Ensign Flandry.
Lieutenant (j.g.) Sergei Karamzin to Ensign Dominic Flandry:
Ensign Flandry.
Lieutenant (j.g.) Sergei Karamzin to Ensign Dominic Flandry:
Ensign Flandry, CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
"...the ship boomed and shuddered. She had fired a missile salvo: the monster missiles which nothing smaller than a battleship could carry, which had their own hyperdrives and phase-in computers." (p. 175)
"When such speeds, masses, intensities met, robots took over. Missile raced at missile; computer matched wits with computer in the weird dance of phasing." (p. 176)
"The other missiles must have been avoided or parried, and by now were destroying themselves lest they become threats to navigation. Max Abrams would have called that rule a hopeful sign." (p. 178)
Abrams finds hope in self-destroying missiles! Would all that wealth and technology really be invested in destruction? Think how much it could accomplish if invested in life. There would be nothing material left to fight over and I do think that, in those circumstances, people would fight over ideas or beliefs either. Disagree and argue, yes. Fight, no. Imagine: one aberrant individual reading some history learns that there used to be jihads and crusades and tries to persuade his co-religionists to revive the practice... Meanwhile, no one is manufacturing any weapons...
Ranjit Singh, Ensign Flandry, Dragoika and four other gunners survive in the Sabik. Captain Einarsen is definitely dead. We do not know about Lieutenant Karamzin.
Ranjit tugs at his beard: the uncut hair of a Sikh.
Ensign Flandry, CHAPTER SEVENTEEN, p. 171.
In response to Karamzin's inquiry, Flandry tries to describe Starkad:
Ensign Flandry, CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
Karamzin is yet another minor character seen once and never again but he tells us something about the Terran Empire, especially when he says of Dragoika:
"'She's only a xeno.'" (p. 171)
Remember Ensign Quarles' dismissive attitude to xenos.
On Merseia, Flandry had learned that:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. William Shakespeare From The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1
(The image shows Shakespeare's Globe Theatre.)