Skyward by Brandon Sanderson
Location 393:
“Ancestor?” Mother said, climbing the ladder outside the building. “She was a British Celt. Beowulf was Swedish, Genghis Khan Mongolian, and Sun Tzu Chinese. And they’re all supposedly my daughter’s ancestors?” “All of Old Earth is our heritage!” Gran-Gran said. “You, Spensa, are one in a line of warriors stretching back millennia, a true line to Old Earth and its finest blood.”
Location 821:
The girl and I soon passed a fountain. A real fountain, like from the stories. We both stopped to gape, and I extricated my arm from the girl’s grasp. Part of me wanted to be offended—but she seemed so genuine. “That music the water makes,” she said. “Isn’t it the most wonderful sound ever?” “The most wonderful sound ever is the lamentations of my enemies, screaming my name toward the heavens with ragged, dying voices.” The girl looked at me, cocking her head. “Well bless your stars.”
Location 920:
“—just because you bought your way into flight school doesn’t mean you’ll be flightleader. You need to watch yourself. Don’t make an enemy out of me.” “And if I do?” Scud, it was annoying to have to look up at him. I leaped onto my seat to gain a height advantage for the argument—an action that seemed to surprise him. He cocked his head. “What—” “Always attack from a position of superior advantage!” I said. “When this is done, Jerkface, I will hold your tarnished and melted pin up as my trophy as your smoldering ship marks your pyre, and the final resting place of your crushed and broken corpse!” The room grew quiet. “All right…,” Jerkface said. “Well, that was…descriptive.” “Bless your stars,” Kimmalyn added. Hudiya gave me a thumbs-up and a grin, though the others in the room plainly had no idea what to make of me.
Location 1817:
We watched the debris fall, burning light reflecting against my canopy. “So…,” I said. “You’re saying that by the end of our training, you expect us to be able to use grappling hooks made of energy to smash our enemies with flaming chunks of space debris?” “Yes.” “That…,” I whispered, “that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
Location 2003:
I thought about guys, but my life hadn’t exactly left me time for that kind of thing. The last time I’d had any romantic inclinations had been when I’d been eight and had given Rig a particularly nice hatchet I’d made out of a rock and a stick—then had decided he was gross the next week. Because, well, I’d been eight. I jumped to my feet. “Uh, Bim?” I said. He looked at me again. “You ever heard of Odysseus?” “No,” he said. “He was an ancient hero who fought in the greatest war that ever happened on Earth, the Trojan War. It’s said he had a bow so strong that, other than him, only a giant could pull the string back. He…had blue hair, you know.” “Yeah?” Bim asked. “Pretty cool,” I said, then immediately sat down, taking a long gulp from my canteen. Was that smooth? That was smooth, right? I wasn’t sure what Sun Tzu or Beowulf would say about flirting with cute guys. Maybe share the skulls of your enemies with them, as a gesture of affection?
Location 2078:
“So,” she said, hovering beside my seat as I rested and drank from my canteen, “is that why you’re always so bellicose?” “Bellicose?” I asked, unfamiliar with the word. “So willing to seize the stars with one hand and shove them in your pocket,” Kimmalyn said. She leaned in, as if the next part were somehow naughty. “You know. Heated.” “Heated.” “Maybe even…once in a while…cross.” “Is my father why I’m such a mess of anger, bravado, and temper? Is the fact that they call him a coward the reason I walk around with my sword in hand, screaming that I’ll make a pile of everyone’s skulls, then stand on that to help me behead the people who were too tall for me to reach?” Kimmalyn smiled fondly. “Bless my stars?” I asked her. “Every single one of them, Spensa. Every single bouncing star.”
Location 2137:
“The only portion of my memory banks that seems to have survived intact—other than basic personality routines and things like general language usage—is an open database for recording fungoid life forms on this planet. I should very much like to fill the rest of it in.” “Fungoid?” “Mushrooms. Would you happen to have any I can categorize?” “You’re a hyperadvanced stealth fighter that—somehow—has a machine personality built into it…and you want me to bring you mushrooms?” “Yes, please,” M-Bot said. “Take stock. As in categorize local life forms. I’m certain that’s what he meant.”
Location 2267:
“Theoretically,” I said, “humans had this thing when they first fought the Krell. It didn’t help then.” “I would note,” M-Bot said, “that ‘it’ is listening.” “And?” I asked the ship, yawning again. “And it’s generally considered bad form for humans to speak of one who is present as if they are not.” “I can’t make you out, M-Bot,” Rig said, sitting up. “You say you don’t care about things like that, right?” “Obviously I don’t. I’m a logical machine with only a thin veneer of simulated emotions.” “Okay,” Rig said. “That makes sense.” “It’s still rude,” M-Bot added.
Location 2772:
He grunted as he worked on a particularly stubborn wire, and Doomslug helpfully imitated him. She sat on the stone ground near my head. M-Bot was “running diagnostics”—whatever that meant. It mostly involved him saying things like “Hmmmmm…” or “Carry the one…” to “give indication that the process is continuing, as humans quickly grow bored without auditory stimulation.”
Location 3114:
“Whoa!” Nedd said. “Holy scud!” I knelt there on top of Jerkface, trembling, with my hand raised. “Really, wow!” Nedd said, kneeling down beside us. “Spin, that was incredible. Can you teach me that?” I glanced at him. “We don’t learn hand-to-hand,” he said, making some chopping motions. “Cobb says it’s useless, but what if a Krell tries to—you know—jump me in an alley or something?” “Nobody has ever seen a Krell alive, you idiot,” Hurl said. “Yeah, but what if that’s because—like—they always jump people in alleys, right? You ever think about that?”
Location 3159:
“Huh,” M-Bot said. “Why don’t they bombard you from orbit?” “What?” “Not that I’d know anything about things like that,” he added. “Being a noncombat machine. Obviously.” “You have four guns.” “Someone must have stuck those on when I wasn’t looking.”
Location 4930:
“And name your firstborn son after me.” “Firstborn will be Executioner Destructorius. But you can have number two.”
Location 4937:
Rig rolled his eyes. “Would you go keep that thing occupied? I don’t want it jabbering at me while I work.” “I can both talk to her and bother you!” M-Bot called. “Multitasking is an essential means by which an artificial intelligence achieves more efficiency than fleshy human brains.” Rig looked at me. “No insult intended!” M-Bot added. “You have very nice shoes!” “We’ve been working on his compliments,” I said. “They aren’t nearly as stupid as the rest of your outfit!” “He still needs practice.”
Location 6727:
“Wait,” Nedd said. “Am I an idiot, or did Spin just say her ship spoke?” “Hi, Nedd!” M-Bot said. “I can confirm you are an idiot, but all humans are. Your mental abilities appear to be within a standard deviation from their average.”
Location 6866:
“Alta Base,” M-Bot said. “This is Skyward Eleven. You may commence thanking us for saving you from utter annihilation.” “Thank you!” some voices cried. “Thank you!” “Mushrooms are the preferred offering,” M-Bot said to them. “As many varieties as you can dig up.” “Really?” I said, pulling off my helmet to wipe my brow. “Still on the mushroom thing?” “I didn’t erase that part of my programming,” he said. “I’m fond of it. It gives me something to collect, like the way humans choose to accumulate useless items of sentimental and thematic value.”