Free Only Superhuman by Christopher L. Bennett Page B
Authors: Christopher L. Bennett
schizophrenic!”
“Come again?” She tucked, rolled, and fired skyward.
“I wish!” Emry shot back. But she supposed Zephyr knew whereof he spoke. Until recently, he hadn’t had a physical body either, serving as one of the top data-miners at TSC headquarters. Arkady had liked him and had often tried to talk him into becoming a Troubleshooter’s steed, ideally Emry’s once her apprenticeship ended, but he’d shown no interest in fieldwork. Perhaps Zephyr’s words now offered some insight into why. But after Arkady’s death, Zephyr had changed his mind, agreeing to honor his friend’s wishes after all. Emry hadn’t been sure she wanted a reluctant shipmind, but so far Zephyr had been nothing but reliable and dedicated, and charming company to boot.
Zephyr went on as Emry made an end run around the Zelkoid ground forces.
“She doesn’t understand the difference between fantasy and reality. I get it. Now how the flare do we fix it?” She spotted the Zelkoid command saucer and began firing at it, knowing that destroying it would send the cyclopean green monsters back to their home dimension—or whatever the closest approximation would be in this setting. Who says Annie Minute wasn’t educational? The beam fizzled out, so she ejected the power pack and plugged in another from her belt. The gun was growing hot in her hand. “I’m almost to the brain center, Zeph. I don’t want to have to hurt her, but if you can’t lock her into autistic mode—” A basso roar hit the air. “Aww, vack, I think the dragon’s coming back!”
“Don’t worry, Emry, you’re not the target,” he said aloud over her selfone. “I asked Sorceress to find out how the Zelkoids would fare against it.”
“You mean—you got through to her?”
“We’ve been having quite a lively debate for the past few seconds. It took some doing, but I think I’ve persuaded her to accept my basic premise that reality and fantasy are two different things. Personally, I suspect she’s just humoring me. I think she likes me.”
Emry laughed, even as the dragon began tearing through the Zelkoid lines and sending them scattering. “You little Lothario! See, I told you that voice of yours could melt any gal in her boots.”
“Anyway, I’ve convinced her to take some time off to explore the philosophical ramifications of the idea. The simulations should be shutting down even now.”
“Yep,” Emry confirmed as the dragon, Zelkoids, and other manifestations began slumping to the ground and reverting to raw soligram form. “They’re melting, they’re mell-tinnggg!”
“What a world.”
“And what a sidekick! What a team, huh?”
“Who are you calling a sidekick? I did all the work. You were just the damsel in distress.” His voice grew more serious. “And you know you could’ve avoided a lot of it if you’d stayed more detached about your virtual opponents.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just, Banshee clicked my buttons, you know?”
“And this is an excuse how?”
Emry winced. Sometimes Zephyr reminded her so much of Arkady. That brought her both pain and comfort. “You’re right, I—what the hell are you looking at?”
Some of the spectators had drawn near, gawking at her. A gangly teen dressed rather unconvincingly as Sam Murai, Private Eye, with a trench coat and fedora over a
“Come again?” She tucked, rolled, and fired skyward.
“I wish!” Emry shot back. But she supposed Zephyr knew whereof he spoke. Until recently, he hadn’t had a physical body either, serving as one of the top data-miners at TSC headquarters. Arkady had liked him and had often tried to talk him into becoming a Troubleshooter’s steed, ideally Emry’s once her apprenticeship ended, but he’d shown no interest in fieldwork. Perhaps Zephyr’s words now offered some insight into why. But after Arkady’s death, Zephyr had changed his mind, agreeing to honor his friend’s wishes after all. Emry hadn’t been sure she wanted a reluctant shipmind, but so far Zephyr had been nothing but reliable and dedicated, and charming company to boot.
“She doesn’t understand the difference between fantasy and reality. I get it. Now how the flare do we fix it?” She spotted the Zelkoid command saucer and began firing at it, knowing that destroying it would send the cyclopean green monsters back to their home dimension—or whatever the closest approximation would be in this setting. Who says Annie Minute wasn’t educational? The beam fizzled out, so she ejected the power pack and plugged in another from her belt. The gun was growing hot in her hand. “I’m almost to the brain center, Zeph. I don’t want to have to hurt her, but if you can’t lock her into autistic mode—” A basso roar hit the air. “Aww, vack, I think the dragon’s coming back!”
“Don’t worry, Emry, you’re not the target,” he said aloud over her selfone. “I asked Sorceress to find out how the Zelkoids would fare against it.”
“You mean—you got through to her?”
“We’ve been having quite a lively debate for the past few seconds. It took some doing, but I think I’ve persuaded her to accept my basic premise that reality and fantasy are two different things. Personally, I suspect she’s just humoring me. I think she likes me.”
Emry laughed, even as the dragon began tearing through the Zelkoid lines and sending them scattering. “You little Lothario! See, I told you that voice of yours could melt any gal in her boots.”
“Anyway, I’ve convinced her to take some time off to explore the philosophical ramifications of the idea. The simulations should be shutting down even now.”
“Yep,” Emry confirmed as the dragon, Zelkoids, and other manifestations began slumping to the ground and reverting to raw soligram form. “They’re melting, they’re mell-tinnggg!”
“What a world.”
“And what a sidekick! What a team, huh?”
“Who are you calling a sidekick? I did all the work. You were just the damsel in distress.” His voice grew more serious. “And you know you could’ve avoided a lot of it if you’d stayed more detached about your virtual opponents.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just, Banshee clicked my buttons, you know?”
“And this is an excuse how?”
Emry winced. Sometimes Zephyr reminded her so much of Arkady. That brought her both pain and comfort. “You’re right, I—what the hell are you looking at?”
Some of the spectators had drawn near, gawking at her. A gangly teen dressed rather unconvincingly as Sam Murai, Private Eye, with a trench coat and fedora over a
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