PeterWatts_Blindsight

Peter Watts 244 Blindsight
was dark; the others shone with identical sparse mosaics of blue
and green stars. None of them changed. There were no scrolling
ECGs, no luminous peak-and-valley tracings marked CARDIO or
CNS. We could wait here for hours, days, and none of those diodes
would so much as twinkle. When you're undead, the emphasis is
on the second syllable.
The Gang's topology had said Michelle when I'd first arrived, but
it was Susan who spoke now, without turning. "I never met her."
I followed her gaze to the name tag one of the sealed pods:
Takamatsu. The other linguist, the other multiple.
"I met everyone else," Susan continued. "Trained with them.
But I never met my own replacement."
They discouraged it. What would have been the point?
"If you want to—" I began.
She shook her head. "Thanks anyway."
"Or any of the others—I can only imagine what Michelle—"
Susan smiled, but there was something cold about it. "Michelle
doesn't really want to talk to you right now, Siri."
"Ah." I hesitated for a moment, to give anyone else a chance to
speak up. When nobody did, I pushed myself back towards the
hatch. "Well, if any of you change—"
"No. None of us. Ever."
Cruncher.
"You lie," he continued. "I see it. We all do."
I blinked. "Lie? No, I—"
"You don't talk. You listen. You don't care about Michelle.
Don't care about anyone. You just want what we know. For your
reports."
"That's not entirely true, Cruncher. I do care. I know Michelle
must—"
"You don't know shit. Go away."
"I'm sorry I upset you." I rolled on my axis and braced against
the mirror.
"You can't know Meesh," he growled as I pushed off. "You
never lost anyone. You never had anyone.
"You leave her alone."