Treva, the seeker, sniffed the floor of the spanker ghetto hallway on her hands and knees like a dog. This was fitting since her olfactory system was actually inspired by dogs-inspired by, but then improved upon, one thousand times over.
With a sense of smell so much more powerful than her human-like eyesight, she saw the world much more with her nose than her eyes, and Treva did not like the view. The tasty male and female she had been imprinted with had vanished to be replaced by the scouring chemical residue of the cleaning bots.
Nearly as unsavory as the smell of the detergents was the leftover metallic, greasy stench of the sniffers. These pathetic machines had originally been tasked with finding the meat-puppets, but thankfully they had been sent away so Treva could work alone and undisturbed-as a seeker must.
Treva inhaled again. Nothing, not a trace! She stood and stretched her long, sinuous muscles. Although her olfactory system was modeled after a dog’s, her musculature was more or less derived from the feline family-an irony completely lost on Treva. The cat in her enabled lightning reflexes and speed. Unfortunately, these fast-twitch muscles now burned with pent-up energy. She wanted to resume the hunt so bad!
A couple smiled and nodded to Treva as they passed. Treva nodded back, but she was careful not to return the smile. She always kept her short, razor-sharp fangs hidden from those who were not prey.
Seekers were trained to keep a low profile and genetically engineered to blend into the populace. She appeared to be a mundanely attractive woman. Too beautiful and she would be noticed, but too ugly (or even average by old-world standards) and she would likewise stand out. She had a typical pandectic appearance-dark hair that fell down her back in two thick braids, pretty brown eyes, and moderately dark skin.
Anyone who grokked her would find her name and a terse biography in the Cloud, which spoke of her introverted personality and love for long runs. Professionally, she was a level sixty-six player who preferred grinder games related to chemi product testing, mostly lotions and perfumes. All this was a fabrication created by the house that owned her, in cooperation with the Divine Authority, to which she was often of service.
For those few who spoke to her, they did not find her eloquent, witty, or a good listener. Nevertheless, she still passed as human-albeit awkwardly at times. Few, upon meeting her, would feel compelled to invite her to a party or on a date, but that was of no concern to Treva, who only desired the hunt.
And now she had a terrible hunger, a hunger only to be satisfied by those she was imprinted with.
She took a step, leaned back down, and inhaled another slow breath. She concentrated harder this time. Her brain processed the millions of scent threads, ignoring the irrelevant, sifting for just the two. Even clones-genetically identical-could be distinguished from one another through scent. The scent threads of her prey were unique.
Tracking clones was one of the training techniques her masters used. In her early training days, they would not let her feed on what she hunted-cloned products were expensive to raise to adulthood, and it would be a sin to waste them.
But her masters were not here now, and occasionally her nature got the best of her. A few months ago she had tracked a runner to a mall where, it being a public place, he’d assumed he was safe from immediate execution. But this runner did not appreciate the intensity of Treva’s hunger. The runner had been elusive, so by the time she caught up with him, she could no longer contain herself; the poor soul was very publicly torn apart.
Because there were many witnesses, her image was suddenly everywhere in the Cloud. Subsequently, Treva had to undergo some plastic surgery and gene therapy to change her biological signature and restore her anonymity-but only after she was severely punished.
She took another step and inhaled deeply again. The cleaner that had sanitized the area had done the job well, but she had picked up a faint trace. She could not identify the direction yet. Ah yes, tender ones, I’ll have you soon, she thought.