By Peter Watts
Two months because the stars fell...
Two months when you consider that sixty-five thousand alien gadgets clenched round the Earth like a luminous fist, screaming to the heavens because the surroundings burned them to ash. months considering that that second of short, vibrant surveillance through brokers unknown.
Two months of silence, whereas a global holds its breath.
Now a few half-derelict area probe, sparking fitfully previous Neptune's orbit, hears a whisper from the sting of the sun approach: a faint sign sweeping the cosmos like a lighthouse beam. Whatever's available in the market isn't speaking to us. It's speaking to a few far-off superstar, possibly. or maybe to whatever nearer, anything en route.
So who do you ship to strength introductions on an intelligence with factors unknown, probably unknowable? Who do you ship to satisfy the alien whilst the alien doesn't are looking to meet?
You ship a linguist with a number of personalities, her mind surgically partitioned into separate, sentient processing cores. You ship a biologist so considerably interfaced with equipment that he sees x-rays and tastes ultrasound, so compromised via grafts and splices he not feels his personal flesh. You ship a pacifist warrior within the faint desire she won't be wanted, and the fainter one she'll do any reliable if she is. You ship a monster to command all of them, an extinct hominid predator as soon as known as vampire, recalled from the grave with the voodoo of recombinant genetics and the blood of sociopaths. and also you ship a synthesist an informational topologist with part his brain long gone as an interface among here and there, a conduit during which the lifeless middle may possibly desire to appreciate the Bleeding Edge.
You ship all of them to the sting of interstellar house, praying you could belief such freaks and retrofits with the destiny of an international. You worry they're extra alien than the article they've been despatched to find.
But you'd provide something for that to be real, in the event you simply knew what was once watching for them...
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Additional info for Blindsight (Firefall, Book 1)
I'd made a full recovery. Besides, Pag still thought that had happened to someone else. "I don't know your specifics," Chelsea continued gently. "But from the sound of it, noninvasive techniques wouldn't have helped. " I tried to suppress the thought, and couldn't: I like this woman. I felt something then, a strange, unfamiliar sensation that somehow loosened my vertebrae. The chair felt subtly, indefinably more comfortable at my back. " My silence had thrown her off-stride. "Haven't done it much since the bottom dropped out of the market.
Sarasti continued. "They trade stealth for speed. " He spoke quietly, patiently, a well-fed predator explaining the rules of the game to prey that really should know better: the longer it takes me to track you down, the more hope you have of escaping. But Sascha had already fled. Her surfaces had scattered like a flock of panicked starlings, and the next time Susan James' mouth opened, it was Susan James who spoke through it. "Sascha's aware of the current paradigm, Jukka. " Szpindel wondered. "More options?
All in the same boat, driving into the long dark courtesy of a bleeding-edge prototype crashgraduated from the simulators a full eighteen months ahead of schedule. In a less fearful economy, such violence to the timetable would have bankrupted four countries and fifteen multicorps. The first two waves came out of the gate in even more of a hurry. I didn't find out what had happened to them until thirty minutes before the briefing, when Sarasti released the telemetry into ConSensus. Then I opened wide; experience flooded up my inlays and spilled across my parietal cortex in glorious high-density fast forward.
Blindsight (Firefall, Book 1) by Peter Watts