"Peter Watts - Blindsight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watts Peter)

refined information conjured fire three hundred times hotter than
the sun's. I knew the incantations, of courseтАФantimatter cracking
and deconstruction, the teleportation of quantum serial numbersтАФ
but it was still magic to me, how we'd come so far so fast. It would
have been magic to anyone.
Except Sarasti, maybe.
Around me, the same magic worked at cooler temperatures and
to less volatile ends: a small riot of chutes and dispensers crowded
the bulkhead on all sides. A few of those openings would choke
on my fist: one or two could swallow me whole. Theseus'
fabrication plant could build everything from cutlery to cockpits.
Give it a big enough matter stockpile and it could have even been
built another Theseus, albeit in many small pieces and over a very
long time. Some wondered if it could build another crew as well,
although we'd all been assured that was impossible. Not even
these machines had fine enough fingers to reconstruct a few trillion
synapses in the space of a human skull. Not yet, anyway.
I believed it. They would never have shipped us out fully-
assembled if there'd been a cheaper alternative.
I faced forward. Putting the back of my head against that sealed
hatch I could see almost to Theseus' bow, an uninterrupted line-of-
sight extending to a tiny dark bull's-eye thirty meters ahead. It was
like staring at a great textured target in shades of white and gray:
concentric circles, hatches centered within bulkheads one behind
another, perfectly aligned. Every one stood open, in nonchalant
defiance of a previous generation's safety codes. We could keep
them closed if we wanted to, if it made us feel safer. That was all
it would do, though; it wouldn't improve our empirical odds one
whit. In the event of trouble those hatches would slam shut long
milliseconds before Human senses could even make sense of an
alarm. They weren't even computer-controlled. Theseus' body
parts had reflexes.
I pushed off against the stern platingтАФwincing at the tug and
stretch of disused tendonsтАФand coasted forward, leaving Fab
behind. The shuttle-access hatches to Scylla and Charybdis
Peter Watts 18 Blindsight

briefly constricted my passage to either side. Past them the spine
widened into a corrugated extensible cylinder two meters across
andтАФat the momentтАФmaybe fifteen long. A pair of ladders ran
opposite each other along its length; raised portholes the size of
manhole covers stippled the bulkhead to either side. Most of
those just looked into the hold. A couple served as general-
purpose airlocks, should anyone want to take a stroll beneath the
carapace. One opened into my tent. Another, four meters further
forward, opened into Bates'.
From a third, just short of the forward bulkhead, Jukka Sarasti
climbed into view like a long white spider.
If he'd been Human I'd have known instantly what I saw there, I'd
have smelled murderer all over his topology. And I wouldn't have