Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

Then the black woman lifted her head.

“Captain, permission to leave?”

“Permission granted.” Alex was slightly surprised by such a formal request, but decided to keep with her tone.

Only the three of them remained.

“Dr. Watson and I will take the vacant passenger cabin,” said Holmes, “if it’s all right with you, Captain.”

“I can let you have mine.” Alex shrugged.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Holmes carefully cleaned out his pipe. He shook his head with disapproval upon seeing the small cleaner-beetle crawling out of a corner. What’s cleanliness to a detective, except more obliterated evidence?

“Do both of you really know who the killer is?” Dr. Watson asked suddenly.

“I do,” said Holmes.

“So do I,” declared Alex.

“In Moto Conan’s book The Case of Three Men Who Lost the Fourth , Holmes and the murderer exchanged just these kinds of phrases!” said Dr. Watson excitedly.

Holmes shook his head.

“No, my dear Watson. Forgive me, but I’m not quite ready to press charges.”

Dr. Watson smiled, acknowledging another failed try. Then she said:

“What amazes me is the killer’s composure. It is well known that a detective-spesh solves ninety-nine point three percent of all cases. How can he remain calm in such a situation?”

“If we were dealing with a classic murderer—an ordinary immoral natural—your surprise would be appropriate,” Holmes admitted. “But this was a well-planned act. And the one who is hiding behind someone else’s identity”—he threw an eloquent glance at Alex—“is totally devoid of fear. An assassin-spesh never loses his cool, the same way that a pilot-spesh keeps control of his ship till the end… even seeing that death is unavoidable.”

“I thought so, too.” Alex permitted himself to smile at Holmes. “See you tomorrow, Holmes. May a new day bring us luck.”

He got up, nodded to Dr. Watson, and quickly went down the hallway.

He didn’t feel like sleeping.

Alex lay, covered up to his waist, looking through a little tome of World Literature Classics by the glow of his night light. The book, in search mode, was displaying works under the keyword “love.”

There were lots of works.

You could even say—all of them.

Alex moved to the “poems” directory. Chose a poet—Dmitry Bykov—and entered the same keyword.

He put the book aside. In the corner of the page blinked a cheery little face of the “reference person,” ready to define any archaic words, or give a biographical sketch of the poet, or provide a critical analysis of the text.

Alex was thinking, drumming his fingers on the firm plastic of the pages.

What’s the good of a feeling that constantly causes pain? Should it have any place in human life?

He had still not managed to feel this love thing. And tomorrow night, the blocker’s action would wear off, and he would turn back into a pilot-spesh.

Of course, he could just keep popping the drug. And waiting… but would that be worth it?

Love wasn’t there yet. But the anguished yearning was.

“My mom chewed me out,” Nadia is saying. She lights a cigarette, and makes herself more comfortable in the deep armchair. A sunbeam reflection plays on her naked body—the wind is swaying the curtain at the open window.

“Because of me?” Alex inquires, just in case. His fingers are dancing on the sensory field of a computer, entering long rows of numbers. It’s a rather old machine, no neuro-interface on it… “I’m almost done, Nadia. Just a minute, okay?”

“Yes, because of you…” The girl stretches out a suntanned leg, moving it into the sunshine. Her other foot scratches a mosquito bite on her calf. “My mom says I have the wrong attitude toward you. That it’s stupid to go beyond just sex with a future pilot.”

“She’s wrong,” Alex replies. “I tell you, I’ll keep loving you anyway.”

“I know…” Nadia agrees.

A shout comes from the street:

“Alex! Nadia! Alex!”

“It’s Fam,” says Nadia. “He’s tracked us down. You know, I think he might be jealous.”

“You think?” Alex begins to enter the last block of data.

“Alex! Nadia!” Fam keeps yelling in the street at the top of his lungs. “I know you’re home! Let’s go to the river!”

“What a pest,” Alex grumbles. “You wanna go?”

“If you want to.”

Alex casts a sidelong glance at the slim, tanned leg, then spreads his fingers decisively, shutting down the computer. Leans out of the window up to his waist and shouts, “You go on, we’ll catch up!”

Alex smiled at the memory. No, that wasn’t love, after all. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be smiling now, but “choking back tears,” as the poet had supposed.

And poets should be trusted, right?

The door signal beeped, and Alex slapped the book shut.

“Enter.”

It turned out to be Dr. Watson.

“Excuse me, Captain…”

“Come in.” Alex sat up on the bed. “It’s all right. I wasn’t asleep yet.”

The woman nodded, sat down in the armchair. Alex was smiling, but said nothing, leaving it to her to start the conversation.

“Holmes has fallen asleep,” said Jenny, somewhat out of the blue, “so I thought…”

“Are you lovers?”

“No.” Dr. Watson shook her head. “You already know he isn’t all that emotional…. Sex with a detective-spesh is a purely mechanical process. And who needs that?” She stopped short. “Forgive me, Alex.”

“No, no. It’s a perfectly reasonable opinion. Is something bothering you, Dr. Watson?”

“Yes. Captain, something was odd about the crew tonight.”

“Really?” Alex seemed surprised.

“You noticed it, too, Captain. Stop pretending.”

“So what is bothering you?”

“I would say that… it’s absurd, of course… but the speshes started behaving… like naturals.”

Alex raised one eyebrow emphatically.

“Let’s start with you, Captain,” said Dr. Watson firmly. “Are you noticing any changes within yourself?”

“I am.”

“You see! And today? Janet Ruello—she practically didn’t react to the Zzygou at all. Well, she did, but… sort of by inertia. Not seriously. Kim O’Hara… she’s in love with you, right? Janet has told us that the girl has a specialization of a fighter and a hetaera simultaneously. But I wouldn’t say that it was noticeable!”

“And what do you think about this, Jenny?”

“Captain, could someone… the word ‘poison’ wouldn’t really be right here… let’s just say, give the whole crew some kind of potent psychotropic drug?”