Moonbound: A Novel

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?

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.

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

"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?"

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.

The great question of the Anth: What happens next?

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.

Ariel was a mapmaker; it was his great pastime. His map was not on paper, for there was no paper. Instead, he had discovered a hidden menu inside the Stromatolite, one that permitted the creation of custom terrain in the style of the game: a malleable 3D landscape rendered in sketchy monochrome.