1n1REzE

Peter Watts 258 Blindsight
adequate, maybe. It doesn't matter whether a solution's optimal. All
that matters is whether it beats the alternatives."
I knew that voice too. It belonged to a demon.
"Well, we damn well beat the alternatives." Some subtle
overdubbed harmonic in James' voice suggested a chorus: the
whole Gang, rising as one in opposition.
I couldn't believe it. I'd just been mutilated, beaten before their
eyes—and they were talking about biology
Maybe she's afraid to talk about anything else, I thought.
Maybe she's afraid she might be next.
Or maybe she just couldn't care less what happens to me.
"It's true," Sarasti told her, "that your intellect makes up for your
self-awareness to some extent. But you're flightless birds on a
remote island. You're not so much successful as isolated from any
real competition."
No more clipped speech patterns. No more terse phrasing. The
transient had made his kill, found his release. Now he didn't care
who knew he was around.
"You" Michelle whispered. "Not we"
"We stop racing long ago," the demon said at last. "It's not our
fault you don't leave it at that."
"Ah." Cunningham again. "Welcome back. Did you look in on
Ke—"
"No." Bates said.
"Satisfied" the demon asked.
"If you mean the grunts, I'm satisfied you're out of them," Bates
said. "If you mean— it was completely unwarranted, Jukka."
"It isn't."
"You assaulted a crewmember. If we had a brig you'd be in it
for the rest of the trip."
"This isn't a military vessel, Major. You're not in charge."
I didn't need a visual feed to know what Bates thought of that.
But there was something else in her silence, something that made
me bring the drum camera back online. I squinted against the
corrosive light, brought down the brightness until all that remained
was a faint whisper of pastels.
Yes. Bates. Stepping off the stairway onto the deck