Only Superhuman (24 page)

Arkady Nazarbayev had actually struck up a friendship with him, claiming to find Zephyr’s vocal-simulation interface sexually appealing. At first, Zephyr thought the human’s frequent visits and chats would offer him little in return. Over time, he had discovered that Arkady possessed a frustratingly but intriguingly idiosyncratic approach to reasoning, and exploring its convolutions had proven more stimulating than Zephyr’s cyberspace worldbuilding had been for many megaseconds. Eventually Zephyr realized that he reciprocated Arkady’s feelings of friendship.

However, they had disagreed on many things—most of all the belief that Zephyr would make a worthy companion to a Troubleshooter in the field. Zephyr may have learned to find the human world a bit more interesting thanks to Arkady and the TSC staff, but he still preferred his own realities.

Arkady had accepted this for a time, but had pressed the issue again after taking on a young apprentice named Emerald Blair. Arkady was very protective of this new charge, telling Zephyr she was a special child who had endured much pain but had greatness in her. It was important to Arkady that she have a partner who could be a true friend and protector. He insisted there could be no better choice than Zephyr, who not only possessed great insight and intelligence, but who had himself endured pain and learned to cope with it positively. Zephyr had found Emerald Blair an interesting human, highly intelligent and even more intriguingly frustrating than Arkady. But he had still been unwilling to engage more directly with the physical world.

Then Arkady had died, the physical world inflicting a blow on Zephyr as bad as anything his DCM slavers had ever done. His first impulse had been to withdraw even further from that reality. But after extensive contemplation, he had realized that he owed Arkady more than that. Arkady’s world had been very real to him, and his loss was just as real to those humans who had known and needed him. Detaching himself from that reality would not have changed that. When Zephyr had modeled the scenario of his total retreat into cyberreality, he had concluded that the unlimited worlds he could imagine, worlds unbounded by any physical limits, would still be empty. A life lived only for oneself, especially when there were others who needed you, was no real life at all.

And so, with reluctance, Zephyr had volunteered to be Emerald Blair’s shipmind. Being in a physical body again had taken some adjustment, especially since it was so much faster, sleeker, and more powerful than his old one. But Emry had been adjusting to bodily upgrades as well, giving them grounds for mutual sympathy.

Still, Emry was his opposite in so many ways—intensely physical, deeply engaged with the material world on a sensory level. She had a lithe, agile intellect, but was quicker to act on her emotions and appetites, whether by fighting or eating or dancing or playing or copulating … or any combination thereof. And yet she was so dedicated to helping others, so driven to self-sacrifice by her inner passions. There was something primal about her, something that made Zephyr believe he could gain a profound insight into human beings from observing her, though he hadn’t pinned down what that was. But living with her, traveling with her, and keeping her relatively out of trouble had transformed Zephyr’s whole perspective on physical reality. He felt more a part of it now than ever before, and was starting to suspect that he actually
enjoyed
it—at least when he experienced it through Emry’s eyes.

So now he was cut off again, and for the first time in hundreds of megaseconds, it troubled him.

Or maybe, he realized, what really upset him was being cut off from Emerald Blair.

Her last contact had been a brief check-in the previous local night, when she’d told him she was turning in for the evening, apparently with a number of companions that was unusual even for her. She’d removed her selfone and switched her subvocal transceiver to idle mode, sending only biotelemetry. Those readings had let Zephyr deduce much of what followed, none of it seeming to involve any sort of duress. But then the jamming had begun, and he had no information on Emry’s status after that. Once he had resigned himself to being unable to penetrate the interference, he had searched his records on the Vanguard and the files he’d downloaded from their public net, trying to discern an explanation. Had the Vanguardians found out she was on an intelligence mission? Did they have some secret she was close to discovering? Had she been lured into some trap?

His researches had led him to one conclusion, at least: that Eliot Thorne was a man with a strong need for control—of himself, his environment, and his future. Naturally that meant having control over the people around him. He was no dictator; Vanguard was a hybrid democracy/meritocracy, governed by a council of proven experts in various fields (including many of the famous Vanguardian champions of old) but with oversight and participation by the people. But Thorne maintained great popularity and authority through his charisma, rhetorical skills, and personal associations, and consistently received votes of confidence as the most qualified leader of the Vanguard. In his speeches, writings, and scientific papers, there was a pervasive theme of the mastery of oneself and one’s surroundings being necessary to the mastery of one’s fate.

Such a man might wish to detain and interrogate Emry on general principles. More likely, Zephyr thought, he would wish to win her allegiance. As the child of one of the only Vanguardians ever to defy and desert Thorne, she represented a failure of control that bringing her back into the fold would redeem.

But if Thorne wished to win Emry’s trust, why cut her off from Zephyr? Perhaps to weaken her connections to the Troubleshooters and the outside world. But once she learned of that, she wouldn’t stand for it. By now, enough time had elapsed for her to have discovered the jamming and demanded an explanation—even allowing for post-bacchanal exhaustion. If she were able to move freely, she would have already made her way back here to check on him. So she had to be under restraint. But what did Thorne hope to gain by it?

It came as quite a relief when Emry did show up at his airlock, less than five kiloseconds after her estimated unimpeded return window had elapsed. She came accompanied by Psyche Thorne and a burly armed guard. Emry was in her uniform sans gunbelt, but unrestrained. “Emry!” he called over the airlock intercom. “I’m relieved to see you. What is going on?” He avoided more specific questions due to Ms. Thorne’s presence.

“It’s okay, Zeph. Well, sorta. Let us in, and I’ll tell you about it.”

“Define ‘us.’”

Emry gestured toward Ms. Thorne. Her body language toward the taller woman was relaxed, even affectionate, despite her overall tension. “Zephyr, Psyche Thorne. Psyche, my ship Zephyr.”

Psyche smiled widely and spoke into the camera. “Hello, Zephyr. I’m glad to meet you. Emry’s told me a lot about you. She certainly was right about your voice.” Psyche’s own voice was low and purring as she said that, though her gaze was on Emry as they exchanged girlish grins much like those Emry and Kari often shared when he spoke.

Sauce for the goose,
Zephyr thought, along with dozens of related expressions and quotes from many languages. “You flatter me, Psyche,” he returned, modeling his diction on a composite of the seductive deliveries of several thousand male movie stars. Emry called it his “melt-me voice” and generally came close to losing motor control when he used it. This time, although she smiled warmly and her eyelids fluttered, she evinced no loss of control (though perhaps the microgravity helped). Psyche just grinned more delightedly. “But I think,” he went on, modulating his tone with a hint of disapproval, “that I’d like to speak with Emry alone.”

“It’s okay, Zephy,” Emry told him. “I think we might be on the same side here. That is … if you trust me.”

That was a strange thing for her to say. “Of course I trust you.” He put a subtle emphasis on the final word. “But trust must be earned.”

“You’re right,” Psyche said. “That’s why we’re here. As a gesture of good faith, to show Emry—and hopefully you, Zephyr—that we’re on the level.”

“Let us in, and I’ll explain the whole thing,” Emry said once more.

“I’ll admit you and Ms. Thorne—not the guard.”

“That’s fine,” Psyche said. Zephyr opened the outer door. The guard merely hovered in place while the two women pulled themselves into the airlock together, Psyche holding Emry’s arm. Although she made it look like an affectionate gesture, it precluded the possibility of Zephyr shutting Psyche out.

“Emry, procedure dictates that I follow decon protocols before letting you into the ship proper,” he told her.

“I expected no less,” Psyche said. “Go ahead—we’ve got nothing to hide.”

Zephyr proceeded to scan them for nanotech bugs or hard viruses that might be piggybacking on their persons. He detected no untoward EM activity or sensor reflections, but to be sure, he subjected them to a microwave pulse to neutralize any surface nans, then made them pass through a gel filter that flowed around their bodies, performing a more direct, tactile scan and collecting any detritus. Psyche had to tug on her impractically long braid to pull it clear of the gel wall, giggling abashedly as she did so. But the scans turned up negative.

Nonetheless, Zephyr insisted on giving Emry a medical scan, and again Psyche offered no objection. The medbed detected no foreign nanotech in her body or clothing and no evidence of psychoactive substances beyond the expected pheromones. Aloud, Emry recapped the morning’s events and the Thornes’ allegations, letting Zephyr download the recordings from her sensory buffer for verification. He scanned the whole thing several times before Emry got far in her verbal summary, but he still valued her interpretation—and her brain activity readings as she spoke were useful data. They showed that she was still in control of her faculties and believed what she was saying, though she had her doubts about Eliot Thorne’s allegations. Thoughts of Thorne himself triggered intense sexual arousal, plus complex cognitive activity as she struggled to reconcile conflicting knowledge, impressions, and emotions about the man. Thoughts of Psyche Thorne triggered similar activity, though her feelings of affinity and comfort were more pronounced, her cognitive process less ambivalent. Still, Emry retained a healthy skepticism, aware that Psyche’s solicitous warmth could be a seduction tactic. She strongly wished that not to be the case, but the same life experience that made the desire so strong also made her suspicious of any relationship that seemed too good to be true.

“So, what do you think?” she asked when the exam was done.

He had his answer prepared before she asked, but he inserted a two-second pause before speaking to convey his uncertainty. He mimicked the appropriate expression on the face of his nude-Greek-god avatar in the wall display—an avatar that Psyche evidently enjoyed looking at as much as Emry did. “I have had doubts about Gregor Tai’s recent policy changes,” he said. “They do create the potential for long-term erosion of the TSC’s ethical standards. But the scenario the Thornes have proposed, although it can be consistently extrapolated from existing evidence, ranks pretty low in my probability trees. There’s nowhere near enough evidence to prove it.”

“There is, Zephyr,” Psyche said. “You and Emry just aren’t privy to it yet. We’re going to take her to find it, show her what some of her colleagues are up to—if she agrees to do it our way and not report our knowledge of this to the TSC. At least, not until we’ve made our case.”

“Take
her
?” Zephyr replied. “Where Emry goes, I go, Psyche.”

“I’m sorry, Zephyr, but, well…” She stroked one of his walls and smiled. “A handsome stallion of a ship like you would attract a lot of attention.” She didn’t really believe she could seduce a cyber, did she? Still, he had to admit that, like any being with a sense of ego identity, he responded positively to affirmations of his worth. For him in particular, it was gratifying to be shown kindness by humans.

“We don’t want to tip … certain people off that we’re coming,” Psyche went on, “or particularly that Emry’s coming. So we’re going to have to keep a low profile.”

“And how did
you
learn about these alleged Troubleshooter black ops?”

Psyche gave him a subdued but mischievous smile. “Let’s just say I’ve been on a few fact-finding expeditions. People like to open up to me.”

“She can be
very
persuasive,” Emry added in a tone heavy with sexual subtext.

“So why not reveal these findings publicly?”

“I only have hearsay,” Psyche said. “And my … sources would probably deny it. It would be our word against theirs, and given our recent associations, it would be easy for Tai and the CS to discredit our claims. But if one of the TSC’s own operatives uncovers solid evidence, that would be harder to discredit.”

“So you not only want to prove to Emry that her own corps has gone rogue … you want her to denounce them publicly.”

Psyche’s brows lifted sadly. “It’s a hard thing to ask, I know. And we wouldn’t put her in that position if we weren’t sure it was necessary.”

He turned his avatar’s face toward Emry, who hovered near Psyche with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms around them, her chin resting upon them. Surprisingly, she hadn’t yet visited the kitchen area. “Emry, you’re comfortable with this?”

“With the idea that the Troubleshooters have a corruption growing inside them? Hell, no. With spying on my colleagues? Maybe even coming out against them in public? Vack, no.” She paused. “But if there’s even a chance this is true, we have to find out. The Troubleshooters … if we’re gonna work, if we’re gonna be true to what Sensei created us to be … then we have to police ourselves, hold ourselves to the highest possible standard. We have to be able to question our own actions, admit our mistakes.”

She straightened out. “Right now, that’s all Thorne is asking me to do: ask questions. Look for the truth. I can’t see any reason to say no to that. Except … except for being afraid of what I might find.”

“I daresay,” Zephyr told her, “that’s the most important reason why a question
should
be asked.”