“Delete.”
The fifth vacancy was a military one. A fleet-supply vessel. Seventy credits with full benefits. A one-year contract. A very attractive offer.
Except it would be a military thing…
“Delete.”
The girl moaned weakly. Alex turned to her. Kim awkwardly rolled her head on the pillow. Her eyes were open.
“The crystal…”
“Everything’s fine. It’s safe.”
“Uh-huh.”
She lost consciousness again.
Well, she did realize how precious the crystal was, if she could interrupt her own trance for it.
“What am I going to do with you?” said Alex under his breath.
An off-track metamorphosis was no joke. She would be getting visions any second now. She might turn violent, and a fighter-spesh out of control—that would be a disaster. But even if she stayed quiet, she would still need food, she would need rest, and medicine. All that cost money, and he had none.
“A new entry just in,” the computer informed him. Alex read over the new vacancy announcement that had appeared on the screen.
Spaceship Mirror. Unclassified vessel, assembled on Earth. Master-pilot, simultaneous appointment as the ship’s captain. As the ship’s captain!
Alex gave a start. Stared intensely at the dry lines of the announcement. No established routes. Two hundred credits per week. Sign-up bonus equal to two months’ salary. All-expenses-paid lodging on board the ship and “rank-appropriate accommodations at all spaceports.” The Sky Company. A two-year contract.
“This doesn’t happen,” said Alex firmly. “Ever.”
Could not resist the urge to glance at his shoulder. The Demon really was sitting with its back to him, but had now turned its head and stared at Alex quizzically.
“Contracts like this don’t come along, especially… at just the right moment,” announced Alex. “Right?” The Demon was obviously in complete agreement.
“Delete entry?” queried the computer.
“Don’t you dare… Details!”
“No further information available.”
“Open data on the spaceship Mirror and the Sky Company.”
“No information available.”
A contract like this should be snapped up at once—that is, if you were stupid. Two hundred credits per week was too much, even for the combined position of captain and master-pilot. No information on the company, or on the ship, no further details of the contract… Before you enter into anything, you should always know how to exit. This was a rule Alex had learned after his first contract, which he signed thinking it was for one year, but which actually dragged on for three.
And the main thing—the rank of captain! This was more than a contract. It was a whole new destiny.
Kim moaned.
“It’s a real bind, ain’t it?” Alex asked the Demon. The tattoo frowned back at him.
“Go back to the contract for the space liner Goethe,” said Alex.
“Access denied. That contract has been signed.” Alex licked his lips. Took out his credit card. Stretched his arm toward the screen.
“Request to sign the contract with the Sky Company for the combined position of captain and master-pilot of the spaceship Mirror.”
About ten seconds passed, and then came the computer’s reply:
“Your application has been accepted.”
From a slot below the screen a small sheet of paper slid out. Alex read over it quickly. It was an absolutely standard contract, approved by the union. With a tiny little quirk. Alex still had no information about the ship or the company…
“You have five minutes for deliberation.”
“Inquiry on the date of departure from this planet,” said Alex.
“No later than in three standard days.”
“Information on all crewmembers.”
“The choice of crewmembers is left to the captain’s discretion.”
“Such tasty cheese can only mean a mousetrap,” Alex murmured.
He didn’t know why the contract bothered him. He could not formulate his misgivings. Perhaps because it was simply way too good…
“Switch to contract-signing mode,” Alex ordered the computer.
The text of the contract appeared on the screen.
“I, Alexander Romanov, master-pilot, spesh, citizen of Earth, agree to the standard labor contract, as it appears on the screen, with the Sky Company, and take upon myself the responsibilities of captain and master-pilot of the spaceship Mirror for two years.”
“Accepted,” reported the computer. “Your information has been submitted to the union of pilots and the Sky Company. Shall I transfer the money into your account?”
“Yes.”
“Completed. Shall I provide the documentation on the spacecraft?”
“Yes. In hard copy.”
Alex felt the mousetrap snap closed somewhere behind him. But at the moment, he had more important things to worry about.
“Switch to shopping mode.”
“Unable to comply. Your room is configured to minimal parameters.”
“Pay for this room for the duration of twenty-four hours at maximum parameters.”
“Accepted.”
“The nearest pharmacy with emergency delivery services. Switch to video mode.”
Somewhere in the downstairs lobby, the night clerk probably smirked, seeing that Alex had purchased an extra twenty-four hours at maximum price. No surprise there—the spesh had decided to prolong his pleasure.
“Hope he has this much fun with his next date!” murmured Alex, catching a sidelong glimpse of the girl’s motionless body. And the computer screen was already showing the face of a girl-natural, dressed in the pale-green uniform of a pharmacy clerk.
Chapter 2
Pupation began exactly at midnight, as though Kim’s body had been consulting a clock. The girl yelped, then stretched out, tossing off the blanket. She tensed up on the bed, slowly twisting into a rigid arch. Alex twirled an anesthetic ampoule in his fingers, but decided to wait. Metamorphosis was always a very unpleasant process, even if the expected transformation was minimal. And in the case of a fighter-spesh, especially when the normal schedule was disrupted… She vomited—nothing but bile. Alex brought her some water, helped her up to drink. It was unlikely that she understood what was happening, but she greedily put the glass to her lips.
Then the bleeding started. Pupation was always much harder on women than it was on men, for physiological reasons. According to Alex’s estimations, she must have lost at least one point five pints of blood. He gave Kim two intravenous injections of blood substitute, three point five ounces each, but did not manage to give her the third injection. He had run out of time. Her veins started slipping away under his fingers. The girl’s whole body quivered. Her pores oozed blood and sweat. Alex sat quiet near the bed, every now and then cleaning it up with anti-bacterial wipes. The used ones already formed a small dirty pile on the floor. The Demon on his shoulder scowled in disgust.
“Just deal with it, pal,” Alex told it. “Someone had to wipe up my blood and shit, too.”
Yes, but—the Demon could have pointed out—those were nurses, naturals, who were used to this kind of work and were getting paid to do it. But colloidal tattoos could not talk.
At two in the morning, the girl’s body stiffened. Her pulse was barely discernible, and her heartbeat was very slow and labored. Alex accessed a medical database, read the recommendations, then lifted Kim out of the bed, took her to the bathroom, and put her into warm water. The bathroom had, of course, a kit for the handicapped, and Alex strapped Kim’s body in, so she wouldn’t drown.