Only Superhuman

by Christopher L. Bennett

  * * *

  The delegates at the reception that night were the largest collection of mods that Emry had ever seen in one place. Emry chose to station herself by the buffet table, assuming everyone would come by there sooner or later—but mainly because Vanguardian cuisine was extraordinary. Clearly they didn’t limit their gengineering to people. Most of the spread was vegetarian by spacer tradition, but there was an assortment of bioprinted or vat-grown meats as well. Emry only sampled those out of curiosity, but they were surprisingly good.

  As it happened, most of the delegates, particularly the males, made a point of seeking her out. She figured it was due about equally to her Troubleshooter status and her dress. She’d chosen one appropriate for the Green Blaze: a close-fitting, high-slit gown with wide, low décolletage, its fabric animated with gently flowing “plasma clouds” of varying shades of green and degrees of translucency. Underneath, she wore only an emerald-encrusted g-clip (the Vanguardians might not mind the occasional glimpse of bush, but other delegates might), which matched her gold-and-emerald necklace and the dress selfone she wore as an ear clip. A pair of scintillating green open-toed shoes, low-heeled for freedom of movement, completed the ensemble. Her hairstyle was simple and loose, though it had taken some time to make her unruly hair look more or less like she hadn’t just been in a fight, a windstorm, or both.

  Staying polite through all the introductions and questions was a challenge. There were people in this room she’d feel more comfortable arresting than mingling with. A few of the “transhumanist nations” represented here were just ordinary states that embraced modifications beyond the ubiquitous adaptations to space, longevity treatments, and the like. States like Niihama, where bionics and neural interfaces were trendy, or Vestalia, where bright, primary skin colors and cosmetic add-ons like tails and extra breasts were all the rage among the celebrity elite. But most were Outer-Belt fringe states whose core philosophies revolved around remaking humanity in ways that mainstream society might not approve of. Wellspring was just one example, and Emry couldn’t ditch its emissary soon enough. Unfortunately, the woman was a typical Wellspringer, her hormones regulated to preclude “unbalanced emotional extremes,” and thus remained placidly oblivious to Emry’s discomfort and immune to her attempts to subtly irritate the woman into leaving.

  The man who finally rescued her wasn’t much of an improvement. Jorge Santiago’s people were researching human immortality, and he seemed content to lecture her about it for eternity. Or at least until she took him to bed; he seemed to think that the promise of eternal life made a great pickup line. As he went on about the impracticality of copying the brain into a computer, what with the near-insurmountable challenge of monitoring the chemical activity of billions of neurons in a squishy, moving mass, she began to wonder if she should find some closet to take him to just to shut him up. “And even if it were feasible to make an exact copy of the mind, it would still be just a copy. Your own awareness would still reside in your brain, and once you died, that would be that for you, regardless of whether you have a cyber that thinks it’s you living on forever.

  “So what’s required is continuity. The transition from organic to cybernetic brain must take place seamlessly, so that the consciousness remains uninterrupted.” He went on to explain about the nanofibers he had growing in his own brain, running parallel with his neural pathways so as to replace them in the neural network upon cell death, and thus gradually transforming the network from a cellular substrate to a synthetic one that would embody the same continuous consciousness. True, the nanofibers were as yet only able to track larger-scale patterns of brain activity, and test animals subjected to the full procedure still demonstrated a consistent and disappointing tendency to drop dead. But Santiago expressed confidence that the bugs would be worked out in his lifetime, and that his occasional neurological tics and memory problems would be tackled “quite soon, Amethyst.”

  A rude noise came from behind Emerald. “Pfft. Immortality—it’s a fool’s pursuit.” She turned and found herself facing what seemed to be a large, white-furred monkey. “Only nature is immortal,” the monkey said in an urbane, polished tenor. “And individual death is what sustains its cycles, feeds the birth of new life. Try to place your will above Nature’s, and Nature will inevitably find a way to render you extinct.”

  The philosophy would have pegged him as Neogaian even if it hadn’t been obvious from his appearance. The diminutive, middle-aged man had been modded with simian features, including a prehensile tail that was picking up a mango from the buffet table. Behind him stood a scantily clad woman with brown, seal-like skin, elongated and webbed digits, no outer ears, and a tight layer of fur covering her head. Her full figure suggested a layer of insulating blubber, but she was very attractively contoured. Her breasts were compact and firm, presumably to reduce drag, but that was compensated for by an enlarged rib cage (for greater lung capacity, Emry realized, remembering Javon).

  The simian man reached out a hand to Emry. “Hanuman Kwan, Ms. Blair, at your service.” Emry offered a hand, which he kissed with his slightly protruding muzzle. “And my zaftig companion here is Selkie. As you can no doubt tell, we represent the Union of Neogaia. And I am glad for the opportunity to personally offer my most abject apologies for the assault which certain … misguided fellow nationals of mine recently inflicted upon the Earth, and for the tragic cost to yourself and your corps. Let me assure you, the regime responsible for that atrocity has been cast down entirely from power, and all its members subjected to the fullest punishment of the law. Well, those who allowed themselves to be taken alive,” he added mournfully.

  Emry glanced over at Santiago, but he seemed engrossed by his reflection in the punch bowl. “I see. And does this new regime of yours intend to give up fetal experimentation on germ-line mods?”

  Hanuman gave a dainty chuckle. “Ahh, the staunch Troubleshooter, standing up for traditional ethics. My dear, you must consider the ramifications of where we are! Out on the frontier, a realm freed from the conventions of law and tradition. Out here, everything is fair game. Everything is tried.”

  “Even it it means hurting people. Enslaving minds. Endangering children.”

  “Hmm, yes, it is true that when old ethical limits are abandoned, some will do harm. But nonetheless, old ethics must be challenged. There was a time when ethics would have forbidden any genetic or bionic enhancement of humans, or even the most basic research into the field. How many lives would have been lost if those ethics had not been cast aside? How many children would have died of genetic diseases? How many elderly who thrive today would have long since wasted away in agony? How many people in need would have gone unsaved because their rescuers lacked the enhancements needed to reach them in time? Sometimes it is an ethical obligation to push beyond old ethics, even at the risk of allowing harm to be done.”

  “So basically you’re saying you do still use babies as guinea pigs.”

  “Oh, come now, we’re both too intelligent for propaganda, my dear. The reality is that prenatal engineering is no longer as reckless as the naysayers would claim. True, there have been some infamous failures among groups like the Wellspring. Indeed, I think you were acquainted with such an individual once, if that dreadful movie about you is to be believed.” She winced. “But they failed only because they lacked the more advanced techniques the Vanguard has to offer. If this new alliance comes to fruition, it will make those techniques more widely available and allow safer gengineering systemwide.”

  Emry remembered she was supposed to be receptive to all this, and tried to look impressed. She glanced over at Hanuman’s companion, Selkie, but the young woman seemed to have nothing to contribute beyond draping herself around Hanuman’s shoulders and occasionally giggling at his pithy remarks. Emry subvocalized. Still, she could identify. At least Selkie was able to be more honest about her job.

  Zephyr replied. Emry suppresse
d a grimace.

  Hanuman was continuing. “You may be interested to know, by the way, that we had Vanguardian assistance in our recent revolution. I came here personally to plead with President Thorne and was able to persuade him to bring the Vanguardians out of retirement, if you will, as a force for positive change.”

  Emry was guardedly intrigued, but hesitant to trust any Neogaian, particularly one who had named himself after a trickster god. According to her briefing files, “Hanuman” had formerly been Jahnu Kwan, an eccentric Australian billionaire of Indonesian descent. He had helped found the Neogaian movement upon relocating to orbit, partly out of an interest in genetic enhancement to compensate for his physical slightness, but largely out of anger at the damage that the human-induced rise in global sea levels had done to his ancestral homeland. So his claim to have been uninvolved in the former regime was not one she was ready to take at face value. “I see. So this whole new Vanguardian openness was your idea?” she asked, not entirely masking her skepticism.

  “Oh, hardly. I was simply fortunate enough to come to President Thorne at a time when he was on the cusp of making the decision for himself. If anything, my dear Green Blaze, I suspect your own heroic example provided far more inspiration.” He stared at her admiringly. Well, at part of her. The diminutive, stooped Neogaian’s eye level was more or less Emry’s nipple level, and he was taking full advantage of the fact. Emry didn’t object, since anything that distracted him could be useful in probing his true agenda. Just so long as his own probing remained verbal only—a message he got loud and clear when he tried snaking his tail up her dress and got it stomped on for his trouble.

  However, Hanuman maintained his debonair slickness as they continued to discuss the ethics of the research being done by the represented parties—such as the efforts of the Moreau Foundation to grow DNA-based AIs inside the skulls of cloned animal bodies. The flamboyantly plumed parrot that perched on the Moreau delegate’s shoulder was a prototype, introducing itself as a Personal Digital Avian. “Now, many of my fellow Neogaians are outraged at the Moreau Foundation’s work. They despise the idea of AIs that can exist in the wild as animals; they see it as one more imposition of humanity upon holy nature, another violation that must be cleansed if the Earth is ever to be restored to purity. But my party sees it differently. Humans are not about to give up all our technological advantages, our cyber assistants, our luxuries and amenities. I accept that, even if many of my more, er, impassioned comrades do not. But if we can remake those technologies into a form that can coexist with nature, that can live the life of a parrot, say, or a horse or a dog, then technology itself becomes a part of nature, and we can reconcile ourselves with nature in a way that requires no violent revolution or rejection of modern benefits.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Emry said, silently adding, if it’s true. If Neogaia was truly being run by a moderate faction now, that was something to be encouraged. “But weren’t you the one saying that individual death is what keeps nature going?”

  “Ultimately, yes, and we are wise if we accept that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get the most out of our lives while we have them. I firmly believe there’s always a middle ground. A place where people can come together and reconcile their differences. Don’t you?” he asked, taking her hand in his and giving her a look suggesting that the place where he hoped to come together with her was back in his guest quarters.

  She settled on a neutral reply. “Well, I guess that’s what we’re all here to figure out. Though I’m still unclear on just what this whole alliance thing is about. Is it just to share notes on our mods, or is there a bigger point?”

  But Hanuman was looking beyond her and grinning widely. “Ahh, here comes the lady who can answer all your questions. Psyche has arrived.”

  Emry turned to the far entrance—and realized that everyone else was doing the same. There had been no fanfare, no formal announcement … yet when Emry caught sight of the woman who had just come through the door, it became evident that she needed none. Emry had some firsthand experience with stopping traffic, but this woman could stop a colony ship. She was impressively tall, willowy yet voluptuous. Her legs stretched clear out of the ecliptic plane. Her warm mahogany skin made a striking contrast with the spun-gold hair that fell straight down her back, its ends just brushing the upper curve of her tight, heart-shaped buttocks. Her face had a classically perfect bone structure, with high, rounded cheekbones and brow. Her features embodied the best of every ethnic type: sleek, winglike epicanthic eyes with silver irises, low, rakish eyebrows that spoke of mischief, a wide, dainty snub of a nose, and an enormous full-lipped smile that radiated sunlike warmth. The backs of her hands bore butterfly tattoos whose ink iridesced like the wings of the genuine article.

  Her outfit enhanced her stunning looks, mainly by staying out of their way. A deep-blue leotard covered half of her diagonally, baring her left leg and buttock and her right arm and torso. Crossing over it was a flowing half-dress of diaphanous silvery material, covering most of the parts the leotard didn’t but only marginally concealing them. In the low décolletage that was jointly created, a gold butterfly amulet dangled between her firm breasts. Double-helix bands adorned her bared forearm and lower leg.

  Psyche. Eliot Thorne’s daughter. That explained a lot. Like her father in historical videos, she was statuesque, confident, commanding the room with her mere presence. Yet she did it in a wholly different way, radiating friendly warmth rather than cool, forbidding authority. She greeted everyone she passed with enthusiasm and joy, taking their heads in her hands and kissing both cheeks as though she meant it. Then she chatted with them for a few moments, eyes wide and fixed raptly upon them as though each one was the most important person in the world to her, before moving on and repeating the procedure on the next.

  “Enthralling, isn’t she?” Emry pulled her eyes away to look at Hanuman Kwan. “Ahh, yes, I see you’re not immune to her charms either,” the monkey-man said with a leer. “God, I love those breasts. Like clenched fists! And those proud, high nipples, they just snag you under the chin and pull you along after them. And she knows it, yes—she’s not afraid to use it.”

  Emry could see what he meant. Psyche was playing the room like an expert seductress, her every word and gesture perfectly calculated. She’d even mastered a skill Emry hadn’t: being blatantly alluring to men without alienating women. Her warm, accessible manner defused her intimidating beauty. Emry reflected that could help with both sexes; some men were frightened off by a woman that gorgeous. But Psyche was coming on just strong enough for each person, tailoring her approach to fit.

  It wasn’t what she’d expected from a woman who’d been touted as the pinnacle of mental enhancement. No cold, calculating intellect looking down from on high, but a warm, appealing, and frankly physical presence, defying all the stereotypes. But maybe that in itself was the result of careful calculation.

  Finally Psyche’s sparkling eyes fell on Emry, and she beamed with a joy that certainly looked sincere. “The Green Blaze!” she sighed in a warm, musical alto. “Emerald, hello! Hi!” She clasped Emry’s hands and her shoulders shook girlishly. “It is so wonderful to meet you! You’re like—oh, no, you are family! Welcome home!” Seemingly unable to restrain herself any longer, she hugged Emry and kissed her on both cheeks. Her skin was warm and amazingly soft. Her hair smelled like pumpkin pie and new-mown grass.

  Sensing Emry’s tension, she pulled back, though one hand stayed on Emry’s arm. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to get carried away. I know I can’t expect you to embrace us wholeheartedly right away, after the falling out we had with your dad. But I’m really glad you’re here, Emer
ald. It gives us a chance to start over.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m hoping for,” Emry said. “And it’s really weird, meeting so many relatives I never knew about. Don’t tell me, you’re like, my aunt or something?”

  Psyche laughed. “No. Well, maybe a little. Lydie Clement was my birth mother, but I’ve got a lot of genes from Thuy Dinh, some from Krishna Ramchandra, a whole mix. There might be a bit of Liam or Rachel in there somewhere. But not enough for us to be cousins or anything, I’m afraid.” She shrugged, sending a comely shimmer through the hair that fell alluringly over the right side of her face. “Our relationships are … more complicated than traditional ones. There’s some talk about abandoning last names altogether, and many of us already choose them for reasons other than parentage.”

  “But Eliot Thorne is your father?”

  “Ohh, yes. I’ve been so lucky. I couldn’t have had a better father, teacher, role model, friend.…”

  “Designer?”

  Psyche took no offense. “Of course. He literally made me what I am, in every way.”

  “Well, my compliments to the artist.” She shrugged. “I guess I got lucky. I got my looks the old-fashioned way, from my mom.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen some footage of her shows! Lyra was an extraordinary beauty. I can really see her in you,” Psyche said, a hand cradling Emry’s cheek.

  “You’ve seen her shows?” Emry was genuinely impressed. “Not many people remember her work.”

  “Well, it was a bit esoteric. And controversial in some circles. But I found it very inspiring. And very sexy,” she added, grinning. “I’d love to talk about it later on, if you’d like.”

  “Sure,” Emry said, realizing she meant it. “I’d love that.”