“No, not me. But with every passing day, Kim will be hurt more and more because her love can’t be requited. Right?”
“Right.” Edgar nodded.
“And I can’t even pretend to return her feelings,” Alex continued. “The tension will keep growing. And that will result… might lead to trouble.”
“And what do you want from me?”
“If you’re really the genius genetic engineer…” said Alex in an ingratiating tone, “you must know how to eliminate Kim’s feelings.”
“Whatever gives you that idea?”
“It is commonly known that there are several methods for doing it. When a certain profession is no longer needed, the speshes get reoriented for another one.”
“That’s the psychologists’ job. I can’t chase Kim back into a zygote and do corrective surgery.”
“You’re absolutely sure that nothing can be done?”
Edgar hesitated.
“I’m not a genetic engineer,” Alex said. “But I’m no idiot, either. Altered emotions are not only… not so much a result of reconfigured synapses. They are a result of altered adrenal glands. It’s about blood chemistry.”
“So what can I do?”
“Block some hormones. You know which ones.”
Edgar sighed and shook his head.
“Right. Block some hormones… The pituitary is not a campfire you can splash a little water on to extinguish a couple of coals. It’s all or nothing. Changes in character are brought on by a single, though very complicated, polysaccharide chain produced by the pituitary. A temporary block of its synthesis is possible, but that would lead to a shutdown of all the personal particulars at once.”
“And what would those be for Kim?”
The boy adjusted his glasses. Thought for a moment.
“Ruthlessness… first and foremost. Love—the one that was the result of artificial stimulation. That’s about it. Intellectual changes are not connected to pituitary hormones.”
“Let’s do it.”
“You think it’s so easy to interfere with a spesh’s organism? We’ll need a top-notch biochemical lab, with organic synthesis equipment. The ship’s sick bay won’t do.”
“We’re on a planet, Edgar. It may not be the most developed planet, but it’s quite civilized. An order could be put in and completed in two or three hours.”
Edgar said nothing.
“Are you really a genius geneticist? Or has your value been exaggerated?” asked Alex with a smirk.
“All right,” Edgar said, giving up. “But I think you’re making a mountain of a molehill, Alex. For Kim, love is a normal work mode, nothing bad would’ve happened…. Scribe!”
A small bent figure emerged from somewhere behind the columns. The skinny, hunched-up old man in a florid pointy hat and a brightly colored robe was holding a parchment roll in his hand.
“You won’t have any problems administering it,” said Edgar to Alex. “The active ingredient is stomach-acid resistant, so you can just mix it into food or wine.”
“Dosage?”
“Five or six milligrams. Put in a bit extra, a slight overdose won’t cause poisoning. Scribe, take this down!”
The old man nodded vigorously, sitting down at the foot of the throne. Squinted myopically at Alex and hurriedly averted his gaze. Extracted an inkwell and a long feather from somewhere. All Alex could do was shake his head at the sight of this pitiful entourage.
“Synthesis instructions…” Edgar began dictating.
Of course, Alex had overestimated the New Ukrainian science labs. The synthesis took a full five hours. The delivery robot, a flying disc of about three feet in diameter, landed near the ship shortly before the Zzygou and C-the-Third returned.
Alex waited for the identity chip to finish its work-cycle and a small green light to turn on in the polished metal side of the robot. Then he came up to it and opened a tiny trunk compartment.
The tiny vial had cost him an entire month’s salary. Three grams of white, opalescent liquid. Alex squinted his eyes, looking closely at the product Edgar had ordered.
Had he lied or not?
Could it really be that this liquid was capable of slowing down that most complicated of all biological mechanisms, which started up the minute a spesh was born and, after the metamorphosis, began working at full force? The ruthlessness of fighters, the cold benevolence of pilots, the nymphomania of haeteras—could all that be reduced to naught? And if so, how exactly would that occur? Abruptly, as when a device’s power is suddenly cut off? Or gradually, as when a car, with its engine turned off, slows down? Maybe the feeling induced by the geneticists really would disappear—but what if it had been so thoroughly internalized by the person as to become genuine?
These were questions that could not be answered theoretically—they had to be tested in an experiment.
He caught a glimpse of the approaching Barracuda and hid the vial in his pocket. The empty delivery robot floated away over the field at a leisurely pace.
C-the-Third scrambled out of the car first, then extended his hand to the Zzygou. The two aliens couldn’t have looked more pleased… although that seemed to be their usual disposition.
“You’ve been standing on the field all this time, eh, Captain?” cheerfully cried out C-the-Third.
“Had some mail delivered.” Alex preferred to explain the robot’s appearance himself. “I’ve decided to have some fun.”
He winked conspiratorially at C-the-Third, hinting at having ordered some illegal drug or some particularly elaborate sex simulator. C-the-Third winked back.
“You should’ve come with us, Captain. It’s a really funny sea.”
“I know. I’ve been here once before.”
“So nice, so nice, friend Captain!” the Zzygou reported. They were holding each other’s hands and exchanging glances. “Much pity that you were not there!”
“I’m really sorry, too.” Alex nodded.
He stepped aside to let the Zzygou and the clone pass on their way back into the ship. Then he lit a cigarette. The tobacco from a different world somehow seemed to taste worse… as if the New Ukrainian air didn’t want to accept it.
Thirteen more minutes passed, and the minivan with the crew appeared.
It was immediately obvious who had fared well on shore leave and who hadn’t—who got Fortune to smile upon them, and whose hopes had been dashed. Generalov, all gloom, went back inside the ship without saying a word. Paul came out of the minivan with a stolid air of a space wolf that had seen a hundred planets. He threw Alex a sharp, formal salute and also went inside.
“Your cigarettes, Captain,” said Janet. Handed him a carton. “They seem all right.”
She was smiling, obviously content with her life.
“What’s with Puck?” Alex inquired.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Janet smirked. “Found a boyfriend at the bar, dreamed up all kinds of things… now he’s all hurt. Decided it was the love of his life.”
“Can you fall in love in just five hours?” asked Alex rhetorically.
“Oh, Captain, my Captain…” She kissed him playfully, touching her plump lips to his cheek. “Anything’s possible, trust me. But don’t worry about Puck, he just wants to squirm and suffer a bit… he’s just that type of person.”
“How irrational…” Alex shook his head. “I am ready to accept the expediency of love, though I lack the ability. But you should fall in love exclusively by mutual consent, making extra sure in advance that your partner agrees to reciprocate your feelings for a long enough period of time. Otherwise, all you end up with are negative emotions instead of positive ones… Janet!”
The black lady had pressed her hands to her mouth, but her laughter still broke through.
“Alex… no, forgive me, for Angry God’s sake… you’re right… of course… theoretically speaking…”