Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

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

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

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

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

“And she will be able to guarantee it?”

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

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

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

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

“Choose now,” repeated Kim.

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

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

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

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

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

Puck cleared his throat, rubbing his neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Generalov looked at his new suit with obvious pleasure.

“With your permission, sir, not yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

What she said next confirmed his opinion.

“Captain, where is the sick bay?”

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

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

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

“You may go inspect your work station.”

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

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

“Why?” said Alex.

“Are you familiar with navigation, Captain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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