Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

Of course, astronaut lore carried many a legend about hyper-channels. There was one about a man who had thrown himself overboard and was delivered by the hyper-channel back to Earth. And one about a ghost-spaceship that appeared from under the stern, majestically passed the astonished observers, and vanished into the distance ahead. And one that said that occasionally, the exhaust of your own ship’s engines could be seen in front of the ship itself…

And, of course, there wasn’t a single grain of truth in all that lore. But it was kind of fun to pretend that you believed it.

Alex wasn’t really sure if he would have liked to actually see anything unusual in the hyper-channel. The spine-tingling stories were good only when you knew they were lies. He was much happier with just the silence and the tranquility. Silence, tranquility, and the warm rainbow of the ship…

Nevertheless, he liked to stare into the nonexistent space of the channel, as if he really did expect to see the stern of his own ship up ahead…

Morrison entered the controls system at exactly the appointed time. He and Alex exchanged a short emotional signal: no words to it, just wishes of luck and an expression of goodwill. The rest of the crew was resting.

Alex felt tired, but stepped into the recreation lounge anyway. All alone, he poured himself a glass of dry wine. The ship seemed to be dozing, placidly and serenely… Only the air conditioning was rumbling softly, almost inaudibly. Sensing the presence of a person, a small turtle-like cleaning robot stirred in the corner, licking with its moist tongue the floor that was already squeaky-clean.

Alex still couldn’t chase away memories of Heraldica. That girl, walking away from her rapists. Submissive, uncomplaining, maybe even content to have fulfilled her duty…

He took the vial out of his pocket, and looked at the cloudy suspension. What would have happened had the rape victim taken a blocker? Nothing good, that’s for sure. She would have tried to scratch the aristocrats’ eyes out, resist them… to the great surprise of the entourage and, no doubt, of the rapists themselves.

Alex opened the vial, smelled it cautiously. There was a sharp chemical odor, not exactly pleasant, but not revolting, either. One drop would be enough. Well, two—for a full guarantee. Overdose would not be dangerous…

He tipped the vial over the glass holding the remnants of wine. Looked at the Demon. His shirtsleeve was rolled up, so the little devil was in full view. Except it had closed its eyes, as in terror.

“It is scary,” Alex agreed. “Very scary.”

Surely he wasn’t the first spesh ever to brave a self-experiment with such a substance. And surely, nothing good had come out of such an experiment, otherwise the recipe of the blocker would have spread through the Empire like wildfire, breaking down the established order of things.

A drop.

Two.

Three.

He carefully closed the vial and hid it in his pocket. Swirled the glass a bit. The liquid stubbornly refused to mix with the wine and formed an oily film upon the surface.

Alex put the glass to his lips and threw its contents back in one gulp. Then poured himself another splash of wine to wash it down. A slight acrid aftertaste remained.

The substance wouldn’t work right away. Edgar had said something about three to four hours before the behavior modifiers, already present in the body, were flushed out from the nerve cells. And yet, Alex stood for a while, listening closely to his own sensations.

He felt sleepy, and that was all….

“Let’s go take a nap,” said Alex. The Demon, of course, had no objections.

Then he was in a dream, a strange, chaotic one, composed of bits and pieces of everything that had happened in the last few days. As though he was a ruler of some unknown planet, maybe Heraldica, or Earth, or Edem. A good, kind, peaceful planet… Alex stood at the foot of a throne. Ten or so guards, their swords drawn, were closing in on him in a tight circle. And in front of Alex, on his knees, stood the boy named Edgar, awkwardly clutching his broken and bent glasses.

“Why’d you do it?” his own voice seemed unfamiliar to Alex. He even realized that he was asleep, and was ready to wake up, as it often happens as soon as you say something in your sleep. But the dream didn’t end, and Edgar lifted his head, squinted myopically at Alex, and gave an awkward shrug:

“I wanted to save myself…”

“Add ‘Sovereign,’” said Alex, and the guards tensed, ready to rush over to Edgar and hack his skinny body to pieces.

“I wanted to save myself, Sovereign.” Edgar had finally straightened out the frames, and now fastened the glasses onto his nose.

“But why in this way, exactly?”

The boy—who stubbornly continued to wear glasses, a thing that had been forgotten by everyone a century ago—winced.

“It was the only way that remained to me, Sovereign.”

“You’re cruel…” Alex looked over the guards’ heads and met the glance of Kim, who stood hugging Janet. Kim nodded to him, and cried out:

“Kill him, Sovereign! I never wanted to be this way, Sovereign!”

Janet stopped her by putting her hand to Kim’s mouth. Then shook her head, whispering:

“Our soldiers were unable to shoot at humans… Alex…”

Alex nodded to each of them. Approvingly to Kim, soothingly to Janet. But he was the Sovereign, and that bound him with invisible fetters much stronger than the altered spesh operons….

“You’re cruel,” Alex repeated, looking down at the boy, who was awaiting his decree. “Guards!” And ten glistening swords swung up into the air….

Having opened his eyes, Alex lay motionless for a while. He winced, remembering the dream—bright and colorful, it seemed to have embossed itself upon his memory.

His experience with psychoanalysis was limited—a standard course in elementary school and, later, the occasional trips to the union therapist. But the interpretation of this dream did not present a difficulty.

He winced at the memory of Kim yelling, “Kill him!”

But the most frightening thing was that she was actually right… and these words might someday ring out for real.

He didn’t sleep long—there were still two and a half hours before they would exit the channel. He could go to the recreation lounge and sit around with a glass of whiskey. Or he could stop by Kim’s or Janet’s and indulge in the simple pleasures of sex. For a while, Alex lay, trying to decide to whom he was drawn more. Both women were very attractive, but each in her own way…

He sighed and decided not to bother anyone.

The neuro-shunt was still in the desk drawer. Alex put the headband on and started rummaging through the contents of a pencil box, with its meager collection of entertainment crystals. There were a few “Wonderful Journeys,” which allowed you to travel through virtual copies of the most beautiful planets in the galaxy. Four detective adventures from the series about the Hunchback, agent-spesh of Imperial Security. This particular colleague of Kim’s, if you believed the authors, really did have a disposable plasma discharger… well, not in the body part that Edgar had mentioned, but in one of his sinuses. Alex hesitated—he had watched the crystals titled “The Hunchback” and “The Hunchback’s Truth” a while back, and he remembered being captivated by the daring plot, in which you could be on the side of the agent-spesh or on the side of his numerous but unlucky opponents. Someone had also enthusiastically recommended to him the crystal named “And Now—The Hunchback.” As for the one called “A Tomb for the Hunchback,” that promised either the end of the hero’s exploits or—and this was more likely—some totally mind-boggling escapades. But a quality virtual detective adventure, if you played as several characters, would take up no less than twenty-four hours. Alex put “The Tomb for the Hunchback” aside, where he could easily see it, and went on looking through the rest of the tiny crystals.