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Peter Watts 125 Blindsight
system.
"On Earth you're a synthesist," he said. "In the Kuiper you're a
synthesist. Here you're mass. Do what you're told."
He disappeared.
"Welcome to the big picture," Bates said softly.
I looked at her as the rest of the group broke up. "You know I
—"
"We're a long way out, Siri. Can't wait fourteen months for
feedback from your bosses, and you know it."
She leapt from a standing start, arced smoothly through
holograms into the weightless core of the drum. But then she
stopped herself, as if distracted by some sudden insight. She
grabbed a spinal conduit and swung back to face me.
"You shouldn't sell yourself short," she said. "Or Sarasti either.
You're an observer, right It's a safe bet there's going to be a lot
down there worth observing."
"Thanks," I said. But I already knew why Sarasti was sending
me into Rorschach, and there was more to it than observation.
Three valuable agents in harm's way. A decoy bought one-infour
odds that an enemy would aim somewhere else.
"The Lord will take control of you. You will dance and shout and become a
different person."
—1 Samuel 10:6
"We were probably fractured during most of our evolution,"
James once told me, back when we were all still getting
acquainted. She tapped her temple. "There's a lot of room up here;
a modern brain can run dozens of sentient cores without getting too
crowded. And parallel multitasking has obvious survival