Sergei Lukyanenko - The Genome

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, humanitys 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 uniformas though someone planned to storm the hospital.

I dont 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? Youre dressed kind of light for this weather, friend

The guard was evidently eager to help.

No, thanks. Ill take the rail.

Comes once an hour, warned the guard. Its free public transport, for the naturals

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

Thats why Im taking the rail, cos its free.

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

No, no, I am a spesh, explained Alex. Im just broke, thats all. Work insurance plan. I couldnt have paid for the treatment myself. They could have brought me here in a basket well, maybe they did. I dont 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 hadnt seen his medical charts, someone who would listen, appreciate, click his tongue

Rotten luck, sighed the guard. Well, now youre all right? Main parts back to normal?

Alex stepped on the cigarette butt and nodded in response to the guards 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 couldnt 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 staircasethe elevator, of course, was out of order.

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

Alexs 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 Demons legs from getting tangled up in it. The Demons short gray fur looked like a set of fuzzy clinging overalls.

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

Were 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 didnt really have a choice.

Well 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.

Dont 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 Pits 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 presidents portrait in every ward. He entered the monorail car.

The inside didnt 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 in 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.