Only Superhuman (38 page)

Emry shot her head back into Psyche’s face, drove her elbows into the nerve clusters under her arms. Psyche fell back, dazed, the rope of hair falling free from Emry’s neck. Emry spun to face her, seeing blood dripping from her adorable snub of a nose. “Don’t flatter yourself, Daddy’s girl. You even fight sexy—the legs, the braid—it’s fetish stuff. Not the real deal. Everything about you is just for show.”

Psyche smiled, licking her lips to taste the blood. “No. It’s for getting what I want. And there’s more than one way to do that.”

She ran. Emry followed. Soon, they emerged into the amphitheater, where dozens of delegates milled, discussing the issues of the day. “Help!” Psyche cried. “It’s Emerald. Emerald Blair. She’s betrayed us all, she’s a spy for Ceres, she’s trying to kill me!” Her voice was perfectly pitched to convey terror and helplessness. Tears glistened in her eyes, and her expression was so poignant it made even Emry mad at herself for hurting her. “Please, she’s coming for me, stop her! Stop her any way you can!”

Most of the male delegates, and many female ones, surged forward to protect Psyche. She clung to them, one by one, no doubt spewing psychoactives all over them. “No, it’s not what you think!” Emry called. But some of them were already charging—Marcus Rossi of Mars Martialis, Paul Chandler of Zarathustra, the half-bionic Ifukube Kenji of Niihama. People who could do her serious damage if she let them—people she didn’t dare hurt because they were innocent dupes. People who looked like they wanted to rip her apart with their bare hands for daring to lay a finger on their sweet, beloved Psyche.

So Emry ran. And a mob of delegates ran after her, screaming for her blood.

*   *   *

Beyond the stone amphitheater was a dense deciduous forest, and Psyche knew that Emry would quickly outdistance her pursuers within it. The delegates were not the best backup physically, with a few exceptions among the mods. But they were at hand, Emry wouldn’t hurt them, and, most important, they would all do anything for Psyche. Well, maybe not anything, but with the right handling, she could certainly guide them in the right direction. It warmed Psyche’s heart to see how many of the delegates leapt instantly to her defense, and how easy it was to persuade the rest to join in the pursuit of Emry—even some whom she hadn’t yet managed to program for obedience, who were just buying her story and choosing to help her of their own free will. It was a thrill to exercise her powers on such a scale, to get a real test of the delegates’ devotion to her. This was what her father had made her for. This was his will made manifest. And nothing brought Psyche such joy and fulfillment as being the instrument of Eliot Thorne’s will.

Still, the last thing she wanted to do right now was call up Daddy and ask for help. He was busy with important conference matters, comparing notes with geneticists from various delegations, exploring ways to combine their efforts and techniques toward the betterment of all humankind. As always, he was planning for the future, his great mind and will questing outward, ten steps ahead of everyone else. She couldn’t interrupt that with a mundane setback like this.

Besides, she was embarrassed. She should never have let this happen. She had underestimated Emry’s loyalty to the Troubleshooters.
No, don’t be so hard on yourself. You couldn’t have known the Troubleshooters would develop their own suspicions of Tai.
She’d done all she could to assess their personalities, model their probable reactions, and orchestrate matters to deepen the wedge between them and Emry. But try as she might, she could only gain so much insight into the minds of people she hadn’t gotten up close and personal with.

So she’d been forced to improvise again, as she had with Villareal. She hated it when she had to improvise. It was such a waste when people refused to go along with the plan and had to die. Especially a fabulous lover like Villareal or a friend like Emry.
Damn that cyber.
She didn’t know specifically what Zephyr had said, but she could read Emry’s reactions in her face, her hormones, the blood flow in her brain.
If not for him, I could’ve won her over.
Or at least knocked her out and taken her captive, so that she could’ve worked on changing her mind at leisure.

And maybe that could still happen if they caught her, though it would take some substantial neurological reconditioning. She wouldn’t be the same free-spirited, funny, aggravating, and endearing woman after that. Maybe it would be kinder just to kill her now and remember her as she was. After all, she had an excellent simulation of Emry’s psyche in her memory buffer, accumulated over many weeks of scanning and thus exceptionally detailed, so she could call it up for a chat at any time and wouldn’t have to lose her friend forever.

Either way, Psyche was determined to get the situation in hand before she bothered Daddy. He had faith in her to handle things like this, and she wasn’t going to let him down. She’d kill anyone, even her best friend, before letting her father down.

Not that Daddy wouldn’t forgive her, of course. Daddy always forgave her. He was so generous and good to her. Most everyone was, of course, but that was Daddy’s gift to her as well.

And now Psyche was able to make good use of that gift. Once she’d gotten the first group motivated to get out there and hunt Emry down, she quickly rounded up others, including that charming old lech Hanuman and his lady bodyguards (or body-somethings), to join in the search. Naturally, they were all oh so eager to come to her aid, to show no mercy to anyone who would dare to hurt her.

Unfortunately, her ability to keep up the persona of a victim was complicated by the fact that the delegates needed her help. Not many of them had the skills or enhanced senses to help in tracking, aside from Bast and a few others. So Psyche had to join in the search, crouching close to the ground and tracking Emry by her enticing, raw scent. It wasn’t easy; Emry’s trail soon vanished from the ground, and Bast had to follow it up into the trees. The she-cat lost the trail before long, but Psyche called up Emry’s personality model, simulated her behavior under pursuit, and chose a likely direction. Before long, she’d picked up that exciting bouquet again and led the search party in pursuit.

But as Bast and the others raced ahead, their path paralleling a wide stream, Psyche slowed down, absorbing a new datum from the personality model. When the panthress sighted a flash of burgundy in the undergrowth and pounced on it, Psyche had a pretty good idea of what she’d find. Indeed, shortly the disappointed Bast rose, the shreds of Emry’s blouse, pants, and boots clutched in her claws and teeth.

Psyche chuckled.
Ohh, I could’ve guessed that even without the model.

18

Power Games

Emry ran through the forest on bare feet, water streaming from her hair. She’d figured that if Psyche could sense her hormones, she could track by scent, so she’d stripped to her panties and immersed herself in the stream. This was only a stopgap at best; movie myths to the contrary, scent molecules were highly hydrophilic and remained detectable in water for some time. A thorough bath and change (or abandonment) of clothes could confuse a scent tracker for a time, but it would just be a matter of searching until the trail was found again—and her near-nudity would probably make her easier to track. But with Psyche giving off psychoactive drugs from her sweat glands while she’d been pawing Emry all over, a stripdown and quick bath had seemed like a good idea.
I’d rather go naked than wear her.

In fact, she reflected, she probably should have shed her panties as well. In the wilds of Neogaia, complete nudity would help her blend in visually if not by scent. In the past, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Since puberty, Emry had never met anyone strong enough to overpower her sexually (until Eliot Thorne), and so had never learned to feel vulnerable in the nude. But after what Psyche had done to her, she felt exposed in a way she’d never known. Her panties didn’t do much to counter that feeling, but they were the only thing Psyche hadn’t gotten her scent on. They were better than nothing.

she subvocalized as she ran—trying to stride on exposed roots and stones as much as possible to minimize her trail.

Zephyr replied.

In her Banshee days, Emry had occasionally benefitted from the fact that brain scans couldn’t be used to extract secrets or proof of guilt without a subject’s willing cooperation. She remembered.

Whatever Psyche had done, she could clearly do it without sexual intimacy, unless she had a lot more stamina and free time than Emry gave her credit for. It could’ve begun when she’d first held Emry’s head in her hands and kissed her cheeks. But how much further could she have taken it once she’d pleasured Emry into unconsciousness? Maybe she’d gotten Emry to talk about her mission from Tai—that was how she and Eliot had known. But Eliot had made the accusation and Psyche had feigned surprise to misdirect Emry, and she, already compromised and suggestible, had fallen for it. But that didn’t explain how a nanosensor array could have gone undetected.

Zephyr said.

Zephyr paused.

“Just tell me, okay?” she hissed.

“What?!”

Demodex brevis
mite is a benign parasite, a few tenths of a millimeter in size, that infests the hair follicles of nearly ninety-eight percent of all humans. If Psyche’s hair mites contain nanosensors, and she infested your scalp with them—>

“
Ohh, ick! You mean she gave me cooties?!” She almost forgot to keep her voice low.

Demodex
mites are arachnids, usually harmless, which is why the medscan didn’t flag them.>

Emry suppressed a shudder.

Zephyr said.

governments
. Zeph, she almost had me. I loved her. I would’ve done anything for her.… >

She fought the tears that threatened to pour forth. She couldn’t afford that now. She continued to subvocalize, afraid that if she spoke her thoughts aloud, it would break down the last of her control.

Zephyr’s voice was gentle.

“It’s not the same!” she said aloud. Too loud. She sighed, gathering herself.

“Thanks to you. And thanks to Kari and the rest.”
Kari!
“Can you contact them? I’m gonna need their help.”

Emry asked.

Just then, a furry figure dropped from an overhead branch, startling several birds into flight. Hanuman Kwan came to his feet before her. He leered openly at her wet, nearly nude body, but his gun didn’t waver from its aim between her eyes. “Well, hello,” he said. Emry looked around for other pursuers, but Hanuman said, “Don’t worry—we’re alone.”