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Audiobook
First published August 3, 2021
“He was the mote in the mind of God, lost in that labyrinth of mirrors and moving parts.”No matter what else he writes, Adrian Tchaikovsky will always be known as that guy who wrote about intelligent space spiders in a way that would make even the staunchest arachnophobe root for the crawlies. Well, you’ll be glad to hear that even in this very different space opera/ misfits-space-crew-adventure he still goes for non-humanoid aliens, from kinda-crabs to kinda-clamshells to grafted insectoids to kinda-space worms — to moon-sized worlds-reshaping* artistically inclined “Architects”. The guy can do weird, and do it well.
* Case in point: space flower sculpture formerly known as Earth:
“Earth would always be the same now. Earth was like a flower, forever turned towards the sun. An alien flower whose exemplar might grow in some fecund jungle on a distant world. A thing of creepers and reaching shoots, something more than vegetable, less than animal. Earth’s mantle and crust had been peeled back, like petals whose tips formed spiralling tendrils a thousand kilometres long. The planet’s core had gouted forth into yearning, reaching shapes, formed into rings and whorls, arches, curved arms… A hundred separate processes shaped from the living core of the planet as it writhed and twisted, then was left to cool. A flower twenty thousand kilometres across, splayed forever in full bloom; a memorial to ten billion people who hadn’t made it to the ships in time.”
“My newfound surrogate daughter, you do realize we are a crummy little salvage operation here? We are not going to be fighting any star battles while I’m captain.”
Yeah, suuuuuuuuuure you won’t…
“There was a future out there, and it was a terrible one. It included war and whole planets dying in the shadow of Architects. They were living in a fractured galaxy and it must come together, or it would fall into darkness one star at a time.”
(Image credit to hipydeus)
“Idris Telemmier reached out into the solitary infinite, like a man feeling for some precious dropped object in a dark room. And somewhere in that sightless expanse, he felt something was reaching back to seize his hand and pull.”
“I made a judgement call.”
“A bad one.”
He nodded. “The problem with judgement calls is that they’re only ever good or bad in retrospect.”
Hanni were a competitive species amongst their own kind. Kris had seen business deals concluded over wrestling matches, impenetrable puzzles and even dance-offs. The Hanni didn’t wage war, funneling all their disagreements into a myriad of contests.