The Genome: A Novel

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  “But I must consider every possibility, including that of a selfless perpetrator,” Holmes continued. “So, the scope of this operation allows us to definitely speak of the existence of a powerful, far-flung organization that has money, connections, and highly qualified agents … and is interested in war.”

  “The military, after all?” asked Morrison.

  “The military alone would not win the war against the Zzygou. And to free Eben would mean a complete restructuring of the military, reassigning all the command posts … no. The military didn’t want war. The generals might have been dreaming of a fast conflict resulting in immediate victory, but not of such a shake-up of the very foundations. The Ebenian natives? There aren’t that many of them, after all. They are scattered all over the galaxy, they are being monitored, and they don’t have access to the highest power echelons. What does that leave us?”

  “Imperial Security!” cried Janet. It seemed she, too, was enthralled by the investigation process.

  “Exactly. That is the organization that almost completely lost its influence after the power of the Emperor weakened and the colonies received their federal status.” Holmes nodded. “The interests of Imperial Security do not just allow for, but demand, a military conflict, increasing tension, and the implementation of a special governing regime in the Empire.”

  “We have an Imperial agent-spesh among us!” said Morrison, almost cheerily. “Wow! Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always dreamed of seeing a secret operation hero!”

  “Your dream has already come true,” said Holmes dryly. “Let us continue … Lady Sey-Zo, does my assumption seem logical to you?”

  The Zzygou frowned.

  “You are blaming your own security service for what happened? Then it is act of state terrorism, and war is unavoidable.”

  “I am accusing separate individuals who work for the Imperial Security Service,” Holmes pointed out. “And I’m afraid, Lady Sey-Zo, that even if we expose the person who carried out the crime, we won’t be able to trace back the whole chain. Those who gave the orders will come through unscathed. Certainly. This is, alas, commonplace in human society.”

  “This is bad practice,” said the Zzygou. “But … I understand. Give me at least the agent. The one who carried it out!”

  Her hands squeezed together, as though already grabbing the murderer’s throat.

  “Let us continue.” Holmes nodded. “Of course, the undercover agent, or agents, must have a convincing background story. The legend, moreover, presents them either as absolutely innocent, having nothing to do with the murder, or—as part of the double game—on the contrary, the source of multiple false leads. I did not know which cover-up method was used by the enemy. It was another dead end. All the methods of systematic investigation either yielded no results, or required the kind of time we simply do not have at our disposal. It was then I noticed Captain Romanov’s behavior.”

  Alex caught several intrigued and even frightened glances directed at him.

  “Captain Romanov was either the murderer himself, or he knew who the perpetrator was. But if he was innocent, why didn’t he name the criminal? Perhaps the evidence he had was very circumstantial … but Alex Romanov still hoped to check it out first. Then again, maybe he just didn’t wish to turn the killer in.”

  Holmes smiled, and Alex politely bowed his head.

  “What could have put the captain on guard, I thought? I had to correlate all the information about what had happened, to listen to the testimonies of every witness, before one small detail caught my attention … I decided that it could serve as the point of departure and made the decision to support the captain’s tactics. No matter what they happened to consist of.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” said Alex.

  “You can tell us your version of what has happened,” Holmes suggested politely. “I think it will be quite interesting… .”

  Alex cleared his throat, got out another cigarette and lit up. Holmes’s pipe did make a better impression … and his tobacco tasted better, as well.

  “The whole problem is in the lack of time,” he began. “There are no perfect crimes. Sooner or later, tracing the biographies of every one of us, or using all the complex methods of instrumental investigations, Mr. Holmes would manage to expose the killer. But the perpetrator never did hope to come through unscathed. His main goal is to bide time until the hostilities start. After that he either surrenders … or, more likely, his owners organize a rescue operation. If the higher-ups of the I.S. really were involved in this case, it would be nothing for them to remove the Lucifer currently guarding us and send a S.W.A.T. team onto Mirror. Although an agent-spesh could eliminate all the witnesses by himself.”

  “Let him try!” said Kim quietly.

  “Even if you aren’t the murderer, Kim,” said Alex with a melancholy air, “don’t overestimate your strength. You are a spesh. But your real combat experience is next to zero. And when two equal forces meet in combat, experience determines everything.”

  Kim snorted, and indignantly elbowed Alex’s side. At least she didn’t take his suspicion of her seriously.

  “I have a few guesses based on certain clues,” Alex continued. “Snippets … details … sketchy impressions. They put me on guard, but I’m afraid it would be useless to present them. Circumstantial evidence doesn’t help. And the time we have left … please correct me, Sey-Zo, if I’m wrong …”

  “Eight hours, thirty-five minutes,” said Generalov. “Exactly. After that, the first military unit of the Zzygou will enter into firing contact with our fleet in the Adelaide system.”

  “Eight hours and twenty-one minutes,” the Zzygou corrected him. “I need time to contact the headquarters. Seven thousands warships cannot be halted instantaneous … not even ours.”

  “I would say, we have seven hours, plus or minus ten minutes,” Morrison objected. “As soon as the Zzygou ships come out of the hyper-channels, they will be targeted. So our fleet has to be stopped as well … and that is a more lengthy process.”

  Janet Ruello laughed quietly:

  “I would say we have around four hours left. Taking the isolation field off Eben would take no less than four hours. If the field disappears, our fleet will begin large-scale dislocation and preventive vengeance strikes. This will be a much more serious reason for war than one little bee … please excuse my choice of words, Sey-Zo.”

  Alex nodded.

  “As I see it, we are all busy making calculations here. Well, Janet’s opinion is probably the most pessimistic, but also the most correct. Time is slipping away … let’s not waste it. Lady Sey-Zo! The person who has murdered your companion is one of the crewmembers, right?”

  “Or C-the-Third,” said the Zzygou coldly. The clone lowered his head.

  “Or Danila C-the-Third Shustov,” nodded Alex. “Lady Sey-Zo. We are unable to definitively point out the killer. So I propose that you personally, with your own hands, execute us all. Computer, remove the force field barrier from the Zzygou.”

  “Completed,” said the ship. The Zzygou got up and looked around in disbelief.

  “Computer,” Alex continued. “I order you not to obey any of my commands after I say ‘Let justice be done’ and until the moment when those same words are pronounced by the Zzygou and Peter C-the-Forty-Fourth Valke. Let justice be done!”

  “Completed.”

  “What the hell are you doing!” shouted Generalov. “You fucking bastard! You xenophile! You …”

  He choked on his own words. Flailed around, trying to breach the barrier.

  “Calm down, Puck Generalov! I understand it is harder for a natural … but you’re human, damn it! What are our lives next to the fates of two civilizations!”

  Generalov breathed heavily, but fell silent.

  “I want to know your opinion, my friends,” Alex continued quickly. “Paul Lourier! Do you agree with my proposition?”

  The engineer didn’t hesitate to answer:

  “Yes, Capt
ain. It’s our duty.”

  “Great. Xang Morrison?”

  “Captain, the idea doesn’t seem all that correct to me,” began Morrison cautiously. “Yes, we are all ready to sacrifice ourselves, but should it be done this way, while we still have time …”

  “I see. Janet Ruello?”

  The black woman frowned, looking at him. Shook her head.

  “Stupid, dishonorable, and won’t have the right effect.”

  “All right. Kim O’Hara?”

  The girl cautiously touched his hand. She whispered, “Alex …”

  “Kim O’Hara?”

  She glanced over at the Zzygou, frozen motionless.

  “I … I don’t want to. I don’t intend to die because of some bastard!”

  “Puck Generalov?”

  The navigator slowly lifted his hand to his forehead. Wiped the sweat off.

  “Why does my luck never change?”

  “Puck Generalov, answer me.”

  Perhaps Alex only imagined it—but a spark of understanding flashed in the Zzygou’s eyes.

  “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.

  Too late.

  Paul had already managed to break through the field. He met the Zzygou with a kick of both his feet, as he leaned back against the force barrier he had just breached. Sey-Zo doubled up, flew back toward the table, knocked her head against the edge of it, and lay motionless.

  “You aren’t all that tough …” Paul whispered. His movements had gained a strange predatory awkwardness—as though it was now hard for him to stay still. He looked over at Holmes.

  “Put away your toy. If you reach for the ‘Bulldog’—you’re dead. I’m faster than you, test-tube baby …”

  At this very second, Kim O’Hara repeated his trick with the field, broke through, and in a single leap flew up on the table.

  “Friend-spesh,” said the agent. “That’s no way …”

  “Face the wall, hands behind your back!” yelled Kim.

  The man who used to be Paul Lourier just smiled. His face was now that of a mature man. His whole body also seemed to have changed—his shoulders were wider, his stature had increased several inches.