PeterWatts_Blindsight

Peter Watts 64 Blindsight
been enough to carry the Historians to victory—if such debates
were ever settled on the basic of logic, and if a bored population
hadn't already awarded the game to Fermi on points. But the
Historian paradigm was just too ugly, too Darwinian, for most
people, and besides, no one really cared any more. Not even the
Cassidy Survey's late-breaking discoveries changed much. So
what if some dirtball at Ursae Majoris Eridani had an oxygen
atmosphere? It was forty-three lightyears away, and it wasn't
talking; and if you wanted flying chandeliers and alien messiahs,
you could build them to order in Heaven. If you wanted
testosterone and target practice you could choose an afterlife
chock-full of nasty alien monsters with really bad aim. If the mere
thought of an alien intelligence threatened your worldview, you
could explore a virtual galaxy of empty real estate, ripe and waiting
for any God-fearing earthly pilgrims who chanced by.
It was all there, just the other side of a fifteen-minute splice job
and a cervical socket. Why endure the cramped and smelly
confines of real-life space travel to go visit pond scum on Europa?
And so, inevitably, a fourth Tribe arose, a Heavenly host that
triumphed over all: the Tribe that Just Didn't Give A Shit. They
didn't know what to do when the Fireflies showed up.
So they sent us, and—in belated honor of the Historian mantra—
they sent along a warrior, just in case. It was doubtful in the
extreme that any child of Earth would be a match for a race with
interstellar technology, should they prove unfriendly. Still, I could
tell that Bates' presence was a comfort, to the Human members of
the crew at least. If you have to go up unarmed against an angry Trex
with a four-digit IQ, it can't hurt to have a trained combat
specialist at your side.
At the very least, she might be able to fashion a pointy stick from
the branch of some convenient tree.
"I swear, if the aliens end up eating the lot of us, we'll have the
Church of Game Theory to thank for it," Sascha said.
She was grabbing a brick of couscous from the galley. I was
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