Starfish by Peter Watts Page B

Fischer. How could anyone fall asleep after that ?
    Clarke steps closer, studies the telltales on the device; induced REM's cranked to maximum and the alarm's disabled. Nakata would have been out in seconds. Hell, at those settings she'd drift off in the middle of a gang-rape.
    Lenie Clarke nods approvingly. Nice trick.
    Reluctantly, she touches the wake-up stud. Sleep drains from Nakata's face; her expression changes abruptly. Asian eyes flicker, open wide and dark.
    Clarke steps back, startled. Alice Nakata has taken her eyecaps off.
    "Time to go, Alice" she says softly. "Sorry to wake you..."
    She is, too. She's never seen Nakata smile before. It would have been nice if it could have lasted.

    * * *

    Brander's sealing a broadband sensor into its casing when Clarke drops into the lounge. "She'll catch up with us," she tells him, and turns to the drying rack for her fins.
    Directly in front of her, the Med hatch is sealed. No sounds, human or mechanical, filter through from inside.
    "Oh yeah. He's still in there." Brander raises his voice a fraction. "Good fucking thing, too, while I'm around."
    "He didn't m—" Shut up! Shut the fuck up!
    "Lenie?"
    She turns to see his hand dropping away. Brander's actually a lot more touchy-feely than you'd expect, sometimes he almost forgets himself around her.
    But it's okay. He doesn't mean any harm either.
    "Nothing," Clarke says, grabbing her fins.
    Brander carries the sensor over to the airlock, drops it in with some other trinkets and cycles them through. Gurgles and clunks accompany their passage into the abyss.
    "Only—"
    He looks at her, his face framing a question around empty eyes.
    "What have you got against Fischer?" she says, nearly whispering.
    You know exactly what he's got against Fischer. It's none of your business. Stay out of it.
    Brander's face hardens like setting cement. "He's a fucking freak. He diddles little kids."
    I know . "Who says?"
    "Nobody has to say . I can see his kind coming ten klicks away."
    "If you say so." Clarke listens to her own voice. Cool. Distant, almost bored. Good.
    "He looks at me funny. Hell, have you seen the way he looks at you ?" Metal clanks against metal. "If he so much as touches me I'll fucking kill him."
    "Yeah. Well, it wouldn't take much. He just sits there and takes whatever you dish out, you know, he's so— passive..."
    Brander snorts. "Why do you care, anyway? He creeps you out as much as the rest of us. I saw what happened in Medical last week."
    The airlock hisses. A green light flashes on its side
    "I don't know," Lenie says. "You're right, I guess. I know what he is."
    Brander swings the 'lock open and steps inside. Clarke holds the edge of the hatch.
    "There's something else, though," she says, almost to herself. "Something's— missing. He doesn't fit."
    "None of us fits," Brander growls. "That's the whole fucking point."
    She closes the hatch. There's enough room for two in there — the other rifters generally drop out in pairs — but she prefers to go through alone. It's a small thing. Nobody comments on it.
    Not his fault. Not Brander's, not Fischer's. Not dad's. Not mine.
    Nobody's fucking fault.
    The airlock flushes beside her.

Angel

    The seabed is glowing. Cracks in the rock flicker comforting shades of orange, like hot coals, and he knows that's thermal; the scalding rivulets feel warm even through his 'skin, his thermister leaps around every time the current twitches. But there are places here where the rocks shine green, and others where they shine blue. He doesn't know whether to thank biology or geochemistry. All he knows is that it's beautiful. It's a city from high up, at night. It's a vid of the northern lights he saw once, only sharper and brighter. It's a brush fire in emeralds.
    In a way he's almost grateful to Brander. If it weren't for Brander he'd never have come upon this place. He'd be sitting in Beebe with the rest of them, hooked into the library or hiding in his cubby, safe and dry.
    But