Cibola Burn Quotes

Right,” Holden said. “No coffee. This is a terrible, terrible planet.

Once is never. Twice is always.

Later, when you're wishing we had this stuff, I am going to be merciless in my mockery. And then we'll die.

Last man standing," Amos replied with another grin. "It's in my job description.

There’s a dignity in consequences.

A person can fail the people they love just by being who they are.

And ... and what is civilisation if it isn’t people talking to each other over a goddamned beer?

The mechanic had laid out two suits of their Martian-made light combat armour, a number of rifles and shotguns, and stacks of ammunition and explosives. “What,” Holden said, “is all this?” “You said to gear up for the drop.” “I meant, like, underwear and toothbrushes.

And the moral high ground is a lovely place,” Marwick said, as if he were agreeing. “It won’t stop a missile, though.

Choosing to stand by while people kill each other is also an action,

Later,” Amos said, “when you’re wishing we had this stuff, I am going to be merciless in my mockery. And then we’ll die.

That was the danger of being old and a politician. Habits outlived the situations that created them. Policies remained in place after the situations that inspired them had changed.

Captain,” Amos said with mock surprise. “Have you actually learned from your past? Is this a new thing you do now?

If you start feeling wonderful and powerful and like you’ve seen the face of God, you’re having a euphoric attack.

What happened?" she asked. "The landing pad blew up." "Oh," she said. And then, "do they do that?" "No. No, they really don't.

Apocalyptic explosions, dead reactors, terrorists, mass murder, death-slugs, and now a blindness plague. This is a terrible planet. We should not have come here.

Stop making me fall in love with you, Cap, we both know it can’t go anywhere.

It’s not that bad. Conspiracy theories come up whenever people feel like the universe is too random. Absurd. If it’s all an enemy plot, at least there’s someone calling the shots.

Sure, humans had invaded an extra-dimensional space with wormholes to points scattered across the galaxy, but they'd remembered to bring ferns.

The moral high ground is a lovely place. It won’t stop a missile, though. It won’t alter the trajectory of a gauss round.

You’re cranky because you’re tired,” Amos said. “You got that I-have-to-save-everyone hangup, so I make it that you haven’t slept in about two days. But listening to people bitch? Yeah, that’s sorta your job. It’s why you make the big money.” “We make the same money.” “Then I guess you’re doing it for the fame and glory.” “I hate you,” Holden said.

If Miller had brought him all this way just to let him die in an abandoned train car, it was the longest prank setup in history.

You know,” Naomi said, “if you’re looking at hundreds of people burning to death as a problem solving itself, that may be more evidence that you’re on wrong side.

Oh good,” Amos replied. “Somebody got killed there. That’s how we claim stuff, you know. This planet is officially ours now.

—it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out— One hundred and thirteen times a second, nothing answers and it reaches out. It is not conscious, though parts of it are. There are structures within it that were once separate organisms; aboriginal, evolved, and complex. It is designed to improvise, to use what is there and then move on. Good enough is good enough, and so the artifacts are ignored or adapted. The conscious parts try to make sense of the reaching out. Try to interpret it.

You want a shadow, you got to have light and something to get in its way.

I love the period of rotation. Thirty hours. You can get in a full day’s work, stay up getting drunk at the saloon, and still get a full night’s sleep. I don’t know why we didn’t think of this back home.

The usual state of nature is recovering from the last disaster,” she said. It was a truism of ecological biologists, and she said it the way a religious person might pray. To make sense of what she saw. To comfort herself. To give the world some sense of purpose or meaning. Species rose in an environment, and that environment changed. It was the nature of the universe, as true here as it had been on Earth.

Figure two-, three-hundred-kilometer-an-hour winds, lightning, torrential rains. You’re far enough inland to avoid the three-kilometer-high tsunami.” “Basic wrath of God package, minus drowning,

People used to think gold was worth fightin’ over, and that shit gets made by every supernova, which means pretty much every planet around a G2 star will have some. Stars burn through lithium as fast as they make it. All the available ore got made at the big bang, and we’re not doin’ another one of those. Now that’s scarcity, friend.

The sex,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure that we were okay. That things were all right between us.” “Well,” she said, “orgasm does release a lot of oxytocin, so I’m probably more fond of you than before.

My hallucinations are of the alien mind control variety.

So are you conscious?” The alien robot—the skin the Miller construct was using—shrugged. It was strange how well the gesture translated. “Don’t know. Seems like I’m acing my Turing test, though.

No one lived forever. But you fought for every minute you could get. Bought a little more with a lot of hard work.

First mutiny?” Naomi said. “Yeah. It’s not really something I do.” “It gets easier.

A guy I once knew tried to justify his life choices to me by comparing himself to Genghis Khan.” “I take it you didn’t find his argument compelling?” Murtry asked with a smirk. “No,” Holden said. “And then a friend of mine shot him in the face.” “An ironic rebuttal to an argument about necessary violence.” “I thought so too, at the time.

What are they going to do about it?" "So far? Get drunk. Yell at each other or at us. Design theoretical judicial systems. Most of them seem to want the whole thing to just go away sot hey can get on with their research." Murtry chuckled. "God bless the eggheads.

It’s herding kittens. If kittens had a lot of guns and an overdose of neo-Libertarian property theory.

Conspiracy theories come up whenever people feel like the universe is too random.

And what is civilization if it ain't people talking over a goddamned beer?

Still. Maybe some good can come out of it. I admire your psychotic optimism.

That was the danger of being old and a politician. Habits outlived the situations that created them. Policies remained in place after the situations that inspired them had changed. The calculus of all human power was changing, and the models she used to make sense of it shifted with them, and she had to keep reminding herself that the past was a different place. She didn’t live there anymore.

No one really appreciated how much of security work was just trying to keep things under control for a few more minutes, giving everyone involved in the crisis a little time to think it all through.

The margins of the space were bright without illuminating anything or casting shadows, sharp and terrible. It reminded her of the way schizophrenics and people suffering migraines would describe light as assaulting and dangerous.

One of my teachers back in school always used to say that contagion was the one absolute proof of community. People could pretend there weren’t drug users and prostitutes and unvaccinated children all they wanted, but when the plague came through, all that mattered was who was actually breathing your air.

Alex leaned forward, grabbing Basia’s hands in his own. “It’s still on you. I will never live down not being the person my wife needed after she spent twenty years waitin’ for me. I can never make that right. Don’t go feelin’ sorry for yourself. You fucked up. You failed the people you love. They’re payin’ the price for it right now and you demean them every second you don’t own that shit.

The sunset was a massive canvas of gold and orange, green and rose, gray and indigo and blue. It reminded him of beaches on the North American west coast, except there were no vendors clogging the place and no advertising drones muttering about the joys of commerce.

A few generations living and dying without a sky, and enclosed spaces lost the atavistic terror of premature burial.

Conspiracy theories come up whenever people feel like the universe is too random. Absurd. If it’s all an enemy plot, at least there’s someone calling the shots.

Sure, boss,” Havelock said. “Cool as November, smooth as China silk.

He wouldn’t miss the planet, but he would miss the people. Just like always.

If you don’t have the data you need, play with the data you have, see if something comes out of it.

Doors and corners are always dangerous, because you’re moving into something without being sure what’s there. By the time you see the enemy, you’re exposed to them.” “Sir?” Havelock

What I want is Ceres Station or Earth or Mars. You know what they have in New York? All-night diners with greasy food and crap coffee. I want to live on a world with all-night diners. And racetracks. And instant-delivery Thai food made from something I haven’t already eaten seven times in the last month.

The velocities and forces involved in anything at orbital altitudes were enough to kill a human with just the rounding error. At their speeds, the friction from air too thin to breathe would set them on fire.

It struck him, not for the first time, that confrontations were like a dance. Certain moves required certain responses, and most of it happened in the lower parts of the brain that language might not even be aware of.

Dammit,” Holden said after he’d killed the connection. “You ever get the sense that the universe is out to get you?” “Sometimes I get the sense that the universe is out to get you,” Amos said with a grin. “It’s fun to watch.

Your fancy alien train is broken?” “My fancy alien material transfer system has been sitting unused for over a billion years and half the planet just exploded. Your ship was built less than a decade ago and you can barely keep the coffee pot running.

He is, however,” Amos continued, “keeping a constant rail gun lock on the Israel’s reactor.” Holden ran his fingers through his hair. “So not too generous, then.” “Say pretty please, but carry a one-kilo slug of tungsten accelerated to a detectable percentage of c.

It was the security man’s nightmare scenario. In the face of death, why wouldn’t there be riots? Why wouldn’t there be killing and theft and rape? If there were no consequences--or if all the consequences were the same--then anything became possible. It was his job to expect the worst of humanity, including himself.

What is civilization if it isn’t people talking to each other over a goddamned beer?

Wherever people start, whatever the bring with them, humanity can still come together in heavy weather.

Wherever people start, whatever they bring with them, humanity can still pull together in heavy weather.

Dead’s not good, but at least it’s simple.

The usual state of nature is recovering from the last disaster,

The usual state of nature is recovering from the last disaster,” she said. It was a truism of ecological biologists, and she said it the way a religious person might pray.

Civilization has a built-in lag time. Just like light delay. We fly out here to this new place, and because we’re civilized, we think civilization comes with us.

And the moral high ground is a lovely place,” Marwick said, as if he were agreeing. “It won’t stop a missile, though. It won’t alter the trajectory of a gauss round. What

If Fred is showing this to you, Holden, know that your home planet appreciates your service. Also try not to put your dick in this. It’s fucked enough already.

And the moral high ground is a lovely place,” Marwick said, as if he were agreeing. “It won’t stop a missile, though. It

Or was that fatalism another good move in design space? Did the universe evolve eyes and wings and sense organs and bitter amusement at the prospect of death all the same way?

The usual state of nature is recovering from the last disaster.

But, like so many things in life, when you come to the spot where you’re supposed to do the rituals, you do them.

It was his job to expect the worst of humanity, including myself.

Basic problem solving. If you don’t have the data you need, play with the data you have, see if something comes out of it.

Right,” Holden said. “No coffee. This is a terrible, terrible planet. Show me how to make everyone better.

Security trainees were driven by any number of things—the need for a job, an idealistic view of helping people, sometimes just a narcissistic love of violence.

A person can fail the people they love just by being who they are. I’m who I am, and it wasn’t what my wife wanted me to be, and somethin’ had to break.

I’m rich in interpretation and poor in datasets,

The usual state of nature is recovering from the last disaster

the bank of lockers was down, the airlock door up. Human brains needed an answer, even if they had to make up something they knew was bullshit.

People, building on the ruins of what had come before, just like they always did. So many things had been lost, but it was the missing people that hurt the most. Just like they always did.

It was astounding, Bobbie thought, how quickly humanity could go from What unimaginable intelligence fashioned these soul-wrenching wonders? to Well, since they’re not here, can I have their stuff?

But listening to people bitch? Yeah, that’s sorta your job. It’s why you make the big money.” “We make the same money.” “Then I guess you’re doing it for the fame and glory.” “I hate you,” Holden said.

This isn’t science,” Lucia said. “It’s medicine. A success rate this high on a new treatment for a novel illness? We’re doing brilliantly. None of us are back to baseline yet, though. If it happens at all, it will take time.

You think somebody built those towers and structures and then just left? This whole planet is a murder scene. An empty apartment with warm food on the table and all the clothes still in the closets. This is some Croatoan shit.” “The

Your fancy alien train is broken?" "My fancy alien material transfer system has been sitting unused for over a billion years and half the planet just exploded. Your ship was built less than a decade ago and you can barely keep the coffee pot running.” “You are a sad, bitter little man.

the reactor had gone on Aten Base, his partner and supervisor had both panicked, and Havelock remembered the overwhelming fear in his own gut. When the riots had started on Ceres after the ice hauler Canterbury had been destroyed, his partner had been more weary than fearful, and Havelock had faced the situation with the same grim resignation. When the Ebisu had been quarantined for nipahvirus, his boss had been energized—almost elated—running the ship like a puzzle that had to be solved, and Havelock had been caught up in the pleasure of doing an important thing well.

It builds the investigator, and the investigator looks, but does not know. It kills the investigator. It builds the investigator, and the investigator looks, but does not know. It kills the investigator. It builds the investigator, and the investigator looks but does not know, and it does not kill the investigator. It is not aware of a change, that a pattern has broken. The investigator is aware, and it wonders, and because it wonders it looks, and because it looks, the investigator exceeds its boundary conditions, and it kills the investigator. It builds the investigator.

Humans, Havelock knew from long experience, were first and foremost social animals, and he himself was profoundly human. It was more romantic—hell, more masculine—to pretend he was an island, unaffected by the waves of emotion around him. But it wasn’t true, and he’d made his peace with that fact.

I hate that it breaks down that way. Your side and mine. One of my teachers back in school always used to say that contagion was the one absolute proof of community. People could pretend there weren’t drug users and prostitutes and unvaccinated children all they wanted, but when the plague came through, all that mattered was who was actually breathing your air.

Civilization has a built-in lag time. Just like light delay. We fly out here to this new place, and because we're civilized, we think civilization comes with us. It doesn't. We build it. And while we're building it, a whole lot of people die. You think the American west came with railroads and post offices and jails? Those things were built, and at the cost of thousands of lives. They were built on the corpses of everyone who was there before the Spanish came.

The closest analogy, the one her brain reached for and rejected and reached for again, was splashing into a lake. It was cold, but not cold. There was a smell, rich and loamy. The smell of growth and decay. She was aware of her body, the skin, the sinew, the curl of her gut. She was aware of the nerves that were firing in her brain as she became aware of the nerves firing in her brain. She unmade herself and watched herself being unmade. All the bacteria on her skin and in her blood, the virii in her tissues. The woman who had been Elvi Okoye became a landscape. A world. She fell farther in.

She wondered what she would do or say if someone walked through the archway, but it was night, and the nights here were very long. There was room in them.

There’s a damaged piece of the system ahead,” Miller continued, “and I’d hoped we’d be able to get around it. No such luck. We’re on foot from here.” “Your fancy alien train is broken?” “My fancy alien material transfer system has been sitting unused for over a billion years and half the planet just exploded. Your ship was built less than a decade ago and you can barely keep the coffee pot running.” “You are a sad, bitter little man,” Holden said as he climbed to his feet and pushed against the train door. It didn’t open.

real monsters don’t go away when you close your eyes.

atavistic

I don’t see anything,” Miller said. “What’s it look like?” “The eye of an angry God?” Elvi said. "Oh,” Miller said. The heavy plates of his robotic body clicked and hissed against each other as he shifted. “Yeah, well that’s probably it, then. Good work.

The fact had become as invisible to him as someone on Earth thinking about being held to a spinning celestial object by nothing more than mass, shielded from the fusion reaction of the sun by only distance and air.

All of nature was a record of crisis and destruction and adaptation and flourishing and being knocked back down again. What had happened on New Terra was singular and concrete, but the pattern it was part of seemed to apply everywhere and maybe always.