1n1REzE

Peter Watts 297 Blindsight
us. I looked over my shoulder in time to see the vampire pull the
handpad from the wall. But it wasn't Sarasti at all, of course. It
was the Captain—whatever was left of the Captain, this far into the
fight—commandeering a peripheral interface for its own use. The
optical port sprouted conspicuously from the back of Sarasti's neck,
where the cable used to go in; I remembered the drone's
maxillipeds, chewing.
The sound of weapons fire and ricochets rose behind us.
The corpse typed one-handed as we moved. I wondered briefly
why it just didn't talk before my gaze flickered back to the spike in
his brain: Sarasti's speech centers must be mush.
"Why did you kill him" I said. A whole new alarm started up,
way back in the drum. A sudden breeze tugged me backward for a
moment, dissipated in the next second with a distant clang.
The corpse held out the handpad, configured for keys and a text
display: SEIZNG. CLDNT CNTRL.
We were at the shuttle locks. Robot soldiers let us pass, their
attention elsewhere.
U GO, the Captain said.
Someone screamed in the distance. Way off up the spine, the
drum hatch slammed shut; I turned and saw a pair of distant grunts
welding the seal. They seemed to move faster now than they ever
had before. Maybe it was only my imagination.
The starboard shuttle lock slid back. Charybdis' interior lights
winked on, spilling brightness into the passageway; the spine's
emergency lighting seemed even dimmer in contrast. I peered
through the opening. There was almost no cabin space left—just a
single open coffin jammed between coolant and fuel tanks and
massive retrofitted shockpads. Charybdis had been refitted for
high-G and long distance.
And me.
Sarasti's corpse urged me on from behind. I turned and faced it.
"Was it ever him" I asked.
GO.
"Tell me. Did he ever speak for himself Did he decide
anything on his own Were we ever following his orders, or was it
just you all along"