“A few words before we attack,” Surplus said. “I know that I can trust you all to be terrifying…”
“Yasss!” his mountain horse said.
“Be quiet, Buttercup. However, please remember to only knock down things that are not difficult to repair – porches are fine; pottery is not.”
“We’re just starting to put it all together,” Mayhew went on in that same wretched tone, “but Security got several assassins alive, mainly thanks to your treecat. Aside from the first one he attacked, he seems to have settled for blinding his opponents. I’m afraid only one of the ones you hit survived.”
“I am friendly with trouble,” Snarl purred.
Before they went into warp, I transported the whole kit ‘n’ caboodle into their engine room, where they’ll be no tribble at all.
There was no hyperdrive in the hyperdrive motor housing.
I never knew that missin somebody could hurt, I says. But it does. Deep inside. Like it’s in my bones. We ain’t never bin apart till now. Never. I dunno how to be without him. It’s like… I ain’t nuthin.
I hesitate to take pen in hand and write you because I guess you do not remember me except maybe as a punk kid you did a good turn, and I know you must be a busy man running your undertaking parlor as well as the Third Ward and your barber shop. I never ast no favors of nobody but this is a special case which I hope you will agree when I explain.
“Dear Madame Vorsoisson,” it began. “I am sorry. This is the eleventh draft of this letter. They all begin with those three words, even the horrible version in rhyme, so I guess they stay.”
“Sadly, however, before she could get to a phone to tell anyone about it, a terrible, stupid catastrophe occurred, and the idea was lost for ever. This is not her story.”
“It’s like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.”
“Stories are propaganda, virii that slide past your critical immune system and insert themselves directly into your emotions.”
“Then I suspect that’s the explanation, Honor,” Ramirez said, turning back to her. "They think you are dead, as well as Alistair and anyone else who was with you and could ever dispute their version of what happened. And they damned well wouldn’t want to admit that twenty or thirty POWs broke out of StateSec custody and blew an entire battlecruiser to hell in the process!
“The single most useful trait a survivor can have is probably the ability to get along easily with other men. Or, if you’d rather, women.”
Women. Love 'em. Die for 'em. But never forget, they don’t think like we do. Their priorities are different.
“We have every piece of data on 200 million people,” he said, ticking off his fingers. “We have their bank accounts. We know how much they make and how much they spend and where. We have their social media. We know what they talk about, who they influence and how much. We know exactly how important each and everyone one of them is.”
“Cyber Leader: Daleks, be warned. You have declared war upon the Cybermen.
Dalek Sec: This is not war - this is pest control!
Cyber Leader: We have five million Cybermen. How many are you?
Dalek Sec: Four.
Cyber Leader: You would destroy the Cybermen with four Daleks?
Dalek Sec: We would destroy the Cybermen with one Dalek! You are superior in only one respect.
Cyber Leader: What is that?
Dalek Sec: You are better at dying.”
Alex Rogan: Hold it! There’s no fleet? No Starfighters, no plan? One ship, you, me, and that’s it?
Grig: Exactly! Xur thinks you’re still on Earth. Classic military strategy, surprise attack.
Alex Rogan: It’ll be a slaughter!
Grig: That’s the spirit!
It’s time to stop taking a beating and start dishing them out.
“As Admiral Truman says, we don’t want to kill anyone who doesn’t have to die. But if you’re still prepared to fight your way through this terminus, Fleet Admiral Tsang, then you just bring it on.”
The puppeteer reminded him of a cartoon: Two bearded, dirty convicts hanging three feet off the ground by iron chains. One convict saying, “Now here’s my plan.”