Read Rifters 4 - Blindsight for Free Online

qualified, and the work is vital."
    "So why—" I began, and stopped. He wouldn't want to keep me away from some theoretical gig in a WestHem lab.
    "What's this about, Dad?"
    "The Fireflies. They found something."
    " What ?"
    "A radio signal. From the Kuiper. We traced the bearing."
    "They're talking ?"
    "Not to us." He cleared his throat. "It was something of a fluke that we even intercepted the transmission."
    "Who are they talking to?"
    "We don't know."
    "Friendly? Hostile?"
    "Son, we don't know . The encryption seems similar, but we can't even be sure of that. All we have is the location."
    "So you're sending a team." You're sending me. We'd never gone to the Kuiper before. It had been decades since we'd even sent robots. Not that we lacked the capacity. We just hadn't bothered; everything we needed was so much closer to home. The Interplanetary Age had stagnated at the asteroids.
    But now something lurked at the furthest edge of our backyard, calling into the void. Maybe it was talking to some other solar system. Maybe it was talking to something closer, something en route .
    "It's not the kind of situation we can safely ignore," my father said.
    "What about probes?"
    "Of course. But we can't wait for them to report back. The follow-up's been fast-tracked; updates can be sent en route."
    He gave me a few extra seconds to digest that. When I still didn't speak, he said, "You have to understand. Our only edge is that as far as we know, Burns-Caulfield doesn't know we're on to it. We have to get as much as we can in whatever window of opportunity that grants us."
    But Burns-Caulfield had hidden itself. Burns-Caulfield might not welcome a forced introduction.
    "What if I refuse?"
    The timelag seemed to say Mars .
    "I know you, son. You won't."
    "But if I did . If I'm the best qualified, if the job's so vital…"
    He didn't have to answer. I didn't have to ask. At these kind of stakes, mission-critical elements didn't get the luxury of choice. I wouldn't even have the childish satisfaction of holding my breath and refusing to play—the will to resist is no less mechanical than the urge to breathe. Both can be subverted with the right neurochemical keys.
    "You killed my Kurzweill contract," I realized.
    "That's the least of what we did."
    We let the vacuum between us speak for a while.
    "If I could go back and undo the—the thing that made you what you are," Dad said after a while, "I would. In a second."
    "Yeah."
    "I have to go. I just wanted to give you the heads-up."
    "Yeah. Thanks."
    "I love you, son."
    Where are you? Are you coming back?
    "Thanks," I said again. "That's good to know."
     
    *
     
    This is what my father could not unmake. This is what I am:
    I am the bridge between the bleeding edge and the dead center. I stand between the Wizard of Oz and the man behind the curtain.
    I am the curtain.
    I am not an entirely new breed. My roots reach back to the dawn of civilization but those precursors served a different function, a less honorable one. They only greased the wheels of social stability; they would sugarcoat unpleasant truths, or inflate imaginary bogeymen for political expedience. They were vital enough in their way. Not even the most heavily-armed police state can exert brute force on all of its citizens all of the time. Meme management is so much subtler; the rose-tinted refraction of perceived reality, the contagious fear of threatening alternatives. There have always been those tasked with the rotation of informational topologies, but throughout most of history they had little to do with increasing its clarity .
    The new Millennium changed all that. We've surpassed ourselves now, we're exploring terrain beyond the limits of merely human understanding. Sometimes its contours, even in conventional space, are just too intricate for our brains to track; other times its very axes extend into dimensions inconceivable to minds built to fuck and fight on some prehistoric grassland. So many things constrain us,