“Not recommended. The main intrigue of the plot consists of the slow and gradual development of the relationship between the two main characters.”
Alex shook his head. He didn’t have that kind of time.
“Remember this plot and offer it next time I enter. And now, I want to exit completely.”
“Exit completely,” affirmed the system. “Thank you for visiting. I’m always happy to serve you. Please come again.”
A dense, heavy fog billowed all around.
Having taken off his headband, Alex looked at the crystal suspiciously. If Edgar was to be trusted, he was supposed to have gained the ability to love by now. And, to believe all the books, movies, and simply ordinary people, love was a feeling that flared up instantly and knew no boundaries, no limits.
But he hadn’t managed to feel any such emotions for the granny!
Only revulsion. Revulsion?
He started.
The crystal was designed especially for astronauts. Experienced psychologists had carefully constructed the simplistic, though highly diverse, plots.
As soon as he had entered the elevator with the granny inside, Alex was supposed to have taken her into his “sphere of responsibility.” The catastrophe, which plunged him into a stressful but genetically pre-programmed situation, would then heighten his sense of responsibility to the max.
Yes, he had a duty to… well, not to fall in love—pilots were incapable of love, so nothing like that could be foreseen—he had a duty to be overcome with warm feelings toward the old lady.
What was supposed to happen next, according to the program?
A soulful discussion?
A shy kiss?
A raging sex scene on the elevator floor?
A mutual enjoyment of the birthday cake?
Alex imagined the naked, happily giggling granny, stuffing a morsel of chocolate into his mouth, and himself, trembling with excitement, licking the sweet cream frosting off her sagging breasts…
“Holy shit!” he yelled.
That could have actually happened!
Really!
And he would have had no unpleasant feeling upon leaving virtuality. It would have been just a curious, intriguing adventure, approved by doctors and by the Church…
How could this be?
He wanted to gain the ability to love, but had he instead acquired the ability not to love?
Or maybe these were just two inseparably linked halves of a whole? Could it be impossible to understand love without the ability to reject?
Alex paced the length of his cabin, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, as he strained to grasp at least some of his feelings.
Yes, he had already broken one of the commandments of a pilot-spesh.
The main commandment, perhaps. The boundless responsibility for everyone who happened to be around. So Edgar’s remedy was working—blocking his altered consciousness. And that was really frightening… just to imagine pilots capable of abandoning their passengers and crew to the mercy of fate!
He thought of Kim, Janet, Lourier, Generalov, Morrison, C-the-Third, and the Zzygou.
Suppose something goes wrong now… the ship’s in danger… what would he do?
No! No way! He wouldn’t rush to save his own life. He was still ready to fight till the end for this ship, its passengers, and its crew! Everything was okay!
Except… what was this dreary restlessness, this cold emptiness inside?
As if an unfelt biochemical blow had cut off something that used to dwell in his soul…
Or… pulled away the mist that had concealed a bottomless abyss?
“Looks like I shouldn’t have drunk this shit,” said Alex rhetorically. Took a hurried look at the Demon, his most faithful adviser and companion.
The little devil stood, his head lowered, his arms spread out. It glowered at Alex sullenly from under its brows with the same inner torment Alex was feeling himself. He didn’t have to look at the Demon anymore—it no longer had anything new to tell him.
“But this isn’t love!” Alex vehemently shook his head. “It’s the wrong feeling! This can’t be it!”
“No, this isn’t love…” came a jeering whisper of something invisible, something that used to be dead to the world at the bottom of his soul. “This is the absence of love…”
“Then what kind of goddamn joy is this?” Memory obligingly supplied dry, scientific definitions of love, as if he were clutching at something in the past, something calm and stable. “A steady feeling, accompanied by emotions of gentleness and delight…”
Alex fell silent, controlling his breath. Stop. No need to get worked up. He had drunk the blocker of his own accord. He wanted to test it out to make sure it wouldn’t harm Kim. He wanted to try feeling what he had always been deprived of.
Was the reason he was experiencing all these unpleasant emotions precisely because of the absence of love? Fine—there were two women aboard, a young one and a middle-aged one. And, if push came to shove, there were also the Zzygou and Generalov! And finally, if worse came to worst, there was a crystal with virtual characters. He’d get that love thing, one way or another. And after the blocker’s action wore off, that foreign feeling would go away, and everything would return to normal, to the way it had always been.
The main thing was not to panic.
Alex quickly went to the shower, turned it on ice-cold, and stood for a few minutes, clenching his teeth. The gnawing anxiety and emptiness seemed to be subsiding, to be washing off.
Hang in there, we’ll make it!
It would be something to remember! What other pilot-spesh could brag about having loved, or having suffered the absence of love?
He turned on hot water for a moment, chasing the chill out of his bones. Rubbed himself dry with a towel, quickly dressed, dried and combed his hair. Looked at himself in the mirror.
Everything seemed normal.
Strong, manly face. Intelligent eyes.
Then something elusive, anxious, made him look away in fear.
Nonsense. Nothing, really. He was panicking—that was perfectly natural. So he was seeing things, stupid stuff.
Alex left his cabin and hurried to the bridge. All he needed now was the confluence with the ship, its rainbow warmth, the true feeling of a pilot-spesh. It wouldn’t let him down, it would save him. So what if it was still Morrison’s bridge time? He had every right to enter the system early. Say he couldn’t sleep, for instance. Or that he personally wanted to conduct the entry into the Zodiac system. He had never been there, and it was a great and magnificent planet.
Alex all but burst onto the bridge. He hurriedly lay down in the captain’s chair, looked over at Morrison. The co-pilot’s face was serenely happy, the way it was supposed to be. A good ship, a long flight, and reliable fellow crewmembers—what else could a pilot need? What sort of love?
Lowering his head, Alex entered the system. The green spiral quivered, reached toward him uneasily.
“The ship is still in the channel, thirty-four minutes remaining before exit, no accidents, all systems are working well…”
“Thank you, Xang. Never mind me. I just couldn’t sleep. I won’t interfere with the controls.”
The green spiral replied with a wave of emotion—gratitude and sympathy.
“Captain, I used to have trouble sleeping—a problem easily solved by a glass of red wine. I’ve also heard warm milk with linden honey helps. And there’s always sleeping pills…”
“Don’t worry about me, Xang. It’s a rare thing. I’m fine. I won’t… I won’t stay long.”
Morrison’s image faded a little, done with the conversation. Alex remained alone with the ship.
The rainbow. The warm, wonderful rainbow, reaching over through the darkness. The soul of the vessel.