If the hard-edged plausibility of the vampire predator Valerie, the Bicameral hacks, and that nerve-wracking run toward the Icarus solar station in Echopraxia hooked you, Revelation Space delivers the same cold equations and brutal consequences. Reynolds builds tension from real astrophysics and grotesque biotech as archaeologist Dan Sylveste and the crew of the Nostalgia for Infinity uncover an extinction-scale mystery—think the same relentless, empirically grounded dread Watts weaponizes, now stretched across deep space archaeology and plague-haunted starships.

Loved how the Bicameral “monks” in Echopraxia turn faith into a cognitive tool and force Brüks to confront what consciousness even is? Anathem takes you inside cloistered scholar-orders who’ve walled themselves off to pursue pure thought—until a cosmic crisis drags them out. Like the Crown of Thorns scenes, it’s brainy, argumentative, and exhilarating, with debates on qualia and cognition that echo Brüks’s sparring with Colonel Jim Moore and the hive-mind’s engineered spirituality.

If Valerie’s predatory wetware and the Bicamerals’ reality-warping cognition felt like tech so advanced it might as well be magic, The Quantum Thief is your next fix. Rajaniemi drops you—no hand-holding—into a posthuman solar system of mutable identities, cryptographic social contracts, and weaponized minds. It scratches the same itch as Echopraxia’s inscrutable systems and upgrades that outclass a baseline like Brüks, demanding you keep up while it dazzles.

If the brutal tone of Echopraxia—from the desert assault on the Crown of Thorns to the lethal cat-and-mouse in space—pulled you in, Altered Carbon channels that same cynicism and body-tech lethality. Takeshi Kovacs’s consciousness is spun up in a new body to solve a murder in a world where flesh is interchangeable and power is predatory, mirroring the way Watts turns biology, augmentation, and military pragmatism (hello, Jim Moore) into sharpened knives.

If you were captivated by Echopraxia’s cerebral puzzles—Brüks wrestling with whether consciousness is a useful fiction and what “free will” means beside posthuman predators—Permutation City pushes those questions to the logical extreme. Egan’s copy-minds, autoverse physics, and reality-bootstrapping gambits deliver the same heady, high-stakes intellectual thrill, rewarding the kind of close reading that made the Icarus revelations so satisfying.