Honor Harrington watched him over the sights of her pistol. She saw the hate on his face, the terrible realization of what had happened, the venomous determination as his pistol wavered up centimeter by agonized centimeter. It was coming up, rising toward firing position while he snarled at her, and there was no emotion at all in her brown eyes as her fifth bullet smashed squarely through the bridge of his nose.
It was self-defense, Mom.
Zapp : My God, we’re defenseless… like fish in a barrel!
Richard Nixon’s head : Options?
Zapp : My instinct is to hide in this barrel like the wily fish.
Which one of you disrespectful men been tossing his dirty drawers in the kitchen trash can, huh? From now, I want my kitchen clean, all right? Germ free!
If he could not clean up this mess by the end of the weekend, it could blow up in his face. His experiments would never reach completion.