Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

“Five nyans? Ten?”

“Ten.”

“I thank you on behalf of the grief-stricken orphans of astronauts…. Your marriage contract is now valid. Congratulations.”

With a slight bow of her head, the spider handed them two marriage contract documents.

“Thank you.” Alex caught Kim under her arm and dragged her out of the office.

“What about my ID?” whispered Kim as soon as the office door closed behind them.

“We’ll get it from another spider,” Alex explained. “Any manipulations with the law should be done one step at a time. When none of the bureaucrats break any rules, they don’t give a damn about the final result. Janet turned a blind eye on the time manipulations, one spider registered the marriage based on the spesh-certificates, and another one will now issue you a new ID.”

“So the whole thing is based on the fact that a spesh has two identity documents?” asked Kim.

“Exactly.”

“So naturals couldn’t have pulled it off?”

“Naturals never have any problems with the Imperial bureaucracy. The spiders just let them slide.”

A smiling waiter handed Alex a cigar. The restaurant was half-empty today. The workday was in full swing, and it was past the lunch hour. Alex thought wearily that he would probably have to sit around till very late in the evening.

“May I, Captain?”

It was the master-pilot he had met the other day. To approach a hiring person the second time, having once rejected the position, was considered somewhat rude… but Alex nodded yes. The man silently played with his sake cup. It seemed hard for him to start the conversation.

“I’ll be very glad if you have changed your mind,” ventured Alex.

The pilot drank up his sake in one gulp. Murmured:

“This is a hole of a planet, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Really?” the pilot rejoined, with a sudden ironic note in his voice. “I’ve been trying to get hired onto a ship for two weeks now, and there hasn’t been anything better than a Hamster !”

“Strange. When I was looking for a job, I saw several galactic-route positions…”

“You don’t mean to say that you… got your job as a captain from an infonet search?” He looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

“I did.”

“That means I am phenomenally unlucky,” the pilot scowled. “Astonishingly unlucky. I haven’t seen a single decent offer, let alone a captain’s post. Yesterday, a promising option did pop up, on a passenger liner… a local one, from this stinking garbage pit… Well, they didn’t take me! When I tried to register the contract, they told me to collect all the info about all the relatives on my mother’s side! Another great idea from the spider room….”

Alex snorted.

“Yes, I heard about that. When I went to have my papers issued.”

“I hope you’re not based here?”

“No, on Earth.”

“That’s good…” The pilot rolled the sake cup between his fingers. “Show me your contract, Captain. If I still suit you, of course.”

He placed his papers on the table in front of Alex, took a copy of the contract. Alex absently looked through the recommendations and evaluations. Xang Morrison, thirty-nine, free stations citizenship. Those born in space made the best pilots in the universe. A decent work record. Even better than Alex’s own, to be honest.

Quicksilver Pit wasn’t Earth or Edem. But it was a large and well-developed planet. And to have a master-pilot unable find a job here? For two weeks?

Very strange.

“Not bad,” said the pilot with bitter resentment, putting the contract aside. “Looks like the owners aren’t tight.”

“So it seems.”

“What is the Sky Company about?”

“I don’t know.”

“And where are we flying to?”

“Don’t know that, either.”

“Well, isn’t that nice…”

“They can’t require anything illegal,” said Alex with a shrug. “It’s a perfectly standard, union-approved contract.”

“I can see that. Captain, I won’t lie to you… two master-pilots can’t be happy on a tiny ship like Mirror . Can you take me on temporarily? Till you find another pilot? Then just give me the slip… I’ll get drunk while on duty, if you want, or show insubordination, or something. Just help me leave this awful hole!”

Alex thought for a moment. Morrison waited, tense and visibly on edge.

“But not until I find a good replacement…”

“I will be as diligent and obedient as a graduate on his first flight. Just find someone to replace me and kick me off on some halfway decent planet. Even New Africa will do.”

Alex couldn’t suppress a wry grin. To take aboard a pilot, knowing that he had no intention of staying for any length of time…

“Please, friend-spesh…” said Xang quietly.

“Go on and sign the contract,” Alex decided. Crunched the cigar in half in the ashtray.

His crew had been hired.

One hell of a weird crew, to tell the truth.

He himself, a master-pilot who could use some more work experience, just out of the hospital. A woman soldier and executioner from Eben in the role of a doctor. A girl barely out of metamorphosis as a fighter-spesh. A touchy natural navigator. A co-pilot who couldn’t find a job for two weeks, sitting at a huge transport crossroads. A young engineer who had brought their ship to Quicksilver Pit, thinking he was done with it… only to go right back aboard.

If Mirror ’s routes proved to be half as odd as the crew, he was in for an exciting life.

The communicator beeped in his pocket, and Alex took it out, feeling a strange pleasure mixed with embarrassment. A captain’s communicator was slightly larger than standard, loud orange in color… one of the few symbols of power.

“Captain…”

He recognized Generalov’s voice. In a second, the visual matrix opened up above the receiver. The navigator was at his workstation. Wearing his spacesuit. With his hair braided in the form of a pretzel on top of his head. And… a discreet red-and-blue ornament glowing on his left cheek. It was probably pointless to try to reform him.

“Captain here.”

“A direct communication from the owners. I’m transferring it to you.”

Alex closed the hologram, switched off the speaker, and touched the communicator to the back of his head, to the computer interface. This was the only way to guarantee the privacy of the conversation. He was intrigued—they hadn’t bothered contacting him when he first got hired, so he had no orders as far as the crew or the ship itself. Had it only now occurred to them to contact him?

“Alexander Romanov?”

The sound imitation was perfect. The voice seemed normal, secretarial. Just polite enough, just formal enough.

“Yes.”

“Are you using a private channel?”

“Of course.”

“Mister Li Tsyn, the Director of the Sky Company, wishes to speak with you.”

Alex realized that visuals were not being transmitted. But he straightened his back anyway. He wasn’t in the habit of having official conversations while picking his nose, or scratching his foot, or even simply lounging in a chair.

“Mister Romanov?”

The owner’s voice turned out to be one of an elderly but still sturdy man.

“Yes, Mr. Li Tsyn. I am listening, Mr. Li Tsyn.”

No formal introductions. No questions or congratulations on the new job… Mr. Li Tsyn could have used the same tone of voice to talk to his coffeemaker or his vacuum cleaner.

“Have you hired a full crew?”

“Yes, Mr. Li Tsyn…” Alex looked sideways at Morrison, who was in the act of pressing his finger to the contract.

“Good. Today you will take aboard three passengers and put yourself at their service. They will provide all the necessary route information.”