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Peter Watts 68 Blindsight
"They're—prickly," Michelle told him. "When I turn my head
it's like bands of very fine needles rolling across my skin in waves.
But it doesn't hurt at all. It just tingles. It's almost electric. It's
nice."
"Wish I could feel it that way."
"You've got the interface. Just patch a camera into your parietal
lobe instead of your visual cortex."
"That'd just tell me how a machine feels vision, eh Still
wouldn't know how you do."
"Isaac Szpindel. You're a romantic."
"Nah."
"You don't want to know. You want to keep it mysterious."
"Already got more than enough mystery to deal with out here, in
case you hadn't noticed."
"Yeah, but we can't do anything about that."
"That'll change. We'll be working our asses off in no time."
"You think"
"Count on it," Szpindel said. "So far we've just been peeking
from a distance, eh Bet all kinds of interesting stuff happens
when we get in there and start poking with a stick."
"Maybe for you. There's got to be a biological somewhere in the
mix, with all those organics."
"Damn right. And you'll be talking to 'em while I'm giving them
their physicals."
"Maybe not. I mean, Mom would never admit it in a million
years but you had a point about language. When you get right
down to it, it's a workaround. Like trying to describe dreams with
smoke signals. It's noble, it's maybe the most noble thing a body
can do but you can't turn a sunset into a string of grunts without
losing something. It's limiting. Maybe whatever's out here doesn't
even use it."
"Bet they do, though."
"Since when You're the one who's always pointing out how
inefficient language is."
"Only when I'm trying to get under your skin. Your pants—
whole other thing." He laughed at his own joke. "Seriously, what
are they gonna to use instead, telepathy I say you'll be up to your