PeterWatts_Blindsight

Peter Watts 79 Blindsight
was pure Theseus. "Request dialog with agents who sent objects
into near-solar space."
"First contact. Sounds like something to celebrate."
I double-checked the source. No, this wasn't a translation; this
was the actual unprocessed signal coming from—Rorschach, it had
called itself. Part of the signal, anyway; there were other elements,
nonacoustic ones, encoded in the beam.
I browsed them while James said, "Request information about
your celebration": standard ship-to-ship handshaking protocols.
"You're interested." The voice was stronger now, younger.
"Yes."
"You are?"
"Yes," the Gang repeated patiently.
"You are?"
The slightest hesitation. "This is Theseus."
"I know that, baseline." In Mandarin, now. "Who are you?"
No obvious change in the harmonics. Somehow, though, the
voice seemed to have acquired an edge.
"This is Susan James. I am a—"
"You wouldn't be happy here, Susan. Fetishistic religious beliefs
involved. There are dangerous observances."
James chewed her lip.
"Request clarification. Are we in danger from these
observances?"
"You certainly could be."
"Request clarification. Is it the observances that are dangerous,
or the low-orbit environment?"
"The environment of the disturbances. You should pay attention,
Susan. Inattention connotes indifference," Rorschach said.
"Or disrespect," it added after a moment.
We had four hours before Ben got in the way. Four hours of
uninterrupted nonstop communication made vastly easier than
anyone had expected. It spoke our language, after all. Repeatedly
it expressed polite concern for our welfare. And yet, for all its
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