Oh, I didn’t think we could do it. Not yet. But we’d try. “Die trying” is the proudest human thing.
The loonies who sought a glorious death in battle found it very early on. This rapidly cleared the chain of command of the accumulated fools. The survivors were those who learned to fight dirty, and live, and fight another day, and win, and win, and win, and for whom nothing, not comfort, or security, not family or friends or their immortal souls, was more important than winning. Dead men are losers by definition.
Ender Wiggin isn’t a killer. He just wins—thoroughly.
You win again, gravity.
“A strange game. The only winning move is not to play. How about a nice game of chess?”
"I’ve known people who play chess like this. They can’t think their way to a checkmate, so they spend their time trying to clear the board of the little pieces. This eventually reduces the game to a simplicity they can grasp, and they’re happy. The perfect war is a fool’s mate.
In the game of chess, you can never let your adversary see your pieces.
Have I ever mentioned you play an irritating game of chess, Mr. Spock?
Like games, right Lou? This one’s my favorite, just you versus the wheel. And the house always wins.
They say Nero fiddled while Rome burned; Taylor ’ s problem was to play games while his executioner burned…
She felt the terrible effort with which the swaying armsman fought off the collapse of his abused body, and his face was a mask of blood and hate as he stared at Reverend Hanks’ murderer. He drew his pulser with the slow, dreadful precision of an executioner while the killer sobbed and rocked on his knees. The weapon rose and steadied, aimed at a head less than three meters from it, and Candless’s trigger finger began to tighten.
My portal gun was hacked remotely Morty, obviously by the real killer to frame me.
By taking the key, you have accepted the Artifact of the Lost Portal Quest. Any sentient life who holds this key holds access to the burden of awareness. Your access must be earned.
Blueshell slowly untwisted , the fronds relaxing and patting back at his mate. Finally he said. “Very well . . . . One quest. But mark you! Never another.”
He, on the other hand, felt exuberant. He’d finally realized what was going on. The most wildly improbable fantasy, come true to life!
The classic, in fact. Young hero, sent out on a quest to slay the dragon in order to rescue the princess. Well, very young queen. Close enough.
The traditional reward for which deed of derring-do was well-established. Hallowed, even.
They just gave you the device as a reward for saving them from the Goa’uld?
Too late, he recalled Miles’s dictum that the reward for a job well done was usually a harder job.
“And this,” Berry continued, “is Dr. Web Du Havel, my prime minister. While Thandi takes care of the military, Web is in charge of sorting me out.” The teenaged Queen smiled mischievously. “I’m never sure which of them has the harder job, when it comes down to it.”
The President in particular is very much a figurehead — he wields no real power whatsoever. He is apparently chosen by the government, but the qualities he is required to display are not those of leadership but those of finely judged outrage. For this reason the President is always a controversial choice, always an infuriating but fascinating character. His job is not to wield power but to draw attention away from it. On those criteria Zaphod Beeblebrox is one of the most successful Presidents the Galaxy has ever had — he has already spent two of his ten presidential years in prison for fraud.
If only the President hadn’t tried to dodge, he would have been all right. As it was, the toe of her jackboot caught him in the groin with perfect unplanned accuracy. His mouth made a soundless “O” and he went down behind the rostrum.