Revelation Space (Revelation Space, #1)

by Alastair Reynolds

“I think I’ve reduced the amount of blood in my caffeine system to an acceptable level, if that’s what you mean.”

Such an outcome had seemed unacceptable—but as always, no outcome was unacceptable if you looked at it the right way.

“I must like something about you, Ilia, otherwise I’d have killed you ages ago.”

The Jugglers were a biochemical consciousness distributed through each ocean, composed of trillions of co-acting micro-organisms, arranged into island-sized clumps.

Evidently there was some hidden link between thought itself and the underlying processes of spacetime; the one influencing the other.

“It’s called optimism—but I’m losing the hang of it fast.”

Now excuse me for a moment; what I’m about to try is somewhat on the tricky side of downright impossible.”

“Believe me, when you’re dealing with infectious alien mind parasites, I always find primitive is best.”

It was like a gash in reality, a gaping hole from which erupted white light from the mouth of infinity.

Sylveste had to let his mind rest for a moment. The immensity of it was dwindling now, leaving only the ringing aftertones, like the last echoes of the final chord of the greatest symphony ever played. In a few moments, he doubted that he would remember much at all. There was simply insufficient room in his head for it all. And, strangely, he did not feel the slightest sorrow at its passing. For those few moments, it had been wonderful to taste that transhuman knowledge, but it was simply too much for one man to know. It was better to live; better to carry a memory of a memory, than suffer the vast burden of knowing. He was not meant to think like a god.