[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Trench? anyway, navigation through complex environments generally needs a net of some sort.
Usually it's gallium-arsenide based, but even those don't come close to matching a human brain for spatial
stuff. They still just crawled when it came to figuring seamounts, that sort of thing. So they've started
replacing them with smart gels."
Clarke grunts. "Alice said it was moving too fast for a machine."
"Probably was. And smart gels are made out of real neurons, so I guess we tune in to them the same way
we tune in to each other. At least, judging by what you guys felt Alice said it wasn't happy."
"It wasn't." Clarke frowns. "It wasn't unhappy either, actually, it wasn't really an emotion at all, it was just
well, surprised, I guess. Like, like a sense of divergence. From what was expected."
"Hell, I did feel that," Brander says. "I thought it was me."
Nakata emerges from Comm. "Still no word on Karl's replacement. They say the new recruits still are
not through training. Cutbacks, they say."
By now it's a running joke. The GA's new recruits have to be the slowest learners since the eradication of
Down's Syndrome. Almost four months now and Acton's replacement still hasn't materialized.
Brander waves one hand dismissively. "We've been doing okay with five." He shuts down the library and
stretches. "Anyone seen Ken, by the way?"
"He is just outside," Nakata says. "Why?"
"I'm with him next shift; got to set up a time. His rhythm's been a bit wonky the past couple of days."
"How far out is he?" Clarke asks suddenly.
Nakata shrugs. "Maybe ten meters, when I last checked."
He's in range. There are limits to fine-tuning. You can't feel someone in Beebe from as far as the Throat,
for example. But ten meters, easy.
"He's usually further out, isn't he?" Clarke speaks softly, as if afraid of being overheard. "Almost off the
scope, most times. Working on that weird contraption of his."
They don't know why they can't tune Lubin in. He says they're all dark to him too. Once, about a month
ago, Brander suggested doing an exploratory NMR; Lubin said he'd rather not. He sounded pleasant
enough, but there was something about his tone and Brander hasn't brought the subject up since.
Now Brander points his eyecaps at Clarke, a half-smile on his face. "I dunno, Len. Do you want to call
him a liar to his face?"
She doesn't answer.
"Oh." Nakata breaks the silence before it can get too awkward. "There is something else. Until our
replacement arrives they are sending someone down for, they called it routine evaluation. That doctor,
the one who you know "
"Scanlon." Lenie is careful not to spit out the word.
Nakata nods.
"What the hell for?" Brander growls. "It's not enough we're already shorthanded, we've got to sit still
while Scanlon has another go at us?"
"It's not like before, they say. He's just going to observe. While we work." Nakata shrugs. "They say it is
completely routine. No interviews or sessions or anything."
Caraco snorts. "There better not be. I'd let them cut out my other lung before I'd take another session
with that prick."
"'So, you were repeatedly buggered by a trained Dobermans while your mom charged admission',"
Brander recites in a fair imitation of Scanlon's voice. "'And how did that make you feel, exactly?'"
"'Actually I'm more of a mechanic,'" Caraco chimes in. "Did he give you that line?"
"He seemed nice enough to me," Nakata says hesitantly.
"Well, that's his job: to seem nice." Caraco grimaces. "he's just no fucking good at it." She looks over at
Clarke. "So what do you think, Len?"
"I think he overplayed the empathy card," Clarke says after a moment.
"No, I mean how do we handle this?"
Clarke shrugs, vaguely irritated. "Why ask me?"
"He better not get in my way. Dumpy little turd." Brander spares a blank look at the ceiling. "Now why
can't they design a smart gel to replace him?"
Scream
TRAN/OFFI/210850:2132
This is my second night in Beebe. I've asked the participants not to alter their behavior in my
presence, since I'm here to observe routine station operations. I'm pleased to report that my
request is being honored by everyone involved. This is gratifying insofar as it minimizes "observer
effects", but it may present problems given that the rifters do not keep reliable schedules. This
makes it difficult to plan one's time with them, and in fact there's one employee Ken Lubin
whom I haven't seen since I arrived. Still. I have plenty of time.
The rifters tend to be withdrawn and uncommunicative a layperson might call them sullen
but this is entirely in keeping with the profile. The Station itself seems to be well-maintained and is
operating smoothly, despite a certain disregard for standard protocols.
* * *
When the lights go out in Beebe Station, you can't hear anything at all.
Yves Scanlon lies on his bunk, not listening. He does not hear any strange sounds filtering in through the
hull. There is no reedy, spectral keening from the seabed, no faint sound of howling wind because he
knows that, down here, no wind is possible. Imagination, perhaps. A trick of the brain stem, an auditory
hallucination. He's not the slightest bit superstitious; he's a scientist. He does not hear the ghost of Karl
Acton moaning on the seabed.
And now, concentrating, he's quite certain he hears nothing at all.
It really doesn't bother him, being stuck in a dead man's quarters. After all, where else is there? It's not as
though he's going to move in with one of the vampires. And besides, Acton's been gone for months now.
Scanlon remembers the first time he heard the recording. Four lousy words: "We lost Acton. Sorry."
Then she hung up. Cold bitch, Clarke. Scanlon once thought something might happen between her and
Acton, it was a jigsaw match from the profiles, but you wouldn't know it from that phone call.
Maybe it's her, he muses. Maybe it's not Lubin after all, maybe it's Clarke.
"We lost Acton." So much for eulogy. And Fischer before Acton, and Everitt over at Linke. And Singh
before Everitt. And
And now Yves Scanlon is here, in their place. Sleeping on their bunk, breathing their air. Counting the
seconds, in darkness and quiet. In dark
Jesus Christ, what is
And quiet. Everything's quiet. Nothing's moaning out there.
Nothing at all.
* * *
TRANS/OFFI/220850:0945
We're all mammals, of course. We therefore have a Circadian rhythm which calibrates itself to
ambient photoperiod. It's been known for some time that when people are denied photoperiodic
cues their rhythms tend to lengthen, usually stabilizing between twenty-seven and thirty-six hours.
Adherence to a regular twenty-four hour work schedule is usually sufficient to keep this from
happening, so we didn't expect a problem in the deep stations. As an added measure I
recommended that a normal photoperiod be built into Beebe's lighting systems; the lights are
programmed to dim slightly between twenty-two hundred and oh seven hundred every day.
The participants have apparently chosen to ignore these cues. Even during 'daytime' they keep
ambient lighting dimmer than my suggested 'nocturnal' levels. (They also prefer to leave their
eyecaps in at all times, for obvious reasons; although I had not predicted this behavior, it is
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]