Moonbound: A Novel

There is nothing more human than the experience of lying in the dark, wondering: What if I don't wake up? In that way, sleep becomes existential cross-training: dread faced nightly, and nightly overcome.

In death, Altissa cradled her sword Regret Minimization. Their swords all had stupid names. If I had been Altissa’s memory, the sword had been her ambition. Regret Minimization was cunning and spiteful, with hilt and blade flawless matte white. No dirt would ever adhere; the sword was just as vain as the operators.

In the street, the villagers wore technical outerwear; their parkas were dotted with bits of reflective tape that sizzled in the sun.

The truth is that I was driven by the question carved into my heart; the question I had almost, but not quite, given up; the great question of the Anth: What happens next?

The great question of the Anth: What happens next?

I crept through the boy’s blood, drunk on ATP. After the lean years in the tomb, I had forgotten how good energy could taste.

The knights busied themselves with emotional warfare, and also the occasional hunt, in which they went out bellowing with the hounds, tracking an elusive golden elk. Ariel understood that the appeal was the long, merry hike; they’d be despondent if they ever caught the creature.

This was a bummer so colossal that it was definitely, inarguably, easily the worst thing that had ever happened, in the whole history of Earth.

"You are long-lived!" exclaimed Durga.

"Our health is matched to the duration of our interests," said Agassiz. "Isn't that how it should be?"