Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

“May I?”

Alex threw an appraising glance at the first candidate.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I am.”

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

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

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

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

“Not really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A six-member crew.

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

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

And yet…

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

A fighter on board meant possible visits to troubled planets.

A doctor meant very long trips.

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

“May I?”

Alex looked up.

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

They studied each other for a few seconds.

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

“Would you care for a drink?”

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

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

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

“Captain?”

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

“Looking for a crew?”

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

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

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

“Excuse my intrusion then, Captain…”

“Wait!”

“Yes?” The lady slightly raised her eyebrows.

“Your specialization is not cargo technician.”

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

“Actually, we do.”

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

“Yes, of course.”

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

“What kind of ship do you have?”

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

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

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

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

“A couple hours.”

“Right. Who else is in the crew?”

“Just me.”

“Okay, I get it.”

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

“Details?”

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

“And where are we flying?”

“Don’t know.”

“Purpose?”

“Don’t know that, either.”

“Sounds marvelous, Captain…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Four specializations?”

“Five. But the fifth one is irrelevant.”

“I’d like to know what it is anyway.”

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