Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

“I will still love you,” Alex is saying, because he knows the words she longs to hear. He is saying them sincerely, fully convinced he will keep his promise. “I’ll be a pilot, but so what? Metamorphosis won’t make any difference…”

“Are you thinking about something, Captain?” Holmes asked bluntly.

“I was sure that the substances that can block altered emotions do exist,” said Alex.

“You should watch fewer soap operas and adventure thrillers. It would take a genius the likes of Edward Garlitsky to consider all the operons and make up this kind of remedy. Chemical interference with the mind of a spesh is impossible… but I am still ready to suppose that C-the-Third could have been a victim of mental encoding.”

“Who could possibly want a galactic war?” Alex shrugged. “I don’t think we could find madmen with that much power in the Empire. Holmes, could it have been—”

“The Zzygou themselves?” Holmes shook his head. “Absolutely not! Sey-Zo could not have killed Zey-So. It would be the same as severing your own hand.”

“Human history has known such cases. What if, for some reason, a war is necessary to the Swarm? What if Zey-So had volunteered to give up her own life to provoke a conflict…”

Holmes seemed suddenly downcast.

“Captain, a crime has been committed against a citizen of an alien race. The prosecutor is the Zzygou Swarm. I cannot make the victim’s companion answerable as a suspect. As a witness, at most. To prove Sey-Zo guilty, I would have to absolutely exclude the guilt of every person aboard the ship. That won’t be an easy task.”

“But you’ve been created precisely for difficult tasks.”

“So you want Sey-Zo to be found guilty?”

“I want no harm to come to my crewmembers.”

“Everything is in the hands of the law. Well, thanks for your cooperation, Captain. Dr. Watson will stay with you a while longer, but I have to go see the other suspects.”

Already at the door, Holmes turned around.

“Captain, why is the ship’s inner monitoring system off? As far as I know, technology allows you to record everything that happens on all the premises?”

“Yes, it does. But few ships utilize it in practice. People tend to feel uncomfortable when their every move is tracked.”

Holmes nodded, having apparently expected just that kind of answer. And then grumbled under his breath, “Emotions… complexes!”

Alex was left alone with Dr. Watson. The girl was studying him with unconcealed curiosity.

“Please proceed with your work,” suggested Alex. “I’m at your disposal.”

“Tell me, is it true that you didn’t kill the Zzygou?”

Alex sighed.

“Yes, it’s true. But what’s my word worth?”

Dr. Watson nodded. Took a portable scanner out of her pocket.

“Okay, stand up, feet wide apart, lift your arms to the sides…”

Alex waited patiently for the narrow tube of the scanner to search all over his body. Then he obediently took off all his clothes, and the procedure was repeated.

“You can get dressed now.” Dr. Watson looked sideways at the closet. “Your clothes are all here, Captain?”

“Yes. Well, I don’t have much…”

Dr. Watson busied herself with his pitiful collection of shirts and underwear, making no distinctions between the ones he’d worn and those still wrapped in plastic.

“Looking for blood?” Alex asked.

“Uh-huh… Blood, body cells, odors…”

“Won’t do any good.”

“Why not?” Dr. Watson sat still.

“If I were the murderer, I would go to the cargo bay, put on a spacesuit, and wear it to kill the Zzygou. First of all, that would take care of the odor problem. And secondly, there would be no traces or fingerprints to worry about.”

“And what about on the spacesuit?” Dr. Watson quickly stood up. “On the spacesuit itself, there would be…”

“Jenny, this ship isn’t an old washtub with ancient equipment. We use gel spacesuits. Have you heard of those?”

Dr. Watson winced and nodded.

“So there you have it. The murderer could have been covered with blood head to toe. But when he got back to the cargo bay, the gel would go back in for cleaning and recycling, and any organic residue on it would be completely obliterated. There would be no traces left—the cleaning cycle is designed to destroy the most poisonous and aggressive media that might get onto the spacesuit. And there’s a third thing, by the way! There would be no problem hiding a murder weapon! Gel spacesuits can form any tool—a knife, a key, a screwdriver—from their own material. And a spacesuit is very tough—that would solve the problem of the victim’s resistance. The criminal won’t have any bruises or broken bones.”

Dr. Watson was quiet for a few moments, thinking over what she had heard.

“I will relay your opinion to Holmes. Thanks. But… I will nevertheless finish up my work here.”

“Of course,” Alex agreed. “There’s always a chance that the murderer is an idiot.”

In complete silence Dr. Watson inspected all his clothes, forgetting neither the bathrobe in the bathroom unit nor his dress uniform. At the thought of himself on his way to kill the Zzygou wearing that puffy, uncomfortable outfit, Alex could barely suppress laughter.

“Thanks for your cooperation,” said Dr. Watson finally.

“Tell me, Doctor, have you been especially created in tandem to Holmes?”

The girl blushed as rapidly and deeply as only red-haired people can.

“Captain, I haven’t been created by anyone… except my mother and father. I am a natural.”

“A natural?” Alex raised his eyebrows. “How interesting. Then tell me why you follow a stuck-up cloned fool around and murmur sweet nothings?”

Now Jenny’s face went pale. She said hastily, “Mr. Sherlock Holmes is the greatest of detectives!”

“Oh, come on! The greatest of detectives was the literary character. Beloved by children and adults, an incorruptible genius, who dedicated his entire life to his fight against evil. And, by the way, he wasn’t devoid of human characteristics. You do remember his love for the adventuresome Irene Adler in the nineteenth century and his fateful passion for the cyborg Princette Alita in the twenty-second. And your emotionless clone is just pretending to be Sherlock Holmes.”

“You say that, Captain, as if you weren’t a spesh yourself!”

“I am. But there’s a difference between a limited ability for love, with an enhanced sense of responsibility, and the cold intellect demonstrated by Mr. Peter C-the-Forty-Fourth Valke… a.k.a. Sherlock Holmes. You are not nearly as dumb as you put on, Jenny. Why do you play his games?”

There was no doubt. Jenny’s eyes were aglow with genuine interest.

“An astounding conclusion, Alex. Well…”

She sat down in the armchair. Then asked, “Would you happen to have a cigarette for me, and a drop of whiskey?”

“Of course.”

“But not too much!” Jenny warned him quickly. “I have the original reaction to alcohol—I get intoxicated and start acting silly!”

Alex poured a little glass for himself, and a quarter-glass for Dr. Watson. Extended a hand with two packs of cigarettes, one from Quicksilver Pit and one from New Ukraine. The girl picked the Quicksilver Pit tobacco.

“Those cigarettes aren’t as good,” Alex cautioned. “I’m afraid they’re chemically synthesized.”

“Uh, same difference… but I haven’t tried this kind.”

Dr. Watson lit her cigarette, touched the whiskey glass to her lips. She then ardently drew in the smoke.

“I’m actually a medical doctor, Alex. And my name really is Jenny Watson. I’m from Zodiac originally.”