Science is as corruptible a human activity as any other.
I tested the brackets by hitting them with rocks. This kind of sophistication is what we interplanetary scientists are known for.
His work consisted largely of what the War Department called “intelligence,” the sophisticates, “espionage,” and the romanticists, “spy stuff.” And, unfortunately, despite the frothy shrillness of the televisors, “intelligence,” “espionage,” and “spy stuff” are at best a sordid business of routine betrayed and bad faith.
“Spy’ is such a short ugly word. I prefer ‘espionage.’ Those extra three syllables really say something.”
“I won’t pretend I’m happy to hear about shared skulduggery, hobnobbing, and mutual admiration societies between someone who used to be one of my own spies and someone who’s still currently spying for a star nation I happen to be at war with. But if politics makes strange bedfellows, I suppose it’s only reasonable wars should do the same.”
“And Jasin will have me as consort.”
“Yes, he’s already agreed to that.”
“He tried to have me murdered in prison.”
“He didn’t know you as a person yet.”
sorry – posted a movie quote … too many similar threads, I lost track
-“BB”-
“Well, somebody’s got to marry the man,” the Emperor said.
“You see, Honor, all you have to do is answer one question.”
“One question?”
Honor blinked as her eyes prickled suddenly and unexpectedly. She didn’t even know why—just that the joy inside Emily had reached out and blended with a matching tide of joyous anticipation from Hamish into something so strong, so exuberant and yet so intensely focused on her , that her own emotions literally couldn’t help responding to it.
“Yes,” Emily said softly. “Honor, will you marry Hamish and me?”
You fought with Captain Reynolds in the war?
Fought with a lot of people in the war.
And your husband.
Fight with him sometimes, too.
Is there any particular reason you don’t wish to discuss your marriage?
Don’t see that it’s any of your business, is all. We’re very private people.
But, to tell the truth, a soldier doesn’t notice a war much more than a civilian does, except his own tiny piece of it and that just on the days it is happening.
It’s never a soldier’s business to decide when or where or how–or why–he fights; that belongs to the statesmen and the generals. The statesmen decide why and how much; the generals take it from there and tell us where and when and how. We supply the violence; other people–“older and wiser heads,” as they say–supply the control.
Sometimes you need to exert pressure where it’s most effective, especially in times of war.
But even from the official viewpoint, each atomic engineer while on watch carried not only his own life in his hands, but the lives of many others - how many, it was better not to think about. No pilot, no general, no surgeon ever carried such a daily, inescapable, ever-present weight of responsibility for the lives of other people as these men carried every time they went on watch, every time they touched a vernier screw or read a dial.
“The fewer moving parts, the better."
"Exactly. No truer words were ever spoken in the context of engineering.”
“Moving parts are nothing to be afraid of,” Quemos said. “Here, look at this.” He put something small on the table, much in the manner of a young boy dropping a garter snake in the midst of school girls. Bullard and Hansen crowded around. “Now, take turns,” said Quemos sharply, “and don’t drop it. It’s priceless, I assure you.” The ancient wrist watch with its transparent back was passed from hand to hand.
“Frightening little monster, isn’t it,” Bullard said.
He lifted the tiny metal object from the ground. It was rectangular, the size and shape of a domino. Tiny knobs extended from either end and a third knob from one side. It felt slippery, like a quarter covered with quicksilver, yet it was light as balsa wood. The upper surface was covered with short, silver-colored brushlike wires.
The ball’s metal shell proved to be an unlikely alloy of nickel and aluminum. Cosmic radiation and tiny impacts had left the telltale marks one would expect after a long drifting journey through space. Using tiny lasers, the researchers carefully cut through the metal shell, revealing a diamond interior. Then the diamond heart absorbed a portion of the laser’s energy, and once charged, it powered up its own tiny light show. Fortunately a nanoscopic camera had been inserted into the hole, and the three scientists were able to record what they witnessed—a rush of complex images coupled with an increasingly sophisticated array of symbols.
Devareux also made mention of finding “angel hair” that melted when touched but was so radioactive as to break a Geiger counter, as well as having been shot with lasers coming from the graves in the Jewish Cemetery. As a lapsed Episcopalian, Jasmine might have been vague as to the details of Jewish burials, but felt confident no Goldstein on record had consented to laser turrets atop their dearly departed Uncle Morrie.
You know, I have one simple request, and that is to have sharks with frickin’ laser beams attached to their heads!