Only Superhuman (2 page)

The female had ignored Arkady’s shots. Eyes fixed on Emry, she had ripped off her
chador,
revealing a stunning black-furred cat-woman wearing armor fabric over her vital areas. The leader, whom Emry now recognized as high-ranking Neogaian Erich “Wulf” Krieger, was shouting, “Taurean, Bast, kill them! Caiman, with me!” But the she-cat didn’t need to hear it—she was already screaming and leaping at Emry, claws fully deployed from her fingertips. The ferocity in her yellow eyes struck primal fear into Emry, paralyzing her. At the last instant she reacted, dodging right and tossing the panthress into a spin, but not before those claws put four shallow slashes across the reinforced skin of Emry’s left arm. They must have been diamond-coated as well. Meanwhile, in the corner of her eye Emry saw the bull-guard firing a Gauss pistol at Arkady, not as quick as Bast to rely on animal instinct. The bullets bounced off the symbot’s tough shell. Arkady was firing his plasma gun at Krieger and Caiman in flashbang mode, the laser pulses ionizing the air into blinding plasma balls with a crackle of miniature thunderclaps. Krieger clapped his hands over his large ears and staggered, but Caiman seemed unaffected and hustled him out of range while Taurean moved in to block his fire.

Bast had landed on her feet on the next air-filtration unit over, facing Emry and looking quite thrilled. “At last! A new toy!” she yowled, her feline muzzle giving her something of a lisp. Like a cat, she studied her foe, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Emry did the same. Bast’s ears were in the normal human places, peeking out from her luxurious black mane, but the pinnae were large, pointed, and flexible. Her hands were human except for the claws, but the feet were pawlike and elongated, making her a formidable leaper. Her long tail swished agitatedly even while the rest of her lithe, slender body stayed perfectly still and poised. She seemed young to Emry, though maybe that was a natural feline abandon. Whatever the case, she was gorgeous. The cliché came unbidden to Emry’s lips: “
Nice
kitty!”

“No,” Bast replied. “I’m not.” She pounced again, effortlessly correcting for Coriolis drift. This time Emry leapt up to meet her, aiming a spin-kick at her head. But Bast pivoted impossibly in midair, seemingly innocent of Newtonian physics, and dodged the kick, slashing at Emry’s leg as she went past. This time the armor fabric shielded her, but the blow threw off her recovery, so she fell poorly and almost hit the side of the filtration unit. She caught herself and flipped up and over to land where Bast had just been, facing a Bast who was already crouched where Emry had been, tensing for her next leap.

It’s the tail,
she realized. That and her flexible spine let Bast shift her center of gravity however she wanted, enabling moves that seemed to laugh in the face of old Isaac.
Okay, no more soaring through the air like in a
wuxia
movie.
Emry planted her feet and awaited Bast’s attack.

The panthress was quick to oblige, launching herself with great force, claws splayed. Emry grabbed her right wrist and punched her in the gut, but at the same moment Bast shot her legs forward and slashed at Emry’s midsection. Light-armor fabric protected both women, but the claws of Bast’s free hand dug deeply into Emry’s right shoulder. Then the unexpected happened: Bast’s tail looped around Emry’s leg and yanked, proving itself as much primate as feline. Unbalanced from the collision, Emry fell back and had to fend off Bast’s teeth as they went for her throat. She got her forearm bitten for her troubles. Angered, she kneed Bast in the gut and cuffed her head, then kicked the dazed therian off the edge of the filtration unit.

“Now do you see the flaw in the idea of sleeveless armor?”
came Arkady’s voice over the selfone clip on her left ear.

She rolled her eyes at the rote criticism as she scrambled to her feet. “But tin cans are just so passé.”

“Forgive a mere mortal his caution, O demigoddess. At least try not to get yourself killed while I’m still responsible for you.”

“Oh, go fuck a can opener,” she shot back, but her tone was affectionate. The old schmuck was like a—well, like an uncle to her. But she was going to murder him someday; that was a given.

She looked down from the filtration unit, hoping to see Bast unconscious on the ground. But the she-cat stood there in a relaxed pose, purring loudly as she licked Emry’s blood off her fingers.
How does it feel to purr?
Emry wondered.
I bet it’s amazing.
“Rrrr, thick and yummy,” Bast moaned, savoring the dense, erythrocyte-rich blood that fed the increased oxygen demand of Emry’s muscles. “Come here and give me more!”

“Sorry, we don’t deliver!” Emry wasn’t about to jump down—the slow fall would give Bast plenty of reaction time. So she leapt still higher into the maze of ducts and girders overhead, taunting, “Come and get it, pussy!”

That proved a mistake. Emry had been hoping to lose Bast in the forest of conduits and get behind her, but all she did was get Bast more excited and hotter on Emry’s (alas, only figurative) tail, following her easily through the maze. Bast’s lighter, sleeker build let her slink along ducts too flimsy to support Emry’s weight and slip easily through gaps Emry had to force her way through. Still, Emry couldn’t resist taunting her, hoping to distract her focus. “Aww, no, now you’ll get stuck up here and we’ll have to call the fire department!”

Emry remembered playing with Kiri and Tigermuffin as a child: how they attacked a string or toy mousie most eagerly when it went behind the ottoman or table leg and “couldn’t see” them coming. Emry had similar close calls with Bast, and those claws left their marks in Emry’s arms a couple of times more, as well as doing a fair amount of damage to the conduits. Regrettably, none of them was carrying anything hot or caustic to spray out in Bast’s face, as they surely would have in a movie or sim. Real life was such a rip-off sometimes. “Keep scratching up the furniture and we’ll have to get you a manicure!” Bast slashed out with a foot, barely missing her. “And a pedicure. How about a sinecure? Get paid to sleep all day—what cat could pass that up?” The next swipe of Bast’s claws raked across the back of her hand. Emry lost her grip and barely managed to catch herself on the pipe below. “Would you settle for a cured ham?”
I’ll need a cure for disembowelment at this rate.

But Emry had grown up with cats—surely she could use a few of their tricks herself. Hell, she
was
wearing tiger-print panties. The next time Bast’s claws slashed from around a vertical pipe, Emry swept around the other side and collided with her. They fell together in a Coriolis arc. Emry struggled to hold Bast and make sure the she-cat landed on her back. But Bast’s tail gave her the advantage in midair twisting, and Emry ended up on the bottom (not her favorite position), just managing to splay her arms in time to absorb the impact wrestler-style. Which made them unavailable to stop Bast from going for her throat again. So she slammed her forehead into Bast’s. Not for the first time, her thick skull came in handy; Bast yowled and fell back, letting Emry get her legs up into the she-cat’s midriff, launching her backward. She landed in a three-point crouch, though, and Emry struggled to rise and face her, though she found it hard to get beyond a sitting position. “Anybody got a ball of yarn?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,”
came Arkady’s voice,
“just shoot her!”
Emry grimaced. She hated guns, even the nonlethal kind—nasty things, and they took all the fun out of a good fight. But Arkady had a point—they didn’t really have time, what with the other terrorists on the loose.

The clincher was that Bast was pouncing again, all her pointy bits deployed for the kill, and Emry couldn’t dodge fast enough. In one smooth, swift move, she fell back, drew her dartgun, and placed shockdarts in Bast’s exposed midriff and neck. The she-cat convulsed and fell heavily atop her, burying Emry’s face in her thick, silky mane. “Sorry,” Emry said. “This was just starting to get good.” She rolled the dazed panther-woman off of her, taking a moment to appreciate how soft her fur was, and feeling irrationally tempted to stroke it back into smoothness. But there was no time for that now. She drew binders from her belt and swiftly secured Bast’s wrists and ankles before she could recover.

Emry turned to see Arkady hovering nearby in his armor suit, its wingjets keeping him airborne and correcting for Cori drift. She always thought the bulky thing made him look like something out of an old
anime
. Apparently he’d just lifted out of the way of the bull-man, Taurean, who was extricating his horns from a dented wall panel and shaking his head. He must’ve given up on the gun or been disarmed. Arkady fired a shock laser, but Taurean dodged surprisingly fast, the electric arc hitting the wall. Arkady deployed his arm-mounted sonic pulser, but before he could fire, Taurean leapt up and took him in the chest, smashing through several overhead pipes. Taurean landed smoothly on his feet, but Arkady fell badly and hit headfirst, a number of heavy conduits landing atop him.

“You okay, Papa Bear?” Emry called—but then noticed Taurean eyeing her and pawing at the ground. “Ohh, bull…” She fired off some shockdarts as he charged her headfirst, but they bounced off his skin as though it were light armor, not holding contact long enough to deliver an effective charge. No wonder Arkady had switched to beam weapons.

But Emry would not be cowed. Like a Minoan daredevil, she seized the bull-man by the horns and flipped over him, letting out a whoop.
That’s one way to tackle a dilemma!
By the time she landed, she’d not only spun to face him, but had holstered her dartgun, drawn her laser pistol, and set it to shock mode. But he’d spun too, with no pause for rumination, and was charging her again. “It’s the red hair, isn’t it?” she asked, shaking her head a bit.
Priorities, kid!
she thought, and fired, the laser ionizing a path for the electric discharge. Taurean convulsed from the sustained shock, but still had enough momentum to bowl her over, knocking her sidearm from her hand and the wind from her lungs. She ended up on the bottom again, grateful for the low gravity, although his weight upon her chest was still suffocating.

But he was already stirring, the charge apparently too small for such a massive body. Before she could catch her breath and wriggle free, he had an oversized hand around her throat. His other hand held down her right arm in a vise grip, and his tree-trunk legs pinned hers. She gripped his wrist in her left hand, but he tightened his hold on her throat when she did, giving her pause. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said in a surprisingly mellow, good-natured voice. “Too bad I have to kill you.”

Emry seized the opening. “Well, you don’t
have
to,” she lilted with what breath she could muster, lowering her eyelids seductively. “I’ve known some horny men, but you take the beefcake. Why don’t we have our own little rodeo, see how long I can ride you?”

Taurean looked tempted … but smiled regretfully. “I’d love to—but I’m not that stupid. I like girls with more fur, anyway,” he added with a shrug. “Sorry. I’ll make it quick, okay?” His fist tightened brutally around her neck, in stark contrast to his easygoing manner. Emry tried to wrench it free, but his arm wouldn’t budge and she was already weakening. She could hold her breath fairly long given a chance to prepare; but she’d already had the wind knocked out of her, and her metabolism was high from the fight, demanding oxygen that just wasn’t coming. She choked soundlessly, striving to remain conscious. He gave her a reassuring smile, like an anesthesiologist telling her to relax, count backward from ten, and just let oblivion take her.

But then a plasma bolt erupted in his face. It knocked him for a loop and he reflexively let go. Emry was dazzled herself, despite her corneal filters, but was able to push him off and scramble free. Arkady fired enough tanglewebs to make sure he was securely bound. Still choking and struggling for breath, Emry was tempted to leave the webs across his face and let
him
suffocate for a while. But his attempt to kill her had been without malice, just a guy doing his job, and she found that she bore him no ill will. So she moved in and extended her diamond thumbnail blades to cut his nose and mouth free as he struggled ineffectually against the restraints.
Your loss, bully-boy. Would’ve been a wild ride.

“You okay?” Arkady asked. Even with the helmet concealing his face, she could tell he was looking her over with concern.

She quizzed her biometrics and got the HUD readout on her retina. The cuts from Bast were clotted, the cells already being knitted back together by her repair nans, and no significant toxins had been introduced. Taurean’s impact had bruised a couple of ribs, again nothing her repair systems couldn’t handle. The cartilage around her windpipe was bruised as well, but its polymer reinforcements had held up. Her ears were ringing from the plasma bolt, but there was no serious damage. “I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. “I could’ve handled him.”

“Of course. But I thought I’d save you the trouble.”

“I
am
trouble,” she said with self-mocking arrogance.

“As I know better than anyone. You should focus less on your wisecracks and more on the battle.”

“What fun is that? Plus it loosens up the imagination, keeps me flexible. Good to have in a—”

Then the habitat rumbled. Then it groaned. Then it heaved.

*   *   *

Arkady Nazarbayev knew space habitats. Back before Independence, he’d been a construction worker, helping to build the things. It had been a booming business what with all the emigrés coming up from Earth—many voluntarily, others not so much, but all needing homes. Once Earth had gone to war with Ceres and Vesta for control of their abundant resources, it had only seemed natural to use his heavy-duty construction symbot—which augmented his strength twenty times over and was hardened against vacuum, radiation, and construction hazards—to defend his home and family. He’d modified the powered exoskeleton into a fighting machine, though he’d striven to keep its weapons mostly nonlethal. After all, many Terrans were still family, as far as he was concerned.