Cunningham’s eyes were bright manic points blazing in an expressionless mask. He raised them to the center of the drum, and didn’t raise his voice a decibel. “Isn’t that right, Jukka?” I checked ConSensus for active channels. “I don’t think he’s listening, Robert.” Cunningham’s mouth moved in something that would have been a pitying smile if the rest of his face had been able to join in. “He doesn’t have to listen, Keeton. He doesn’t have to spy on us. He just knows.” Ventilators, breathing. The almost subliminal hum of bearings in motion. Then Sarasti’s disembodied voice rang forth through
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