Starfish by Peter Watts Read Free Book Online

happen."
    Ballard nods in the darkness. "Yes, yes, I know what you mean." She seems somehow encouraged by Clarke's admission. "And no matter how much you tell yourself—" She stops. "You hate it in here? "
    Did I say something wrong? Clarke wonders.
    "Outside is hardly any better, you know," Ballard says. "Outside is even worse! There's mudslides and smokers and giant fish trying to eat you all the time, you can't possibly — but — you don't mind all that, do you?"
    Somehow, her tone has turned accusing. Clarke shrugs.
    "No, you don't," Ballard is speaking slowly now. Her voice drops to a whisper: "You actually like it out there. Don't you?"
    Reluctantly, Clarke nods. "Yeah. I guess so."
    "But it's so — the rift can kill you, Lenie. It can kill us . A hundred different ways. Doesn't that scare you?"
    "I don't know. I don't think about it much. I guess it does, sort of."
    "Then why are you so happy out there?" Ballard cries. "It doesn't make any sense..."
    I'm not exactly 'happy' , Clarke thinks. "I don't know. It's not that weird, lots of people do dangerous things. What about free-fallers? What about mountain climbers?"
    But Ballard doesn't answer. Her silhouette has grown rigid on the bed. Suddenly, she reaches over and turns on the cubby light.
    Lenie Clarke blinks against the sudden brightness. Then the room dims as her eyecaps darken.
    "Jesus Christ!" Ballard shouts at her. "You sleep in that fucking costume now?"
    It's something else Clarke hasn't thought about. It just seems easier.
    "All this time I've been pouring my heart out to you and you've been wearing that machine's face! You don't even have the decency to show me your goddamned eyes !"
    Clarke steps back, startled. Ballard rises from the bed and takes a single step forward. "To think you could actually pass for human before they gave you that suit! Why don't you go find something to play with out in your fucking ocean!"
    And slams the hatch in Clarke's face.
    Lenie Clarke stares at the sealed bulkhead for a few moments. Her face, she knows, is calm. Her face is usually calm. But she stands there, unmoving, until the cringing thing inside of her unfolds a little.
    "Okay," she says at last, very softly. "I guess I will."
    * * *
    Ballard is waiting for her as she emerges from the airlock. "Lenie," she says quietly, "we have to talk. It's important."
    Clarke bends over and removes her fins. "Go ahead."
    "Not here. In my cubby."
    Clarke looks at her.
    "Please."
    Clarke starts up the ladder.
    "Aren't you going to take—" Ballard stops as Clarke looks down. "Never mind. It's okay."
    They ascend into the lounge. Ballard takes the lead. Clarke follows her down the corridor and into her cabin. Ballard dogs the hatch and sits on her bunk, leaving room for Clarke.
    Clarke looks around the cramped space. Ballard has curtained over the mirrored bulkhead with a spare sheet.
    Ballard pats the bed beside her. "Come on, Lenie. Sit down."
    Reluctantly, Clarke sits. Ballard's sudden kindness confuses her. Ballard hasn't acted this way since...
    ...Since she had the upper hand.
    "—might not be easy for you to hear," Ballard is saying, "but we have to get you off the rift. They shouldn't have put you down here in the first place."
    Clarke doesn't reply.
    "Remember the tests they gave us?" Ballard continues. "They measured our tolerance to stress; confinement, prolonged isolation, chronic physical danger, that sort of thing."
    Clarke nods slightly. "So?"
    "So," says Ballard, "Did you think for a moment they'd test for those qualities without knowing what sort of person would have them? Or how they got to be that way?"
    Inside, Clarke goes very still. Outside, nothing changes.
    Ballard leans forward a bit. "Remember what you said? About mountain climbers, and free-fallers, and why people deliberately do dangerous things? I've been reading up, Lenie. Ever since I got to know you I've been reading up—"
    Got to know me?
    "—and do you know what thrillseekers have in common?