Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

“Go to hell, you specialized moron!” the navigator blurted out. “I didn’t sign up to die for all humanity! And certainly not for the Zzygou!”

“So what’s your decision?”

“Will it change anything?” asked Generalov with bitter irony.

“Maybe. Humanity is only an abstract symbol. And the Zzygou—even more so. But do you really have nothing you’d die for?”

“You decide!” Generalov blurted out.

“Do you support my decision?”

“I abstain.” Puck closed his eyes and dropped back on the couch, as if he had decided not to interfere in anything anymore.

“C-the-Third?”

“I want a just solution,” the clone said firmly. “You shouldn’t rush to adopt such extreme measures. Perhaps Mr. Holmes will now be able to name the killer?”

Holmes smiled, tapped his pipe on the edge of the table, shaking out the ashes.

“Your suggestion is meaningless, Captain,” the Zzygou uttered. “I share the wish not to have war between our races. But punishing the innocent contradicting the Zzygou ethics.”

“Your suggestion is stupid, Alex,” Janet concurred. “These little bees have weird ethics. Maximalism. The guilty are punished either personally, or as part of the whole genetic line. So in our case, that means either the killer alone, or the whole of humanity. Even if we all accept death willingly, they won’t be interested. We used to call it ‘trigger’ justice, as opposed to the human ‘rheostat’ version.”

“The murderer has to know this.” Alex nodded. And Janet’s face hardened.

“What is the main psychological component of the astronaut specification?” asked Alex, not leaving any time for Janet to recover her wits.

“Responsibility.”

“For whom?”

“For the crew… for humanity in general…” Janet frowned. “Responsibility… readiness to sacrifice oneself… for humanity.”

“Exactly.” Alex nodded. “My suggestion, for all its impracticablility, does reflect our ethics.”

“I would even say that it should certainly be supported by any spesh created for work in space,” said Dr. Watson, entering the conversation. “Ladies and gentlemen! You all… you all have refused! All except Alex, Paul, and Puck!”

The Zzygou leaned over Alex. A note of anxious eagerness cut through her voice.

“All who didn’t supporting your suggestion are not astronaut-speshes? They all agents? They killed Zey-So?”

“I’m not an agent! I’m a pilot!” Morrison shouted.

Alex looked at the eyes of the Zzygou. They were once again losing their resemblance to human eyes—the pupil was splitting into tiny facets.

“No, Sey-Zo,” he said softly. “I don’t support the idea of collective punishment, either. Your choice should be between Generalov and Lourier.”

“I don’t see logic…” said the Zzygou in a whistling whisper. “You mocking my sorrow?”

“Sey-Zo…” Alex suppressed a slight twinge of panic. “Just like your race consists of the ruling females and genderless slaves, humanity is divided into speshes and naturals. Who are the slaves among them?”

“Speshes.” The Zzygou’s face trembled. “Of course. We modifying worker individuals to suit specific social needs. You do same. That’s why we called you ‘servants.’”

“Sey-Zo, any astronaut-spesh would do anything to prevent humanity’s destruction. That’s the way we’ve been created. And all the alien races know that humans don’t allow themselves to be taken prisoner, they don’t retreat, and they don’t betray their own kind.”

The Zzygou nodded.

“An agent-spesh has other purposes, Sey-Zo, a different code of ethics. I would like to be able to tell you that an agent-spesh is an ethical monster, a distortion of the very best qualities of the human soul. But it isn’t true, unfortunately. An agent-spesh cannot be deprived of the sense of fear—otherwise he would perish during the first few assignments. An agent-spesh, with all his physical capabilities, is an ordinary human, Zzygou. That’s the way we are, and nothing can be done about it. We’re capable of killing, lying, betraying… and saving our own skin first.”

“I still not understand,” said the Zzygou.

“An agent-spesh has to adapt to his surroundings. He mustn’t be conspicuous. He will behave like an astronaut-spesh because he knows the laws of our behavior. On the physical level, he will be indistinguishable—his body certainly conforms to the morphology of this or that spesh. His genotype would most certainly have been modified so that the alterations couldn’t be detected by ordinary express-analysis. Sey-Zo, can you tell me how to find a white crow in a flock of black crows painted white?”

Sey-Zo’s eyes started pulsing once again.

“I don’t remembering what are crow. But, of course, the black crow need to be wash-ed. The one that doesn’t change color will be one we seek.”

“It is easier to find an agent-spesh by the rule of contraries, Zzygou. You did see that all the speshes spoke out against their given program?”

The Zzygou nodded.

“All but Generalov and Lourier,” Alex added. “But Generalov is a natural. And that is easy to prove by the simplest genetic test.”

“Captain, I’m not an agent!” Paul cried out.

“He is the agent,” said Alex, paying no attention to the engineer. “He is the one who murdered Zey-So.”

“But what is the cause of the speshes’ deviating from the given ethical norms?” asked the Zzygou.

“That’s not important.”

“Yes, it is. Otherwise your words are just gymnastics for the imagination.”

“Captain, you can’t do it that way!” cried Generalov. “Wait, and what if Paul is really just ready to sacrifice himself? What if his moral qualities are so high that…”

Alex looked at Generalov. Shook his head.

“There is one indisputable testing method. It is unlikely that such a serious assignment would be entrusted to an inexperienced youth. You’re nineteen, Paul? Aren’t you?”

“You bastard…” Lourier whispered.

“Dr. Watson, could you please determine Paul Lourier’s age using a method more reliable than just visual inspection?”

“Of course.” Dr. Watson nodded. “All I need is a small sample of his bone tissue. I can do the puncture myself or with the help of Janet Ruello…”

The next moment Paul Lourier started getting up.

The force field “safety belts” were intended only for fixing the crew in place during jolting dynamic maneuvers—not at all for restraining an agent-spesh.

Lourier’s arms twisted at the elbows, hands pressing against the back of the little couch. His face turned purple—the stress hormones gushed into his bloodstream, squeezing truly super-human forces out of his modified body. With a sinking heart, Alex saw that Lourier’s features were drifting, changing. As if his skin had concealed a layer of plasticine—and now it was being kneaded from within. Paul was slowly but inevitably pushing himself through the force field’s zone of operation.

“Kim!” Alex shouted. “Take him!”

It seemed that the barrier-breaching method was a standard “safety” feature in speshes, operating on the level of reflexes. Kim reacted immediately, twisting her arms the very same way and pushing against the field.

“Let justice prevail,” said Holmes. A gun flashed in his hand. Three waves of blue flames struck Paul Lourier. C-the-Forty-Fourth’s marksmanship was astonishing—not one of the blasts touched Generalov or Morrison.

But Mirror ’s former engineer didn’t seem to feel the paralyzing radiation.

“How did they ever…” began Janet. “Come on, Sey-Zo, remove the field!”

But the alien didn’t react to that. She was looking at the person who had murdered her partner, and her whole body was quivering with rage. Then, letting out an inarticulate scream, Sey-Zo pounced upon Lourier.