Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

“So what are you doing in Holmes’s company?”

“Is this an official interrogation, Captain?” Dr. Watson smirked. “Keep in mind you’re trying to interrogate a legal medical expert and a class-II assistant detective!”

“Yes, well… I can’t get into any more trouble than I’m already in.”

Jenny glanced at him with admiration.

“You are an odd one, Captain. I was working at Zodiac’s central military hospital. All the usual stuff—sunburns, injuries, tumors, AIDS, head colds… But one day we admitted Sherlock Holmes… Peter C-the-Forty-Fourth Valke. You can sneer at him all you want, but he really is a great detective. His playing Holmes may seem phony, but believe me, it’s a genuine passion. He has found himself a prototype that is almost devoid of emotion, but at the same time respected all over the world. When we met, he… considered it a sign of fate, perhaps? Holmes urged me to take the legal medical expert certification courses and become his companion. He was ready to meet any of my conditions. He could have, of course, requested a cloned companion, but finding a real Dr. Watson apparently touched him deeply.”

“You have a way with words,” said Alex with a sly smile, and drank off some whiskey.

“It’s a habit. You see, Captain, I’m trying to succeed in the fields of journalism and literature. And being Sherlock Holmes’s companion is a very, very useful experience!”

“But you play along to get along, Dr. Watson. You’re so much smarter than you let on.”

The girl smiled.

“That’s just a little game of my own. I’m sure C-the-Forty-Fourth can see that.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“But you won’t tell him that, right?”

“Of course not.” Alex shook his head. “So you’re a writer…”

“What’s so funny about that?” asked Jenny defiantly.

“It’s not that, really. It’s just that, to a spesh, the whole notion of changing one’s line of work sounds really odd. To be a medical doctor and, it seems to me, a good one at that, but still want to change careers…”

Jenny shrugged.

“Writers, artists, politicians—those careers don’t lend themselves to specialization. Anyone can choose to do them.”

“Politician-speshes do exist!”

“Oh, give me a break, Alex! There have been attempts, but they all failed. On my planet, for instance, there is only one functioning politician-spesh, Leon Nizinkin. Seems to be a great specialist by all parameters. Has all the morality adjustments necessary for a politician. Jacks up the crowd in a blink of an eye, masterfully dissembles any emotions, easily switches from one party to another at opportune moments. And yet—no notable achievements whatsoever. In the final analysis, politics has become just a way he earns his living. And to pour out his heart, he writes history books. Wonderful ones, mind you! So, a number of professions have yet to yield to specialization.”

“Does all this mean that your interest in Holmes is purely utilitarian? You’re collecting material for future use?”

“Far from it!” cried Dr. Watson angrily. “Yes, the cases are interesting. But we actually do defend the innocent, stand up for justice in the Empire. That is just as important for me!”

“I can tell by your scar…”

Jenny made a wry face.

“I deliberately don’t have it removed. It’s like… a baptism of fire.”

“I’d remove it, if I were you. Women shouldn’t be proud of their battle wounds. Without the tooth marks, you’d be much more attractive.”

Now Dr. Watson was looking at him with mild apprehension. Shook her head, got up. Forcefully pressed her unfinished cigarette into the ashtray.

“Thank you for the whiskey. I hope you’re not guilty, Captain.”

Alex closed the door behind her and stood still for a few moments, smiling.

It seemed he had been able to shock Holmes’s loyal companion. But why?

Could it really be that there had been something unspeshlike in his words? Alex himself thought he was behaving the way he usually did.

And however trivial that conversation might have been—just over twenty yards away from the disfigured corpse of the Zzygou, on the eve of a bloody galactic war—Alex Romanov enjoyed the memory.

“I’m not in a laughing mood,” said Alex.

Edgar got up grudgingly. He had been sitting on the back of a dragon, a golden-hued dragon; its wings sprawled out on the flat roof of the palace. Maybe the Sovereign had decided to fly around a bit, surveying his seemingly limitless virtual realm. Or maybe he was just visiting one of his toys.

The dragon turned its head, throwing a hateful, hazy look at Alex. In the corner of its eye, a lump of dry brown pus had congealed. Edgar must have been neglecting his flocks… although he didn’t seem to deny them food. The dragon exuded the heavy, thick odor of raw meat and also, for some reason, of chewed grass.

As the boy came down the monster’s back—the dragon raised its scales, forming a kind of stairway—Alex waited patiently. But as soon as Edgar stepped onto the roof and opened his mouth to unleash another indignant tirade, Alex stretched his arm and covered the boy’s lips with his hand.

“Be quiet a minute.”

The dragon roared in outrage, but Edgar waved his hand, and the reptile fell silent.

“I’ll ask you again. What can you do to help in this situation?”

“Nothing!” Edgar took a step back. “You’re the one who disconnected the inner cameras. I had no idea the Zzygou got whacked!”

“Could Kim have done it?”

“No,” said Edgar firmly. “No way. In self-defense, yes, but it’s unlikely the Zzygou was any threat to her. To defend the crystal I live in—the same objections apply. Besides, a fighter-spesh simply kills the opponent, without making a gory circus out of it.”

“What if she wanted to deflect suspicion away from herself?”

“Good grief! If Kim had needed to kill the Zzygou, she would have removed all the witnesses. By now she would be down on the planet, with me in her stomach pocket, and your Mirror would be rushing full-speed to the nearest star.”

“Your emotions blocker… is it capable of inducing mental changes that could make a person turn to murder?”

“But you’re telling me you haven’t given it to Kim!”

“I took some myself.”

Edgar stopped short. He shook his head.

“I’m such a fool… so that was your goal all along?”

“No. But you talked about love with too much enthusiasm. Besides, I have to test what I offer to my crewmembers.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“No change. Except…”

“Except?” Edgar was intrigued.

“Except I’ve stopped enjoying my confluence with the ship. It’s like it died.”

“I see.”

The boy paced excitedly along the edge of the roof. He spat down and laughed upon hearing someone curse below. Turned to Alex again.

“That’s exactly the way it should be. The artificially imposed emotions are the first to disappear. And your own emotions… you have to work them out yourself.”

“So tell me, could the blocker have made me kill the Zzygou?”

“Did you kill her?”

“Of course not. But maybe I don’t remember my own actions?”

“Nonsense. That’s impossible. The Zzygou was whacked by someone from your team. But not Kim. And not you, if you’re not lying to me right now.”

“Are you sure, Edward Garlitsky?”

The boy froze, his hands behind his back.

“Let’s be frank here,” said Alex bluntly. “Your little fairy tale might have been enough to convince Kim. But not me. You aren’t the person you’ve been claiming to be.”