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“Right,” Sadie said. “Focus. That’s what Spin would do.” “Also shout graphic and violent things at the enemies. So I suppose you could try that.” “That’s right! Down with you, vile…space-dwelling…ships of…vileness! May you all die painful, fiery deaths! How was that?” “That was definitely something,” I said. “Did it make you feel better?” “A little. I think I need to practice. May you all explode in big fiery explosions, approaching not-ace ships of whateverness!” “Uh, Sentry? Maybe practice on your own and just share the highlights, okay?” “Oh, right,” Sadie said. “Sure thing.”
Rig looked around at all of us, but when he met my eyes he suddenly developed an interest in his fingernails.
“Did the humming seem to do anything?” Rig asked. “It made me feel stupid,” Jorgen said. “It’s like the Saint says,” Kimmalyn added, “ ‘I feel, therefore I am.’ ”
It did make sense for power to be organized so it could be used efficiently. But then everything depended on the decision-making of the person at the top.
“This is how science works,” Rig said. “Nothing, nothing, nothing. Maybe something! Oh, no, that was also nothing.”
Admiral Cobb had hair growing from the space below his nose—a big white bush of it. That had to be impractical when his nostrils cleared. Or maybe the bush existed to collect the contents. That was a disgusting thought.
One of your ancient writers even preserved bits of our language, so that when we began to travel across the universe, some of your people could speak to mine.” I’d never read the book, though now I wished I had. There were still a few copies on ReDawn. Something about a ring.
There was a place for persuasion. Quilan’s death was a waste, of a leader as well as a cytonic. Killing him had been necessary, but everyone would have been better off if we could have persuaded him to change his mind to fight for our side. Now he could never change his mind, and there was a kind of tragedy to that.
More of my flightmates climbed back into their ships. Since we were currently being flanked by what amounted to rats with rifles, I didn’t blame them.
Over at Goro’s table, I heard him comparing his fish to a worthy foe slain in battle. That seemed like a stretch to me, but I’d once heard Spensa muttering something that sounded a lot like “fear the wrath of my very soft socks” on requisition day, so she probably would have approved.
FM poked at her own fish, then took a bite. “This is delicious.” “Eh,” Nedd said, settling down cross-legged on the sand by Kimmalyn. “It’s a little fishy.” FM blinked at him. “It is literally fish.” “Right,” Nedd said. “But…fishy fish.” “Totally,” Catnip said. “I hate it when my food adjectives its own noun.” “Exactly,” Nedd said.
“Copy, Jerkface. What is our strategy?” Scud, we needed one of those.
Spensa flies among the stars, Gran-Gran said. But you build things up from the ground. She is a warrior, and you are a defender. It’s a different kind of story.
“Like the Saint says,” Kimmalyn said, “if you don’t have anything to say, you might scare your flightleader into thinking you’re dead.”
a commander who shuffles off the hard choices is no commander at all.”
