A tear, doctor

Cowards and faint-hearted runaways look for orations when the foe is near, I thought, quoting that first Marlowe, that ancient poet whose name and devil sign my ancestors had taken for their own. Cowards negotiate when the fighting is thickest. They retreat into terror and call it principle.

His Imperial Radiance, the Emperor William XXIII of the House Avent, Firstborn Son of the Earth; Guardian of the Solar System; King of Avalon; Lord Sovereign of the Kingdom of Windsor-in-Exile; Prince Imperator of the Arms of Orion, of Sagittarius, of Perseus, and Centaurus; Primarch of Orion; Conqueror of Norma; Grand Strategos of

Barbarian . . .” she said, and there was not the faintest trace of scorn in the old insult. “You idiot . . . I . . . how?”