Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

Looking around, Alex was pleased. In this company, he and Kim looked downright respectable. There was a good chance that they would attract no special attention at all.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen a real Zzygou!” Kim whispered in his ear, getting on her tiptoes. “They are just like humans, aren’t they, Alex?”

“Only on the outside,” said Alex. He decided not to mention Janet’s recent suspicions. “Could you kill them?”

“Do you need me to?” asked Kim, businesslike. “Right now?”

Alex choked, grabbed her firmly by the arm. “No! No! It was a theoretical question. I just wanted to know if you were ready to fight with the Others.”

“I’m ready,” said Kim calmly. “If you ever need me to, just tell me.”

The girl looked at the pilot, and Alex saw that she wasn’t just ready. The thought filled her with enthusiasm. Not so much the thought of killing, but the opportunity to please him.

Janet was right. He had gotten himself into a very delicate situation.

“I’ll tell you,” he promised her. “But a fighter’s job is not just killing left and right.”

“What then?”

“Being ready to do it. Ideally, being ready every minute of your life.”

“All right.” Kim smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m ready!”

The two Zzygou, blissfully ignorant of their close call with fate, were talking to each other, pressing together their transparent head-shields. The line moved gradually forward. The big High Valley family left, and the mercenaries barged into one of the back rooms. The only ones left in front of them were the two Zzygou and a gloomy, well-dressed man with a large-headed, hunchbacked midget on a chain. The midget stared into space with a blank, stupid expression. A thin thread of drool hung from its half-opened mouth, and its left eye twitched repeatedly. Alex tried to remember which planet had a fashion of keeping freaks as pets, but couldn’t think of it and turned away. Wasn’t his business, after all. The galaxy was a big place.

The Zzygou got called in, and with a polite nod to the rest, they left the waiting room, holding hands. Then the little tag on the hand of the midget owner lit up. The man was apparently lost in thought, and he didn’t notice the signal. The midget darted an angry look up at him, yanked the chain, and hissed:

“Iven!”

The man started, looked down at the midget, and said wearily:

“You and your shenanigans, Miles…”

He stopped short and walked toward the door, above which a small light signal was flashing. He dragged the miserable midget behind him. The chain jingled, and the midget minced along, throwing its arms wide at every step.

“You remember your part?” said Alex quietly. Kim nodded, furrowing her brow.

“Yes. To say nothing and just smile.”

“Put all your charm into your smile, if the clerk is a man. Be shy and quiet, if it’s a woman.”

His little tag started blinking. Alex peeled it off, threw it on the floor, then got up and straightened his uniform.

The office they entered was tiny, apparently used to take care of lone visitors or couples. The older woman sitting behind the table had a small bundle of wires coming out of her temple. Another spider, making her living in the boundless web of data.

Kim demurely lowered her eyes.

“We would like to register a marriage contract,” said Alex, putting their spesh-certificates on the table.

“Duration?”

“Twenty-four hours.” Alex smiled.

The spider moved the certificates toward the center of the table. Apparently, that was where the scanner was located. She looked pensively up and to the left, where she alone could see her virtual screen. Then she asked:

“Your IDs?”

“Did you bring yours, Kim?”

The girl shook her head. Alex looked at the spider. “Are they really necessary, ma’am?”

The spider frowned, still looking up into space.

“No. No, but… Kim, you received your spesh-certificate an hour ago?”

The girl nodded.

“You see,” Alex felt it was high time to launch into an explanation, “she’s just had her metamorphosis. She was so excited when she finally got the certificate… we just couldn’t wait to try out its legal potential. Surely… she couldn’t get married with a minor’s card!”

The spider pursed her lips. The excuse sounded more or less reasonable… but something seemed to worry her.

“But why a twenty-four-hour marriage? To try out the certificate? Or do your religious beliefs require formal permission for sex?”

“Do you have to know these details?” asked Alex harshly. The whole plan was going to hell.

“I don’t,” agreed the spider. “But I have a right to put a hold of up to three days on a marriage contract. Because one of the people involved is young, for instance.”

Having seen a pair of happy teenagers, as young or even younger than Kim, leave this very room half an hour ago, Alex was barely able to suppress a harsh remark. Kim was the one to rescue the situation:

“Alex, dearest, show her your labor contract. Chapter eight, paragraph seventeen B.”

“I don’t have it with me,” Alex answered, trying to recall the text. What did she mean? Chapter eight… financial provisions. “Besides, I can’t show it to anyone without the company’s permission…”

The spider looked really curious. Kim turned to her and said, still smiling shyly:

“We are from the same ship, ma’am. We have a provision for a fifteen percent bonus for married couples. To boost crew morale. I haven’t signed the contract yet, and so…”

The woman pursed her lips. Murmured:

“Your company lawyers don’t have any brains. Well, at least you’re not making up stories of sudden romance.”

Alex was silent, leaving further discussion completely to Kim.

“The registration of a twenty-four-hour marriage costs five spacenyans. Whose account should I charge?”

“Mine,” said Alex quickly.

The spider coughed, got up from her chair, winced as her wires caught on the corner of the table and got got detached from the contact plate.

“Alexander Romanov and Kim O’Hara, in the name of the planet of Quicksilver Pit and on behalf of our president, Mister San Li, I congratulate you upon your entry into a temporary marriage union. During the period of the contract, I hope you get to know each other better”—here, even the spider could not help smiling—“so that the present contract can be extended for a longer period of time. Your marriage is now recognized by His Imperial Government as legal on the planets of the Empire, as well as beyond its borders, for the entire period of the contract.”

The pleasant, though somewhat willfully improvised, version of Mendelssohn’s wedding march, which had been playing during the entire speech, ceased.

“Any special wishes?” the spider politely asked, obviously not expecting any such wishes. Her right hand was already sliding around in the air, filling out all the items of the marriage contract form.

“I would like to take the last name Romanov,” said Kim quietly.

“Why?” asked the woman in surprise.

“It sounds exotic.”

The spider shrugged her shoulders.

“As you wish. You want your property rights separated? Genetic rights stay with the genes’ carriers? Personal debts and felonies do not transfer onto the family unit?”

Her fingers fluttered in the air, weaving new threads into the data web.

“My warmest congratulations, Alex and Kim Romanov… Would you like to make a small donation to the planetary home for orphaned children of astronauts? Or for the development of medical technologies?”

“For the children’s home,” said Kim. She looked at Alex, and he nodded.