would be another vessel right behind them, a mercury tanker, not too large, but loaded to the gills and possessed of immense inertia. Of course, mercury tanker pilots went through this channel so often that they could probably do it with their eyes closed.

Alex folded the virtual chart and moved Morrison off piloting with a gentle push. They were approaching the mouth of the channel, and there were three minutes remaining before it would be their turn to jump in.

The mouth of the channel glittered among the stars like a giant piece of the lightest fabric, lit from within, floating through the darkness of space. The entrance was the shape of an irregular trapezoid, curving and bending every second, changing its size and its angles—although from the point of view of six-dimensional geometry, it was actually a perfect circle.

“Mirror, you are now allowed to enter the channel’s waiting zone.”

That was the voice of a guard station called Stationary Channel. Twelve battle stations guarded the entrance. Most of them were real battle stations, built for that purpose at the shipyards, but several were just old, converted battleships. Still, it would have been unwise to reproach Quicksilver Pit’s president for being tightfisted. The modern stations could hardly have been more powerful than an old battleship, even one with its main engines gone and its planetary weapons off.

“Understood. We’re getting in line.” Alex ran his virtual chart one more time. Two large Burbot tankers were approaching the channel exactly on schedule. The first one’s rounded nose touched the surface of the gossamer sheet trembling amidst the emptiness of space. Then the ship quivered, rippled, and vanished. In exactly eight seconds, the second ship followed. The trucker pilots were probably not aces, but they were well coordinated with each other. Alex quickly looked at every one of his crew—all were there, doing their job, and the situation was under control.

“All right, kids, we’re about to jump….” As if confirming his thoughts, one of the bases reported:

“Mirror, you’re cleared for entry into the channel.”

Alex moved the ship forward slowly—a quick entry into the channel could lead them out to a random point in the transport grid or even cause the ship’s destruction. He had one trajectory to lead the ship out to Zodiac.

Hyper-channels were very strange things. To be precise, there was only one hyper-channel in the universe; more simply would not fit. But that was an idea from six-dimensional geometry, a field in which fewer than a hundred scientists were experts. For practical piloting, all you had to know was that every channel would lead the ship to this or that exit point, depending on the trajectory of the entry and the phase of the pulse. And there could be no more than thirty-six such exit points… again, no one knew why. Each channel had been made at random—although, with the relative probability of sixty-six point three (recurring decimal) percent, they seemed to appear near massive gravitational anomalies. Stars, for instance. Also, the channels couldn’t be closer to each other than one light year, although this factoid was still not fully confirmed by science. In addition, no one could know where a new, freshly made hyper-channel might lead. Only the probable distance could be measured, with a large margin of error.

The entire history of human galactic colonization was a chain of random coincidences. Olympus had been Earth’s first colony, a cold and unfriendly little world, but somehow considered almost a paradise back in the mid-twenty-first century. After that, the channel stations went to work at full capacity, poking holes all over the universe, and more and more new worlds appeared. The magnificent Edem, a splendid and rich planet, flourishing in the blue light of the Spike, had been colonized a very long time ago, despite its huge distance from Earth. But Alpha Centauri, long a candidate for the first interstellar flight, was not reached until very recently, only some fifteen years before. Well, it was for the best, anyway. It turned out to have no promising planets.

Most ships had their own hyper-engines, allowing them to traverse several light years at a time. But this capability had absolutely no commercial value at all. The heavier the ship, the more energy devoured in a direct hyper-jump. Mirror’s mass was actually at the upper limit for a ship with its own hyper-engine. Courier ships, leisure boats, scouting vessels—and that was about it, no other kinds in that class.

His thoughts rushed by at a speed possible only when he was connected to the computer. Alex was taking the ship along the axis visible only to pilots, mechanically noticing what was going on all around, while thinking about channel peculiarities. Quicksilver Pit, for instance, had a rather shoddy channel. Only five of its entry trajectories led to other planets of the Human Empire. All the rest led out to derelict exits, some in the middle of totally empty interstellar space, or near stars which had no planetary systems, or planets utterly unsuitable for life… or orbiting stars that belonged to alien races.

In most cases, the race that mined out a channel to a star would be its owner. But there were two alien races that never used hyper-channels at all, preferring other methods of interstellar communication. And there had been cases when a planet turned out to be so attractive that the Others colonized it without using any hyper-channels. For example, one of the exits from Quicksilver Pit’s channel led out to a planet inhabited by Cepheideans, a strange race almost as humanoid as the Zzygou and, at the same time, engaged in an eternal war with the Zzygou Swarm…

“Morrison!” Alex couldn’t quite say what had put him on guard. Everything was within the norm… for the time being. But what was that tanker doing?

The tanker was not going anywhere yet, just turning around, working out its trajectory—its orientation engine nozzles were blinking.

Its future trajectory, however, cut right across the path of Mirror.

“Tanker MT-28, tanker MT-28.” Morrison had also noticed what was about to happen. “Your present course is dangerous! Over!”

No reply.

There was no cause to panic just yet… but Alex unwrapped a trajectory forecast chart anyway. The two ships’ velocity, mass, and direction.

He froze.

If that moron attempted to turn on the engines at full force, a collision would be imminent. It wouldn’t be a catastrophe—their force fields and gravity compensation would absorb most of the blow. But it would mean that Mirror would enter the hyper-channel at an uncharted angle… and… A web of trajectories flashed and vanished in front of him, leaving only one track. The track that would lead to the Cepheideans’ sector.

To turn inside a hyper-tunnel was impossible. Once you were in, it took you where it took you… Right into the little fists of those small but warlike creatures, who would be thrilled to find a couple of Zzygou in their space.

They’d probably let the humans go, though….

There was still a bit of leeway in their speed, and Alex used it all up. The tanker seemed to freeze in space… Right… why in the world would it ram a yacht?

And then the tanker’s graviray engine turned on. The space around it distorted violently, as the full impulse started pushing the tanker’s cylindrical bulk on a collision course with Mirror.

Towards the exact point that would make the collision unavoidable and throw the yacht off into Cepheidean space.

“Morons!” shouted Morrison. He, too, understood that a collision was imminent, though he probably wasn’t aware of all the consequences. Suddenly, the tanker replied:

“Mirror, we have a problem—our engine has misfired. All systems blocked, no maneuvering possible at this time. Please clear the way. Over!”

“Not possible.” Morrison’s voice turned very calm. “Our speed reserves are up. The ship will be destroyed upon entry into the channel.”

“Increase your force fields,” came the advice of the tanker’s invisible voice. “It’s our fault. We’ll pay full compensation.”

What did compensation have to do with this? The pilot must really have thought that what was about to happen would be just an accident, lamentable but not tragic. Or perhaps he was simply lying.

Although such a lie would require him to know about Mirror’s passengers and also to have a monstrously keen eye for spatial calculations.

“Mirror to channel guard.” His own voice sounded unfamiliar to Alex. “We need help.”

Twenty-four seconds to collision impact. Subjective time in virtual reality flowed much more slowly, but that had no bearing on the laws of physics. The tanker could no longer slow down, and Mirror had no way of maneuvering.

“Channel guard to Mirror. The situation is under control. What sort of help do you require?”

Alex glanced again at the other ship. A three-people crew, max. More likely, just a pilot and a navigator…

“Annihilate tanker MT-28.”

The tanker’s pilot shouted something unintelligible. The guard stations—or, rather, their officer on duty—hesitated for a second.

Space was ruthless. A ship that was about to cause a collision could very well be destroyed. Especially if it were a tanker endangering the lives aboard a passenger vessel.

“Mirror, are you nuts?!” The guard officer had lost his official tone of voice. “The situation isn’t critical—your shields will hold!”

“Guard station, we require protection. A collision will cause us to enter the channel at an uncharted angle.”

“Protection denied. Your course is not life-threatening.”

But of course. The guard station officers were speshes as well trained as Alex. They could see all the potentialities.

“Here are some recommendations,” the officer added. And once again, a map of possible routes fanned open in front of Alex. “Reduce your speed by eight percent, maximize shield power, prepare for emergency jump to Gatané-4…”

“We can’t enter Cepheidean space!” Alex yelled. “Destroy the tanker!”

“The Empire has friendly relations with the Cepheideans,” replied the officer bluntly.

On the other communication channel, the tanker’s pilot regained his gift of speech and shouted a few choice words at Alex. Yes. If he really were innocent, Alex’s demands must seem monstrously cruel.

“Alex…”

The dark-red clot of flame. Janet. The weapons blister, his fist…

“Permission to act, Captain.” She understood there was no time to persuade the guard officer. She knew all the intricacies of the Others’ relations with each other better than any of those officers growing fat in their guard stations. Even though she had no trace of warm feelings for the Zzygou, she had no intention of pleasing the Cepheideans, either. But what could she do? To destroy the tanker would be unthinkable for her—there were humans aboard!

“Permission granted,” said Alex.

At the same moment, the reactor power jumped way up. Maybe Paul had guessed what was required, or maybe Janet had contacted him.

“Mirror to guard stations, we are addressing the problem on our own….”

Before he had time to finish his sentence, the battle station fired a ray at the hapless tanker. The ray wasn’t powerful enough to destroy the tanker about to ram them. Janet had taken aim at the cargo hold. For almost three seconds, nothing happened. Then a scorched chunk of plating fell off. And a powerful stream of boiling mercury burst out of the tanker’s innards.

It was an enchanting sight. The tanker, shot through and boiling over, was still on a collision course with Mirror—except that the jet stream of mercury was slowing it down and reducing the tanker’s mass with every passing millisecond. It seemed as though the tanker had been transformed into a comet with a fiery tail of boiling mercury.

“What are you, nuts?!” shouted the tanker’s pilot. He had already realized that no one was going to destroy him, but losing all of his cargo was also a terrifying prospect. “We’ll take this to the tribunal!”

Alex didn’t bother answering. A joint commission of the union of pilots, Quicksilver Pit’s administration, and military detectives would investigate the incident. Alex didn’t doubt that his crew would be cleared of all charges. When everyone figured out what their entry into Cepheidean space would have led to, all the responsibility would be dumped on the tanker’s crew. And there would be nothing but praise for Janet.

“Mirror, hold your fire!” The guard officer was really aggravated. “Your next ray burst will be considered an act of aggression against the Empire!”

Well, yes. Theoretically the guard stations, as well as the hyper-channel, were Imperial property. But in reality they were eating out of the hands of the local officials, who would be very upset with the damage to the tanker and the loss of its cargo.

“The following is an order—”

But he had no chance to finish his phrase. Through a cloud of cooling mercury, brightly flashing against its protective force field, Mirror entered the hyper-channel.

Exactly on course to take the ship to Gamma Snakebearer.

Chapter 2

The gray tube of the hyper-tunnel seemed endless. They could all feel the ship’s movement, though it wasn’t very fast by planetary standards—about one hundred and eight miles an hour. It felt as though the yacht had turned into a land vehicle speeding along a dark tunnel.

All this had nothing to do with the ship’s actual speed, of course. These were purely subjective impressions.

“Fellow crewmembers, congratulations on a successful entry into the channel.” Alex paused for a moment. “Janet Ruello, doctor-spesh, I thank you, on behalf of the company, for your timely and decisive actions in an emergency situation.”

By saying this, he took all responsibility upon himself. If for any reason Janet’s shot at the tanker were to be reprimanded, Alex alone would bear the consequences.

“Thank you, Captain,” replied Janet.

Alex paused again.

“Janet, was that your own idea?”

“No, Captain. Pilot training on Edem included some nontraditional ways of affecting enemy vessels. Bronin spaceship reactors run on mercury… it was a lucky coincidence.”

“I wish I could thank your teachers personally, Janet.”

She smiled somewhat sadly. “Why not, Captain? In another three hundred years or so, when the quarantine field dissolves…”

“Captain, shall I prepare an official complaint to the union?” asked Generalov.

“That’s my job,” said Alex.

“You have extensive experience with judicial quibbling?” rejoined the navigator. “Of course, the report should bear your signature, but someone else can put it together…”

Alex didn’t hesitate for very long. When it came to concocting complaints, the navigator really was the most experienced member of the crew.

“All right, Puck. Prepare the document and send it to me for a signature. Don’t forget to stress the fact that our entry into Cepheidean space would have led to a customs search and imprisonment of our honorable Zzygou passengers. Morrison!”

“Yes, Captain.”

“The jump to Gamma Snakebearer will take six and a half hours. You have the bridge.”

“Aye-aye, Captain. Permission to perform intermediate maneuvers in the Gamma system?”

Alex smiled. Of course: piloting inside a hyper-channel was not any pilot’s idea of fun. Morrison seemed to have decided to eke out every good piloting opportunity he could.

“All right, Morrison. But don’t forget to call me to the bridge right before we exit the channel. The rest of the crew may now rest. Engineer, you may turn the reactor to minimal power output.”

While the ship slid through the invisible currents of hyperspace, it didn’t need much piloting, or energy, or defenses.

“I have the bridge, Captain,” said Morrison. Alex lingered for a moment, watching the colored lights melt into darkness—his crew leaving the control system.

“Be good, now…” whispered Alex. Not to the people—to his ship. A warm wave, gentle and soothing, washed over him in reply as if to say, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine…”

When only the emerald spiral was left in virtual space, Alex left.

The piloting chair straps clicked softly open. Alex got up, stretched his neck and shoulders, looked at the control screens. A smooth gray tunnel—the ship was sliding through the inner side of space. Morrison looked as motionless as a mannequin in the other pilot’s chair. Poor Morrison. He had no way of experiencing this ecstasy. It was great to be a pilot, but being a captain was so much more…

“Have a good shift, Xang,” said Alex gently and left the bridge.

Janet waved to him from afar. But Kim approached him decisively as he neared the door to his cabin.

“Not now, honey…” Alex took her by the shoulder. “I have an important meeting right now.”

Kim frowned.

“Alex, will I be hearing you say that all the time now?”

How was he to maintain any kind of discipline under such circumstances? The engineer, opening his own door, stared at them curiously.

“Kim, come see me in half an hour, okay?” He looked into her eyes. He had no idea what she must have heard in his voice, but she beamed and affected a slight, mocking drawl as she said:

“All right, A-lex…”

Another second, and she disappeared behind her door. Alex entered his quarters, shook his head. Yup. He had a problem. Kim’s specialization was making her seek his love… the one thing he couldn’t give her.

But he had more pressing matters to tend to.

“Computer, put me through to C-the-Third, captain’s priority, open channel.”

The screen came on. To Alex’s surprise, C-the-Third was in his bed, sleeping peacefully. The yacht gravity compensation system was strong enough to protect the passengers from gravity overloads upon tunnel entry, but the clone’s equanimity was in itself worthy of admiration. Either he didn’t give a damn about anything, or flew so often that he felt no trepidation before yet another hyper-jump.

“C-the-Third…”

The clone awoke instantly. One moment he was lying on the bed, wrapped tightly in his blanket, and the next instant he was standing by the side of the bed, looking at the screen.

“Captain here,” Alex felt compelled to say, for some reason. “Come to my quarters. Immediately.”

C-The-Third didn’t say a word. Only nodded and disappeared from the field of vision. Alex sat down in the chair, propped his chin with his fist. He was absolutely calm. The recent incident had taken so little real time that his body hadn’t even had a chance to react by releasing adrenaline. Everything was over. And all pilots were pre-programmed to not worry about misfortunes that hadn’t happened.

If not for Janet…

The door beeped.

“Open,” Alex ordered.

It was C-the-Third. He wasn’t even dressed—he came just as he was, in his pajamas, which were rather childish, blue with little red and white stars. Alex made a mental note to be more careful with the word “immediately.”

“What’s going on, Captain?”

The clone’s harsh tone did not match the cheerful design of his pajamas. And his face wore the look of a man ready to kill.

“Sit down. Would you like a drink?” Alex leaned over and opened a little bar. Glanced at the flattish flasks… not a bad selection!

“Brandy,” said the clone resentfully. “Just a little.”

He waited while the captain poured two glasses of brandy and then asked, a little more calmly:

“So what’s happening?”

“At the entrance to the tunnel, we were almost rammed by a mercury tanker.”

“An attack?” The clone tensed.

“The pilot said their engines misfired. It’s been known to happen on old tubs like that. Their computers are extremely primitive and unstable.”

C-The-Third frowned.

“Captain, this ship is supposed to be well protected… and well armed. If I am not mistaken, according to the law, the guard towers were supposed to destroy the tanker. And you had the right to do so, as well.”

“No, I didn’t. The collision would not have led to a catastrophe—only forced us to enter the tunnel with an uncharted trajectory.”

“Was there a collision?” asked the clone.

“No. You would’ve felt it, I can assure you. We… managed.”

C-the-Third drank up his brandy in one gulp. Asked testily:

“Then what the hell? I knew we weren’t going for a walk in the park. You could’ve told me all about it in the morning…”

“C-the-Third, by a strange coincidence, the new trajectory would have led us into Cepheidean space.”

The clone started. He rolled his empty glass in his fingers and said:

“But it didn’t happen, right?”

“Right. We are on our way to Gamma Snakebearer. Can you imagine what would have happened, had we entered Cepheidean space?”

C-the-Third winced.

“Customs search. Capture of the Zzygou. Or, rather, an attempted capture. I have a duty to protect them.”

“I too have a duty to protect all my passengers.” Alex poured two more drinks. They drank in silence.

“It seems I must thank you.” C-the-Third bowed slightly. “That was an extremely unpleasant situation.”

“Indeed. But not me—Janet Ruello. Well, that’s beside the point, anyway. What do you think is the probability of an accidental collision?”

“Negligible.”

“Agreed. C-the-Third, I don’t like what’s happening. We were hired for civilian service.”

“This is a civilian trip. Ordinary tourism…”

“Is it?”

They looked closely at each other for a few moments. Then the clone shrugged his shoulders.

“Damn it, Captain… I’ve been making these trips for seven years now. Three years for the Pearl company and four years for Sky. I have escorted Zzygou, Bronins, Cepheideans, Fenhuan… and a dozen other races, with whom humans hardly ever have any contact. I am a spesh for these contacts, you see?”

“Yes, I see.”

C-the-Third continued, more softly and earnestly:

“Alex, I have lived through many different incidents. Skirmishes with xenophobes. Aggression on my customers’ part. Once I had to kill a Bronin who suddenly got violent. Another time we were taken over by terrorists from New Ukraine and had to wait eight weeks before a Zzygou patrol ship rescued us. I’ve seen a lot of things… but it’s all ordinary civilian work. Maybe slightly more risky than average… but your salary is probably also a little higher than average, am I right?”

“Who could be behind this? And why?”

“Got anything smokable?”

Alex silently handed him a pack of cigarettes. They both lit up.

“Tourism business for alien races is not the most developed field…” said the clone pensively, letting out a stream of smoke. “How can you smoke this trash, Captain? But there are four companies, nevertheless. Ours is the largest. An incident causing our passengers’ capture by the Cepheideans would have led to a complete loss of trust in our company. You see?”

“Yes, I see.” The clone’s constant questioning of his understanding was beginning to irritate Alex. It was as if C-the-Third doubted his captain’s ability to put two and two together. “It’s all just the competitors’ underhand plotting, then?”

“Possibly. We will contact the police authorities… and, of course, we’ll have our own investigation right away.”

“Can you imagine what bribing a pilot would cost?”

The clone smiled.

“No, I can’t.”

“Neither can I. If the poor fellow from the tanker gets convicted, he will lose his pilot’s license for good. This kind of thing has no price, C-the-Third. It would be like wagering someone’s life. Like depriving someone of all colors, forcing him to see the world through a dark, murky glass. We pilots don’t have that many simple human pleasures.”

“But there might be exceptions?”

“Yes. Theoretically, a tanker’s pilot could be a natural—his job would then be only one of many joys in life. That sort of thing ought to be forbidden.” Alex halted, remembering Generalov.

“That would be discrimination,” said C-the-Third bluntly. “What if somebody had reprogrammed the tanker’s computer?”

Alex thought for a few moments. Those computers really were primitive.

“An ordinary change of programming wouldn’t work. Without the pilot’s help, the tanker’s computer wouldn’t be able to calculate such a complicated maneuver. Although someone could hack it and control it remotely.”

“Agreed.” The clone nodded. “The terrorists could have been anywhere—one of the guard stations, or one of the other ships waiting in line. They could have put in a remote-operation bio-block, which would simply disintegrate once the action was over.”

“Nasty.”

“Yes, indeed. But any business field has some ruthless people. No one has ever succeeded in making a businessperson-spesh, you know.”

Both of them smiled.

“So did I wake you up for nothing?” Alex inquired.

“Of course not. The situation really was extremely dangerous. In the morning, as soon as we are out of the channel, I will contact the company management.”

“Mr. Li Tsyn?”

The clone scowled.

“No. Mister President doesn’t bother with small incidents. I will contact my matrix, Danila Shustov. He’ll understand.”

“Are there a lot of you?” Alex asked.

“Clones? There were four. But Danila C-the-First Shustov was killed a year ago.”

“Condolences.”

The clone bowed slightly.

“We all work in the tourism business, Captain. C-the-First was in some respects my opposite—he escorted humans in the alien sectors. There was a freak accident. While in the Fenhuan sector, he organized an excursion to the incubation beach. A little girl left her mother’s side to look more closely at one of the eggs. They’re very beautiful, you know. They radiate a whole rainbow of colors, and their singing is lovely, too… She licked her finger and rubbed the egg… wanted a closer look at the embryo.”

Alex winced.

“My brother had no other choice but to take the blame upon himself.” A note of bitterness rang in C-the-Third’s voice. “The Fenhuan performed their ritual cleansing and then sent his remains back to Earth. With profuse apologies, of course. That’s life. But from now on, when our company organizes trips to alien planets, children must be kept on a short leash and wear a muzzle at all times.”

“Makes sense,” said Alex, nodding. “They couldn’t think of that before?”

“They did. But some parents protested. Some still object, of course, but the universe is not a friendly place.”

The clone got up, offering his hand. Alex shook it without hesitation.

“Thank you for finding a way out of the recent situation. I will ask the management to reward your crew, especially you and Janet Ruello.”

“I apologize for disturbing your sleep.”

When C-the-Third left, Alex thought for a moment and refilled his glass. The accident—the near-accident! he corrected himself—had now been explained. Such passions raging in the peaceful tourism business! Well, where didn’t you find them? Even street sweepers and sewer workers must have their own raging passions, hidden from the rest of the world.

Alex imagined a broad-shouldered, squat, long-armed street sweeper-spesh, creeping stealthily in the middle of the night. Reaching into his belly pouch, taking out some litter he’d gathered the day before, and spreading it around someone else’s lot. Laughing quietly, straining his genetically-weakened vocal cords, heading back home, relishing his revenge… But, no! That was nonsense—a street sweeper-spesh was incapable of littering. A natural could do it easily, though…

The door beeped again.

“Open.”

For some reason, he had been expecting a small provocation from Kim. She could arrive wearing only her skimpy PJ’s, for instance, or even wearing nothing at all. Or something she had bought back on Quicksilver Pit—her black-and-silver pantsuit, which showed off her trim figure—or a semi-transparent evening gown…

Alex underestimated her, as it turned out.

Kim wore a simple white dress and sandals. A small black chiffon scarf was tied around her throat.

It was the same provocation, only much more sophisticated. A sweet schoolgirl, freshly dressed for the prom. An element of every adult male’s erotic fantasies.

“Kim…” said Alex softly.

“I totally understand.” Kim sat down on the floor at his feet and gave him a heartrending, beseeching smile. “You’re tired. Don’t send me away, okay? Just don’t send me away… Let me sit here with you for a little while?”

“Kim…” Alex lifted her off the floor, sat her down on his lap. “You’re making a mistake, kid….”

“A mistake?”

“It’s a mistake to have a crush on me.”

Kim frowned slightly.

“Whatever gave you that idea? I’m just very grateful to you, that’s all…”

“You’re welcome.”

“Besides, we are still husband and wife… for the next eight hours.”

Alex kissed her soft lips. Whispered:

“Kim, it will only make things worse, trust me.…”

“As your wife, I have a right to demand that you perform your husbandly duties.” She gave him a strict, serious look. “I insist!”

Her eyes were ardent, demanding. The eyes of a hetaera-spesh. A hetaera in love.

“I can’t deny my duties,” said Alex. His kiss stopped her from saying anything in reply. He lifted the girl up into his arms and, still kissing, took her over to the bed. He lay down next to her and started taking off her dress, all the while returning her urgent kisses. Kim’s hands slid down his torso and unbuttoned his pants. For a second, she freed her lips from his and whispered hotly and earnestly, as if swearing an oath:

“If anyone interrupts us now, I’ll kill them!”

Alex glanced at her body—her slender, perfect figure, her tousled hair, her fingers flexing in anticipated ecstasy.

“Agreed… We’ll kill them together.”

After all, he had been deprived of decent sex for almost five months, and the dreary virtual sex imitator at the hospital contained only the programs that bored Alex even back in his puberty days.

“Alex…”

Maybe promising to kill was a mistake. She was, after all, a strange hybrid of fighter and hetaera. Quite possibly, violence excited her as much as sex did. She pounced upon him with a passion he hadn’t seen even in the most experienced professionals.

“I’ll do anything you wish, anything,” she whispered, helping him undress. “Anything. Just love me, you’ll see, no one will ever love you like me, no one… only love me…”

Alex kissed her again without answering.

Sex with her was really wonderful. Alex had never much cared for hetaeras, who were specialized to look like nymphets, but this was something different. He couldn’t help feeling that Kim would be just as seductive in the full glory of womanhood, and in later maturity, and even in old age. Possibly she had been pre-programmed for delayed aging, giving her almost a century of youth. But it was also possible that she would age the way ordinary women did. In any case, the sexual charge emanating from her seemed endless. Alex took her four times in a row. Every time, she had an orgasm. But it seemed she could keep going the whole night and the following day, and never get bored.

She rested for just a few minutes—Alex felt her rapid kisses on his body, and her hot lips, and her quick slender fingers. He opened his eyes and whispered:

“Kim… I’ll pass this time…”

She laughed quietly, pressing against him with the same passionate readiness.

“Was it good for you?”

“Yes, Kim. It was great. Thank you…” He lightly kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re wonderful. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Kim smiled proudly. But her smile quickly faded.

“Alex…”

“Yes?”

“You know… something’s not right.”

She sat up on the bed, wrapping herself in a thin blanket. She looked suspiciously at Alex.

“Tell me, are you really attracted to me?”

“You couldn’t tell?”

This time, her smile was even more evanescent.

“Alex… well, something’s wrong! You don’t… love me?”

It would be nice to get some sleep now, and not start this senseless discussion…

“No, I don’t.”

“Not at all?” she pressed.

“Not at all, baby.”

“But why?” She tossed her hair back. “You think I’m a sex maniac? I’m not! I won’t ever say a word to you about it, if that’s what you want. I just saw that that’s what you needed.”

“Kim, I’m a pilot-spesh.”

“So what?”

“Damn it, Kim. My ability to love is removed. Artificially removed.”

Her features froze. Then came a sheepish little smile. “Alex… you’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. It’s true, baby. I’m incapable of love. Anything but that.”

“How can… love be removed?” Kim’s voice quivered. “It’s like breathing… walking… thinking… Alex! You’re pulling my leg! You’re joking, right?”

“Kim, I’m telling you the truth. It is common knowledge that pilots, detectives, and tax collectors are genetically modified to be incapable of love.”

“Why?! Why pilots?!”

“We have a feeling of confluence with the ship, Kim. It must be… well, it’s probably something like love. It’s like with the hyper-channel, you know. There cannot be more than one hyper-channel in the galaxy. Same with love. Either you can love people, or you can have confluence with the ship.”

“And you chose a chunk of metal?”

“The ship is not a chunk of metal, Kim,” said Alex quietly. “It’s alive, though not sentient—it’s a biomechanical organism. And I didn’t choose. None of us chose. No one has figured out how to ask for an embryo’s consent yet.”

“Alex…”

He was expecting an explosive reaction. Was ready to face it. Ready to have Kim punch him, if her fighter instincts took hold of her. Ready to see her run away in tears.

Once again, Kim surprised him.

“Oh, you poor thing…”

She hugged him with the impulsiveness of a hetaera and the forcefulness of a fighter. She made him sit up. Pressed his head against her small, firm breasts.

“Alex… you poor darling…” He was suffering, all right—the pose she had bent him into was very uncomfortable. Besides, his pilot instincts were telling him that this pose would be dangerous, should the gravity vector suddenly change. But Alex kept mum and waited.

“I won’t leave you!” cried Kim suddenly. “I won’t, no matter what! They couldn’t have removed your love completely! You will fall in love with me! I’ll teach you how to love! I swear I will!”

Her skin scent was cool and gentle. Maybe perfume, maybe natural pheromones. When the scent became spicy and heady, Alex realized that it must be pheromones.

He freed his head from her embrace and returned another kiss.

Alex had never been one for great sexual exploits. His best achievement must have been participating in the traditional graduate orgy at the pilot academy. The event started at sundown and lasted till sunrise. And it was devilishly multifaceted, with sex simulators, tonics, invited geishas, fellow graduates… Even some exclusive virtual images from the world’s best modeling agencies. The graduates had held a big fundraiser to get them. Alex had never suspected that one girl, young and inexperienced, could excite him so much.

Kim was putting her heart and soul into it. They tried several old but fun sexual diversions, drank a bottle of dry wine from the bar, then began anew. But as soon as Alex started to feel he was participating in some exhausting sport competition, Kim quieted down. Maybe she really was well tuned to his emotions. Then again, she may have been watching the Demon.

“Should I let you rest?” Kim lay on her stomach, slowly caressing his shoulder. Her pose was a compromise between her next attempt to seduce the captain and the inescapable need to rest. “You’ll have to be back on the bridge soon, right?”

“In three hours and seventeen minutes.”

“Your internal clock is very accurate.”

“Part of my specialization. I feel time to one-tenth of a second.” He slid his hand along her spine. Thank God, Kim didn’t bring up his inability to love again. Perhaps she felt sex was a worthy alternative. Or maybe she was still coming up with a crazy plan to overcome his specialization.

“You have a little scar…”

Alex looked down at his own stomach. Yup. The scar was really thin, but went all around him, like a belt, just below the belly button.

“I told you… there was an accident. I was torn in half.”

Kim winced.

“Poor thing. It must’ve hurt like crazy?”

“I lost consciousness immediately. I hardly remember anything.”

“So what happened?”

“We weren’t going to land on Quicksilver Pit. Docked at one of the orbital ports to get some fuel. Our orientation engines had a small malfunction… so I went to the aggregate module. That’s also a part of a pilot’s job—small engine systems repairs. And then…”

Alex lapsed into thought.

“No, I don’t remember. There was a flash… and that was it. There was a minor problem with the force field generator, and plasma burst out at the very moment I entered the module. The burst was not a big one, so I wasn’t incinerated. But a shard of the generator cut me in half. I got lucky, though—our fighter-spesh was walking down that passage. He heard the explosion, took me out, and hooked me up to an IC unit. Then he took me to a shuttle, delivered me to the planet, and brought me to the hospital. I hope William doesn’t get into trouble for that.”

“Into trouble?”

“Do you have an inkling of how much it costs to regenerate half a body? I had a comprehensive insurance plan, so the company had to pay up. I think they would have preferred to have a nice elaborate funeral for me instead.”

“But they could have just re-attached your other half…”

“Nope, they couldn’t. William didn’t waste any time, and that was what saved me. But he had only one IC unit handy, so he had to choose what was more important—the top half or the bottom half.”

Kim smiled.

“The top half… they patched up the bottom half just fine.”

“Even better than before. My left leg had been broken twice.”

“Another accident?”

“No. I had that since childhood… just kid stuff. I jumped from the fifth floor, on a bet. I figured a pilot-spesh would be okay. What I didn’t take into account was that I hadn’t had my metamorphosis yet.”

“I jumped, too. But not from so high up. My bones aren’t as strong.”

Alex smiled, wrapping two fingers around her wrist. The girl was looking thoughtfully at him. “You know… I have to tell you this one thing…”

“Kim, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Yes, I really do.” Kim got serious. “I have to tell you… about… this.”

She slid a hand across her stomach and held out the gel-crystal a moment later.

Alex said, with no hesitation:

“Kim, I really have to warn you! If the Imperial police have an official search out for this crystal, it is my duty to report you and turn you over to the authorities.”

“There is no search out for it.” Kim shook her head. “I give you my word. It’s a very large crystal, isn’t it?”

“Very large. Very expensive… that is, if it works.”

“It’s working as we speak.”

Alex cocked his head. Carefully took the crystal from her hand, looked through it at the light. Along its facets, a light whitish film was gathering, or perhaps it only seemed to be.

“Then we have to recharge it, Kim. It looks like it’s been running autonomously for quite a while.”

“That’s exactly why I took it out. You do have a spare control center, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Kim nodded.

“The computer in my cabin isn’t capable of feeding such a large crystal. But yours will probably manage.”

Alex got up silently. Went over to the terminal, snapped off the processor panel. In a small port lined with a moistly trembling bio coating, there sat another crystal, a tiny one, less than point two inches in diameter. The brackets of another port were open. Alex tried the crystal against the opening, gave a contented nod. It would fit. Just barely, but it would. Kim had also gotten up and was now standing next to him, pressing her warm, firm thigh against his leg.

“You understand what I’m doing?” Alex unfolded three tiny, thin bracket arms—each one could rotate on its axis and then be fixed in place in two different positions.

“No.”

“These are the crystal’s information chain conduits.”

“But why?”

“Who knows what kind of programs are in it? The crystal will get its charge, as well as access to the infonet. But it won’t be able to interfere with the ship’s controls network. That’s the recommended procedure for recharging uncertified gel-crystals.”

Alex inserted the crystal into the port. Its aperture trembled, then contracted, tightly hugging the transparent cone. Only the three little conduit arms helplessly wobbled in the air, unable to reach the crystal.

“I could cut off the information input as well…” added Alex pensively. “And leave only the recharging function on. Well, this ship has nothing all that secret on it, really….”

“Don’t cut it off!” said Kim hastily. “He’ll be really bored!”

“He?”

“I better start at the beginning.”

Alex looked at the crystal, shrugged, then closed the panel.

“All right, baby.”

Kim sighed. Then said quickly, in the same breath, as if jumping off a cliff:

“My friend is in there. My best friend.”

“An artificial intelligence?”

“No, he’s human. Just like us.”

“This is a great start. That is, it’s a great place to stop. Kim, darling, let me take a shower and change? Then you can tell me the rest, okay?”

They took a shower together. There was nothing erotic about it; Kim simply couldn’t wait to start telling her story. She must have been longing to share her secret with someone for a long time now.

Alex put on light overalls, sat down on the bed. Kim didn’t go back to her cabin for a change of clothes, but simply wrapped herself in a bath towel. Alex didn’t mind—she looked even better this way.

“I was nine,” Kim began, having settled, legs and all, into an armchair. “And I… well, it just so happened that I had absolutely no friends back then, girls or boys. I had lots of pals, you know, but not a single really close friend.”

Alex nodded.

“I found a friend in virtual reality.” Kim smiled gently as she said this. These memories must have been pleasant for her. “His name was Edgar. He was my age. We hit it off, became good friends… you know the way it happens in virtuality?”

“Yeah. At that age, I also liked virtual reality. Especially spaceflight simulations.”

“Well… these were not spaceflights. You see, he didn’t have a real body.”

“What?” Alex raised one brow in surprise.

“Edgar told me he had been in a car wreck. Back when he was really small, only three. They couldn’t save him, so they just transferred his consciousness into a gel-crystal…”

“Kim!” Alex raised his hand. “Wait a minute! Stop right there. This is utter nonsense! A gel-crystal this size costs as much as a good hospital. So it’s much less expensive, not to mention more… humane, to reconstruct a body, even if it has been smashed up into suspension.”

“They couldn’t get him to the hospital on time. Just managed to transfer his mind into the crystal.”

“Hold it right there! Let’s suppose the boy’s parents could afford it… although I can’t really imagine such a thing. Why couldn’t they reverse the process, grow another body for him, say, by cloning the old one or generating a new one out of his parents’ stem cells? They could then transfer his mind back into the clean brain. I’ve heard of such cases, except they were famous scientists and politicians, not little boys.”

“That’s right. I’ve been telling you a bunch of lies.” Kim smiled. “But they aren’t my lies… that’s the crap they told Edgar. Don’t forget, we were both just nine.”

Alex nodded.

“All right, then. Go on.”

“Edgar grew up in the crystal. In the virtual worlds. His playmates came and went back to the real world, but he stayed there. Always. At first, his parents would visit him, often, in their virtual bodies. After a while, they stopped coming. He was thinking they’d simply forgotten about him, had more children, or whatever… He was really upset about that.”

“But what was really going on?”

“He’d been stuck into the crystal on purpose!” Kim tossed back her hair. “Can you even imagine? There wasn’t any car accident! His memory got placed into the crystal, and his body… we don’t know what they did with it! Maybe they threw it away. Maybe it’s out there somewhere, in a vegetative state. And maybe his memory got copied, without erasing the original, and there’s another Edgar somewhere, alive and well.”

“Why?” Alex shrugged his shoulders. “Kim, this is a crazy story. Why would anyone screw up a little boy’s life like that? A crystal which contains a human consciousness and is also, I assume, capable of sustaining some semblance of a living environment… the cost is simply inconceivable!”

“All you talk about is money,” Kim snarled. “Alex, the thing is that Edgar is a very rare kind of spesh. It was an experimental mutation. He is a spesh to create speshes.”

“A genetic designer?”

“Yup. You don’t have to change the body for this specialization. The eyes will never match an electron microscope, anyway. All the alterations were done to his mental processes. It was a project of the Edemian government… they had decided that Edgar didn’t need a body at all. That he’d be better off growing up in the crystal.”

Alex studied the girl’s face as she spoke. Was she lying? Didn’t look like it… she seemed to believe her own words. When she was telling him that first legend, she spoke with a smirk, as if to say, “Can you believe how stupid I was to have bought this stuff?” But now her voice held real sorrow. Kim believed what she was saying. And really wanted Alex to believe it, too.

“But why make it all so complicated?” he asked. “I believe that there are assholes in the Edemian government. Just like anywhere. They may be assholes, but they aren’t idiots. It has been obvious to everyone for a long time now that transferring a mind to virtual reality has a lot of drawbacks. The mind still feels the illusory nature of that existence and slowly the person… the human mind… goes insane. When the first human consciousness was copied into a machine, back in the twenty-first century, it was the computer genius David Kross. He managed to have a normal existence for thirty years. But then…”

“Yes, I know.” Kim nodded. “I’ve studied everything I could about the field. These weirdos were hoping to get the most out of Edgar. They wanted absolutely nothing to interfere with his work. They didn’t want him to have or do anything but work. They also wanted to make multiple copies of his mind, if the experiment was successful.”

“Then they shouldn’t have let him out into the common virtual space.”

“They didn’t. He broke out by himself. He’s a genius, Alex!”

“All right, so how come you ended up with the crystal?”

Kim smiled.

“It happened a year ago. Edgar organized his own abduction. He hacked into one of the military cyborgs that were guarding the lab with the crystal. The robot took the crystal, mailed it to my address, and then destroyed itself, along with the whole building. We were both sure that the trail was lost, and that the crystal was considered destroyed in the fire. I… I took care of Ed. I had a good computer, and I managed to hook the crystal up to it. We were still virtual friends, except now Edgar was free. I was thinking that as soon as I could work, I would quickly save up for a new body… any body. Ed said, ‘Make me a baby, or a geezer, just don’t make me a girl.’ Except I think at that point he was ready for anything… We would transfer his mind, and he could really be human again.”

“Then you could be sisters, like the Zzygou,” commented Alex. “Suppose I believe you. So something went wrong?”

“A month ago.” Kim tightened her lips. “I… I messed up. I told Mother about Edgar. I was sure she’d understand! But she reported me to that lab. That’s why I simply can’t go back to Edem! We managed to run away, but they’re looking for us.”

“Probably unofficially. This sure is fishy business.”

“The security agency always prefers searching unofficially.”

Alex drummed his fingers against the wall. The story Kim just told him was not completely impossible. Idiocy is universal. Someone could have thought up this idea of raising a genius-spesh in a virtual world. This genius could have deceived the security agency. An excitable girl-spesh could have fallen in love and run away to become a galactic fugitive.

But what irked him was the melodrama. Alex was ready to believe in any coincidence… but not when the chain of events so strongly resembled a soap opera for young, hysterical girls and their sentimental grandmothers.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” asked Kim bluntly.

“I don’t know. You, I believe. I think.” Kim’s features turned gloomy. “As for your body-less friend… How do you communicate with him, Kim?”

“Through the net.”

“You do understand that I have no intention of letting him into the ship’s network. Any other options?”

“Hook up to the crystal directly. His home is there… his own virtual world. Just talk to him, Alex! You’ll see right away—it’s all true!”

“You love him so very much?” asked Alex.

“Yes, I do!” Kim looked at him proudly. “But not the way I love you. You’re my lover. And Ed… he’s like a brother. Or maybe even a child. He’s so helpless, you know, inside the crystal. And there are many things he doesn’t understand, even though he’s a genius.”

“You got yourself into a colossal mess, Kim!”

“I know.” The girl nodded. “But I couldn’t act any other way.”

Alex almost let slip that everything would have turned out quite differently had she been an ordinary fighter-spesh. As soon as she was past the metamorphosis, she would have gotten such a boost of civic responsibility that she’d personally take “Ed” back to that hypothetical lab.

But Kim was not just a fighter. She was also a hetaera. Highly emotional, amorous, devoted… as long as she felt that someone needed her.

And that was where the whole thing got messy.

“My ethical side,” Alex slowly began, “does not predispose me to follow other planets’ laws blindly. That would be a very dangerous quality to have, and so I must make decisions based on universal human morality. But… all this is rather complicated, Kim. I must have a talk with your friend.”

“You have a neuro-shunt?” asked the girl simply.

“Most probably.”

He opened a desk drawer and, just as he expected, found a standard neuro-shunt, for reading books, watching movies, and making excursions into virtual spaces. It was a headband with a neuro-terminal microchip sewn onto it and a soft, plastic, sticky patch with a gel-port. The shunt was of a cheap variety. The headband and the sticky patch were connected by a thin extension of optical fiber. But Alex didn’t care.

Kim silently watched him put on the headband and reopen the processor panel. The feeder-fibers had already wrapped themselves around the giant gel-crystal, which sustained Edgar’s whole world. Alex had to separate them in order to hook the sticky patch to the crystal.

“Maybe I should be the one to go in first?” suggested Kim sheepishly.

“I’ll go first. You’ll go next.”

“He might get scared. He doesn’t know about any of the stuff that happened since we ran away from Edem.”

“I’ll calm him down.”

“Tell him I said ‘hi,’” Kim managed to add, right before Alex sat down in the chair and activated the shunt.

Chapter 3

Each gate to a virtual world opens in its own unique way.

Some with a bright flash, a cascade of lightning, or a series of colorful rainbows.

Others with utter darkness, in which a world slowly takes form.

Whatever the world, a threshold is necessary—a place to prepare, to take the first couple of steps towards the nonexistent spaces.

The creator of this particular world, however, did not believe in introductions. Alex instantly found himself surrounded by the universe locked inside the gel-crystal.

He found himself standing on a riverbank, waist-deep in lush meadow grass, his feet sinking down into the soft, soggy mud. The river was straight as if drawn with a ruler, wide and unhurried, its cold clear waters rolling past languidly. About ten paces away was the edge of a thick wood of dark conifers. It stretched the length of both banks. Over the waters flowing toward the horizon, right above the middle of the river’s course, the sun was setting. Alex didn’t know if the terms “east” and “west” were appropriate in this situation, but he was sure it was evening.

An interesting world. It looked like a giant playground. A place where a dragon might suddenly fly up, or a mermaid might lift her head out of the water. Well, according to Kim, this world had been a child’s creation. And even if this child was now years older, it mattered little—those who spent a lot of time in virtuality were slow to grow up.

“Edgar!”

Alex slowly plodded toward the woods. The gel-crystal dweller should be nearby. He had to have sensed the presence of an intruder. That would mean the boy was hiding, watching closely, still not sure whether to make contact. In his small universe, he was a king and a god. He could easily toss Alex out. But the boy was not stupid. He had to understand that his microcosm depended fully on those who held the gel-crystal in their hands. A hard blow, or a few seconds in the microwave, and that would be the end.

“Edgar, I know you’re here!” Alex shouted out. “I’m not your enemy!”

He preferred to avoid saying “friend” just yet.

“Kim wanted us to talk! She says ‘hi’! Edgar!”

“I’m here.”

Alex turned around.

In his own world, Edgar could look any way he chose. He could be a giant, towering a hundred yards tall. A monster. An innocuous-looking scientist. Or a warrior.

But the boy looked as though he preferred his normal appearance—if one could use such a term to describe someone who had no real body. A youth in his teens, awkward and lanky, with a pale, untanned face and black hair, long in need of a cut. He was barefoot. He wore only a pair of pants cropped below the knee and… glasses. This antique trinket on his face looked rather weird.

“I’m Alex,” the pilot said.

“I know.”

“How?”

“You left me an entry channel yourself. Thanks.” The boy’s voice bore no trace of irony. But not much real gratitude, either. His was the tone one might use to thank an executioner for promising to take extra care to sharpen his ax.

“I’m glad you’re well informed.” Alex smiled. It hadn’t occurred to him that the crystal-dweller could download data from the sensors inside the captain’s quarters. Well, nothing could be done about that now. “So then you know that Kim managed to complete your plan.”

“Complete?” Edgar frowned and sat down on the grass, crossing his legs. “If she had managed to complete it, she’d be working somewhere on a quiet planet, no one would know about the crystal, and in a few years, I’d get a new body.”

After a minute’s hesitation, Alex sat down beside him. The damp dirt was unpleasantly cool to the touch. But this was virtual dampness—no risk of getting sick from sitting on it.

“If your story is true, then your plan will be completed just as you say,” he told the boy. “Working on a spaceship, Kim can make money way faster than on any planet.”

“And why should I believe you?” asked Edgar testily.

“Why? A difficult question. You’re a genetic construction specialist, right?”

The boy gave a vague shrug.

“Which gene is responsible for my ethical qualities?”

Edgar smiled at such a simple test.

“Not just one gene. You have a whole complex of genes activated—the Zey-Matushenski complex, also known as the Aristotle Operon. It is responsible for your heightened honesty and your need to seek out the truth. And it’s also a very strong behavioral operon that strengthens your parenting instincts. Subconsciously, you consider all the people who enter your life to be your children. You feel they all need you to care for them and to defend them, regardless of age, real abilities, or even their wishes. The genetic Kamikaze complex, or, rather, the Gostello Operon, as it is properly called, was discovered by Russian scientists. It makes you always ready to sacrifice yourself. You have several other minor alterations, but those I just listed are the main ones.”

“The crystal could have a database you might be using,” Alex noted.

“Of course. So how do you test me? If I told you something that can’t be found in widely available databases, you’d have no way of knowing if it were true or I was just making it up.”

Alex nodded.

“All right. You’ve convinced me. So you know that I am a pilot-spesh. You should also realize that pilots don’t lie.”

“As a general rule, they don’t.” The boy burst out laughing, plucked a blade of grass, squeezed it between his teeth. “But I’m a thief, after all. And you’re an honest citizen.”

“You’ve run away. You were deprived of your body. That’s not fair.”

“But I have also stolen the crystal, haven’t I? It costs more than a thousand human bodies.”

“What are you going to do with it, once you have a body?”

“Send it back to the lab on Edem. Empty. Let them kick themselves.”

“Then it’s not a theft. I have no reason to turn you in.”

The skinny boy, who had no real body, sat a long time looking down the river, watching the sun, which was setting, but never seemed to be able to roll below the horizon.

“These are just words. A lot of words. I can’t trust you. I can’t trust anyone.”

“No one at all?”

Edgar didn’t answer immediately.

“Only Kim. I’m like a brother to her… or like a child.”

Alex bit his lip.

“Don’t hold a grudge against her.”

“What is it to you?” sneered the boy.

“When you get a body, everything will be different. You know I’m incapable of love. I’ll be happy for her… for the two of you.”

The boy pierced Alex with a look that spoke volumes.

“How I’d love to turn you into a toad and… squash you!”

He looked away again, making no attempt to fulfill his threat.

Damn, damn, damn! Alex sighed. Now, on top of everything else, he also had to deal with a moody, jealous boy incarcerated in a gel-crystal.…

“Well, go ahead, do it, if it makes you feel better. You can do anything, right?”

“In my toy land, yes. But who will stay your foot, when you crush the crystal?”

Alex reached out, touched the boy’s shoulder. Edgar tensed.

“I have no intention of getting back at you. I won’t harm you. But I can’t reject Kim, either. You see, she hungers for love. I’ll try to make our encounters as… rare as possible. Though I won’t lie to you—I find them pleasurable.”

“Give her a neuro-shunt,” asked Edgar. “I haven’t seen her for a long time.”

“If she doesn’t have one, she can have mine. No problem. Don’t be angry.”

“Slaves don’t have the right to be angry.”

Alex felt rage boiling up. He wasn’t mad at Edgar, of course.

“What has been done to you, Edgar, is a heinous crime. I’ll make every effort to help you.”

“Maybe it is heinous.” The boy slowly lifted his hand, and the sun suddenly started slipping quickly below the horizon. “But it’s commonplace in the galaxy. Everyone’s creating slaves. Strong arms, sharp eyes, excellent mind, beautiful figure—what else to demand from a slave? Ah, yes! Loyalty. Well, it’s easy to increase people’s need for a leader. But I had no need of a body, so they left me none.”

“And made a huge miscalculation.”

“Yeah. Loyalty, obedience, submission—these are just biochemical reactions. I lost my body, but gained my freedom from those invisible chains.”

“Why do you choose to look this way?”

“This is exactly the way I would look. I managed to find my own genetic map, so I reconstructed my appearance.”

“But why the glasses?”

Edgar touched the thin frames. And said curtly:

“I’m very nearsighted.”

“No one wears glasses. It’s the simplest correction.”

“But I have nothing to correct, mister pilot.”

It was already dark. Stars lit up one by one in the sky. Alex dropped his head back, looking at the constellations. The Southern Cross glowed right overhead, and a little farther off were the Sextant, the Spy Glass, and the Dolphin.

“I won’t betray you,” Alex said. “The gel-crystal will remain in my cabin. That’s the only terminal that can provide a normal connection for it. Kim can come into your virtual space any time… and I’ll ask her to do it often. You can use all the information from the ship’s infonet. I’ll keep the access to the closed-circuit cameras blocked, though. I’ll probably just disconnect them altogether.”

“But why?”

“Edgar, trust me, to feel that someone could be watching your every step is really unpleasant.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll have plenty to occupy my time. This is a very powerful crystal.”

“I’m sure you’ve amassed quite a library.”

Edgar nodded, barely visible against the darkness.

“Yup. Quite a library.”

“And you’re really a top-notch genetic constructor?”

The boy smirked.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about Kim. She has a strange specialization, right?”

Edgar was silent for a moment before he answered in an even, calm voice:

“My whole world is a fiction, mister pilot. A tiny island of organized data, held together in a quasi-alive goo. I don’t exist. Neither does this river, or this sky. All I have is information. So I am very cautious about sharing it. We’ll talk about Kim, if you want. But not now.”

Alex got up off the grass. His pants were soaked. His waterlogged shoes squelched.

“I understand you,” he answered gravely. “But I’m not your enemy, trust me. And, come to think of it, I’m also nothing but an island of information, locked in the goo that’s called a brain. You’ll be all right.”

“Best of luck to you, Pilot,” said Edgar in his even voice. Paused for a moment, and added, “You can drop in and see me. Once in a while.”

“Thanks. I will. From time to time.”

He strained his mind, ripping himself out of the dark summer night, leaving the other on the bank of the geometrically perfect river.

The virtual world faded away.

Kim watched him from her armchair. She had dressed and looked like a nondescript young woman again rather than a raging hetaera. Alex couldn’t decide if he was pleased about it, but in any case, it was better this way. After all, Edgar was watching them from his transparent prison.

“How is he?” asked Kim quickly.

“Fine.” Alex took off his headband. “Alive and well.”

“So, now you know I wasn’t lying?” Kim demanded.

A tiny eye of the optical sensor on the cabin ceiling…

“You weren’t lying,” he replied, endowing his words with all the conviction he could muster. “But he got really upset.”

“Why?”

“Because of what you and I were doing. Edgar is still watching us through the cabin’s sensors.”

Kim winced.

“Edgar, that’s stupid!” she shouted. “Don’t be jealous!”

“Kim, he can’t reply,” interrupted Alex softly. “Tell you what. You go see him right now, so you two can settle all the misunderstandings. In the meantime, I’ll take a nap. For at least a couple hours.”

“Will you help him, Alex?” demanded Kim.

He thought for a moment before making his answer:

“Kim, this story is horrendous. Of course I consider it my duty to help a boy who has been so viciously mistreated.”

The girl nodded, relieved and reassured.

“Go talk to him,” Alex repeated, “if you’re not sleepy.”

“I’ll manage,” said Kim quickly. “I can go for a week without sleep.”

“I know. Me too. But I don’t see the need right now.”

Paying no more attention to Kim, he tossed off his robe and stretched out under the blanket. Watched the girl put on the neuro-shunt headband.

Damn it, what should he do?

What was this mess he had gotten himself into?

Just a few random suspicions that were impossible to prove or disprove. Circumstantial evidence, to use a legal term. And a gnawing sense of deception…

Kim jolted. Her body stretched out and then lay still. Her skinny legs stuck out funny, the right foot dangling in the air, not reaching the floor.

Kim, what have you gotten yourself into?

Edgar was right. Alex was bound hand and foot by the invisible biochemical fetters that made him protect all those close to him. He was incapable of love, but could anyone tell from his actions? Pilots were ideal captains, after all. Their power rested not in strength or authority, but in the love of their crew. And that was right. He was glad to have ancient moral principles embedded in him, the principles that had been learned through thousands of years of human suffering. These fetters were also a gift. No need to strive to become better—it had all been given to him in advance.

He couldn’t betray Kim.

He couldn’t let himself resolve his vague doubts the simplest and most obvious way—by ripping the gel-crystal out of its nest and handing it over to the security officers at Gamma Snakebearer.

All he could do now was wait… and hope that all his suspicions were groundless, that all the coincidences were random. And that the crystal harbored a frightened young man who dreamed of gaining a human body.

Alex closed his eyes and went to sleep. He would sleep for exactly two hours. It was certainly less than recommended, but quite enough for a modified nervous system.

Gamma Snakebearer had no planets suitable for life. One planet, a charred hunk of rock, orbited very close to the star itself. Another, a luminary never born, just a cold clot of gases, patrolled the very edges of the system. But the space channel located there was very convenient—twenty-eight exits led out to populated worlds, most of them human, and a few to alien territories. So the Empire had built a gigantic transport station at the channel’s mouth and stationed several ancient battleships there to milk the new and lucrative junction for all it was worth. The absence of any planets actually proved to be a bonus; it was much easier for the Imperial government to control a space station than a planetary colony. This way, the profits didn’t have to be shared with any local presidents, kings, tsars, khans, or shahs.

Mirror didn’t need to stop for fuel or rest. The ship dove out of the exit point, turned around to trace a gigantic arc around the one-eyed cylinder of the space station, and then got in line for another entry. The magic mirror of the hyper-channel floated among the stars, indifferent to the many ships diving in and out.

Most of the crew were off duty. The engineer appeared, idled a while, got bored, and departed, leaving the engine running at minimum capacity. Generalov dropped in for a second. With the generosity of a magician, he spread out several routes and went off again. There was still an hour remaining before re-entry into the channel. Janet never appeared at all, and Kim was bored at her battle station, entertaining herself by calculating possible attack routes. Seeing this, Alex blocked off her weapons systems, just in case.

Only Morrison was utterly thrilled to be flying. He enjoyed every tiny maneuver, every little piloting show-off trick invisible to the untrained eye. Seeing who could perform the most graceful turn, using the gravitational field of the channel. Or who would be the one to give the most elegant salutation to his colleagues by a barely detectable movement of the ship.

Now that Alex had become a captain, he regarded Morrison from a slightly different point of view. Not with condescension, but with a certain smiling indulgence. The way a gray-haired father might regard his young son’s academic feats in college.

“Captain?”

“I’m listening, Xang.”

“Who is to perform the entry into the channel?”

“You—go ahead, Morrison.”

“Thank you.”

There was a momentary pause. And then Xang asked:

“What’s it like—being a captain?”

“It’s a very good feeling, Morrison. You’ve never been in charge of a ship?”

“Only back at the academy. But that was an ancient Heron, with no crew. Just me and the instructor.”

“Same here. Seems like retired Herons are used for training everywhere you go.”

“Back at Serengeti, we also had a Flamingo.”

“Not bad,” said Alex, sincerely impressed. And so they chatted away the hour. Ships came and went. A magnificent and monstrous Tai’i cruiser crawled out of the channel. It looked like a rough-hewn asteroid, its surface enveloped in blood-red flame. The cruiser was making its usual patrol rounds, and a small battleship escorted it through Imperial territory. The giant cruiser of a once-great civilization floated on among the stars as if not even noticing the tiny convoy ship, which could destroy it with one blast.

All is vanity among the stars.

The ancient Tai’i civilization, dying from its strange internal problems, clutching desperately at the last dozen stars left to it, still patrolled the ancient borders of its former realm. As if the Tai’i didn’t realize that their once-mighty ships wouldn’t survive any serious skirmish these days, and that they owed the very existence of their kingdom to the mercy of the races they once ruled….

Alex transmitted a full report of the recent incident to the pilot’s union, sending a copy to the Imperial administration and the government of Quicksilver Pit. Generalov had done a great job preparing the report, carefully detailing all the potential consequences of the collision, briefly noting the shocking negligence of the channel’s guard stations, and hinting at the possibility of a premeditated act of sabotage. The only thing Alex had to add was an “unofficial and off-the-record opinion” that the root of the trouble should be looked for in the commercial rivalry of competing tourist firms.

Then they downloaded the latest news from the station. There turned out to be nothing exciting, except, perhaps, the contents of the society pages. The gala celebration of the Emperor’s seventh birthday. A tired child, blinking sleepily, sat on the high throne, the actual seat of power that his ancestors had used to rule the Empire many generations ago. The child was receiving countless greetings from various ambassadors—and sometimes the representatives of the ambassadors—from various colonial worlds and alien races. Only the Zzygou, following their own peculiar customs, had sent the highest-ranking dignitaries and potentates to the official ceremony.

All is vanity among the stars. All but traditions.

Soon it was their turn to make another hyper-jump. And Morrison, expertly performing the graceful “Ionesco Loop,” ran the ship into the mouth of the channel. Their route now lay toward New Ukraine.

“Take a break, Morrison,” Alex suggested.

“Is that an order, sir?” the co-pilot rejoined quickly. The murky grayness of the channel flowed around the ship. This was a short jump—two hours and forty-three minutes.

“You’re not tired?” asked Alex simply.

Morrison laughed.

“I’ve just spent two weeks sitting on a planet, Captain. Can you imagine? No piloting. And broke, besides. Couldn’t even rent a glider.”

“Very well, Xang. Happy piloting!”

“Thank you, sir,” said the co-pilot with deep gratitude. “Alex… I won’t forget your kindness.”

Alex left the control system. Detached himself from the pilot’s chair, glanced briefly at the screens, and left the bridge.

The first thing that attracted his attention was the sound of laughter.

From the recreation lounge. Many happy voices joining in a merry uproar. He immediately recognized Kim’s bright peals of laughter, the high tiny voices of the Zzygou, and the deep throaty voice of… Janet!

Alex quickened his pace, cursing his own indecisiveness. He should have ordered Janet never to appear in the common modules while the Zzygou were there. He should have warned C-the-Third that sudden aggression from Janet might be expected….

He stopped at the entrance to the recreation lounge.

“We greet you, Captain!” the Zzygou sang out, though they didn’t seem to have been looking in his direction. “We thank you for the hyper-jump and for the second hyper-jump as well!”

No… There didn’t seem to be any trouble.

Kim was sitting next to the Zzygou, and Alex had to agree with Janet’s recent suspicions. The human and the adult Zzygou did look very similar. Even their clothes were alike—a dark-navy skirt suit on Kim and almost the same on the two aliens, though theirs were lace-decorated and a little lighter in color. If it weren’t for the Zzygou’s strange way of talking, no one could ever tell that they were a completely different life form.

Janet, with a rather placid smile on her face, was at the bar, mixing some cocktails. Generalov, lounging with a small glass of whiskey, greeted the captain’s arrival with a good-natured wave of his hand. And Paul, whose glass of wine was still untouched, gave a shy nod. C-the-Third smiled affably as he leaned against the wall behind the Zzygou. He seemed to be quite favorably impressed by the crew Alex had hired.

“And then we got very surprise-ed!” said one of the Zzygou brightly, moving the conversation along.

“We, I got very surprise-ed,” the other one intoned. “A smell? What smell is? Molecule movement in air?”

All right… then the second Zzygou had actually been the one who witnessed what was being described. They were not the same age. They had just lived together for a long time, and their appearance had synchronized.

Alex sat down at the table, opposite the Zzygou. Gave Kim a little wink. The girl replied with a barely noticeable but rather inviting smile.

“Would you like a cocktail, Captain?” asked Janet cheerily.

“Yes please, but not too strong.”

“Very well, Captain.” Janet reached for another cocktail glass.

“We were shock-ted!” pronounced the Zzygou. “How can molecule be offensive? They don’t harming, but offending?”

“Yeah, sometimes it might be very convenient to be unable to smell,” remarked Paul. “When I was a scout, we took long hikes in the woods for three or four days in a row. And if there happened to be no brook nearby, the tent in the evening got quite odorific…”

“How can the scent of a healthy young body be unpleasant?” asked Generalov with a dramatic flair.

“I don’t know about healthy young bodies,” Lourier countered, “but the scent of nice dirty socks…”

The Zzygou giggled, indicating to the others that they got the gist of the joke.

“And we, I suggest-ed a solution,” sang out the second Zzygou. “Spacesuit. Tight spacesuit. No molecule can escaping!”

“And then we made a fix,” the other one continued. “It’s painful… Ouch! But no smell at all. But going to the toilet very-very often, even every day!”

“Cocktails?” Janet came up to the table with a tray in her hands.

“We thank you, servant…” the Zzygou sang out. Alex held his breath. Janet had already been bending over backwards for them….

“Oops!” The Zzygou got up from their chairs, slightly bowing their heads. “We remember! Offensive word, causing pain… We mean ‘thank you, male or female friend!’”

“‘Friend’ will do,” Janet answered calmly.

“We thank you, friend!”

Alex also reached for a glass. Took a hurried sip, still watching Janet’s reactions. What if she had mixed in some poison?

But Janet took up a cocktail glass herself.

The drink was excellent, though it had a slightly unusual taste—lemon and anise, with just a hint of mint and honey, very refreshing. And it was no stronger than forty proof. Little colored ice cubes, made with slightly magnetized water, swirled around gracefully in the tall glasses. They reminded Alex of his virtual image of the ship.

“Alcohol wonderfully!” the Zzzygou declared, having taken a few sips. “We did not know taking alcohol internally. We knew humanity was a great race for invented alcohol. But it is still hard for us to drink a lot.”

“Not to worry,” said C-the-Third, joining the conversation. “Humans also didn’t adapt right away to drinking alcohol. There was even a time when it used to cause unpleasant aftereffects. Some radical naturals, who totally reject any kind of genetic engineering, still have a natural limit to their alcohol intake…”

Alex, utterly confused at this point, sat watching what was going on around him. It was a nice friendly get-together, as though the passengers and the crew had been good friends for a long time. Janet was a wonderful hostess, making hot cheese sandwiches for the Zzygou and all manner of snacks for the crew, while also refilling everyone’s drinks and keeping up the conversation. Kim and the Zzygou sitting closest to her were discussing the cut of their suits and the peculiarities of fashion in the Zzygou Swarm. The Zzygou had already produced a portable computer, quite human in its design, and was showing Kim some pictures.

Only Generalov’s tone of voice, when he addressed himself to C-the-Third, had a hint of spiteful irony. But Alex wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it.

Trouble began a quarter of an hour later. And, of course, Janet was the one to start it. With a perfectly innocuous, or so it seemed, friendly phrase:

“It is wonderful that the Zzygou race became a human ally from the very first contact…”

The Zzygou who sat chatting with Kim had no reaction to this whatsoever. But her companion chirped happily:

“No! No from the very first contact! We were first deeply offend-ed by the Empire. Your appearance, your behavior, and your morals are all offen-sive! We prepare-ed for big war.”

“Really?” rejoined Janet in a honey-sweet mellow tone. “And I was sure that was all an Ebenian extremist lie…”

“We prepare-ed, prepare-ed!” the alien chirped on. “But later we rejecting all the violent ways. The human race will meet its own natural end. Humanity are way too aggres-sive to reject expansion. You are also too fond of biological modeling for preserve unity. When the Empire finally falls apart in hundreds of independent planets, it will be conquer-ed by other race-es. Then we take our slice of cake! A large, very large slice!”

The pealing laughter of the Zzygou sounded especially odd in the silence that abruptly froze the air in the recreation lounge. The Zzygou smiled for another second or two. Then her face went ashen. The other alien, who had been caught up in telling Kim all the super-secret details of the Great Zzygou sacred fertilization ritual, stopped in mid-sentence. Looked at her companion. Touched the panel of the portable computer, folding the image. Then quietly said:

“We ask forgiving.”

“We ask forgiving,” sang out the Zzygou who had been chatting with Janet. The alien’s face had lost all color.

“We overestimate-ed ability drinking ethanol,” sang the two Zzygou in complete unison. “We start-ed joking, but our joking are somewhat strange and offen-sive to humans. We ask forgiving, we ask forgiving…”

They got up and backed out of the recreation lounge.

“Everything’s all right, sisters.” The tone of C-the-Third’s voice gave away his deep doubt in what he was saying. “Happens to everyone. We understand jokes.”

“Of course we do!” agreed Janet, smiling brightly.

“Sey-Zo!” said Kim in surprise. “But why does the cut for the larvae-laying have to be triangular?”

The question was left hanging in the air—the Zzygou left the would-be wonderful party.

Lourier shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of wine. Said, not looking at anyone:

“A slice of cake, eh? Big enough to choke on…”

“Let’s not talk about this,” retorted C-the-Third. “Most likely, it was really just an unfortunate joke.”

“Yeah, right…” said Janet, still smiling, taking a sip of her cocktail. “They just honestly admitted their opinion about us humans.”

“Why?” the clone responded. “Forgive me, but that would be very odd. I think they were joking. I prefer to think it was a joke.”

“As you wish.” Janet got up. “Well, I better be off. Have some reading to do.”

Alex caught up with her at the door to her quarters. Took her arm to stop her.

“Janet…”

“Yes, Captain?” The black woman smiled.

“What did you mix into the Zzygou’s cocktails?”

“Captain, I simply made a drink for everyone. I added no chemicals at all.”

“Then let me ask you another way. Janet, what could have caused such frankness on the part of the aliens?”

The woman’s face turned thoughtful.

“Hard to say, Captain… Back on Eben, there was a rumor that the Zzygou race poorly handles the natural alkaloids in anise. It is reputed to have an un-inhibiting effect, similar to that of truth serum. The Zzygou apparently lose neither their sanity nor their will, but become capable of blurting out anything. Doesn’t that just sound like a ridiculous urban legend? Everyone knows Eben is populated entirely by psychos.”

“Janet…” said Alex, feeling her pain, “why do this?”

“To make you see who you’re dealing with,” replied Janet seriously. “Their adorable girl-child looks are just an evolutionary fluke, combined with the ability to change several outward appearance parameters. But they are not even mammals, Captain! They are warm-blooded insects!”

“That’s a crude analogy.”

“In any case, they are biologically much closer to beetles and roaches than to us.”

“Not so. They are just as far from humans as they are from earthly insects.”

“Those little bulges you see underneath their blouses, Captain, aren’t breasts, but a rudimentary third pair of limbs. They feed their young by regurgitating partially digested food.”

“Nevertheless, they have red blood and almost-human lungs and hearts…”

“Six-chambered hearts!”

“They couldn’t have two-chambered hearts?” Alex felt that Janet was about to escape into her cabin, so he talked faster:

“Let’s just drop this whole argument. The Zzygou are neither roaches, nor humans. They are alien beings from the Zzygou race. And no, they don’t feel any great attachment to us, but why would they? We are a young and energetic race, taking over one planet after another. Let them have their illusions, as long as there’s no war!”

“Agreed.” Janet nodded. “Let me go, Alex.”

“Don’t set up any more provocations like that, Janet. Please. We don’t need any scandals, or complaints to the management, or conflicts with the Zzygou and C-the-Third.”

“You’ve burned our ships, which wouldn’t dare open fire at humans. You’ve covered our planet with a power shield as if it were a leper colony. You’ve brainwashed those you left alive. And still it’s not enough for you. Now you’re kissing up to the Others. And they can’t wait to see us all enslaved!”

Janet freed her arm with a strong invisible movement. Alex thought of the full military training she had gone through on Eben.

“I didn’t burn any of your ships. I never messed with your mind, sister-spesh!”

“You are no better than those who did!”

The door closed behind her. Alex barely suppressed the impulse to slam his fist into the plastic.

What could he do? Cajole, beg, appeal to reason?

All that was useless, when a program put into a spesh’s mind was activated. Alex went into his own cabin, stood still for a while, his hands locked together in helpless wrath.

Then, obeying a blind impulse, he unbuttoned his shirt to look at the Demon. The little devil didn’t seem even remotely angry. Its features looked sad and reproachful.

“It’s just as hard for me!” Alex cried out. The Demon stared back with deep doubt in its eyes.

“Damn it all…” Alex turned to his terminal. “Computer, establish a secret watch over the cabin of Janet Ruello. Captain’s access.”

The screen unfolded and lit up.

The black woman was lying on the bed. Her body was quaking with sobs. Her hands were clutching and crushing her pillow.

Damn Eben, damn their crazy church of the Angry God, damn the genetic engineers who programmed Janet to hate the Others!

Alex rushed out of his cabin.

“Open! Captain’s orders.”

The blocked door beeped in protest, and he walked into Janet’s quarters. Nothing had changed in the last three seconds. She was still sobbing into her pillow.

Janet’s quarters, however, did surprise Alex. He had thought Janet had practically no personal belongings, but she had managed to completely transform the drab standard surroundings. Over the bed hung a crucifix. Christ was portrayed according to the Ebenian custom—having freed one of his hands and shaking a tight fist. On the floor near the bed lay a small but plush rug of multi-colored threads. There was an open mirror-case set of expensive makeup on the nightstand. There were also four framed pictures of smiling babies: two dark-complexioned boys and two little girls, one black and the other white. And numerous other tiny trinkets that seemed utterly useless but completely changed the feel of the place.

“Janet…”

She didn’t even lift her head.

“Come on.” Alex sat down next to her, putting his hand on her quivering shoulder. “I understand what you’re feeling. And I don’t consider your position completely wrong. But we all must fulfill our life’s duty…”

“Then why do you hate us so much?” Janet whispered. “So much more than you hate the Others… All we wanted was to make everyone happy!”

“No, Janet. Not everyone hates you, believe me. More people feel sorry for you.”

“Why should they?”

“Your minds have been altered by genetic engineers…”

“Ours but not yours?” Janet burst out laughing, sitting up on her bed. “Friend-spesh, they’ve mutilated you much more than me. You aren’t even capable of love!”

“So what?”

“What do you mean, ‘so what’?” The black lady spread out her arms. “You stupid pilot… You go on getting laid, having orgasms, and thinking that’s what makes a relationship between a man and a woman?”

“Why, of course not. There’s also personal empathy, warm congeniality…”

“Oh, go shove your personal empathy! You’re much more of a freak than I am! I was made to hate the Others, so I hate them. Maybe I’m way, way wrong, but at least I haven’t lost anything! I’ve found something—hate! Do you get that? But you… you’ve lost everything! Lost half the universe! Kim, the poor little girl, watches you with adoration, follows you around like a puppy. And you don’t even notice it!”

“I do notice it, Janet! A few hours ago she and I had sex, and we both…”

Janet Ruello, the Ebenian executioner-spesh, burst out laughing.

“Deus Irae! How do I describe a sunset to a blind man?! Alex, did you know that on Eben, pilots were left capable of love?”

“That was dumb. A complete confluence with the ship can be achieved only with a lack of attachment to people.”

“That’s not it at all! It’s just that everything is interconnected. Both love and hate. It is impossible to get rid of love without putting in at least some kind of surrogate. For you pilots, that surrogate is the confluence with the ship. For detectives and tax collectors, it’s the ecstasy of discovering the truth. One day, they’ll find a surrogate for all the rest of us, as well.”

Janet thought for a moment and added:

“All but the soldiers, probably. For them, love is a necessary counterbalance to the working hatred for the enemy. We were all soldiers… so we were all capable of love.”

Alex was silent. It was impossible to argue with a spesh defending her own specialization. Besides, she was right to some extent—Edgar, in virtuality, had also talked about biochemical links.

“Janet, what are we going to do?”

“Were you convinced that the Zzygou race are not our allies?”

“They’re temporary allies,” Alex corrected her. “I’ve never had any illusions about it.”

“I won’t provoke them again.”

“Do I have your word?”

“I swear as a spesh, friend-spesh.”

“Swear an oath to me, as your captain.”

Janet smiled.

“Why?”

“Swear the Ebenian military oath.”

Her features quivered.

“Friend-spesh, I am no longer a citizen of Eben. What remains of our army is hermetically sealed off from the galaxy.”

“What difference does that make?”

Janet looked away. Reluctantly admitted:

“None.”

“Swear an oath to me, as your captain.”

“In the name of divided Humanity…” Janet began, her lips trembling.

“Continue,” ordered Alex mercilessly. Then added, in a softer voice, “I have to ask you to do this, friend-spesh.”

“In the name of divided Humanity, reigning over the stars, worshiping our Lord, in the name of my ancestors and my progeny, I swear…”—she paused briefly, while the words came to her—“I swear that I won’t harm the aliens Zey-So and Sey-Zo, temporarily occupying the same ship with me. I will not show them my true feelings. I will not prevent them from leaving the ship alive and unharmed.”

In Alex’s estimation, this oath was comprehensive. Or very nearly so.

“Thank you, Janet. Forgive me. I had to order you to do it.”

“It’s all right, Captain.” Strangely enough, Janet really meant it. “You took all my responsibility upon yourself. Now I feel I am in a war situation, so I must conceal my true feeling from the Others.”

“Thank you…” Alex bent down and kissed her lips. He hoped the kiss would be brief, just a token of affection and gratitude.

But it didn’t work that way.

Janet folded her arm around his neck, then pressed him closer. Her kiss was not as artful as Kim’s, but much more distinctive and personal. Alex felt himself unintentionally returning the movement of her lips. Forced himself to stop.

“Janet, if Kim finds out…”

“Don’t worry.” She smiled. “She and I have talked this over.”

“What?”

“I told her right off the bat that I found you attractive. Kim agreed that I had a right to feel the way I do.”

Alex could barely suppress a laugh. Incapable of love, he felt compelled to remain faithful to his girl. Kim was crazily in love with him, but she let him sleep with Janet.

With Janet, everything was different. She didn’t have any illusions about their relationship, and never demanded more than he could give. She may have lacked the genetically programmed art of the geisha, but her ordinary human experience turned out to be a worthy substitute. Everything was different. Just as different as the two women’s appearances. They were each other’s opposites—the fragile fair nymphet, and the heavyset black lady.

Although he had to give himself just as energetically to both of them.

“I have another quarter of an hour,” he said, as they rested. “Then it’s back to the bridge.”

“Just a sec…”

Janet got out her cigarettes, lit two up, handed one to Alex, and avidly smoked the other one herself.

“I enjoyed it very much,” said Alex, caressing her dark thigh, glistening with sweat. “You are a wonderful lover, Janet.”

“Better than Kim?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

“Yes, I would say… because of your age. She has very little experience. And that makes a big difference, despite all her efforts.”

“In five years or so, she’ll far outshine me.” Janet smiled. “Well, I don’t really mind… Oh, Alex, I should’ve warned you in advance…”

“What about?”

“I didn’t block conception. There’s a possibility that I’ll get pregnant.”

Alex was quiet for a moment before admitting:

“How unusual. I’ve never had a woman like that.”

“Does that turn you on?” Janet smiled again.

“Yes,” said Alex earnestly. “I have three kids, but all were conceived under the terms of an agreement. Two boys under the government order—they are at some boarding school on Earth—and a girl from a… good friend of mine. I visit her regularly.”

“All speshes?” Janet inquired.

“The boys—I don’t know, to be honest with you. Probably. I have a good genotype. But the girl is specialized as a detective.”

“Poor thing…”

Alex said nothing. He didn’t really feel like continuing the argument about the necessity of love.

“I have five, but no one specialized for a profession that requires the loss of major emotions,” Janet told him.

“You seem to have mentioned four…”

“The fifth one’s on Eben. If he’s alive, that is. I prefer to think he is alive… I would have felt him die.”

“What do you mean, you would’ve felt him die? Is that also a part of your specialization?” Alex asked curiously.

The woman laughed. “No, of course not. We have this belief… a mother feels if her children are alive.”

“Very romantic,” Alex agreed. “A bit archaic, but sweet.”

“We kept to our old traditions in many respects. I gave birth to my first three kids personally, for instance.”

She said that with an easy and even careless air, but Alex felt his skin crawl.

“Why?” was all he could ask.

“It’s a tradition. Are you disturbed by that?”

“No… not much. After all, a third of all people are born that way. I’ve even been trained to assist with natural childbirth, in case of unforeseeable flight circumstances. But I didn’t expect it of you….” He laughed a forced laugh. “Don’t tell me you also suckled them yourself?”

“Yes. All five of them. Each one at least once.”

Alex started.

“Your lactation isn’t blocked?”

“No. An Ebenian soldier is a military unit unto herself. A woman must be able to give birth and nurture future warriors without any assistance.”

Alex looked sideways at her voluptuous breasts. He had thought their size to be a result of genetic modifications or individual peculiarities of her constitution… now he knew.

“Sorry. I should’ve told you before…” said Janet pensively. “Many people are disgusted by that fact of my biography. I let my children consume my own bodily fluids… I can certainly see how that would be shocking.”

Alex was listening to his own reactions. Then gave up, unable to sort out all the raging sensations and thoughts, and looked down at the Demon. What he saw made his face turn red.

“Janet, I must be some kind of pervert. All that… just turns me on.”

Janet Ruello looked at him. Her eyes were blazing.

“I hoped it would, Alex.”

Chapter 4

New Ukraine was considered to be a successful planet, with solid prospects for the future and more or less loyal to the Imperial government. In a word, it was the golden center of the Empire, one of the pillars propping up civilization. Peaceful, plentiful, and utterly dreary.

Had the hyper-channel near the planet been a continuously functioning one, Alex wouldn’t have even considered landing on New Ukraine. But the colony wasn’t a galactic crossroads like Gamma Snakebearer. Neither was it a bustling trading post like Quicksilver Pit. Mirror came out of the channel, traced another arc to return to the entrance, but didn’t manage to re-enter. A whole caravan of refrigerators loaded with frozen and nominally live pork—the two main New Ukrainian exports—was slowly pulling into the narrowing aperture of the channel.

“The next time it opens will be in nine hours and seventeen minutes,” reported Xang gloomily. “Do we wait, Captain?”

Alex was lost in thought. He had walked onto the bridge about a minute before they exited the channel, and Janet appeared in the system literally one second before they came out into real space. His emotions hadn’t yet settled, and mentally he was still with this tall, dark-skinned woman, so charmingly depraved, and at the same time so conservative…

“C-the-Third…” Alex had connected to the ship’s inner net. The clone was in his cabin—he sat at the computer terminal working on a text file. “We have some nine hours in the New Ukrainian system. Shall we land or wait in orbit?”

“Let’s go down,” replied the clone without hesitation. “The Zzygou prefer to attend to their natural needs in open air or running water.”

Alex was using an open channel, audible to the whole crew, and Janet let out a quiet, spiteful laugh.

“Very well. Please tell your wards,” Alex asked him. “And… how are they feeling, by the way?”

“Everything’s back to normal,” answered the clone calmly. “Sey-Zo has explained to me what had happened. The cocktail included some anise liqueur from Hellada-2. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. Turns out, the natural alkaloids of anise cause a strong intoxication in the Zzygou, which is accompanied by a propensity for mystification and an uncontrollable need to say things that are unpleasant to their interlocutors. They beg your pardon… and ask not to offer them any more beverages that contain anise.”

It was impossible to tell whether C-the-Third really believed that what had happened was an accident, or if he simply preferred not to blow up the scandal. He seemed ready to believe it was an accident.

“Propensity for mystification…” Janet murmured. “Yes, of course…”

“Right battle station, please be quiet,” said Alex dryly. And Janet fell silent. Not offended; rather, fully satisfied with what she had heard.

They began their descent toward the planet.

New Ukraine had four spaceports. One was located near the capital city, Mazepa-Misto. Two more were out in the boundless green steppes, where herds of mutated swine roamed—huge, elephantine creatures, covered by a three-and-a-half-foot-thick layer of aromatized lard, rich in vitamins. Alex had had occasion to try various kinds of local pork, created by the artful cunning of geneticists. He had also tried the lard, which, though untreated, had a smoked flavor and consistency. He had also sampled the sweet “chocolate” lard you could buy in small cans. Alex wasn’t a great fan of the local delicacies, but the geneticists’ mastery was unquestionable.

The fourth New Ukrainian spaceport, where they would be landing, was located near the planet’s one and only sea. The colony was not lacking for water, but by a strange caprice of nature, there were no large lakes on New Ukraine, to say nothing of seas or oceans. A long and arduous terraforming process had artificially created the sea. There was no true necessity for it, especially considering that this large body of water had a significant, and not positive, effect on the climate of the adjacent regions. But at this point, it had become a matter of principle. Every colony wanted to have everything a normal planet should: seas and mountains, forests and swamps. Alex had already seen the shapeless, monstrous, artificially created mountain chain on Serengeti, so the New Ukrainians’ desire to have a sea did not surprise him.

The ship went in for landing over the sea. Tore through a line of clouds—a sign of an approaching storm moving toward the shore at a leisurely pace. Rushed over the pallid gray blotches of water poisoned by hydrogen sulphide—the terraforming was still not completed. The view changed closer to the shore. The sea turned a clean greenish blue, and the air got clear and bright. The ship was moving about three hundred thirty feet above the surface of the water, having reduced its speed to a minimum and shifted to the clean, though energy-consuming, plasma thrusters.

“Will there be any shore leave, Captain?” inquired Generalov, in a businesslike tone. He had absolutely nothing to occupy him at the moment, so he was visibly bored.

“Yes. A six-hour leave for anyone interested. The only one to stay on duty…”—he hesitated briefly—“will be me.”

The raging white vortex—Kim’s consciousness—tossed a needle of white light at him.

“Alex!” The girl was clearly mad at him, but at least she chose to confront him on a private channel. “I thought we’d hang out on the planet together!”

“Kim…” He transferred the piloting to Xang, who was delighted with this unexpected gift. Then Alex focused on the conversation. “As the ship’s captain, I must make sure that the crew has a chance to rest. By tradition, the first shore leave is the captain’s time to stay aboard.”

“I hate your traditions! I won’t leave the ship, either!”

“Fine. Stay on,” Alex agreed.

She fell silent immediately. Then grumbled:

“I changed my mind.”

“Come on, don’t be mad…” Alex tried to imbue his words with as much warmth as he could. “We’ll hang out together on Zodiac for sure. And it’s a much more beautiful planet, trust me.”

“Do I have your word?” asked Kim quickly.

“I swear.”

Kim fell silent, apparently satisfied. Alex returned to piloting, though he did not take the controls away from Xang, simply keeping an eye on the co-pilot instead. There was no real need for that—the ship was already coming in for landing. Below them stretched green fields of lush alfalfa, pigs leisurely plodding through them. Alex turned on the magnification to take a closer look at these gigantic, imperturbable animals in all their glory. They did not in any way react to the landing ship—they were used to them. And only a mischievous shepherd boy, making his rounds on the back of a fast young piglet, turned his little face toward the sky and waved at the ship enthusiastically, his little hand clutching a thermal whip. Alex smiled, regretting the fact that he couldn’t greet the happy kid in kind.

“Landing glissando…” Xang reported.

Mirror slid down to the very surface, rushing over the landing field paved with six-sided concrete slabs.

“Standing in the pillar…”

The ship came to a stop over the spot assigned to it by flight control.

“Touchdown…”

The landing supports had slid out of the body of the ship and touched the work-weary slabs of the spaceport.

“Thank you very much, Mister Morrison,” said Alex ceremoniously.

“Much obliged to you, Captain,” replied Xang with feeling. “Shall we make the transfer to parked mode?”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

Alex slipped out of the glimmering rainbow, out of the warm, caressing embrace of the ship. Felt the ship reaching for him, striving to prolong the moments of contact.

“I’ll be back… I’ll be back… I’ll be back…”

Leave on terra firma!

What could bring more joy to a spaceship crew?

No matter how long the flight had been—a few hours or a few weeks. No matter what kind of world the ship had landed on—the fragrant valleys of Edem, or the wide open New Ukrainian steppes, or among the biodome settlements of the mining planets.

It made no difference; nothing was more joyous or more eagerly anticipated.

The balmy air of a new world, new faces, funny and strange customs, exotic dishes, happy local hetaeras, interesting though useless souvenirs—all that awaited the crew stepping out for shore leave. Combined with the pleasure of one’s favorite work, the ship was their home, and the most beloved little part of the Universe. But what human being doesn’t enjoy being a guest? And that was why all astronauts cherished even the briefest hours of leave so fervently.

Alex stood under his ship’s belly and smiled, looking at his crew. His wards, his coworkers, his friends, his children… they stood waiting for the land transport. This spaceport wasn’t so large as to have a well-developed underground transportation network like the one on Quicksilver Pit.

Generalov was preening himself, looking in a little mirror, wetting a tiny pencil with his tongue, and touching up his thick eyebrows. He was obviously counting on having some sort of romantic adventure. Janet, standing next to him, was doing the very same thing. She may have had the same intentions, or perhaps she did it simply out of every woman’s ineradicable need to look as seductive as possible.

Kim stood next to Morrison. The co-pilot, bright and cheerful, as if he hadn’t just finished a lengthy stretch of one-man bridge duty, lightly encircled the girl’s shoulders with his arm. He wouldn’t get anywhere, Alex was sure of that, but still mentally wished his colleague the best of luck.

“You’re off to the museum, then?” Alex inquired, just in case. “I’d go to the sea…”

“Join us, and we will go to the sea,” rejoined Kim. She smiled, picking with the tip of her little shoe at the concrete slab. Xang threw an alarmed glance at the captain.

“Nope, I can’t,” said Alex, with a tone of regret that was almost genuine. “Well, have a nice time.”

He himself found nothing interesting about visiting the Museum of Animal Husbandry, one of the main places of interest on New Ukraine. But Kim, it seemed, was really into every facet of genetic engineering.

“Here comes the van,” said Paul with a melancholy air. The engineer was the only one who didn’t regard shore leave as anything particularly special. He hadn’t even changed out of his uniform overalls and intended to spend the whole six hours’ leave in the spaceport bar.

A potbellied van of the ancient wheeled variety rolled up to the ship and slid sharply to a halt. The driver couldn’t be seen behind the mirror-windshield, but a girl, all smiles, came out of the passenger section of the bus. A customs-inspector badge was pinned to her blouse, embroidered in the New Ukrainian folk style.

“Good day to you, travelers!” she cried in a ringing bright voice. “Be welcome, dear guests!”

The girl was cute. Even her force field belt, in the standby mode, looked more like a sweet joke than like a menacing attribute of a customs officer.

Alex waved at his comrades as they were getting into the bus, then winked at the customs girl. In reply, she gave him a very endearing smile, even if it was prescribed by her job regulations.

They probably wouldn’t have any problems with the customs—New Ukraine was famous for its lenient and indulgent border patrol services. The only conflict that came to Alex’s mind had to do with an attempt on the part of one Sviatoslav Lo, a navigator-spesh, to take some vanilla pork fat off the planet. As it turned out, this unusual delicacy was strictly forbidden for export—a rather simple way to attract tourists. But Mr. Lo got no punishment for his attempted crime, not even a fine.

The bus had already disappeared into the distance, approaching the squat spaceport buildings, but Alex remained where he was, standing near the ship. Lighting up another cigarette, he happened to remember that New Ukraine had some decent tobacco… he would need to contact one of his crew and ask them to buy some local cigarettes.

A hatch entry melted in the belly of the ship, and down slid the elevator platform. Alex turned and greeted C-the-Third and the two aliens with a short nod.

“Greetings, greetings, kind male friend the captain!” the Zzygou sang out. They seemed to have completely recovered from the anise poisoning and seemed no longer worried about it.

“We’ve decided to fly out to the sea,” the clone told Alex, with a conspiratorial wink. “For a swim.”

“Wonderful,” Alex agreed. “Have a great trip.”

The Zzygou stood, smiling happily at him, and C-the-Third, his sturdy hands on the shoulders of the Others, seemed positively thrilled. He looked somehow like both a doting father and a hopeless lecher. Wonder how the genetic engineers had managed to wrap his psyche around love for the Others? Could it really have been done through sexual attraction? That was, after all, the easiest and most logical way….

Another vehicle approached, a car this time, an old but impressive Barracuda. The customs officer turned out to be a young and handsome fellow.

Another minute, and Alex was alone once again.

To be completely honest, besides piloting, he loved this kind of moment more than anything else in the world.

A soft wind blew, heavy with the scent of grasses. The orange sun was warm, but not hot, and some little birds were chirping in the sky. They must be rather dumb to live at the spaceport… or rather smart to avoid getting hit by the ships… Dumb, most probably.

Alex took a deep drag on his cigarette. It wasn’t as enjoyable anymore, starting to taste a little bitter. Everything is good in moderation. A glass of wine, a sip of cigarette smoke, a morsel of an exotic dish…

“Computer, I’m ready to come in,” he said, and the elevator platform was lowered to his feet.

He hesitated a long while before putting on the neuro-shunt.

It wasn’t because of fear, not at all. Pilot-speshes were capable of fear—a normal and useful human reaction—but pilot-speshes would never let fear interfere with their actions.

Alex wasn’t sure his actions would be right. It was unpleasant—he wasn’t used to feeling this way. And now he was forced to act based on… no, not on facts, not even on premonitions… more like barely detectable hints. The way a person climbing a mountain could go up a beaten rocky path, maybe even a hard and a dangerous one, but clearly visible. Or he could crawl up a vertical cliff face, where a single false move could mean death. And then he could choose a rock shrouded by mist, where a foothold that looks strong and reliable suddenly breaks away, like a rotted tooth, taking the ill-fated rock climber down with it.

The hardest thing is half-knowing, half-truths. They give you neither freedom, as does complete ignorance, nor any direction, as does truth. But if you are unlucky, they bring you a full measure of defeat.

Alex pulled on the headband of the neuro-shunt.

The world plunged into darkness and was reborn.

The very next moment, a tremendous blow threw Alex down to his knees.

“No one stands before the Sovereign!”

Alex turned his head. Slowly, because a cold, sharp steel blade was pressed to his neck. He was held down by two half-naked muscular warriors, looking as though they came out of the pages of a history textbook… or a kid’s comics. A third warrior, dressed a little more ornately, was holding a bared sword to his throat.

A farce. But dying would be painful even in a virtual world….

It was a huge circular hall with a dome of crimson-and-gold stained-glass windows, white marble columns, and mosaic-tiled floors. In the center of this hall stood a throne—a rough-surfaced hunk of black rock with a wide seat carved out. Edgar, dressed in black and red silks, seemed to be a part of the throne, just as dead and cold. Only his eyes glimmered behind his glasses, so appropriate among all these medieval props. Two very young girls, clinging to the boy’s legs, fixed a startled stare on the pilot.

“We’ve gotta talk,” said Alex.

Edgar said nothing. He seemed lost in thought.

“Get rid of your phantoms,” said Alex, annoyed. The blade at his throat trembled, as if about to strike.

“Say ‘Sovereign’!” Edgar ordered, the echo of his voice rolling inside the dome.

“Sovereign.” Alex had no intention to fuss about trifles.

The boy on the throne snapped his fingers. The young girls slid down the steps and rushed away. The guards were apparently reluctant to release Alex—they hesitated.

“Out,” Edgar told them dryly.

Rubbing his forearms, Alex got up from his knees. He approached the throne.

“What’s all this masquerade?”

“They’re very good self-teaching programs,” Edgar informed him, with an offended note in his voice. “And I’ve worked on this reality for five years. I have to live somewhere! And now I’ll have to explain to my courtiers the unexpected appearance of a sorcerer in the Sovereign’s palace!”

Alex sat down at the foot of the throne, shrugged his shoulders.

“What kind of sovereign are you, to have to explain anything to anyone? Well, it’s your game, not mine. Can’t you get down?”

“I can,” affirmed Edgar gloomily. He got up, gracelessly descended the stone steps, and sat down next to the pilot. “So, everyone’s off on a little vacation, eh?”

“Yup. Can you guess why I stayed behind on the ship?”

“’Cos you wanna talk to me?”

“Exactly.”

The boy frowned. Then peaceably spread out his arms, saying:

“Well, all right. Want some wine or ice cream? Or should I call in the houris?”

“I said ‘to talk,’ not ‘have some fun.’ Edgar, are you a good genetic engineer?”

“The best in the universe.”

Alex smirked. “All right, suppose you are. What can you tell me about Kim?”

“You’re still interested in that?”

“Of course. The girl is suffering, Edgar.”

“She’s suffering,” the boy agreed. “She’s in love with you. You were with her in the moment of metamorphosis, you see. Imprinting as such is not really characteristic of speshes, but Kim’s situation is different. Her psychological profile demands love, and you have become the first object of its application.”

“That I get. Her genes are part geisha’s?”

“A very small part.”

“And why was that done?”

Edgar was silent.

“Look, I want to be your friend.” Alex put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I want to help you gain a living body. Want to help Kim. But I need you to help me as well… just a little. Why was a fighter-spesh equipped with a geisha’s abilities?”

“Kim isn’t a fighter-spesh at all,” said Edgar abruptly. “A fighter! Hah! Mass production, cookie-cutter job, fodder for the Imperial cannons… Kim is absolutely unique.”

“What is she?”

“A secret agent.”

“What?” Alex couldn’t help laughing.

Edgar turned to him and stared furiously straight into his eyes.

“You think it’s funny? You think that secret agents are all made to be six-foot-tall hunks with plasma cannons implanted in their asses? An agent can kill. An agent has the skills and reaction reflexes of a fighter, but that’s not the main thing! To use an agent-spesh as a fighter is insanely wasteful! Kim has been created to revolve in the highest social circles, to make people fall in love with her, to have influence, to gather intelligence, to blackmail… and, well, to kill, if necessary. But that’s secondary. You can’t imagine even a fraction of her abilities! She herself doesn’t realize most of them… just yet. Kim can read information off computers remotely, she can hold her breath for a quarter of an hour, lower her own body temperature to match the temperature of her immediate environment. She has perfect memory, an intuitive ability to decipher codes… and a number of truly unexpected physical abilities—”

“Does Kim know?” asked Alex bluntly.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” snarled Edgar. “No. She doesn’t even suspect anything. It will be a huge shock for her when she finds out. She’s used to considering herself a fighter-spesh, after all… well, at least some kind of fighter, something like a bodyguard or an assassin.”

“What would happen, if she found out?”

“I don’t know.” Edgar shrugged. “Most probably, she’ll be really shocked at first… and then she’ll want to take her place in life. People like her work for the Imperial Secret Service, or for planetary administrations… or perhaps for some massive and powerful corporation.”

“Why haven’t you told her the truth, Edgar?”

The boy looked up at him sadly. Then asked with a sneering tone:

“What would she need me for, then?”

Alex nodded. “Okay, I get it. Forgive me. But if you’re right…”

“I am right!”

“Then Kim has to find out who she is. A spesh’s whole life is about fulfilling her purpose. Working as an ordinary fighter, Kim will always remain unhappy.”

Edgar said nothing, and Alex felt a sharp sting of shame. The boy’s every hope was tied to Kim. All his plans to gain a real body, to break free of his monstrous captivity…

“I see what you mean…”

That is, if he wasn’t lying, of course!

“But we must come up with something for Kim’s sake, right?”

The boy looked at him in surprise.

“We?”

“Of course. You’re her best friend. You’re the genetic engineer. And I am the man Kim’s in love with.”

“So why do anything else?” Edgar shrugged his shoulders. “She’s got a job now, and she’s okay with it so far. When Kim does discover her own abilities, that will be the time to worry about it. But I hope to have a real body by then.”

“Anything is possible. But what’s to be done about the problem of her crush on me?”

“It’s not a crush, it’s love,” Edgar corrected him. He was silent for a moment, then dryly added:

“I have nothing against your encounters. It’s a natural need, so…”

“She doesn’t need sex. Or, rather, not only sex. By the way, why was that done? Sure, an agent has to be able to make others fall in love with her. But to fall in love herself?”

“Love is such a strange thing, Alex…” The boy got up, paced to and fro, his hands behind his back. “There have been many attempts to create geishas who would make others love them while staying cold and indifferent themselves, just doing their work without involving emotions. A seductive appearance, acting talents, smarts, pheromones… All to no avail, Alex. For a guaranteed seduction, the hetaera’s love must also be real. As soon as her goal is accomplished, a geisha gets to fall out of love with the object… to regain her freedom, even if it’s a difficult process, with lots of heartache and sadness. But first, a geisha must be in love herself. No matter for how long—fifteen minutes for a quickie or several years in the role of a lady-escort—but a geisha’s love is genuine.”

Edgar talked on, utterly immersed in his own words. As if mesmerized, Alex watched the skinny boy pace around the caricature throne, readjusting his glasses, dissecting the “greatest of all human emotions.”

“Love! Ah! Alex, you can’t even fully grasp what it is, true love! Madness—joyful and voluntary. And an all-engulfing flame, whose heat is delight and torture at the same time. The love of a mother for her children, of a patriot for his motherland, or of a naturalist for truth, all of them pale in comparison with real, genuine, all-engulfing love! Poets have composed verses that live on for millennia. Conquerors have shed rivers of blood. Ordinary and unremarkable people have suddenly caught ablaze like supernovas, burning away a whole life in one blinding flash, raging, and inexorable. Love… love. Thousands of definitions, an endless search for the right words… as though mere sounds could ever encompass this ancient magic. Love is when your beloved is happy… love is when the whole world is concentrated in that one person… love is the feeling that makes us equal to God… There’s no approaching it! No expressing it in words. And it’s not even necessary to express—everyone understands, everyone has experienced this sweet intoxication. Even all the alien races are capable of love, Alex! Theirs may not be human love, but something very, very similar. The Tai’i don’t have any notion of what humor is. The Bronins are incapable of friendship. The Fenhuan can’t fathom vengefulness. A vast number of emotions are unique to humans, though we can’t ever grasp… um… well, for example, the Zzygou sense of sunrise. But every race has love!”

“Not anymore,” said Alex simply.

Edgar stopped short. Sighed.

“Yes, of course. We’ve moved farther than the other races, Alex. We’ve learned to alter our own bodies, and our own souls, as well. To cut something out, and stitch on something else.”

“Stitch on?”

“That’s an ancient term. Back then, thin threads were used to attach both cloth and living tissues…”

“I got it, thanks! But are we right, Edgar? You know that Janet played a joke on our Zzygou guests?”

“How would I know? You’ve switched me off from the ship’s internal cameras.”

“She slipped some anise cocktail to the Others. And the alkaloids of anise affect the Zzygou like a potent truth drug.”

Edgar let out a ringing laugh.

“You don’t say! What happened then?”

“One of the Zzygou declared that the human race was doomed. That we’ve gone too far down the road of genetic changes. That humankind is losing its unity and falling apart to become many disconnected, weak civilizations.”

“Bull!” said Edgar bluntly. “Dream on, stinkers… Humans always were different, you know? In prehistoric times, and in the Middle Ages, and in the blessed twentieth century… always! Some were rulers, some were peasants, some were poets, and some were sewer workers…”

“But back then we were genetically unified.”

Edgar shrugged.

“Do you know what kind of person would be born, for instance, from your sperm and Kim’s egg? If you don’t order any specialization, of course?”

“A baby-natural with sharp vision.”

The boy nodded, slightly surprised. “Yes… Exactly. It’s your only shared characteristic. Then you can easily get the rest! And the point, Alex, is that if necessary, humanity can easily and painlessly return to a unified genotype. Every spesh’s gametes contain a double set of genes. The altered one—the one your parents had the geneticists specify. And the regular set—the one you’d have had if you had been born the natural way. This regular set is compressed in the S-organelle and gets activated only during the fusion of sex cells. After that, the process can go all kinds of different ways!”

Edgar’s face was flushed. This was obviously a beloved topic that filled him with inspiration.

“And that was the hardest part, you see, Alex! Back in the beginning of the twenty-first century, when the active genotype alteration work began, we were facing an unsolvable problem. It was easy to alter the body completely. But how do you keep the human genotype intact in the process? How do you get a mermaid, who herds schools of fish, and a steeplejack, who has no fear of heights and can spend a whole work shift hanging by two fingers, to have a normal, healthy baby, and not some monstrous freak? It was then that this way was suggested, a complicated one, but safe—and fascinating! A spare copy of genes. Clean and untouched by alteration. Suppose our little mermaid swam out to the shore and met the young steeplejack. A moonlit night… the gentle lapping of waves. Two happy, self-satisfied young people meet. Our little mermaid is sitting on a tree branch, which gently slopes toward the water, and our steeplejack is walking along the shore and humming a tune, say, the one that goes: ‘We aren’t firemen or carpenters, our work takes us to the sky, we send you greetings from on high!’”

Edgar paused, looked at Alex with a smirk. “Have you heard this song?”

“No.”

“It’s a very, very old Russian song. From the epoch when all were naturals. But it perfectly expresses the very point of specialization. Well, back to our young couple… so, they meet…”

He slowly joined his hands.

“Surprise… confusion… laughter… it’s so romantic! Moonlit night on the seashore, as I said. Gentle caresses in the wet sand. We had to make sure these two citizens, so different, but equally useful to society, never suffered because of their differences. We had to make sure their baby could become a human-amphibian, or a female steeplejack, or simply an ordinary natural. Whatever they wanted. And so, when the great promise of love is fulfilled”— the boy locked his fingers—“enter the S-organelle. The nucleic chains spin open, ferments shuttle along the DNA strings, checking for specialization. Snap! A gene is altered! Then there is a check of whether both parents have the altered gene. Both do? We leave it. Only one does? Move over, please! A spare copy of the gene is extracted from the organelle—the necessary bit is cut out and pasted in. The DNA strings quickly repair themselves before the fusion. Well now, let’s see what we got? An ordinary baby-natural! And if the little mermaid fell in love with an amphibian-human—no intrusions would be necessary. Their baby would be born in the water, easily drawing its first breath with the little gills inherited from the mother… And if there were two steeplejacks, male and female…”

“I get the picture, thanks,” Alex interrupted him.

Edgar stopped short. He smiled apologetically.

“I’m just in awe of my… predecessors’ mastery. You see, they had to create structures that were self-sustaining—who knows what might happen to a group of speshes, if they found themselves cut off from genetic engineers. And at the same time, these structures had to be able to return to their initial state in the course of one generation. The engineers accomplished that goal beautifully!”

“And what if a spesh-couple wanted to give their child a different specialization?”

“Well, then the engineers have to work on that some more,” Edgar admitted. “But can you imagine this situation actually happening? You decide to have a traditional nuclear family, wife and kids, the way it ought to be… and not wish your kids to have the kind of life you’ve had?”

“No, I can’t imagine that.”

“And there you have it.” Edgar smiled triumphantly. “Alterations of the body are a mere trifle. A task for beginners. The main thing is to change the psyche. To manipulate emotions. That is the hardest problem of all.”

“Great. Then help me solve it. Kim must fall out of love with me.”

“Why?” Edgar looked closely at Alex. “After all, I understand everything, and I don’t mind. Why should her love bother you?”

“No, not me. But with every passing day, Kim will be hurt more and more because her love can’t be requited. Right?”

“Right.” Edgar nodded.

“And I can’t even pretend to return her feelings,” Alex continued. “The tension will keep growing. And that will result… might lead to trouble.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“If you’re really the genius genetic engineer…” said Alex in an ingratiating tone, “you must know how to eliminate Kim’s feelings.”

“Whatever gives you that idea?”

“It is commonly known that there are several methods for doing it. When a certain profession is no longer needed, the speshes get reoriented for another one.”

“That’s the psychologists’ job. I can’t chase Kim back into a zygote and do corrective surgery.”

“You’re absolutely sure that nothing can be done?”

Edgar hesitated.

“I’m not a genetic engineer,” Alex said. “But I’m no idiot, either. Altered emotions are not only… not so much a result of reconfigured synapses. They are a result of altered adrenal glands. It’s about blood chemistry.”

“So what can I do?”

“Block some hormones. You know which ones.”

Edgar sighed and shook his head.

“Right. Block some hormones… The pituitary is not a campfire you can splash a little water on to extinguish a couple of coals. It’s all or nothing. Changes in character are brought on by a single, though very complicated, polysaccharide chain produced by the pituitary. A temporary block of its synthesis is possible, but that would lead to a shutdown of all the personal particulars at once.”

“And what would those be for Kim?”

The boy adjusted his glasses. Thought for a moment.

“Ruthlessness… first and foremost. Love—the one that was the result of artificial stimulation. That’s about it. Intellectual changes are not connected to pituitary hormones.”

“Let’s do it.”

“You think it’s so easy to interfere with a spesh’s organism? We’ll need a top-notch biochemical lab, with organic synthesis equipment. The ship’s sick bay won’t do.”

“We’re on a planet, Edgar. It may not be the most developed planet, but it’s quite civilized. An order could be put in and completed in two or three hours.”

Edgar said nothing.

“Are you really a genius geneticist? Or has your value been exaggerated?” asked Alex with a smirk.

“All right,” Edgar said, giving up. “But I think you’re making a mountain of a molehill, Alex. For Kim, love is a normal work mode, nothing bad would’ve happened…. Scribe!”

A small bent figure emerged from somewhere behind the columns. The skinny, hunched-up old man in a florid pointy hat and a brightly colored robe was holding a parchment roll in his hand.

“You won’t have any problems administering it,” said Edgar to Alex. “The active ingredient is stomach-acid resistant, so you can just mix it into food or wine.”

“Dosage?”

“Five or six milligrams. Put in a bit extra, a slight overdose won’t cause poisoning. Scribe, take this down!”

The old man nodded vigorously, sitting down at the foot of the throne. Squinted myopically at Alex and hurriedly averted his gaze. Extracted an inkwell and a long feather from somewhere. All Alex could do was shake his head at the sight of this pitiful entourage.

“Synthesis instructions…” Edgar began dictating.

Of course, Alex had overestimated the New Ukrainian science labs. The synthesis took a full five hours. The delivery robot, a flying disc of about three feet in diameter, landed near the ship shortly before the Zzygou and C-the-Third returned.

Alex waited for the identity chip to finish its work-cycle and a small green light to turn on in the polished metal side of the robot. Then he came up to it and opened a tiny trunk compartment.

The tiny vial had cost him an entire month’s salary. Three grams of white, opalescent liquid. Alex squinted his eyes, looking closely at the product Edgar had ordered.

Had he lied or not?

Could it really be that this liquid was capable of slowing down that most complicated of all biological mechanisms, which started up the minute a spesh was born and, after the metamorphosis, began working at full force? The ruthlessness of fighters, the cold benevolence of pilots, the nymphomania of haeteras—could all that be reduced to naught? And if so, how exactly would that occur? Abruptly, as when a device’s power is suddenly cut off? Or gradually, as when a car, with its engine turned off, slows down? Maybe the feeling induced by the geneticists really would disappear—but what if it had been so thoroughly internalized by the person as to become genuine?

These were questions that could not be answered theoretically—they had to be tested in an experiment.

He caught a glimpse of the approaching Barracuda and hid the vial in his pocket. The empty delivery robot floated away over the field at a leisurely pace.

C-the-Third scrambled out of the car first, then extended his hand to the Zzygou. The two aliens couldn’t have looked more pleased… although that seemed to be their usual disposition.

“You’ve been standing on the field all this time, eh, Captain?” cheerfully cried out C-the-Third.

“Had some mail delivered.” Alex preferred to explain the robot’s appearance himself. “I’ve decided to have some fun.”

He winked conspiratorially at C-the-Third, hinting at having ordered some illegal drug or some particularly elaborate sex simulator. C-the-Third winked back.

“You should’ve come with us, Captain. It’s a really funny sea.”

“I know. I’ve been here once before.”

“So nice, so nice, friend Captain!” the Zzygou reported. They were holding each other’s hands and exchanging glances. “Much pity that you were not there!”

“I’m really sorry, too.” Alex nodded.

He stepped aside to let the Zzygou and the clone pass on their way back into the ship. Then he lit a cigarette. The tobacco from a different world somehow seemed to taste worse… as if the New Ukrainian air didn’t want to accept it.

Thirteen more minutes passed, and the minivan with the crew appeared.

It was immediately obvious who had fared well on shore leave and who hadn’t—who got Fortune to smile upon them, and whose hopes had been dashed. Generalov, all gloom, went back inside the ship without saying a word. Paul came out of the minivan with a stolid air of a space wolf that had seen a hundred planets. He threw Alex a sharp, formal salute and also went inside.

“Your cigarettes, Captain,” said Janet. Handed him a carton. “They seem all right.”

She was smiling, obviously content with her life.

“What’s with Puck?” Alex inquired.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Janet smirked. “Found a boyfriend at the bar, dreamed up all kinds of things… now he’s all hurt. Decided it was the love of his life.”

“Can you fall in love in just five hours?” asked Alex rhetorically.

“Oh, Captain, my Captain…” She kissed him playfully, touching her plump lips to his cheek. “Anything’s possible, trust me. But don’t worry about Puck, he just wants to squirm and suffer a bit… he’s just that type of person.”

“How irrational…” Alex shook his head. “I am ready to accept the expediency of love, though I lack the ability. But you should fall in love exclusively by mutual consent, making extra sure in advance that your partner agrees to reciprocate your feelings for a long enough period of time. Otherwise, all you end up with are negative emotions instead of positive ones… Janet!”

The black lady had pressed her hands to her mouth, but her laughter still broke through.

“Alex… no, forgive me, for Angry God’s sake… you’re right… of course… theoretically speaking…”

The pilot went silent.

Slightly embarrassed, Janet went back to the ship. Kim, who had been patiently waiting for them to finish talking, came up to Alex.

“This is for you.”

The thick brown paper packet was small but rather weighty. Alex unwrapped it with that sudden happy feeling that touches anyone receiving an unexpected gift.

Of course, it was the very thing New Ukraine was so proud of—a piece of fresh lard.

“They cut these off the piggies right out there on the pasture,” Kim said. She was bubbling over with new impressions. “But it doesn’t hurt the piggies at all—the skin heals up in a day, and the pig gets more fat, just walking around. Here! Try some—it’s already smoked. When the layer of fat gets to be over a foot and a half, the piggies start secreting special ferments… Isn’t it neat?”

Alex took out his pocketknife and cut off a small piece. Chewed it, then nodded. “Yes, it’s neat. Very tasty. And a green apple aroma, right?”

Kim nodded. Behind her, Morrison’s face was contorted in disgust. “Aroma… you should smell the aroma of those pastures—Good Lord! This lardy mammoth lumbers around the steppe, gorging itself on everything it can find, and shits continuously, excuse the unsavory details!”

“It’s a natural process!” Kim retorted.

“Of course it is. But the aroma is disgusting. Why can’t they grow their meat and lard in containers, as it’s done on any decent planet?”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Kim’s quick temper flared. “The taste would be completely different! Besides, pigs are good for the planet’s ecology. And they’re cheaper to keep. Three shepherd-speshes can manage a huge herd, and there are no other expenses!”

Alex, like Xang, was not at all inclined to see New Ukrainian animal husbandry as an engaging topic for conversation.

“Kim…” He took the girl by the shoulder. “We take off in thirty-nine minutes. I think everyone wants to take a shower and change…”

“So you’re not even a little bit interested in this…” she replied, slightly offended.

“I am. But I’ve already visited the Animal Husbandry Museum.”

“And did they take you to see the main genetic lab?”

“They did.”

“They didn’t let us in. There was some experiment on…”

The three of them entered the ship.

Chapter 5

Heraldica.

One of the strangest human colonies Alex had ever heard of…

The mouth of the hyper-channel was located some six hundred miles away from the planet, orbiting it like an ordinary satellite. There was only one battle station here, though it was rather powerful. The security of the channel was guaranteed by the stationary installations on the planet itself. They were spread out all over the surface—in the arid, hot deserts, atop forbidding mountain ridges, and even on floating oceanic platforms. Their construction must have cost a lot more than the building of a few space citadels would have, but from the point of view of Heraldica’s inhabitants, their solution had been the only option. As the channel made its orbital loops around the planet, control over it was transferred from one battle installation to the next.

Heraldica was a planet of aristocracy. Gathered here were the remnants of the ancient Earth lineages, now dying out, such as the British royal family and the Arabian sheiks. But also the more recent aristocracies—for instance, the New-Russian dynasties, who had amassed their enormous fortunes at the end of the twentieth and the beginning of the twenty-first century by selling off the lands, natural resources, and population of their earthly homeland. Several aristocratic lineages from other colonies—planets that had made a transition to other forms of government—also dwelt here. Rumor had it that there was even an enclave of the Bronins, descendants of the once-ruling nest.

Alex had no intention of landing on the planet, of course.

They were waiting their turn to enter the channel, and everyone—Alex had no doubt about that—was peering down at the planet revolving below. The ship’s optical systems were powerful enough to provide the observers with a richly detailed view.

Alex himself had chosen to watch a small, cozy town in a mountain valley. Its little houses, only five or six stories high, were roofed with carmine-red tiles. Its streets were buried in greenery, and everywhere, fountains ran. Close to the town was a palace—the pilot would not have been surprised to learn that the building had been brought to Heraldica from Earth. There was also a spaceport, but it was so tiny and run-down that there could be no doubt the planet’s aristocrats had lost all interest in space.

Their greatest passion was hunting.

Along a swift mountain brook, a person was running. The optics, even computer enhanced, didn’t let Alex see the person’s face—light clouds above the valley were blocking his view. It was either a youth or a young girl. Pursuing her were three riders dressed in bright, flapping robes, the unmistakable attributes of the ruling class—all petty princelings adored luxury. The animals they straddled could have been anything. But they weren’t horses… unless it had been some geneticists’ prank to have horses equipped with fancy antlers.

The chase didn’t last very long. The pursuers caught up with their prey. Blue sparks flashed… the aristocrats didn’t reject all technology, after all. The three men dismounted and walked over to the motionless body. With a mixture of confusion and revulsion, Alex watched the aristocrats rape their helpless victim. An entourage of about twenty men had caught up with them by then and now stood a little ways off, patiently awaiting their turn.

Finally the hunters got tired of this entertainment. They walked back to the entourage. There was a short discussion, accompanied by some imperious gestures, and then another little figure rushed out running along the river. The hunters bided their time. Some drinks were served, and now it looked like they just stood around talking.

To his mild relief, Alex saw that the victim was still alive. A girl—at least the gender was clear now—got up and, awkwardly shuffling her feet, started to limp back towards the town. No one was pursing her anymore. Quite the opposite—some even waved her on.

“Despicable!” said Janet loudly.

“You mean the hunt?” Alex asked.

“What hunt? No, I’m talking about that yacht party.”

“Aristocracy!” rang out the voice of Morrison. “Blue blood… god damn it. It’s really blue, right?”

“I’ve heard it is,” said Alex, watching the fun begin anew. “Of course, they wouldn’t have switched from hemoglobin iron to copper. That would violate the Imperial laws. They only changed the color… I can’t even imagine how that’s possible… and they haven’t lost their genetic unity with ordinary people. But their blood is blue.”

“No one would have allowed this back in the old Empire,” declared Morrison. “A decent emperor…”

“Heraldica flourished even under the previous emperors,” rejoined Alex. “And the boy now formally on the throne has probably never even heard of this planet.”

“Or maybe he has heard of it,” remarked Janet. “Who knows, he might even admire it. Real kings, dukes, and sheiks. He might be very pleased about that.”

Alex finally switched off the zoom-in optics. He had not the slightest wish to study Heraldica anymore. Sixty-four small dynasties, all-powerful within the borders of their realms. Sixty-four genetic lines that had utterly degenerated.

Absolute power corrupts and depraves, even if it is limited to the space of a single mountain valley, a single little town. Human history had known many a tyranny, but never had the tyrants been free from the threat of revolution. Never, until the moment when servant-speshes first appeared.

How were they recruited? After all, everyone who had flown over to Heraldica went there voluntarily. The Imperial observers had watched the streams of colonists closely, making sure no one was being taken against their will. So there had been volunteers for this. And not just a handful of them, not even dozens or hundreds. Hundreds of thousands of people had moved to Heraldica with their masters. It was very unlikely that Earth would have had so many insane masochists.

More likely, everything had looked really nice at first. A small country on a peaceful and abundant world. Wise, aristocratic rulers. A bit of medieval exotic charm—that always had a fantastic power over the human heart. And people, in good faith, would order servant-specializations for their children. After all, what harm could possibly come to them at the hand of a wise elderly lady of a royal bloodline or a sage, poetically-inclined sheik who cared so much about the welfare of his people? Except that generations kept succeeding each other, raising a new crop of rulers who were now used to having only servants around them…

There should be, after all, more limits to specialization, other than the considerations of social utility and genetic compatibility with the naturals. It should be forbidden to encroach on a person’s free will… at least, to this extent.

“Crewmembers, prepare for entry into the channel. Estimated time to entry—plus six minutes, twelve seconds. Set the jump vector for Zodiac. Estimated time to destination—eighteen hours, twenty-nine minutes, eight seconds. I am the first one on bridge duty. Morrison takes over in nine hours, fifteen minutes.”

No one had any objections. No one asked any questions. Alex was also a ruler on his ship, like the people with blue blood in their veins down on Heraldica. Except that his power had different roots… so far, they had been different.

So where was that boundary? Where lay the borderline between a spesh’s readiness to obey those in charge and the slavish submission of a servant? What was the difference between power and tyranny? Why had the very thing that was the basis of life in the Empire degenerated into brutal nastiness on Heraldica?

Here Alex couldn’t suppress a crooked grin. If one took a look at the Empire from the outside, might it look just as nasty? Fighter-speshes, hetaera-speshes, street-sweeper-speshes…

He tossed the threads of control over to Morrison. Watched Xang for a few seconds, as the co-pilot took the ship closer to the mouth of the channel, then switched over once again to the optical scanners.

This time, having received the command to search for people, the computer opened a completely different part of the planet, a part already sinking into night shadows. A river delta dotted with a multitude of small islands. Large houses—here, a truly big city was sprawling. Even the nearby spaceport looked rather up-to-date. In the streets, cars dashed by, pedestrians scurried about, and here and there billboards flashed.

An ordinary city. No dirty fun or mad princelings.

At least at first glance.

Yet this city also lived by the laws of Heraldica. Complete and unlimited power. Non-acceptance of Imperial laws… which, in turn, cut tourists’ access to the planet, except for the most reckless.

What is better—overt or covert coercion?

Mirror entered the hyper-channel, and Heraldica’s world disappeared.

There was something mystical about piloting while the ship was gliding through the inner side of the universe. The gray corridor—the walls, made of the great nothing, rushing towards you—and a complete, absolute, unfathomable detachment from the outside world. Multi-dimensional physics asserted that there was only one hyper-channel, and its existence lasted a mere quantum of time. Therefore, in that one brief moment, all the ships of all times and civilizations would be superimposed—incorporeal shadows, rushing by in all directions at once.

The universe was full of paradoxes. Most of the races had come to use the hyper-channels as the most convenient and inexpensive method of interstellar travel. And now, right at that moment, countless Tai’i fleets were on their way to meet their unknown, utterly obliterated enemies in the decisive battle for the fate of the galaxy… the battle that brought the winners to no good at all. And here also, rushing into the unknown, was Son Hye, Earth’s first interstellar explorer, whose bright fame eclipsed both Magellan’s and Gagarin’s. And here was the strangest bit—the ships of the future were also already here. The last cruisers of humanity, the race that would also fade away someday. The first fragile little spacecraft of alien races that hadn’t even broken the bounds of gravity yet but were destined to rule the universe. And here also was Mirror itself, in all its future flights, with Alex and the others aboard.

Of course, astronaut lore carried many a legend about hyper-channels. There was one about a man who had thrown himself overboard and was delivered by the hyper-channel back to Earth. And one about a ghost-spaceship that appeared from under the stern, majestically passed the astonished observers, and vanished into the distance ahead. And one that said that occasionally, the exhaust of your own ship’s engines could be seen in front of the ship itself…

And, of course, there wasn’t a single grain of truth in all that lore. But it was kind of fun to pretend that you believed it.

Alex wasn’t really sure if he would have liked to actually see anything unusual in the hyper-channel. The spine-tingling stories were good only when you knew they were lies. He was much happier with just the silence and the tranquility. Silence, tranquility, and the warm rainbow of the ship…

Nevertheless, he liked to stare into the nonexistent space of the channel, as if he really did expect to see the stern of his own ship up ahead…

Morrison entered the controls system at exactly the appointed time. He and Alex exchanged a short emotional signal: no words to it, just wishes of luck and an expression of goodwill. The rest of the crew was resting.

Alex felt tired, but stepped into the recreation lounge anyway. All alone, he poured himself a glass of dry wine. The ship seemed to be dozing, placidly and serenely… Only the air conditioning was rumbling softly, almost inaudibly. Sensing the presence of a person, a small turtle-like cleaning robot stirred in the corner, licking with its moist tongue the floor that was already squeaky-clean.

Alex still couldn’t chase away memories of Heraldica. That girl, walking away from her rapists. Submissive, uncomplaining, maybe even content to have fulfilled her duty…

He took the vial out of his pocket, and looked at the cloudy suspension. What would have happened had the rape victim taken a blocker? Nothing good, that’s for sure. She would have tried to scratch the aristocrats’ eyes out, resist them… to the great surprise of the entourage and, no doubt, of the rapists themselves.

Alex opened the vial, smelled it cautiously. There was a sharp chemical odor, not exactly pleasant, but not revolting, either. One drop would be enough. Well, two—for a full guarantee. Overdose would not be dangerous…

He tipped the vial over the glass holding the remnants of wine. Looked at the Demon. His shirtsleeve was rolled up, so the little devil was in full view. Except it had closed its eyes, as in terror.

“It is scary,” Alex agreed. “Very scary.”

Surely he wasn’t the first spesh ever to brave a self-experiment with such a substance. And surely, nothing good had come out of such an experiment, otherwise the recipe of the blocker would have spread through the Empire like wildfire, breaking down the established order of things.

A drop.

Two.

Three.

He carefully closed the vial and hid it in his pocket. Swirled the glass a bit. The liquid stubbornly refused to mix with the wine and formed an oily film upon the surface.

Alex put the glass to his lips and threw its contents back in one gulp. Then poured himself another splash of wine to wash it down. A slight acrid aftertaste remained.

The substance wouldn’t work right away. Edgar had said something about three to four hours before the behavior modifiers, already present in the body, were flushed out from the nerve cells. And yet, Alex stood for a while, listening closely to his own sensations.

He felt sleepy, and that was all….

“Let’s go take a nap,” said Alex. The Demon, of course, had no objections.

Then he was in a dream, a strange, chaotic one, composed of bits and pieces of everything that had happened in the last few days. As though he was a ruler of some unknown planet, maybe Heraldica, or Earth, or Edem. A good, kind, peaceful planet… Alex stood at the foot of a throne. Ten or so guards, their swords drawn, were closing in on him in a tight circle. And in front of Alex, on his knees, stood the boy named Edgar, awkwardly clutching his broken and bent glasses.

“Why’d you do it?” his own voice seemed unfamiliar to Alex. He even realized that he was asleep, and was ready to wake up, as it often happens as soon as you say something in your sleep. But the dream didn’t end, and Edgar lifted his head, squinted myopically at Alex, and gave an awkward shrug:

“I wanted to save myself…”

“Add ‘Sovereign,’” said Alex, and the guards tensed, ready to rush over to Edgar and hack his skinny body to pieces.

“I wanted to save myself, Sovereign.” Edgar had finally straightened out the frames, and now fastened the glasses onto his nose.

“But why in this way, exactly?”

The boy—who stubbornly continued to wear glasses, a thing that had been forgotten by everyone a century ago—winced.

“It was the only way that remained to me, Sovereign.”

“You’re cruel…” Alex looked over the guards’ heads and met the glance of Kim, who stood hugging Janet. Kim nodded to him, and cried out:

“Kill him, Sovereign! I never wanted to be this way, Sovereign!”

Janet stopped her by putting her hand to Kim’s mouth. Then shook her head, whispering:

“Our soldiers were unable to shoot at humans… Alex…”

Alex nodded to each of them. Approvingly to Kim, soothingly to Janet. But he was the Sovereign, and that bound him with invisible fetters much stronger than the altered spesh operons….

“You’re cruel,” Alex repeated, looking down at the boy, who was awaiting his decree. “Guards!” And ten glistening swords swung up into the air….

Having opened his eyes, Alex lay motionless for a while. He winced, remembering the dream—bright and colorful, it seemed to have embossed itself upon his memory.

His experience with psychoanalysis was limited—a standard course in elementary school and, later, the occasional trips to the union therapist. But the interpretation of this dream did not present a difficulty.

He winced at the memory of Kim yelling, “Kill him!”

But the most frightening thing was that she was actually right… and these words might someday ring out for real.

He didn’t sleep long—there were still two and a half hours before they would exit the channel. He could go to the recreation lounge and sit around with a glass of whiskey. Or he could stop by Kim’s or Janet’s and indulge in the simple pleasures of sex. For a while, Alex lay, trying to decide to whom he was drawn more. Both women were very attractive, but each in her own way…

He sighed and decided not to bother anyone.

The neuro-shunt was still in the desk drawer. Alex put the headband on and started rummaging through the contents of a pencil box, with its meager collection of entertainment crystals. There were a few “Wonderful Journeys,” which allowed you to travel through virtual copies of the most beautiful planets in the galaxy. Four detective adventures from the series about the Hunchback, agent-spesh of Imperial Security. This particular colleague of Kim’s, if you believed the authors, really did have a disposable plasma discharger… well, not in the body part that Edgar had mentioned, but in one of his sinuses. Alex hesitated—he had watched the crystals titled “The Hunchback” and “The Hunchback’s Truth” a while back, and he remembered being captivated by the daring plot, in which you could be on the side of the agent-spesh or on the side of his numerous but unlucky opponents. Someone had also enthusiastically recommended to him the crystal named “And Now—The Hunchback.” As for the one called “A Tomb for the Hunchback,” that promised either the end of the hero’s exploits or—and this was more likely—some totally mind-boggling escapades. But a quality virtual detective adventure, if you played as several characters, would take up no less than twenty-four hours. Alex put “The Tomb for the Hunchback” aside, where he could easily see it, and went on looking through the rest of the tiny crystals.

He immediately put away the bonus-crystal named “100,000 Best Commercials, from the 20th Century to Today” that had been included by the thoughtful merchants of the entertainment industry. No, thanks.

Three more crystals remained—classical literature, music, and drama. Of course, it would be pleasant to sit on a porch near the ocean shore, sipping a cold cocktail, hearing the cries of the seagulls, and reading a good book. It would be just as pleasant to enjoy the same activity on a cold fall evening in an armchair by the warmth of the fireplace, listening to the drumming of the slanting rain upon the windowpanes.

And, of course, there was the “Sex Kaleidoscope,” an entertainment crystal approved by the Imperial Health Committee, as well as by the Church, for use by space-crew on long trips.

Alex thoughtfully twirled the crystal in his hand. He did, after all, want to check out what love was. And the “Kaleidoscope” was best suited for that purpose. Even without any love, Alex had derived plenty of pleasant emotions from that simple handbook of all the possible forms of sexual activity.

He pressed the tiny crystal into the resilient suction cup, then waited a moment, and relaxed. The world went foggy as it disappeared.

After the abrupt transitions of the virtual space created by Edgar, the “Sex Kaleidoscope” made a cozy, soothing impression. Through the mist, the walls appeared, a chandelier poured down a soft light, and a soft fluffy carpet laid itself under his feet.

“Welcome…” said a gentle genderless voice. “Would you like to choose your sexual role?”

Alex thought a moment.

“Okay… I am a man…”

“Accepted,” confirmed the voice.

“Not inclined to masochism, no interest in bestiality or xenophilia… and let’s not try homosexuality…”

“Accepted…”

“The rest is up to you,” said Alex with a hint of doubt. “Random choice.”

“Enter.”

A door opened in the wall. Soft, pleasant music could be heard.

A random choice of sexual adventures was the favorite game of astronauts, especially those on long flights, though a few awkward mishaps had taught Alex to make strict provisions for a few basic demands. It wasn’t exactly fun having to flee from a crowd of naked, muscular black men armed with chains and leather whips.

But this time there seemed to be no trouble. Alex’s body changed as he passed through the door. He got taller, gained a sizable belly, and his arms were now covered with little red hairs. He carried a small carton, which was obviously not empty, though not very heavy, either. In front of him was the empty elevator lobby of a skyscraper. Judging by the color of the sky in the window, it wasn’t on Earth. Mingling with the music came a calm, self-assured voice:

“My sex life has been regular and traditional. As a child and an adolescent, I paid my tribute to the fad for group sex. Upon passing my specialization and becoming a pastry chef-spesh, I entered into a normal tripartite family. But something has been bothering me and making me suffer. I’ve been feeling dissatisfied. Often during the night, I stand at the open window, watching swift Charon pass through the waning half-moon of Cerberus, and dreaming… of what? I have not been quite prepared to admit my inclinations to myself…”

Alex waited patiently, though the commentary was obviously going to be long and nebulous.

He stepped forward, and the voice stopped abruptly in mid-word, then continued at a faster, more energetic pace:

“I’ve come to the Fast Transit company office to hand-deliver a wonderful chocolate cake to the company’s vice president. He’s celebrating the one hundred and first birthday of his mother, the founder and the first president of Fast Transit…”

A soft push made Alex step toward one of the elevators. He could’ve resisted it, of course, but that would defeat the whole purpose of his being there.

The elevator doors opened with a melodious chime. Alex went in, and immediately felt that something was not quite right.

First of all, there was only one other passenger in the elevator: a small, gray-haired, elderly lady, wrinkled and stooping. She wore a shapeless brown dress, and a headscarf covered her thin, faded hair.

Secondly, the floor in the elevator was covered with a soft rug.

“Good morning, ma’am…” Alex forced himself to say. The granny said nothing, only nodded, tilting her flabby chin, and stared at the mirrored wall.

Maybe he’d still luck out? The elevator started to crawl up smoothly.

“My heart skipped a sweet beat…” triumphantly announced the commentator.

“Shit!” Alex hissed, clenching his fists.

“For some reason, I started thinking of my mother…” continued the voice musingly. “Those times when, as a youth, I’d come home late at night and climb into a bath, and then my mom would come in and, for a long time, she would slowly, tenderly wash my hair…”

Alex pressed his back into the corner of the elevator. No, he wouldn’t move! He still had his free will, after all!

“The elevator went on climbing and climbing,” the narrator said, commenting on the obvious. “And suddenly!”

Alex dug his fingers into the walls. But in virtuality, even his spesh reflexes failed him. The elevator halted, literally in an instant. He was tossed upwards, thrown against the wall, and hurled onto the floor. The cake carton was ripped out of his hands and smashed against the wall. Icing squirted out, and pieces of broken chocolate figures came cascading down. There was a nasty grinding squeak. The elevator stopped, swaying a little, as though it was being pulled up not by a gravitational field, but a common cable.

His own instincts played a bad trick on him. He couldn’t help perceiving what had just happened as anything other than a catastrophe.

And a captain’s duty was to take care of the passengers.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Alex asked, kneeling beside the granny, who had dropped to the floor. Her puffy, reddish eyelids fluttered. The elderly lady glanced myopically up at Alex.

“Oh… sonny… my poor bones…”

“Do not move, ma’am.” He had forgotten that he was in virtuality… and a very peculiar one, at that. “The emergency systems will be triggered any minute now….”

But the elevator wasn’t about to open the doors.

“I’m scared…” the granny whimpered. She stretched out her arm, wrapping it around Alex’s neck. “I am claustrophobic, sonny. It’s a medical condition. A hundred and twenty years old is no joke…”

The unseen commentator gushed on, triumphantly:

“I looked and looked at her sweet, wrinkled face, bearing the traces of every year lived, every worry, every sorrow… And at that moment, I realized that I had never really loved anyone but these most wonderful of all human creatures, the embodiments of life’s ripeness and the highest expression of femininity—elderly ladies! And now, at long last, a bad accident leaves me all alone with…”

“I think I wet myself,” said the lady, coyly lowering her eyes. “But no broken bones!”

“Morons!” yelled Alex, throwing off the poor patient’s arm and jumping to his feet. “Hacks! If the elevator gear had failed, we would’ve been smeared all over the walls! Quit program!”

Even the emergency exit was realistically presented here. The doors flew open. A team of paramedics rushed in. The granny, still reaching for Alex, was carried off on a stretcher. A quick-moving youth in a waiter’s uniform scraped the remnants of the cake off the wall and stuffed them back into the carton.

Only after that came a tide of fog, and Alex found himself back at the starting place of the “Kaleidoscope.”

“Do you have complaints?” the system asked him with alarm.

“Yes I do! Tons of complaints!” Alex cut himself short, realizing that he was yelling at the simplest service program. “Okay. Remove geriatric sex from the list!”

“The social importance of gerontophilia is immense,” objected the system. “Its roots…”

“Never mind! Remove! Give me something else. But give me a synopsis first!”

For a few seconds, the system shuffled the possible options.

“An extremely interesting and unusual adventure…”

“Synopsis?”

“A middle-aged male accountant-spesh, who used to have a binary family, which had dissolved through no fault of his, works at the Imperial Committee for Lightweight Armaments. He is extremely shy, and that interferes with his sex life, as well as his career advancement.”

The system was silent for a moment, as if waiting for any objections. Alex shrugged his shoulders. It was a typical beginning.

“The head of the committee is a female coordinator-spesh. Completely absorbed by her work, she dedicates very little time to socially beneficial sexual activities. A socially and professionally successful male comrade of the accountant joins the committee team. He advises your character to become a sexual partner of the coordinator-spesh in order to get promoted and to satisfy sexual instincts. Does this suit you so far?”

“Yes, fine,” said Alex cautiously.

“After a series of comical and captivating adventures, the accountant-spesh manages to gain the love of the coordinator-spesh. However, as circumstances would have it, the character’s villainous male comrade informs the coordinator-spesh of the true motivations behind the accountant’s sexual activities. But that does not hinder the happiness of the two lovers. They form a solid, happy binary family and live together for a long time.”

Alex was silent, totally stunned.

“Does this suit you?”

“Do the committee members engage in sexual orgies?” he asked cautiously. “Is there a failed romance between the main character and his male comrade, which causes the comrade to betray him?”

“No.”

“Any sadomasochistic aspects of the accountant’s love with the coordinator?”

The system hesitated. “Hardly worth mentioning. The accountant splashes the coordinator with water from a decanter. The coordinator tosses a few print-outs in the face of the accountant.”

Alex had never had occasion to deal with such a plot in the past.

“That’s interesting,” he conceded. “Good… unusual, but good.”

“The duration of the plot is thirty-eight hours,” the system warned him.

“Can you speed it up?”

“Not recommended. The main intrigue of the plot consists of the slow and gradual development of the relationship between the two main characters.”

Alex shook his head. He didn’t have that kind of time.

“Remember this plot and offer it next time I enter. And now, I want to exit completely.”

“Exit completely,” affirmed the system. “Thank you for visiting. I’m always happy to serve you. Please come again.”

A dense, heavy fog billowed all around.

Having taken off his headband, Alex looked at the crystal suspiciously. If Edgar was to be trusted, he was supposed to have gained the ability to love by now. And, to believe all the books, movies, and simply ordinary people, love was a feeling that flared up instantly and knew no boundaries, no limits.

But he hadn’t managed to feel any such emotions for the granny!

Only revulsion. Revulsion?

He started.

The crystal was designed especially for astronauts. Experienced psychologists had carefully constructed the simplistic, though highly diverse, plots.

As soon as he had entered the elevator with the granny inside, Alex was supposed to have taken her into his “sphere of responsibility.” The catastrophe, which plunged him into a stressful but genetically pre-programmed situation, would then heighten his sense of responsibility to the max.

Yes, he had a duty to… well, not to fall in love—pilots were incapable of love, so nothing like that could be foreseen—he had a duty to be overcome with warm feelings toward the old lady.

What was supposed to happen next, according to the program?

A soulful discussion?

A shy kiss?

A raging sex scene on the elevator floor?

A mutual enjoyment of the birthday cake?

Alex imagined the naked, happily giggling granny, stuffing a morsel of chocolate into his mouth, and himself, trembling with excitement, licking the sweet cream frosting off her sagging breasts…

“Holy shit!” he yelled.

That could have actually happened!

Really!

And he would have had no unpleasant feeling upon leaving virtuality. It would have been just a curious, intriguing adventure, approved by doctors and by the Church…

How could this be?

He wanted to gain the ability to love, but had he instead acquired the ability not to love?

Or maybe these were just two inseparably linked halves of a whole? Could it be impossible to understand love without the ability to reject?

Alex paced the length of his cabin, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, as he strained to grasp at least some of his feelings.

Yes, he had already broken one of the commandments of a pilot-spesh.

The main commandment, perhaps. The boundless responsibility for everyone who happened to be around. So Edgar’s remedy was working—blocking his altered consciousness. And that was really frightening… just to imagine pilots capable of abandoning their passengers and crew to the mercy of fate!

He thought of Kim, Janet, Lourier, Generalov, Morrison, C-the-Third, and the Zzygou.

Suppose something goes wrong now… the ship’s in danger… what would he do?

No! No way! He wouldn’t rush to save his own life. He was still ready to fight till the end for this ship, its passengers, and its crew! Everything was okay!

Except… what was this dreary restlessness, this cold emptiness inside?

As if an unfelt biochemical blow had cut off something that used to dwell in his soul…

Or… pulled away the mist that had concealed a bottomless abyss?

“Looks like I shouldn’t have drunk this shit,” said Alex rhetorically. Took a hurried look at the Demon, his most faithful adviser and companion.

The little devil stood, his head lowered, his arms spread out. It glowered at Alex sullenly from under its brows with the same inner torment Alex was feeling himself. He didn’t have to look at the Demon anymore—it no longer had anything new to tell him.

“But this isn’t love!” Alex vehemently shook his head. “It’s the wrong feeling! This can’t be it!”

“No, this isn’t love…” came a jeering whisper of something invisible, something that used to be dead to the world at the bottom of his soul. “This is the absence of love…”

“Then what kind of goddamn joy is this?” Memory obligingly supplied dry, scientific definitions of love, as if he were clutching at something in the past, something calm and stable. “A steady feeling, accompanied by emotions of gentleness and delight…”

Alex fell silent, controlling his breath. Stop. No need to get worked up. He had drunk the blocker of his own accord. He wanted to test it out to make sure it wouldn’t harm Kim. He wanted to try feeling what he had always been deprived of.

Was the reason he was experiencing all these unpleasant emotions precisely because of the absence of love? Fine—there were two women aboard, a young one and a middle-aged one. And, if push came to shove, there were also the Zzygou and Generalov! And finally, if worse came to worst, there was a crystal with virtual characters. He’d get that love thing, one way or another. And after the blocker’s action wore off, that foreign feeling would go away, and everything would return to normal, to the way it had always been.

The main thing was not to panic.

Alex quickly went to the shower, turned it on ice-cold, and stood for a few minutes, clenching his teeth. The gnawing anxiety and emptiness seemed to be subsiding, to be washing off.

Hang in there, we’ll make it!

It would be something to remember! What other pilot-spesh could brag about having loved, or having suffered the absence of love?

He turned on hot water for a moment, chasing the chill out of his bones. Rubbed himself dry with a towel, quickly dressed, dried and combed his hair. Looked at himself in the mirror.

Everything seemed normal.

Strong, manly face. Intelligent eyes.

Then something elusive, anxious, made him look away in fear.

Nonsense. Nothing, really. He was panicking—that was perfectly natural. So he was seeing things, stupid stuff.

Alex left his cabin and hurried to the bridge. All he needed now was the confluence with the ship, its rainbow warmth, the true feeling of a pilot-spesh. It wouldn’t let him down, it would save him. So what if it was still Morrison’s bridge time? He had every right to enter the system early. Say he couldn’t sleep, for instance. Or that he personally wanted to conduct the entry into the Zodiac system. He had never been there, and it was a great and magnificent planet.

Alex all but burst onto the bridge. He hurriedly lay down in the captain’s chair, looked over at Morrison. The co-pilot’s face was serenely happy, the way it was supposed to be. A good ship, a long flight, and reliable fellow crewmembers—what else could a pilot need? What sort of love?

Lowering his head, Alex entered the system. The green spiral quivered, reached toward him uneasily.

“The ship is still in the channel, thirty-four minutes remaining before exit, no accidents, all systems are working well…”

“Thank you, Xang. Never mind me. I just couldn’t sleep. I won’t interfere with the controls.”

The green spiral replied with a wave of emotion—gratitude and sympathy.

“Captain, I used to have trouble sleeping—a problem easily solved by a glass of red wine. I’ve also heard warm milk with linden honey helps. And there’s always sleeping pills…”

“Don’t worry about me, Xang. It’s a rare thing. I’m fine. I won’t… I won’t stay long.”

Morrison’s image faded a little, done with the conversation. Alex remained alone with the ship.

The rainbow. The warm, wonderful rainbow, reaching over through the darkness. The soul of the vessel.

Alex reached toward it, greedily, already feeling his tension ease, the gaping abyss that cut across his soul drawing together and diminishing.

“Touch me!”

“Be one with me!”

“Love me!”

The rainbow flared up around him.

Faithful, selflessly devoted, it took him in gently but firmly, wrapping him in an invisible embrace….

It was like being back in the first or second grade, during the virtual instruction courses… A charming virtual young lady for an instructor, even for the little snots like him. Her joyful voice, “And now we will be introduced to the simplest method of sexual self-stimulation, celebrated as far back as the biblical times. Boys, if you some of you are already familiar with it, please be quiet for a few minutes, do not interrupt…”

It was like being back at a school party, playing spin the bottle, when teenagers would split into couples and bustle into secluded nooks, hoping to find out the difference between virtuality and real sex.

It was like being back at the graduation orgy—with experienced geisha-speshes, who knew every last erotic zone of the human body and were able to give themselves to you with joyful and selfless abandon.

It was everything—and nothing. A forgery. An illusion. A surrogate for love. A cynical fake. A nutrient tablet in a starving man’s hand—something that sustained his body, but didn’t feed his hunger. An inflatable doll-woman in a museum of sexual culture. A sex-partner recommended for procreation, who carefully played out the role she had memorized since childhood.

It was anything—but not love!

Alex screamed, ripping himself out of the colorful rainbow, away from the cloying touch of electronic witchery. The system shivered, letting him out into the real world. He twisted around in the chair, having forgotten to rip off the safety straps, noiselessly yelling something, seeing the uncaring light of the screens and the serene face of Morrison.

He had been robbed blind!

A long, long time ago, before he was born! With the complete assent of his parents, who chose for their future son the secure and gainful specialization of a pilot. He was deprived of… no, he still had no idea exactly what it was… he only knew he wouldn’t be able to live without it anymore.

He had been betrayed.

He was a servant, just like the poor vassals to the aristocrats on Heraldica. Though he wasn’t being raped quite so openly.

What had he been living for?

For the cold contacts with the rainbow light?

For the right to pilot a dozen tons of metal?

For the right to die for the Empire?

Alex wept, shaking in the straps of the chair. He hadn’t cried for a long time… so very long. And he had probably never wept because of emotions before. Pain, or physical discomfort, or a botched-up assignment made him cry many times… but what was it like to weep because of an elusive, intangible feeling, not essential to life?

Thirty-four years he had been a happy pauper. He had been eating the leftover crumbs he was ordered to eat, rejoicing over gifts of cast-off rags, working to fulfill his social duties in good faith.

Now his hour of reckoning had come.

Master-pilot, spesh, captain of a starship, Alex Romanov wept, like an offended child. He wept, looking at the happy smile on the face of his co-pilot, who had no need for strange experiences.

Zodiac glittered like a Christmas-tree decoration. Its insane orbit, which curved like the number 8, now lay beyond a blinding white star that poured oceans of light onto the planet. Any earthly vegetation would not last an hour under this scorching luminary.

But life is a very tenacious thing.

The whole surface of the planet turned towards the white sun now became a carpet of mirrors. “Lotuses,” giant flying plants inhabiting the highest layers of the atmosphere, floated through the air like a many-layered carpet, avidly absorbing torrents of radiation. Somewhere far below, in cool, deep shade, Zodiac’s plants and animals went about their lives… as did its people. Guests of this strange world.

On no other planet in the galaxy were endemic things treated as gently and carefully as they were on Zodiac. Of course, technology would have allowed the construction of an orbital shield to protect the planet for the two months of the year when it passed close to the white star. But the people who had made this world their home decided to take the risk of relying on the natural protection that had been in place for hundreds of thousands of years.

Alex stood in the recreation lounge in front of the switched-on wall-size screen. He was watching a live broadcast from the surface of clouds, and above them, the greenish, off-white underside of the lotuses, drifting to follow the sun. The active part of the lotuses’ life cycle took slightly longer than those two months. The rest of the year, they carpeted the surface of the ocean, turning it into a green, scaly plain, lightly rippling on the waves. The lotuses were home to other plants and animals—little symbiotes that had perfectly adjusted to the cycle. They spent the two sunny months in the oceans, awaiting the lotuses’ return, or inside the flying plants’ thick, meaty tissue, replete with hydrogen cavities, or simply on the leaves’ underside.

“There’s a gap!” commented the announcer quietly, without any hint of fear. “Dear guests of the planet! You will now see what to do in case of a break in the lotuses.”

Maybe it had been a gust of wind, maybe something else, but the plants scattered. Amidst the greenish-white field, a blinding flash flared up. As if a fiery spear, thick and heavy, had ripped through the live shield and hit the surface of the planet. The video camera lowered itself, zooming in on a strip of forest that was hit by the flare. A light mist stood above the treetops—water was evaporating from the leaves. Then the camera showed a family—a man, a woman, and several small children—enjoying a picnic by the edge of the woods.

“Even if it looks like the affected zone is passing you by,” said the announcer cheerily, “be on the safe side. Take cover…”

The man and the woman looked sideways at the sky and moved under a tent of mirror-like reflective plastic.

“Be sure to put on personal safety-wear…”

The kids, who had been peacefully making sand-pies, took little crumpled sun-coats made from the same shiny material from their pockets. Slipped them over their shoulders, put the hoods over their little heads—and went on playing.

“If for any reason you are unable to take these safety precautions,” said the announcer amiably, “be sure to assume the following position…”

Out of a brook, which meandered a little ways off, a little girl came running. She wore nothing but a pair of panties. She looked up and then hurriedly lay down, folding her arms and her head underneath her body.

“Help will come!” said the announcer soothingly. The girl’s mother was already running towards the brook, waving a sun-coat.

“And even if it comes too late…”

The scene flooded with blinding light.

“Do not worry. The ‘sun kiss’ lasts no more than ten or twelve seconds. In most cases, the worst you can expect are some superficial burns.”

The barrage of light rushed on. The mother pulled the whimpering little girl to her feet, spanked her a few times, and then, with equal ardor, rubbed the child’s body with ointment. Then the woman sauntered back to the tent. The little girl wailed for a while and then returned to the water.

“The corporal punishment of the child, as shown here, is in no way endorsed by Zodiac’s Health Ministry. It is not a mandatory procedure after being accidentally ‘kissed by the sun,’” quickly added the announcer. “Welcome to our hospitable planet!”

The infomercial was over. Alex couldn’t suppress a crooked grin, thinking of the official statistics. Every white-sun season still claimed from twenty to thirty lives on Zodiac. Mostly tourists’, of course. Locals were more careful, and everyone, even the naturals, had adapted to “sun kisses.” In the same situation from which the little girl had emerged with only a slight redness of the skin, he, a strong and healthy man, would have been howling from the pain of being covered head to toe with blisters.

“I’m not so keen on going down there,” said Generalov. He looked around, as if hoping the others would support him. The whole crew had already gathered in the recreation lounge, but no one shared the navigator’s pessimism.

“Two hundred million people live down there,” said Morrison. “I’ve been there, though not in the hot season. It’s a very beautiful world.”

“I wanna go there,” Kim interjected quickly. And smiled at Alex.

Alex felt he really was looking at Kim differently. The girl hadn’t become more sexually appealing… and he still felt affection for her. But something had changed—something Alex had no words for.

Would it always be like this?

“Our venerable passengers are sure taking their sweet time,” said Janet with a smirk. She was standing right next to the screen, now showing views of Zodiac set to pleasant music. Really beautiful views. Zodiac’s nature was not Earth-like, but strangely enough, it looked very agreeable. There were lakes of dark-blue water, as if tinged with artificial color. Lush crowns of trees—every leaf green on one side and white on the other. Agile, cute little animals, scurrying in the grass like orange fur-balls.

“The Zzygou must not need an orientation,” remarked Paul. He yawned. “Captain, do we wait for them or just go in for landing?”

This jolted Alex out of his contemplation of Kim.

“Yes, please. Paul, go call them in to the recreation lounge. But be sure to ask Zey-So first, she is the senior one of the couple….”

The engineer nodded and was just about to step out of the lounge when there was a sound of hurrying feet.

“Finally!” snorted Kim. “Should we hit replay?”

C-the-Third appeared in the recreation lounge.

The air went still with an oppressive silence. The clone’s face was covered with red blotches, and beads of sweat ran down his forehead. His eyes were glassy.

“What happened?” Alex stepped forward. This could very well be the way a pilot would look after seeing the stern of his own ship in the hyper-channel.

“Captain…” The clone’s voice was barely audible. He swallowed spasmodically, and stretched out his arm, grabbing Alex by the shoulder. “Come with me! N-now!”

Alex turned around, glancing at his crew. They all looked on in bafflement.

“Everyone, stay here,” he said, just in case. “We’ll leave the landing till the next circuit.”

The clone nodded vehemently, as though Alex had given voice to his own thoughts, and then dragged the captain off.

“What’s going on?” said Alex softly, as soon as they were out in the hallway. “C-the-Third?”

“Sh-sh-sh!”

Now that they were alone, C-the-Third’s face expressed such desperation and panic that the grimace that had frightened everyone back in the lounge seemed good-natured and happy by comparison.

“Stop it, C-the-Third!”

“It’s… all over…” the clone forced out. Laughed hoarsely. “No. I lie. It’s all just about to begin…”

Having lost any hope of getting a coherent answer out of him, Alex quickened his pace. Ten seconds later, they were standing at the door of one of the cabins.

“You aren’t faint of heart?” the clone’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Not really.”

C-the-Third flung open the cabin door.

First, Alex saw one of the Zzygou, maybe Zey-So, maybe Sey-Zo, obeisantly kneeling beside the bed. The cabin, it seemed, had been decorated for a carnival—bright spots of red paint all over the walls. Odd, shapeless garlands hung from the ceiling. The odor, disgusting, almost intolerable to the human sense of smell, made him hold his breath.

And then it was as if a dam burst—his mind made the leap, and Alex realized all that had happened.

“No!” he shouted.

The Zzygou, frozen in a kneeling position near the mutilated, cut-up body of her partner, didn’t even stir.

“Let’s go, Alex. Let’s go. There is nothing we can do to help now.” C-the-Third dragged him out into the hallway, quietly closing the door of the cabin. He swallowed. Then shook his head. “It’s monstrous… monstrous.”

“Why did she do this?” Alex looked closely at the clone, who was, after all, a specialist in the Others. “They aren’t Bronins. They don’t have ritual murder!”

The clone tittered, quietly, hysterically:

“Alex… No! Zzygou partners are incapable of killing one another!”

“A suicide…” Alex began, and stopped himself. No living creature could smear its own blood all over the walls, festoon the ceiling with its own entrails, and then peacefully lie down on the bed.

“Zey-So has been murdered.” An anxious rattling note appeared in C-the-Third’s voice. “She has been murdered by someone in your crew, Alex! By a human—by one of us!”

He was quiet for a second and then, a little more calmly, although the words’ significance would not in any way dispose anyone to be calm, he added:

“Zey-So is the Crown Princess of the Zzygou Swarm. Her death at the hands of a human is a just cause for war. As a matter of fact… I think the Zzygou warships are already on their way through the hyper-channels. Sey-Zo has a portable transceiver. Before calling me in, she had gotten in touch with her mother world.”