The Genome

  Holmes shook his head in disapproval.

  “What a monstrous genetic fantasy! Ancient myths, as I recall, frequently mention sly women with similar bodily features, but to make this terrible fairy tale a reality …”

  Kim scoffed. “I don’t see anything terrible about it. I control my body very well … and only a rapist has reason to fear. A tiny tooth that releases an extremely painful toxin … not a single woman, I think, would ever refuse such an ability.”

  Generalov cast a grim look upon her, but said nothing.

  “Well,” Holmes exhaled, as if drawing the line of finality, “I’m glad that most of you turned out not to have been involved in the crime. And what’s more—that you were able to overcome your inhibitions, grudges, and ambitions, and work to be of great help to me. I think this tragic event will go down in the annals as ‘The Case of the Nine Suspects.’”

  “Nine?” asked Alex. “Are you sure, Mr. Holmes?”

  “At first, I was not excluding C-the-Third, or Sey-Zo, not even the victim herself. Only after inspecting the crime scene did I become convinced that the extravagant suicide version should be dismissed.”

  “Ripping out your own guts and lying down to die?” Alex inquired.

  “The Zzygou are very tenacious. But you’re right, not even they are capable of that.”

  Holmes sighed, and his face lit up with the smallest and rarest of smiles—rare because it obviously came from the depths of his soul.

  “Well, this investigation is over. Dr. Watson, is everything clear to you?”

  “Yes.” The woman nodded. Holmes looked rather startled—it seemed that Jenny’s duties had always included asking a few more-or-less silly questions at the end. But his loyal companion added, looking at Alex, “I admire you, Pilot. And I’m also a little sorry … that you’re a pilot-spesh.”

  For a moment, there was an uneasy silence.

  “What’s to become of us?” Generalov finally asked.

  “You will now write detailed reports about the events that you witnessed. If I find them satisfactory, we will allow you to land on Zodiac, and after that, you will all be free to go. Your ship is, as I’ve already said, impounded, and you will have to look for other employment. But …” Holmes cocked his head, raising his eyebrows. “I can’t help you there. Such is the will of the Emperor.”

  “Or, more exactly, of the Imperial Council, which probably includes a few of the agent’s accomplices,” added Morrison gloomily.

  “I have no right to enter this discussion. And I advise you to restrain yourself from dubious comments about the ruling government!” said Holmes harshly.

  “Mr. Holmes, what will be done with Paul Lourier’s body?” asked Kim.

  “The real Paul Lourier has probably found eternal rest in the soil of Quicksilver Pit,” Holmes replied. “Or lies in some seedy bar, stuffed full of drugs. You mean, the agent’s body?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will be sold to a clinic on Zodiac. They will probably find a use for it … testing new drugs or teaching students to perform complex surgery.”

  “Can I buy the body?”

  Holmes looked at Kim in surprise.

  “I have money!” hastily added the girl. “We are entitled to sizable severance pay, right? Or will that not be enough?”

  “I doubt that a body of a narrowly specialized fighter-specimen, devoid of all memory, will cost all that much,” said Holmes pensively. “But, for goodness’ sake, tell me, what do you need it for?”

  “Maybe I’m sentimental,” said Kim with a smile. “So maybe I want to care for the helpless human shell whose individuality has been destroyed with my help. Or maybe I’m a filthy sadist who wants to torture a soulless piece of organic material? No, wait … maybe I’m a crazy nymphomaniac who decided to get herself a super-submissive lover?”

  “I think the real reason wasn’t mentioned,” Holmes replied. “In any case, I don’t see any obstacles to it.”

  Alex caught Kim’s triumphant glance and gave her a little nod. Edward Garlitsky had gained a body. A strong and complex one … Oh, God … that was …

  He shifted his gaze away.

  That eerie impression of unity, of affinity between these two agent-speshes which had stung him for a moment during their fight—had it been just a coincidence? Garlitsky had created himself a bodyguard, a helper, a lover … but who said that he hadn’t also started growing some bodies for himself a long, long time before that? Back when Eben wasn’t yet part of the Empire, he had to have been a consultant for their geneticists. And Eben, ready to implement endless specifications for human bodies, could have served him as his best, most reliable testing ground!

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said Holmes almost cheerfully, “I ask everyone to go back to his or her cabin and get started on compiling those reports.”

  Alex silently got up.

  “And you, Mr. Romanov,” said Holmes brusquely, “I will ask to stay!”

  Dr. Watson seemed the most surprised. When Holmes asked her to leave for the second time, she gave up, but shook her head with a hurt expression.

  Alex was not surprised by this demand to stay. What was much more surprising was that the detective preferred to speak with him one-on-one.

  Before he said anything else, Holmes took a small black disk out of his pocket. He touched the control sensors and put it down on the floor. Their ears got a little stuffed up, and the room around them seemed to have gotten darker.

  “Now we’re insulated from your ship’s internal surveillance devices,” Holmes informed him. Alex was looking at him with growing astonishment. “I would like to get a few unofficial answers … unofficial for now,” Holmes emphasized.

  “Only an idiot lies to a detective-spesh,” said Alex wearily.

  “Yes, of course. Smart people just don’t mention some details. Alex Romanov, what has happened to you and to your crew?”

  “What are you referring to, Mr. Holmes?”

  “To the strange behavior of the speshes, who were required to sacrifice themselves for humanity. You yourself, I believe, have said that a normal spesh has to readily perish for the good of the Empire?”

  “Stress, perhaps?” ventured Alex. “We all found ourselves in such an alarming, ambiguous situation … besides, our common death wouldn’t satisfy Sey-Zo anyway.”

  “This is the version I will express in the official report,” said Holmes. “That is, I might express it. But now I would like to hear the truth.”

  Under the detective’s intent stare, Alex lowered his hand into his pocket and took out the little vial.

  “A while ago,” he said, putting the vial next to the black disk, “I happened to get my hands on a rare drug.”

  “Yes,” said Holmes, encouragingly.

  “Its effect on the organism of a spesh … any spesh … leads to the blocking of all the emotional alterations.”

  “The emotional ones only?”

  “Yes. Memory, professional characteristics, body modifications remain intact.”

  Holmes carefully lifted the vial, shook it. Pensively remarked:

  “And you fed this drug to your crew.”

  “Yes. You saw the result.”

  “I’m baffled,” Holmes confessed. “Was this drug obtained by you in an honest way?”

  “Of course. The formula was given to me by its creator. As far as I understand, he had been working on the remedy for many years. The synthesis was performed in an ordinary automatic laboratory, and I paid for it the honest way … nothing shady here.”

  “Except that speshes start acting like naturals.”

  “This remedy doesn’t force any extraneous emotions on anyone, Mr. Holmes. This isn’t some narcotic. Even calling it a psychotropic drug would be a stretch. All it does is temporarily block the emotions distorted by specialization.”

  “You say that as if specialization were something evil.”

  “No, of course not. But … does the law forbid speshes to get rid of
changes made to their own ethics?”

  “Why forbid something that’s impossible?” Holmes replied with a question. “There has not been a precedent.”

  “Maybe the fact that Imperial laws do allow a spesh to remove the physiological after-effects of specialization, if he so wishes, could serve as such a precedent?”

  Holmes nodded. He dropped back in his armchair, still holding the vial in his hand.

  “You can try the remedy, Mr. Holmes,” Alex suggested. “Just a few drops will do it. An overdose isn’t dangerous. And it works … em … for several days.”

  “Is this, by any chance, a bribe offer?” said Holmes with lively interest.

  “No. It’s an agreement to conduct an investigative experiment. You can estimate the consequences of the use of the drug and, if you find them dangerous, you can subject me to any punishment.”

  “You’re quite a risk-taker, Alex Romanov!” Holmes frowned. “You’re that sure of your decision, eh?”

  “No. I’m not sure,” Alex admitted frankly. “But I hope you will agree with me.”

  “Alex, my dear fellow.” Holmes smiled. “Tell me, what would a detective-spesh be worth, if he were capable of falling in love? Afraid of a ray gun pointed at him? Overcome by sentiments?”

  “I don’t know what you’ll be worth, Mr. Holmes.” Alex leaned slightly toward him. “Honestly, I don’t. But if specialization is the only thing that prevents you from taking bribes from criminals or hiding from murderers—you’re not worth a dime, anyway. Neither you, nor your matrix, Peter Valke!”

  “Don’t you try to play on my curiosity, Alex!” replied Holmes harshly. “Don’t! It’s the only human trait I have left!”

  “No, C-the-Forty-Fourth! It isn’t! You also have your longing for truth. And truth is not something that is stuffed into your brain by peptide chains! Not at all! Truth is what you really, truly are!”

  For a brief moment, Alex felt that Holmes would now take out a pair of handcuffs and utter the standard arrest formula.

  But Holmes lowered his eyes.

  And so he sat there for a few seconds, downcast, peering at the floor, turning the vial between his fingers. Then, with a brisk movement, he hid it in his pocket.

  “I will take every precaution, Alex Romanov,” he said quietly. “Keep that in mind. And if you have lied … even unintentionally … if the drug forces me to behave in ways unnatural to me …”

  He didn’t finish his warning. Just got up and left the recreation lounge.

  Report writing was an activity speshes were quite accustomed to. At times Alex even wondered why it wasn’t included in the specialization. Or maybe it was included, but considered so insignificant that it wasn’t worth mentioning.

  He decided not to use the neuro-terminal. Writing a text with “thoughts” demanded too much control over one’s consciousness. Alex unfolded a virtual keyboard and, for almost an entire hour, sat drumming his fingers in the air, arranging words in the most grammatical, beautiful … and least dangerous order.

  He even managed to mention the machination that had helped bring Kim O’Hara aboard the ship. No one could say that Alex had tampered with the truth in any way.

  There was, of course, no mention whatsoever of the gel-crystal, of Edward Garlitsky, or of the emotions blocker.

  His fingers were dancing in the air, lightly touching the holographic letters. Blue sparks flashed with every tap on the invisible keys. An illusory sheet of paper slowly scrolled upwards, taking within it the whole story of the first and only tourist flight of the spaceship Mirror and its unusual crew.

  Alex re-read what he had just written. Thought for a moment, shrugged.

  It was hard to say what the outcome of it all would be. There was still a chance that the union would consider him liable for what had happened, and then a pilot’s worst fate would befall Alex—he would be forbidden to fly.

  But somehow, even that didn’t really frighten him now.

  He gave the computer the command to create a hard copy of the report, got up from behind the desk, and opened the processor panel. Carefully extracted the gel-crystal that contained the mind of Edward Garlitsky and his entire strange little world.

  How weird. How absurd. A scientific genius, the person who had uncovered all the mysteries of genetic code—who had, for many years now, been dwelling in a chunk of crystallized liquid. Mad with rage, bored, lonesome … rearranging other people’s genes over and over … constructing virtual worlds and fighting virtual wars … and the whole time, endlessly devising plan after plan after plan to break free.

  Even if, in the meantime, he kept trampling over someone else’s freedom over and over again …

  Alex looked at the small hatch of the little microwave built into the cabin wall. An illusion of all the comforts of home. To warm up a sandwich, or fry up a steak on the infrared grill.

  Or to incinerate a whole world with its only inhabitant …

  Alex took out the neuro-shunt, inserted the crystal into the contact surface, and tied the headband around his head.

  There were no rivers or forests, no castles or dragons. There were no guards with swords or seductive maidens in transparent garments.

  There was a gray, sandy field and a low gray sky. On a simple wooden chair, half-buried in sand, sat a middle-aged man dressed in an old-fashioned suit with a tie around his neck—that archaic ritual noose, if you believed all the films about ancient life.

  Alex walked up to the geneticist Edward Garlitsky, stopped, studying his face.

  Strange.

  He wasn’t a copy of the spesh who had disguised himself as Paul Lourier. But the resemblance seemed undeniable. It wasn’t in his features, or his gestures, or his age … It was an elusive likeness—as though you were ripping away everything false and trivial to reveal a common essence.

  “Have you rendered the agent harmless?” the man asked. Alex nodded.

  “Kim?” Garlitsky inquired.

  “Yes. How did you ever get such an idea?”

  He seemed not to notice the tone of the question.

  “Too much time on my hands, Alex. You read old myths and can’t help trying to fit the abilities of fairy-tale characters to real life. What can be created and what can’t. What’s useful, and what’s not—”

  Garlitsky stopped short.

  “God will be your judge.” Alex sat down nearby, right on the sand. Edward hadn’t bothered creating another chair. “So you knew all about the plot?”

  “It is impossible to know all, young man. Only in fairy tales does the hero gain omniscience and omnipotence.” The geneticist smiled. “And there isn’t anything good about that. For in much wisdom is much grief.”

  “I want to grieve.”

  Garlitsky sighed.

  “Believe me, Alex Romanov, I had no part in that complexly planned provocation. But I did have some information about it. Not much …”

  “Did Kim run into me by chance?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you know from the get-go that there was an agent aboard?”

  “The thought did cross my mind. After the murder, I had no more doubts.”

  Alex shook his head.

  “Still, it seems to me that you are lying.”

  “Why is that?” asked the geneticist with lively interest.

  “Your reaction to the events was way too calm. You … it was like you knew everything in advance. Our every move.”

  “Young man, endure at least a couple decades as an incorporeal but fully conscious shadow,” said Garlitsky ironically. “You’ll see how your idea of danger changes, and your reaction to it, as well. I got used to the thought that I might die at any moment—and that I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. These last few weeks, I’ve had the least worry ever about my survival.”

  “You are that sure of Kim’s abilities?” Alex posed Sherlock Holmes’s question.

  “But of course I am!” Edward emphatically spread out his arms. “Is an architect-sp
esh sure of the house he built? Is a surgeon-spesh sure of his incision? Is a fighter-spesh sure of his marksmanship?”

  “Kim isn’t some brick in a wall. And you aren’t a spesh. You’re a spesh-creator.”

  “So what?” Garlitsky looked at him, uncomprehending. “There have always, in any era, existed people who became speshes. Breaking their own bodies, reining in their spirit. Getting rid of one thing, adding another. Pity? Subtract pity. Intellect? Add intellect. Plus family—minus family. Plus friends—minus friends. Plus motherland—minus motherland! The entire life of a human is a continuous struggle for these pluses and minuses. People have spent decades of their short lives dashing this way and that, poisoning the existence of those around them, all to find their own combination of pluses and minuses. I removed these torments. From the cradle to the grave—all speshes are happy.”

  “Because you have forbidden them to add and subtract.”

  Edward laughed.

  “Alex … Alex. I gave you an opportunity to decide everything anew. And? Are you happier?”

  Alex was silent.

  “You’ve lost the love, that wonderful love for your ship, that’s given only to speshes. What did you get in return, Alex?”

  No reply.

  “Do you really think I am villainously withholding from humanity the remedy that returns their emotions to Old Testament norms? Come on! Humanity has always created everything for which there was a need. If there were a need, a blocker of altered emotions would have been created. And is it really all about the ethical factors that have been forced on them? You, for instance … you’ve taken the drug. Your artificially created kindness and sense of responsibility dissipated. So what prevented you, just a few minutes ago, from throwing my gel-crystal out into vacuum or frying it in a microwave?”

  Alex looked him straight in the eye.

  “I wasn’t watching what was going on inside the ship,” Edward added. “You’ve deprived me of the opportunity to do that. But I know people. You did want to put an end to me, right?”

  “Yes. Because of what you’ve done to Kim. Because you took part in … I’m sure, one way or another, you took part in the conspiracy.”