Only Superhuman (29 page)

“Yes! You can dial back the pheromones or something.”

“Emry, Emry—you know pheromones aren’t a love potion. You’re overreacting. Besides, I told them there was plenty of me to go around. But you know men, always so possessive. They’re so cute that way.”

But the fight was getting out of hand now, so Emry threw herself into the fray. Against two fellow Vanguardians who both outmassed her considerably, it was probably not the wisest choice. But once the men realized Thorne’s lover was in harm’s way, they reined themselves in and let her pull them apart. Once she made sure they weren’t severely hurt, she tossed them out and told them to call themselves an ambulance. “And call yourselves a few other names while you’re at it!” she added.

Then she whirled on Psyche. “And you! What happened to your gift for reading people, huh?”

Psyche was contrite. “I read them fine. But I read that they wanted me, and that they’d fight to have me, and … well, that’s very flattering. I just let myself get carried away by their emotions. I try to give people what they want, and those men wanted to prove their prowess by fighting over me.” She shrugged. “Besides, you looked like you were having fun.” Emerald stared. “Okay, I was stupid. Sometimes it’s just hard to gauge how strong one of us actually is. I didn’t think that it might be dangerous.” She blushed. “And … maybe I’m feeling a little lonely now that you’re … I guess I just wanted attention.”

The resultant guilt quashed Emry’s anger. “Damn. Psyche…”

“Forget it. It’s okay.” She hugged Emry. “Thank you for keeping the peace. I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

*   *   *

The next day, Zephyr expressed concern about Psyche’s actions.
“It strikes me that someone so gifted at manipulating others could come to enjoy it a little too much,”
he said over her selfone.

“But two of her own people? What could she have to gain from that?” Emry challenged.

“That’s my point. It can become an end in itself.”

But Emry couldn’t believe that of Psyche. Perhaps she had enjoyed toying with those men’s affections when she’d believed it to be in good fun, but her remorse had been genuine. And Emry, of all people, couldn’t begrudge her friend a bit of a wild streak.

And there was no doubt of her loyalty as a friend. Later that day, Psyche issued a press statement responding to Tai’s insinuations by clarifying the nature and goals of the recent conference and the ongoing diplomatic process it had set into motion. Lacking solid evidence beyond what Tai had already preempted, she declined to make direct accusations. With regard to the charges against Emry, Psyche simply stated that she could personally vouch for Emerald Blair’s whereabouts for the entire period when she was supposedly colluding with Cowboy. “The Vanguard has complete confidence in Emerald’s integrity,” she added, “and her commitment to the principles of the Troubleshooter Corps.” With regard to her status as a wanted fugitive, Psyche stated that the Vanguard had no extradition treaty with the Cerean States and that Emry was their guest for as long as she wished to remain. “Emerald is the daughter of one of our own,” she said, “and we take care of our family.”

Emry was at once moved and troubled by that statement. Family wasn’t something she was used to being a part of—and this family in particular was one she’d never expected to connect with again. The Vanguardians she met kept wanting to talk about her father, to tell her what a great guy he’d been or how much they imagined she reminded them of him. Nodding politely and changing the subject was rapidly becoming a new habit for her.

But the hell of it was, she
liked
it here. The Vanguardians were a lively, robust people, and their whole habitat was designed to challenge, stimulate, and sate individuals with abilities and appetites rivaling Emry’s own. She felt the kind of belonging that she’d only ever known with the Freakshow and the Troubleshooters … and with her mother and father, back in another life. She liked Psyche, bonding with her like the sister she’d never had. She liked getting to meet Lydie Clement, Soaring Hawk Darrow, and the other surviving champions from the sixties and seventies, soaking in their tales of adventure and what it was like to be the first real superheroes.

And she
really
liked Eliot Thorne. He was everything she’d ever fantasized him to be. True, he could be controlling, reserved and forbidding, but she enjoyed the challenge of breaking through his defenses. Yet she was uneasy with just how strong her feelings for him were becoming. There was something she felt with him that she’d never known with any other man, and she was afraid to think about what it might be.

So when Grandma Rachel invited her to brunch, Emry was grateful for the excuse to decline an invitation to work out with Eliot. Their workouts were certainly entertaining, even before they turned into wild sex; but she appreciated the chance to decompress and get her mind off of Eliot Thorne.

Inevitably, though, it wasn’t long before Rachel asked, “So—you and Eliot, huh? I guess I’m not surprised. An alpha male like him … if anything, it’s a wonder it took so long.”

“And … you’re okay with it?” Emry asked between bites of truly superb French toast.

“As long as you are. As long as you’re aware that you shouldn’t expect anything remotely resembling monogamy from him, and are able to accept that. Other than that, he’s a fine catch. A bit of a control freak, yes, but you’re strong enough to stand up to him.”

“So … you figure I’m just one conquest in a long line?”

“Ohh, don’t sell yourself short!” Rachel seemed to misunderstand which answer Emry was hoping to hear. “Even by Vanguard standards, Emry, you’re quite a woman. You’re powerful, intense, and Eliot is drawn to that. He takes lots of lovers, but I think—and please don’t repeat this to him, I’d get an earful—I think he’s lonely at heart. For all his power, all he’s built and plans to build, he’s missing something. Maybe it’s an equal. Someone he can love, as much as he loves Psyche.”

Sensing Emry’s nervousness, Rachel laughed. “Oh, here I am being an old yenta, embarrassing you. Don’t mind me. What do I know about all this anyway? I spend all my time with my work, and my babies,” she said, patting her belly.

“How many have you had?” Emry asked.

“Ohh, I hardly remember anymore. Building a large population in an enclosed community like this, a lot of us have to be pregnant a lot of the time. I’ve probably carried more babies than most anyone else. Some of them have been surrogacies, though, not genetically mine, or no more than a bit.”

“You must really like morning sickness.”

“Well, one of my mods is being less prone to that. Still, all these pregnancies, they take their toll. But it’s worth it. I feel I should have a personal connection to the future I’m helping to design. I get so caught up in my work sometimes—I should never forget that these are people, not just genomes. That they’re our children, our responsibility.”

She sighed. “Still … it was different with your father. That was with Liam. That was love, pure and simple. Most of the rest … they’re the children of the community, and we all play a part in raising them. But Richard … he was
my
son. And the image of his father.…” She blinked away a tear.

“Ohh, Emry,” she went on. “I see so much of him when I look at you. Maybe not in the face, but behind the eyes. In your spirit, your strength and sensitivity. In the work you do, giving of yourself, using your gifts to protect others. He would’ve been so very proud of you, Emerald.”

Now Emry had to fight off tears. She put her fork down; she’d lost her appetite. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“He didn’t approve of fighting.”

“He chose not to fight. He never judged those who did. He hated killing, but you’re no killer, whatever they’re saying. He would have known that.”

“No. He wouldn’t.” The table was blurring before her eyes, getting all watery, so she stood and turned away from it.

A moment later she felt Grandma Rachel’s hands on her shoulders. “Emry, I don’t understand. You’ve done nothing that would give Richard any reason to be less than proud. Sure, you had a few wild years, but that was understandable, and you’ve more than made amends.”

“No. No, I haven’t come close. I never can.”

“I know your father wouldn’t have felt that way.”

“What do you know?!” Emry whirled on her. “You didn’t know him! You never talked to him my whole life! You didn’t know … what happened to him … what I did to him.…”

Rachel stepped back, taking a shuddering breath, but she stayed in control, looking levelly at Emry. “Then tell me.”

“I killed him!”
she shrieked. It tore out of her, breaking free after years of suppression, and tears spilled forth from the gaping hole it left. Sobbing uncontrollably, she fell into a stunned Rachel’s arms. “It’s my fau—it’s my fault he died. I killed him.”

14

Origin Stories: Great Responsibility

December 2105
al-Khwarizmi Science Institute
Sol-Jupiter L3 point

Emry woke. Barely. Something was making her uncomfortable. She tried to drift back off to sleep, but the sensation wouldn’t go away. Something was pushing against her back. All of it at once.

A few moments later, she realized it was weight. That startled her fully awake. Yes—it felt like she was under about half a gee. Looking around, she realized she wasn’t on the
Trident
anymore, but in a hospital ward. It all came back to her. The expedition must have gotten back safely.

“Ahh, Emerald, at last!” That was the expedition doctor, Monica Railey, a handsome woman with warm chocolate skin. “Are you with us now? Do you know who you are?”

Emry laughed more than she had reason to; she was still rather punchy. “You kinda gave it away there, Monnie. I’m Emerald, uhh, Jones? Chang? McGillicuddy? Hold on, it’s on the tip of my tongue.…”

“Okay, she’s back,” Railey said with a sigh. “Sorry for the obvious question, but you didn’t seem quite sure who you were the last time you were awake.”

“I was awake before? I don’t remember.…”

“Most people don’t. Even just when coming out of surgery, let alone nearly a month of hibernation. You’re actually ahead of the curve there. Must be that Vanguardian physique.”

“I’m not a Vanguardian.”

Railey studied her for a moment, wearing a look Emry couldn’t decipher. “Well … you know what I mean.”

Emry just grunted in response. Railey helped her sit up, handed her a cup of apple juice, and advised her to sip it slowly. Once Emry demonstrated her mastery of that task, Railey decided she could be trusted to finish up on her own, and went to tend to another patient.

As she rehydrated herself, Emry contemplated Railey’s words.
Not quite sure who I was
.… She really wasn’t surprised. Emry hadn’t had a good answer to that question for over seven years now.

True, it had been nearly three years since she’d stopped changing the name on her forged IDs every few months, since she’d stopped being Kei or Jean or Barbara or Mary Jane or Kim or whoever and become Emerald Blair again full-time. But a name was not an identity, and she had spent most of those three years trying to figure out just who or what Emerald Blair was going to be. While still in rehab, she’d begun taking online classes again, catching up on her formal education. But with no career goals in mind, her approach had been dilettantish. Figuring she’d be more stimulated by direct experience, Emry had wandered Solsys and soaked in the rich diversity of cultures and beliefs, all the wild social experiments and evolutions that crop up on any frontier, in search of one that felt like home to her. Well, not all of them. She’d avoided Wellspring and Neogaia, already knowing all she felt she needed to know about them. She’d stayed away from habs where certain people might try to kill her if they recognized her. And she’d made no attempt to visit Vanguard or Earth proper, let alone go back to Greenwood; any place where there were Shannons was a place she had no wish to be.

Along the way, she’d dabbled in various religions, visiting their houses of worship, opening herself to their teachings, hoping to find the peace and enlightenment that her mother had found in her Dianic beliefs. But all of it rang false to her. There was certainly beauty and imagination in it, but she sensed nothing beneath the symbols and myths, no truth tying them together—nothing but a self-deluding desire to believe the universe gave a leak about its occupants. Lyra Blair’s Goddess hadn’t protected her, hadn’t spared her daughter from misery and loss, any more than her husband had. If there was one thing Emry had learned, it was that people had to rely on themselves.

So Emry had turned away from higher callings and tried to find a career that satisfied her. During her travels, she’d made a living at various jobs, from laborer to stripper to pilot to model to bouncer, but nothing that seemed like a life’s calling. She’d dabbled in acting, but couldn’t lose herself in a part; she’d tried sports, but wasn’t much for following rules. She’d gone so far as to enroll in the FEEL academy on Vestalia, but had soon found that sex as a profession required a selflessness she couldn’t muster, a commitment to placing the clients’ desires above her own. Like so many things in life, it was less fun as a job than as a hobby.

Back in August, wondering if science was her thing, she’d signed on as a pilot and general assistant for the
Trident
expedition: a two-month survey of Neptune’s moons, plus a month’s travel either way with the crew in hibernation. She’d hoped some distance and quiet time would help her figure things out. True, there was some publicity involved in such a trip, but they were routine enough by now that she wouldn’t draw too much attention.

But she’d found the survey rather tedious, relieved only by her dalliances with various researchers. Unfortunately, in the close quarters of the expedition, her bunk-hopping had created some tensions. She’d caused a couple of fights and started a few more. It had been a relief for everyone when the time to go back into hibernation had come. Now Emry hoped the debriefing would go quickly so she could finally end her association with the project.