The Genome

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  Alex was always the leader, though no one ever chose or appointed him as such. No one felt any need to, really, or even thought that he was the chief of their little gang. If anyone ever even mentioned that he was in charge, the rest would have laughed at such a preposterous idea. Nevertheless, that was the way it was. His crazy ideas became their common plans, and his pranks turned into group endeavors. If he was in a good mood, everyone shared his joy. That was the way it was till the very day of his metamorphosis. Even Nadia, who had had her transformation earlier, she still kept following him. When did it all change? Probably right after his metamorphosis. He didn’t leave right away. He had to wait till the next admission period at the pilot academy. They kept horsing around, just like before, shaking up the entire tiny town of Izborg … except that Alex stopped being the leader. And no new leader emerged.

  Maybe the reason was that a pilot-spesh should never show too much initiative?

  But now it all came back, because a captain was responsible for making decisions for everyone.

  He was feeling that connection again. A oneness with all those around him. And this connection was strengthened not by orders or contractual formalities, or rules, or ranks, or by the crew’s love for him … It was something else, elusive and unutterable. Something that had helped him lead all of them—the smart boy David (a hut David had built at the age of seven lasted till the gang came of age), the pugnacious Fam (who was always careful, as any spesh should be, to match his strength to his opponent’s), the inhibited, shy boy-natural Gene (Alex really hoped his dream had come true), and Nadia, with her biting sense of humor …

  His crew had turned out to be a good one, after all. Despite all the quirks and problems. The navigator continuously posted alternative routes, the co-pilot controlled the ship well, the engineer made available just the right amount of energy for any given moment. And the battle stations scoured the space around the ship for possible targets, even though the orbits around Quicksilver Pit were considered absolutely safe.

  They reached orbit and almost immediately started their acceleration toward the mouth of the hyper-channel. Alex gave all the piloting over to Morrison and called up a detailed chart of the channel.

  The channel turned out to be not just old, but ancient. Now, in his state of confluence with the ship’s memory blocks, Alex had access to its entire history. The channel had been cut from the Moon station during the second colonization wave. These days, there was a museum in place of the Moon station, and most of the worlds colonized back then were in a state of decay—either utterly abandoned or barely scraping by. Quicksilver Pit seemed lucky by comparison.

  Alex practiced the channel entry several times with a time-dilation computer program. There were six possible trajectories that would fit within the assigned time interval and take Mirror towards Gamma Snakebearer and then to Zodiac. Alex chose the trajectory that would give them the most temporal advantage, and he went through it several times.

  All was well. They would dive into the channel behind a couple of heavy trucks, keeping all the required distances. There would be another vessel right behind them, a mercury tanker, not too large, but loaded to the gills and possessed of immense inertia. Of course, mercury tanker pilots went through this channel so often that they could probably do it with their eyes closed.

  Alex folded the virtual chart and moved Morrison off piloting with a gentle push. They were approaching the mouth of the channel, and there were three minutes remaining before it would be their turn to jump in.

  The mouth of the channel glittered among the stars like a giant piece of the lightest fabric, lit from within, floating through the darkness of space. The entrance was the shape of an irregular trapezoid, curving and bending every second, changing its size and its angles—although from the point of view of six-dimensional geometry, it was actually a perfect circle.

  “Mirror, you are now allowed to enter the channel’s waiting zone.”

  That was the voice of a guard station called Stationary Channel. Twelve battle stations guarded the entrance. Most of them were real battle stations, built for that purpose at the shipyards, but several were just old, converted battleships. Still, it would have been unwise to reproach Quicksilver Pit’s president for being tightfisted. The modern stations could hardly have been more powerful than an old battleship, even one with its main engines gone and its planetary weapons off.

  “Understood. We’re getting in line.” Alex ran his virtual chart one more time. Two large Burbot tankers were approaching the channel exactly on schedule. The first one’s rounded nose touched the surface of the gossamer sheet trembling amidst the emptiness of space. Then the ship quivered, rippled, and vanished. In exactly eight seconds, the second ship followed. The trucker pilots were probably not aces, but they were well coordinated with each other. Alex quickly looked at every one of his crew—all were there, doing their job, and the situation was under control.

  “All right, kids, we’re about to jump… .” As if confirming his thoughts, one of the bases reported:

  “Mirror, you’re cleared for entry into the channel.”

  Alex moved the ship forward slowly—a quick entry into the channel could lead them out to a random point in the transport grid or even cause the ship’s destruction. He had one trajectory to lead the ship out to Zodiac.

  Hyper-channels were very strange things. To be precise, there was only one hyper-channel in the universe; more simply would not fit. But that was an idea from six-dimensional geometry, a field in which fewer than a hundred scientists were experts. For practical piloting, all you had to know was that every channel would lead the ship to this or that exit point, depending on the trajectory of the entry and the phase of the pulse. And there could be no more than thirty-six such exit points … again, no one knew why. Each channel had been made at random—although, with the relative probability of sixty-six point three (recurring decimal) percent, they seemed to appear near massive gravitational anomalies. Stars, for instance. Also, the channels couldn’t be closer to each other than one light year, although this factoid was still not fully confirmed by science. In addition, no one could know where a new, freshly made hyper-channel might lead. Only the probable distance could be measured, with a large margin of error.

  The entire history of human galactic colonization was a chain of random coincidences. Olympus had been Earth’s first colony, a cold and unfriendly little world, but somehow considered almost a paradise back in the mid-twenty-first century. After that, the channel stations went to work at full capacity, poking holes all over the universe, and more and more new worlds appeared. The magnificent Edem, a splendid and rich planet, flourishing in the blue light of the Spike, had been colonized a very long time ago, despite its huge distance from Earth. But Alpha Centauri, long a candidate for the first interstellar flight, was not reached until very recently, only some fifteen years before. Well, it was for the best, anyway. It turned out to have no promising planets.

  Most ships had their own hyper-engines, allowing them to traverse several light years at a time. But this capability had absolutely no commercial value at all. The heavier the ship, the more energy devoured in a direct hyper-jump. Mirror’s mass was actually at the upper limit for a ship with its own hyper-engine. Courier ships, leisure boats, scouting vessels—and that was about it, no other kinds in that class.

  His thoughts rushed by at a speed possible only when he was connected to the computer. Alex was taking the ship along the axis visible only to pilots, mechanically noticing what was going on all around, while thinking about channel peculiarities. Quicksilver Pit, for instance, had a rather shoddy channel. Only five of its entry trajectories led to other planets of the Human Empire. All the rest led out to derelict exits, some in the middle of totally empty interstellar space, or near stars which had no planetary systems, or planets utterly unsuitable for life … or orbiting stars that belonged to alien races.

  In most cases, the race that mined out a channel to a star would b
e its owner. But there were two alien races that never used hyper-channels at all, preferring other methods of interstellar communication. And there had been cases when a planet turned out to be so attractive that the Others colonized it without using any hyper-channels. For example, one of the exits from Quicksilver Pit’s channel led out to a planet inhabited by Cepheideans, a strange race almost as humanoid as the Zzygou and, at the same time, engaged in an eternal war with the Zzygou Swarm …

  “Morrison!” Alex couldn’t quite say what had put him on guard. Everything was within the norm … for the time being. But what was that tanker doing?

  The tanker was not going anywhere yet, just turning around, working out its trajectory—its orientation engine nozzles were blinking.

  Its future trajectory, however, cut right across the path of Mirror.

  “Tanker MT-28, tanker MT-28.” Morrison had also noticed what was about to happen. “Your present course is dangerous! Over!”

  No reply.

  There was no cause to panic just yet … but Alex unwrapped a trajectory forecast chart anyway. The two ships’ velocity, mass, and direction.

  He froze.

  If that moron attempted to turn on the engines at full force, a collision would be imminent. It wouldn’t be a catastrophe—their force fields and gravity compensation would absorb most of the blow. But it would mean that Mirror would enter the hyper-channel at an uncharted angle … and … A web of trajectories flashed and vanished in front of him, leaving only one track. The track that would lead to the Cepheideans’ sector.

  To turn inside a hyper-tunnel was impossible. Once you were in, it took you where it took you … Right into the little fists of those small but warlike creatures, who would be thrilled to find a couple of Zzygou in their space.

  They’d probably let the humans go, though… .

  There was still a bit of leeway in their speed, and Alex used it all up. The tanker seemed to freeze in space … Right … why in the world would it ram a yacht?

  And then the tanker’s graviray engine turned on. The space around it distorted violently, as the full impulse started pushing the tanker’s cylindrical bulk on a collision course with Mirror.

  Towards the exact point that would make the collision unavoidable and throw the yacht off into Cepheidean space.

  “Morons!” shouted Morrison. He, too, understood that a collision was imminent, though he probably wasn’t aware of all the consequences. Suddenly, the tanker replied:

  “Mirror, we have a problem—our engine has misfired. All systems blocked, no maneuvering possible at this time. Please clear the way. Over!”

  “Not possible.” Morrison’s voice turned very calm. “Our speed reserves are up. The ship will be destroyed upon entry into the channel.”

  “Increase your force fields,” came the advice of the tanker’s invisible voice. “It’s our fault. We’ll pay full compensation.”

  What did compensation have to do with this? The pilot must really have thought that what was about to happen would be just an accident, lamentable but not tragic. Or perhaps he was simply lying.

  Although such a lie would require him to know about Mirror’s passengers and also to have a monstrously keen eye for spatial calculations.

  “Mirror to channel guard.” His own voice sounded unfamiliar to Alex. “We need help.”

  Twenty-four seconds to collision impact. Subjective time in virtual reality flowed much more slowly, but that had no bearing on the laws of physics. The tanker could no longer slow down, and Mirror had no way of maneuvering.

  “Channel guard to Mirror. The situation is under control. What sort of help do you require?”

  Alex glanced again at the other ship. A three-people crew, max. More likely, just a pilot and a navigator …

  “Annihilate tanker MT-28.”

  The tanker’s pilot shouted something unintelligible. The guard stations—or, rather, their officer on duty—hesitated for a second.

  Space was ruthless. A ship that was about to cause a collision could very well be destroyed. Especially if it were a tanker endangering the lives aboard a passenger vessel.

  “Mirror, are you nuts?!” The guard officer had lost his official tone of voice. “The situation isn’t critical—your shields will hold!”

  “Guard station, we require protection. A collision will cause us to enter the channel at an uncharted angle.”

  “Protection denied. Your course is not life-threatening.”

  But of course. The guard station officers were speshes as well trained as Alex. They could see all the potentialities.

  “Here are some recommendations,” the officer added. And once again, a map of possible routes fanned open in front of Alex. “Reduce your speed by eight percent, maximize shield power, prepare for emergency jump to Gatané-4 …”

  “We can’t enter Cepheidean space!” Alex yelled. “Destroy the tanker!”

  “The Empire has friendly relations with the Cepheideans,” replied the officer bluntly.

  On the other communication channel, the tanker’s pilot regained his gift of speech and shouted a few choice words at Alex. Yes. If he really were innocent, Alex’s demands must seem monstrously cruel.

  “Alex …”

  The dark-red clot of flame. Janet. The weapons blister, his fist …

  “Permission to act, Captain.” She understood there was no time to persuade the guard officer. She knew all the intricacies of the Others’ relations with each other better than any of those officers growing fat in their guard stations. Even though she had no trace of warm feelings for the Zzygou, she had no intention of pleasing the Cepheideans, either. But what could she do? To destroy the tanker would be unthinkable for her—there were humans aboard!

  “Permission granted,” said Alex.

  At the same moment, the reactor power jumped way up. Maybe Paul had guessed what was required, or maybe Janet had contacted him.

  “Mirror to guard stations, we are addressing the problem on our own… .”

  Before he had time to finish his sentence, the battle station fired a ray at the hapless tanker. The ray wasn’t powerful enough to destroy the tanker about to ram them. Janet had taken aim at the cargo hold. For almost three seconds, nothing happened. Then a scorched chunk of plating fell off. And a powerful stream of boiling mercury burst out of the tanker’s innards.

  It was an enchanting sight. The tanker, shot through and boiling over, was still on a collision course with Mirror—except that the jet stream of mercury was slowing it down and reducing the tanker’s mass with every passing millisecond. It seemed as though the tanker had been transformed into a comet with a fiery tail of boiling mercury.

  “What are you, nuts?!” shouted the tanker’s pilot. He had already realized that no one was going to destroy him, but losing all of his cargo was also a terrifying prospect. “We’ll take this to the tribunal!”

  Alex didn’t bother answering. A joint commission of the union of pilots, Quicksilver Pit’s administration, and military detectives would investigate the incident. Alex didn’t doubt that his crew would be cleared of all charges. When everyone figured out what their entry into Cepheidean space would have led to, all the responsibility would be dumped on the tanker’s crew. And there would be nothing but praise for Janet.

  “Mirror, hold your fire!” The guard officer was really aggravated. “Your next ray burst will be considered an act of aggression against the Empire!”

  Well, yes. Theoretically the guard stations, as well as the hyper-channel, were Imperial property. But in reality they were eating out of the hands of the local officials, who would be very upset with the damage to the tanker and the loss of its cargo.

  “The following is an order—”

  But he had no chance to finish his phrase. Through a cloud of cooling mercury, brightly flashing against its protective force field, Mirror entered the hyper-channel.

  Exactly on course to take the ship to Gamma Snakebearer.

  Chapter 2


  The gray tube of the hyper-tunnel seemed endless. They could all feel the ship’s movement, though it wasn’t very fast by planetary standards—about one hundred and eight miles an hour. It felt as though the yacht had turned into a land vehicle speeding along a dark tunnel.

  All this had nothing to do with the ship’s actual speed, of course. These were purely subjective impressions.

  “Fellow crewmembers, congratulations on a successful entry into the channel.” Alex paused for a moment. “Janet Ruello, doctor-spesh, I thank you, on behalf of the company, for your timely and decisive actions in an emergency situation.”

  By saying this, he took all responsibility upon himself. If for any reason Janet’s shot at the tanker were to be reprimanded, Alex alone would bear the consequences.

  “Thank you, Captain,” replied Janet.

  Alex paused again.

  “Janet, was that your own idea?”

  “No, Captain. Pilot training on Edem included some nontraditional ways of affecting enemy vessels. Bronin spaceship reactors run on mercury … it was a lucky coincidence.”

  “I wish I could thank your teachers personally, Janet.”

  She smiled somewhat sadly. “Why not, Captain? In another three hundred years or so, when the quarantine field dissolves …”

  “Captain, shall I prepare an official complaint to the union?” asked Generalov.

  “That’s my job,” said Alex.

  “You have extensive experience with judicial quibbling?” rejoined the navigator. “Of course, the report should bear your signature, but someone else can put it together …”

  Alex didn’t hesitate for very long. When it came to concocting complaints, the navigator really was the most experienced member of the crew.