PeterWatts_Blindsight

Peter Watts 185 Blindsight
Bates threw the deactivated grunt into the sky as soon as we'd
made vacuum. Its comrades used it for target practice while we
strapped in, firing and firing until there was nothing left but
cooling vapor. Rorschach spun even that faint plasma into filigree
before it faded.
Halfway back to Theseus, Sascha turned to the Major: "You—"
"No."
"But— they do shit on their own, right? Autonomous."
"Not when they're slaved."
"Malfunction? Spike?"
Bates didn't answer.
She called ahead. By the time we made it back Cunningham had
grown another little tumor on Theseus' spine, a remote surgery
packed with teleops and sensors. One of the surviving grunts
grabbed the carcass and jumped ship as soon as we passed beneath
the carapace, completing the delivery as we docked.
We were born again to the fruits of a preliminary necropsy. The
holographic ghost of the dissected alien rose from ConSensus like
some flayed and horrific feast. Its splayed arms looked like human
spinal columns. We sat around the table and waited for someone
else to take the first bite.
"Did you have to shoot it with microwaves?" Cunningham
sniped, tapping the table. "You completely cooked the animal.
Every cell was blown out from the inside."
Bates shook her head. "There was a malfunction."
He gave her a sour look. "A malfunction that just happens to
involve precise targeting of a moving object. It doesn't sound
random to me."
Bates looked back evenly. "Something flipped autonomous
targeting from off to on. A coin toss. Random."
"Random is—"
"Give it a rest, Cunningham. I don't need this shit from you right
now."
His eyes rolled in that smooth dead face, focused suddenly on
something overhead. I followed his gaze: Sarasti stared down at
us like an owl panning for meadow voles, drifting slowly in the