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- Utopia is clambering out of a pile of destroyed machine tools when I hit her again, a pile driver of a blow that punches her down into the cement. Her chest is crumpled metal, her shoulder socket bent out of true, and her arm is hanging by thick black cables. Utopia’s good hand rotates open and she points a bulging glass lens at me. As it is beginning to glow I stomp on her hand and smash it flat.
- “Wait!” she says. My fist jerks to a stop inches from her face. Her voice is trilling, musical, shaped by electronic undertones. Up close I can see that her hair is synthetic fiber, her face silicone pseudoflesh, pale and sparkling. “You must understand what is at stake.”
- - Dreadnought, Chapter 26
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