Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

She smiled somewhat sadly. “Why not, Captain? In another three hundred years or so, when the quarantine field dissolves…”

“Captain, shall I prepare an official complaint to the union?” asked Generalov.

“That’s my job,” said Alex.

“You have extensive experience with judicial quibbling?” rejoined the navigator. “Of course, the report should bear your signature, but someone else can put it together…”

Alex didn’t hesitate for very long. When it came to concocting complaints, the navigator really was the most experienced member of the crew.

“All right, Puck. Prepare the document and send it to me for a signature. Don’t forget to stress the fact that our entry into Cepheidean space would have led to a customs search and imprisonment of our honorable Zzygou passengers. Morrison!”

“Yes, Captain.”

“The jump to Gamma Snakebearer will take six and a half hours. You have the bridge.”

“Aye-aye, Captain. Permission to perform intermediate maneuvers in the Gamma system?”

Alex smiled. Of course: piloting inside a hyper-channel was not any pilot’s idea of fun. Morrison seemed to have decided to eke out every good piloting opportunity he could.

“All right, Morrison. But don’t forget to call me to the bridge right before we exit the channel. The rest of the crew may now rest. Engineer, you may turn the reactor to minimal power output.”

While the ship slid through the invisible currents of hyperspace, it didn’t need much piloting, or energy, or defenses.

“I have the bridge, Captain,” said Morrison. Alex lingered for a moment, watching the colored lights melt into darkness—his crew leaving the control system.

“Be good, now…” whispered Alex. Not to the people—to his ship. A warm wave, gentle and soothing, washed over him in reply as if to say, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine…”

When only the emerald spiral was left in virtual space, Alex left.

The piloting chair straps clicked softly open. Alex got up, stretched his neck and shoulders, looked at the control screens. A smooth gray tunnel—the ship was sliding through the inner side of space. Morrison looked as motionless as a mannequin in the other pilot’s chair. Poor Morrison. He had no way of experiencing this ecstasy. It was great to be a pilot, but being a captain was so much more…

“Have a good shift, Xang,” said Alex gently and left the bridge.

Janet waved to him from afar. But Kim approached him decisively as he neared the door to his cabin.

“Not now, honey…” Alex took her by the shoulder. “I have an important meeting right now.”

Kim frowned.

“Alex, will I be hearing you say that all the time now?”

How was he to maintain any kind of discipline under such circumstances? The engineer, opening his own door, stared at them curiously.

“Kim, come see me in half an hour, okay?” He looked into her eyes. He had no idea what she must have heard in his voice, but she beamed and affected a slight, mocking drawl as she said:

“All right, A-lex…”

Another second, and she disappeared behind her door. Alex entered his quarters, shook his head. Yup. He had a problem. Kim’s specialization was making her seek his love… the one thing he couldn’t give her.

But he had more pressing matters to tend to.

“Computer, put me through to C-the-Third, captain’s priority, open channel.”

The screen came on. To Alex’s surprise, C-the-Third was in his bed, sleeping peacefully. The yacht gravity compensation system was strong enough to protect the passengers from gravity overloads upon tunnel entry, but the clone’s equanimity was in itself worthy of admiration. Either he didn’t give a damn about anything, or flew so often that he felt no trepidation before yet another hyper-jump.

“C-the-Third…”

The clone awoke instantly. One moment he was lying on the bed, wrapped tightly in his blanket, and the next instant he was standing by the side of the bed, looking at the screen.

“Captain here,” Alex felt compelled to say, for some reason. “Come to my quarters. Immediately.”

C-The-Third didn’t say a word. Only nodded and disappeared from the field of vision. Alex sat down in the chair, propped his chin with his fist. He was absolutely calm. The recent incident had taken so little real time that his body hadn’t even had a chance to react by releasing adrenaline. Everything was over. And all pilots were pre-programmed to not worry about misfortunes that hadn’t happened.

If not for Janet…

The door beeped.

“Open,” Alex ordered.

It was C-the-Third. He wasn’t even dressed—he came just as he was, in his pajamas, which were rather childish, blue with little red and white stars. Alex made a mental note to be more careful with the word “immediately.”

“What’s going on, Captain?”

The clone’s harsh tone did not match the cheerful design of his pajamas. And his face wore the look of a man ready to kill.

“Sit down. Would you like a drink?” Alex leaned over and opened a little bar. Glanced at the flattish flasks… not a bad selection!

“Brandy,” said the clone resentfully. “Just a little.”

He waited while the captain poured two glasses of brandy and then asked, a little more calmly:

“So what’s happening?”

“At the entrance to the tunnel, we were almost rammed by a mercury tanker.”

“An attack?” The clone tensed.

“The pilot said their engines misfired. It’s been known to happen on old tubs like that. Their computers are extremely primitive and unstable.”

C-The-Third frowned.

“Captain, this ship is supposed to be well protected… and well armed. If I am not mistaken, according to the law, the guard towers were supposed to destroy the tanker. And you had the right to do so, as well.”

“No, I didn’t. The collision would not have led to a catastrophe—only forced us to enter the tunnel with an uncharted trajectory.”

“Was there a collision?” asked the clone.

“No. You would’ve felt it, I can assure you. We… managed.”

C-the-Third drank up his brandy in one gulp. Asked testily:

“Then what the hell? I knew we weren’t going for a walk in the park. You could’ve told me all about it in the morning…”

“C-the-Third, by a strange coincidence, the new trajectory would have led us into Cepheidean space.”

The clone started. He rolled his empty glass in his fingers and said:

“But it didn’t happen, right?”

“Right. We are on our way to Gamma Snakebearer. Can you imagine what would have happened, had we entered Cepheidean space?”

C-the-Third winced.

“Customs search. Capture of the Zzygou. Or, rather, an attempted capture. I have a duty to protect them.”

“I too have a duty to protect all my passengers.” Alex poured two more drinks. They drank in silence.

“It seems I must thank you.” C-the-Third bowed slightly. “That was an extremely unpleasant situation.”

“Indeed. But not me—Janet Ruello. Well, that’s beside the point, anyway. What do you think is the probability of an accidental collision?”

“Negligible.”

“Agreed. C-the-Third, I don’t like what’s happening. We were hired for civilian service.”

“This is a civilian trip. Ordinary tourism…”

“Is it?”

They looked closely at each other for a few moments. Then the clone shrugged his shoulders.

“Damn it, Captain… I’ve been making these trips for seven years now. Three years for the Pearl company and four years for Sky . I have escorted Zzygou, Bronins, Cepheideans, Fenhuan… and a dozen other races, with whom humans hardly ever have any contact. I am a spesh for these contacts, you see?”