PeterWatts_Blindsight

Peter Watts 269 Blindsight
"What did you think, that Theseus was haunted? That the
scramblers were communing with you telepathically? What you do
—it matters, Keeton. They told you you were nothing but their
stenographer and they hammered all those layers of hands-off
passivity into you but you just had to take some initiative anyway,
didn't you? Had to work the problem on your own. The only thing
you couldn't do was admit it to yourself." Cunningham shook his
head. "Siri Keeton. See what they've done to you."
He touched his face.
"See what they've done to us all," he whispered.
I found the Gang floating in the center of the darkened
observation blister. She made room as I joined her, pushed to one
side and anchored herself to a bit of webbing.
"Susan?" I asked. I honestly couldn't tell any more.
"I'll get her," Michelle said.
"No, that's all right. I'd like to speak to all of—"
But Michelle had already fled. The half-lit figure changed
before me, and said, "She'd rather be alone right now."
I nodded. "You?"
James shrugged. "I don't mind talking. Although I'm surprised
you're still doing your reports, after...."
"I'm—not, exactly. This isn't for Earth."
I looked around. Not much to see. Faraday mesh coated the
inside of the dome like a gray film, dimming and graining the view
beyond. Ben hung like a black malignancy across half the sky. I
could make out a dozen dim contrails against vague bands of
cloud, in reds so deep they bordered on black. The sun winked
past James's shoulder, our sun, a bright dot that diffracted into faint
splintered rainbows when I moved my head. That was pretty much
it: starlight didn't penetrate the mesh, nor did the larger, dimmer
particles of the accretion belt. The myriad dim pinpoints of
shovelnosed machinery were lost utterly.
Which might be a comfort to some, I supposed.
"Shitty view," I remarked. Theseus could have projected crisp
*