The Genome Read online

  The Genome

  A Novel

  Sergei Lukyanenko

  The author is fully aware that many will deem this novel cynical and immoral. And yet, with humble respect, he dedicates the book to people capable of Love, Friendship, and Hard Work.

  Operon I,

  Recessive.

  The Speshes.

  Chapter 1

  Alex gazed into the sky.

  Its appearance was strange. Irregular. Unprecedented.

  The kind that happens over worlds still unspoiled by civilization. The kind of sky that might happen over Earth, humanity’s home planet, a world trashed and flushed clean three times over.

  But over Quicksilver Pit, the industrial center of the sector, a planet of three shipyards with all the necessary infrastructure, this kind of sky simply should not be.

  Alex gazed up.

  Clear, iridescent blue. Scattered threads of clouds. Pink glow of the setting sun. A glider gamboling as playfully as a puppy in a snowdrift. Never before, not through the hospital window, not on the planetary news programs, had he seen such a sky over Quicksilver Pit.

  There was something odd about the whole city today. The setting sun splashed a warm pink over the walls of the buildings. The last remnants of dirty snow clung to the support columns of the old monorail, spaced out along the highway. Once in a very long while, a car would rush by, as if afraid to tear the silence, slipping away so fast it seemed in a hurry to escape this suddenly unfamiliar, pink world.

  Or maybe this was the way the world should look to a person just emerging from five months’ confinement to a hospital ward.

  “No one meeting you?”

  Alex turned to the guard. Whiling away his time, bored in his plexiglass booth, the guard cut a strapping figure. Ruddy cheeks, shoulders three feet wide, a stun gun on his belt, and a bulletproof vest over his uniform—as though someone planned to storm the hospital.

  “I don’t have anybody.”

  “You from far away?”

  “Uh-huh.” Alex reached for his cigarettes. Drew the smoke of the strong local tobacco deep into his lungs.

  “Need a taxi? You’re dressed kind of light for this weather, friend …”

  The guard was evidently eager to help.

  “No, thanks. I’ll take the rail.”

  “Comes once an hour,” warned the guard. “It’s free public transport, for the naturals …”

  To be honest, he looked like a natural himself. Not that you could tell anything by looks.

  “That’s why I’m taking the rail, ’cos it’s free.”

  The guard gave Alex a once-over, then glanced at the hospital buildings behind him.

  “No, no, I am a spesh,” explained Alex. “I’m just broke, that’s all. Work insurance plan. I couldn’t have paid for the treatment myself. They could have brought me here in a basket . . . well, maybe they did. I don’t remember.”

  He slashed a hand across his own waist, indicating the invisible line that, five months ago, had divided his body and his life in two. He felt an overwhelming need to share, to talk to someone who hadn’t seen his medical charts, someone who would listen, appreciate, click his tongue …

  “Rotten luck,” sighed the guard. “Well, now you’re all right? Main parts back to normal?”

  Alex stepped on the cigarette butt and nodded in response to the guard’s conspiratorial smirk.

  “Like new … Well, thanks.”

  “For what?” replied the guard in surprise.

  But Alex was already on his way to the road. He walked fast, not looking back. They had really done a splendid job of patching him up. He couldn’t have wished for better treatment … especially in his situation. But now, since having signed the last insurance document half an hour ago, affirming that he had no complaints against the medical personnel and proclaiming his condition “identical to pre-trauma state,” nothing connected him to the hospital anymore. Absolutely nothing.

  Or to this planet, for that matter. But leaving Quicksilver Pit would be much harder.

  On the side of the highway, he waited for a speeding car to pass, a luxurious, sporty, bright-red Cayman. Crossed over to the monorail support column, and walked up the spiral staircase—the elevator, of course, was out of order.

  “Well, we’re on our own again, just you and me. Right, Demon?” he said into the air. Then glanced sideways at his shoulder.

  Alex’s clothes really were all wrong for the weather, even this unexpected thaw which had burst upon the city on the eve of Independence Day. His jeans and shoes, bought for pennies donated by a local charity fund, were more or less all right. But the leather vest over a sleeveless jersey looked weird.

  At least his Demon seemed to be having a good time.

  It lived on his left shoulder: a color tattoo some four inches tall, a small demon with a pitchfork in its hands, who stared into space with a gloomy and disapproving air. Its long tail was wrapped around its waist, probably to keep the Demon’s legs from getting tangled up in it. The Demon’s short gray fur looked like a set of fuzzy clinging overalls.

  For a while Alex stared suspiciously at the Demon’s little face. It wore an inquisitive, calm expression. Self-assured.

  “We’re gonna make it, bro,” said Alex. He leaned over the guardrail of the train stop, looked down below, spat onto the shiny steel rail.

  There was nobody else around. Maybe the free municipal transport was unpopular, or maybe it was just that kind of day. A day of a blue sky, a pink sunset, the end of a holiday. Yesterday the whole hospital had celebrated … Even Alex, formally still a patient, was given some alcohol, mixed with glucose and vitamins.

  Here at the height of some thirty-two feet, gusty wind reigned supreme. Alex even considered going back down and taking shelter behind the column while he waited for the train. But, after all, it was more interesting up here. There was a panoramic view of the city, its even rows of skyscrapers, its grid of straight roads already showing bright flashes of ads. It was a very geometrical city. On the other side, beyond the empty, long-derelict fields, he could make out the dim outlines of the spaceport. The port was too close to the city, Alex thought … Well, maybe that was what had saved his life. His surgeon had let it slip that the life-support IC unit, to which Alex had been connected, spent its back-up battery power and clicked off just as he was put onto the operating table.

  Who could have ever guessed he would actually need his comprehensive insurance policy one day? Someone in the office of the Third Freight-and-Passenger station would gnash his teeth signing off on the medical bills. Well, they didn’t really have a choice.

  “We’ll make it,” he promised his Demon again. Spat once more onto the rail. Felt a slight tremor. The monorail car was drawing near.

  It moved at a very leisurely pace. Alex estimated its speed at thirty point two miles per hour. It was completely covered with spirited graffiti, as though the car was trying to compensate for its lack of speed by the intricate brightness of its decoration. It was almost dusk, and some of the signs and drawings gave off a dim phosphorescence; others sparkled, flowed, changed colors.

  “Don’t you dare not stop …” murmured Alex anxiously, but the monorail car was already slowing down. With a hissing sound, it opened its wide door, decorated with a fairly talented caricature of Quicksilver Pit’s president, Mr. San Li. Alex smiled at the thought of how much better this would have looked in the hospital than the obligatory copies of the president’s portrait in every ward. He entered the monorail car.

  The inside didn’t look any better than the outside. Hard plastic seats, a derelict TV screen on the dead-bolted partition separating the passengers from the driver.

  The passengers fit right in.

  A dozen young hoodlums, sprawling i
n their seats in the back corner of the car. Typical naturals of the type that make do with dirty work. All were drunk. All were dopers. All were staring at Alex with the same torpid curiosity. Just a few paces away, dozing off in her window seat, sat a girl of about fifteen, as dingy and scruffy as the rest of them, dark circles under her eyes.

  Alex sat down at the head of the car. With a jolt, it started up again.

  “What do we think of the locals, Demon?” he asked, glancing at the tattoo. The Demon’s little face twisted into a grimace of disgust.

  “I’m with you,” whispered Alex. Tried to make himself a little more comfortable, fully realizing the futility of the attempt.

  Well … At least it was warmer inside … He thought he might even nod off for a bit, while the monorail was crawling through the suburbs.

  “Get away from me!”

  Alex turned around.

  Great. Just what he needed. A chance to be heroic. Right out of the hospital.

  One of the guys had moved next to the girl. He was slowly, unhurriedly unbuttoning her coat.

  “I said, shove off!” said the girl harshly.

  The other naturals just watched. Both their pal and Alex. Hell, would they have had the guts to try this if he were wearing his master-pilot uniform?

  Not likely.

  But who would think him a spesh now?

  The girl glanced at Alex. The expression in her eyes was nice. Incongruous with the rest of her appearance.

  “Tell me, Demon, do we need this?” asked Alex.

  The tattoo on his shoulder didn’t say anything. It couldn’t talk. The Demon’s lips were tight, and its fists opened slightly, letting out its claws. Its squinting eyes filled with fiery red.

  “You sure?” asked Alex with a sigh. Got up and walked toward the girl. The guy next to her immediately turned, tensed. He wasn’t as drunk as he let on. The whole group got quiet.

  “She isn’t interested,” said Alex.

  The guy licked his lips, got up. Alex saw rough, bulging muscles rolling under his coarse sweater. Looked like an altered body. Probably modified for physical strength. Really bad news … Guess this wasn’t just public transport for the naturals.

  “She’s interested,” the guy informed him. “Just playing hard to get. The way we do it ’round here. You got that? Two’s fun, three’s a crowd, get it?”

  A harsh slurring accent made his speech barely intelligible. Seemed like in pursuit of physical strength, all other functions had been minimized.

  Alex looked at the girl.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m all right, thanks.”

  The Demon on his shoulder looked perplexed.

  “Yeah!” said the fellow triumphantly, bending towards his newly subdued prey.

  “I said shove off, you jerk!” said the girl sharply. “You stupid, or what?!”

  Alex leaned on an empty seat. The situation was getting interesting.

  The guy let out a low growl—his small mind just could not process the need to retreat. He stretched out his hand, casually sinking it into the girl’s open coat.

  “I warned you,” she said.

  Her first blow doubled up the pseudo-natural. Her second, with spread-out fingers, broke through his sweater, where a bloodstain instantly appeared. The third blow smashed his head into the window. It crunched, covered with a web of cracks, but held together.

  A moment later the girl was standing next to Alex. The hoodlums, stunned, sat speechless.

  “Any of you move, and you’ll catch hell,” said the girl quietly.

  The fellow slowly sank to the floor. Groaned, holding his head in his hands.

  Alex glanced sideways at the Demon.

  The creature smirked, crouched, as if ready to leap off his shoulder to join the fray with relish.

  “I liked it, too,” said Alex. The car slowed down, the door hissed, opening.

  “We’d better get off,” Alex told the girl.

  “I’ll manage,” she answered curtly.

  “I almost believe you. But how’ll you manage the police? Let’s go.”

  Somewhat cautiously, he took hold of her arm. The girl obeyed.

  They jumped out onto the platform, and the monorail door closed behind them. Could the driver have stopped just for them? The naturals had already come back to their senses. Some of them were helping the altered fellow get to his feet. His head wobbled slightly as he tried to walk. Others were shaking their fists at the window.

  “I wasn’t bothering them!” exclaimed the girl.

  She raised her hand, shaking off a few droplets of blood.

  “That kind doesn’t need any bothering.”

  Alex watched the monorail depart. It had already sped up to about forty miles an hour, probably the best it could do. As if the driver had decided to get the brawlers as far apart from each other as possible.

  “Did you notice—that guy was also a spesh?”

  “A spesh?” she said with a note of curiosity, omitting the “also.” Maybe she didn’t want to deny the obvious, or maybe she just hadn’t noticed. She sniffed, got out a crumpled handkerchief, wiped off her hand.

  “Yeah, maybe. He recovered too fast.”

  Alex watched the girl with growing curiosity. She really couldn’t have been more than fifteen … and considering the obvious alteration of the body …

  “What’s your name?” he said. The girl glanced at him as though he was asking about her banking code. “I’m Alex, spesh.”

  “Kim …” and after a short pause, she added, “spesh.”

  “And this is Demon,” Alex turned slightly, showing her the tattoo on his shoulder. “Just Demon.”

  The Demon smiled an ingratiating smile, crossing its legs, hiding its tail behind its back, and leaning on the pitchfork as though it were an elegant walking stick. Kim’s face promptly grew serious.

  “It … He wasn’t like that before. I saw …”

  “Of course. Demon can change.”

  A look of distrust came into her dark eyes. Well … Quicksilver Pit was, after all, a backwater place, despite its status as an industrial center.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Alex. “It’s just an emotion scanner. See?”

  Kim didn’t pretend to understand and just shook her head.

  “It’s not much, really. A liquid-crystal screen inserted right under the skin. Look at my Demon, and you know what I’m feeling. Afraid or angry, thinking or daydreaming … it’s all right here.”

  “Wow! Neat …” The girl stretched out her hand, threw a questioning glance at Alex, then cautiously touched his shoulder.

  The Demon smiled very slightly.

  “I like that,” said Kim. “And you don’t mind being all exposed like that?”

  “When I mind, I turn off the lights.” At this, the Demon’s smile grew a bit wider.

  “I see,” the girl nodded. “Thanks for your help, spesh Alex. Best of luck to you!”

  She ran down the stairs, lightly, easily, not a hint of fear at the shaky railing and more than a thirty-foot drop below her. Alex leaned over, watching her descend, barely visible in the dusk. They were somewhere at the very edge of town; all around stretched row upon row of dark and seemingly abandoned buildings. Maybe these were warehouses, maybe long-closed factories, or tenements so ugly that no one could bear to live there.

  “Hey, friend-spesh!” shouted Alex, as the girl reached the ground below. “You hungry?”

  “Very.” Kim answered simply. “But I’m broke.”

  “Wait up!”

  Alex glanced at the Demon. It shrugged.

  “Yup, we’re out of the habit …” agreed Alex, and jumped over the railing. Thirty-two feet. Free-fall acceleration on Quicksilver Pit was twenty-seven point two feet per second. He turned in the air, assuming the right position, bending his knees at impact, and then squatting slightly to counteract inertia. A leap like this would cost a natural a broken spine. Alex’s body reacted precisely as it was designed to.

&
nbsp; A soft, muted wave of pain rolled through him, while the reconstructed tissues absorbed the impact. Alex straightened, looked at the girl.

  Kim stood in a fighting pose, a strange one impossible for any natural, a stance from the yu-dao martial art. Legs forward, as though they had been broken and twisted at the knee, torso leaning backward, left hand, palm open toward Alex, at her face, and right arm thrust forward.

  A sixth-level defensive stance.

  “I’m not attacking,” said Alex quickly. “Friend-spesh, this is not an attack. I was simply trying out my body.”

  Kim straightened up smoothly. It seemed to Alex that he could hear the light rustle of her joints coming out of fighting mode.

  “Who are you, spesh Alex?”

  “A master-pilot.”

  With a glance, the girl assessed the height of his recent jump.

  “Thirty-two point two feet. My impact velocity was …”

  “You’ve been modified for gravity overloads?”

  “Exactly. I retain mobility at six Gs and consciousness at twelve.”

  “And measure distances like a radar.”

  “Both distance and velocity.”

  Alex stretched his hand toward her.

  “Friend-spesh, I have the money to buy dinner for two. Would you accept my offer, no strings attached, no payback expected?”

  At this, the girl relaxed. Alex only hoped she would not catch a glimpse of the Demon, would not notice its mischievous smirk. He had addressed Kim with deliberate courtesy, according to all the rules of etiquette, as if addressing a lady and not the girl that she was, despite all her abilities as a spesh, after all.

  “I accept your offer, friend-spesh,” she said quickly. “I don’t see any harm in it.”

  Dinner for two was quite a bit of an exaggeration. A light snack for two would be more like it, and at one of the cheapest fast-food joints at that. But Alex had not wasted his last opportunity for a square meal, back when he was still in the full care of the hospital.

  And Kim, it seemed, had long been enduring financial difficulties.

  The menu choices at McRobbins were few and well known to every child. Still, Alex handed the girl a menu.