Read Online The Pride of Parahumans by Joel Kreissman - Free Book Online
Authors: Joel Kreissman
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of psychopaths who killed in distinctive and quite gruesome
ways. It managed to hold my interest for a couple hours, impressive
for a fifteen minute web show.
Eventually there came the big exam that I had
been waiting for, which turned out to be determining the
composition of a few vials of iron, platinum, and lead dust. I
probably could have told what they were just visually, but I put on
a show of using the scales and the spectrophotometer to conduct a
detailed and highly specific analysis for the benefit of the
bored-looking raccoon assessing me. When it was all over, he
printed out a small plastic card declaring me a certified chemical
analyst of the dense metal miners' guild and gave it to me for
identification. I was starting to think I would have been better
off claiming to be a general miner and going with the others.
Feeling like I should at least try to
celebrate or something, I went to a somewhat high-priced café for
lunch (I'd mostly been eating the algae rations) and ordered a blob
of vat-grown beef. I rarely had the chance to eat meat, as even
in-vitro animal flesh was expensive several million miles from the
nearest pasture, but I felt justified in splurging a little to
satisfy my carnivorous instincts that day.
I'd been sawing at the chunk of artificial
meat for nearly fifteen minutes when he showed up, a muscular
cross-fox wearing synth-leather pants and an open shirt that showed
off his pecs. He spotted me and walked over to my table. "Looks
like you're having some trouble there" he stated without so much as
a word of introduction.
"I'm used to algae products," I replied as I
tore off a chunk of meat and popped it in my mouth. I chewed the
tough material vigorously for several seconds before swallowing.
Who was this guy to suggest that a canine did not know how to eat
meat?
"You should eat meat more often. It's what
our ancestors evolved for." True, though he probably meant the
foxes that contributed maybe two percent of our DNA rather than the
humans who lost their leaf-processing intestines sucking the marrow
from gazelle bones. "My name's Walker. What about you, babe?"
Babe? I choked down the last of my mouthful
and glared at him. "Argen, and for your information, I'm neither a
girl nor an effeminate boy." Most female parahumans have human-like
mammary glands, probably added in there by a lonely genetic
engineer, so I'm not often mistaken for female. However, there
weren't very many neuters made, the aforementioned motivational
issues making us not particularly popular among work crews, so I am
frequently taken for a slim male or, on occasion, a female with
smaller-than-average breasts.
"Oh, really, now? I like a challenge
sometimes." He reached his hand towards mine. About that time, I
realized that he didn't really smell right. The genetic engineers
deliberately chose not to introduce the genes for the distinctive
musk my four-legged kin produced, but my sense of smell was almost
as good as theirs, and even without specialized glands there was a
subtle difference between each species' scents. That said, I'm not
entirely sure whether I realized that Walker smelled more dog-like
than foxy before or after I felt the band snap around my wrist.
Surprised, I yanked my arm back. I saw a
smart handcuff apparently set to close around the first wrist it
came across, connected by a thin cable to Walker's arm. There was
no apparent matching cuff on his wrist, as if the cable came
straight out of his fur. He pulled my arm back down to the table
and flipped his own arm to pin it down. He gave me a wicked looking
grin as he told me, "Argentum, chemical analyst on Ceres deep space
mining vessel ANQ18K458, you are under arrest for the murder of
Kurt, clone of Vice President Cooper."
I panicked then. With my left hand, I drew my
spring knife and slammed it, concealed in my fist, on Walker's arm.
Unfortunately, the trick I'd imagined where I would pop the blade
into my attacker's flesh didn't work as well as I'd
ways. It managed to hold my interest for a couple hours, impressive
for a fifteen minute web show.
Eventually there came the big exam that I had
been waiting for, which turned out to be determining the
composition of a few vials of iron, platinum, and lead dust. I
probably could have told what they were just visually, but I put on
a show of using the scales and the spectrophotometer to conduct a
detailed and highly specific analysis for the benefit of the
bored-looking raccoon assessing me. When it was all over, he
printed out a small plastic card declaring me a certified chemical
analyst of the dense metal miners' guild and gave it to me for
identification. I was starting to think I would have been better
off claiming to be a general miner and going with the others.
Feeling like I should at least try to
celebrate or something, I went to a somewhat high-priced café for
lunch (I'd mostly been eating the algae rations) and ordered a blob
of vat-grown beef. I rarely had the chance to eat meat, as even
in-vitro animal flesh was expensive several million miles from the
nearest pasture, but I felt justified in splurging a little to
satisfy my carnivorous instincts that day.
I'd been sawing at the chunk of artificial
meat for nearly fifteen minutes when he showed up, a muscular
cross-fox wearing synth-leather pants and an open shirt that showed
off his pecs. He spotted me and walked over to my table. "Looks
like you're having some trouble there" he stated without so much as
a word of introduction.
"I'm used to algae products," I replied as I
tore off a chunk of meat and popped it in my mouth. I chewed the
tough material vigorously for several seconds before swallowing.
Who was this guy to suggest that a canine did not know how to eat
meat?
"You should eat meat more often. It's what
our ancestors evolved for." True, though he probably meant the
foxes that contributed maybe two percent of our DNA rather than the
humans who lost their leaf-processing intestines sucking the marrow
from gazelle bones. "My name's Walker. What about you, babe?"
Babe? I choked down the last of my mouthful
and glared at him. "Argen, and for your information, I'm neither a
girl nor an effeminate boy." Most female parahumans have human-like
mammary glands, probably added in there by a lonely genetic
engineer, so I'm not often mistaken for female. However, there
weren't very many neuters made, the aforementioned motivational
issues making us not particularly popular among work crews, so I am
frequently taken for a slim male or, on occasion, a female with
smaller-than-average breasts.
"Oh, really, now? I like a challenge
sometimes." He reached his hand towards mine. About that time, I
realized that he didn't really smell right. The genetic engineers
deliberately chose not to introduce the genes for the distinctive
musk my four-legged kin produced, but my sense of smell was almost
as good as theirs, and even without specialized glands there was a
subtle difference between each species' scents. That said, I'm not
entirely sure whether I realized that Walker smelled more dog-like
than foxy before or after I felt the band snap around my wrist.
Surprised, I yanked my arm back. I saw a
smart handcuff apparently set to close around the first wrist it
came across, connected by a thin cable to Walker's arm. There was
no apparent matching cuff on his wrist, as if the cable came
straight out of his fur. He pulled my arm back down to the table
and flipped his own arm to pin it down. He gave me a wicked looking
grin as he told me, "Argentum, chemical analyst on Ceres deep space
mining vessel ANQ18K458, you are under arrest for the murder of
Kurt, clone of Vice President Cooper."
I panicked then. With my left hand, I drew my
spring knife and slammed it, concealed in my fist, on Walker's arm.
Unfortunately, the trick I'd imagined where I would pop the blade
into my attacker's flesh didn't work as well as I'd
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