The three young flexitimers tended to stroll into the office around midday, and then worked Saturdays, often Sundays too. The weekend as a distinct category of the week was irrelevant to them, anachronistic[…]

The Emesene guardsman's blade sparked off the marble.

The man she cherishes, the man she butterfly-kisses, the man she sleeps curved around like two spoons in a drawer. It is he who is evil, he who is sworn to destroy her, an emotional quisling of the first water.

The Atlanta was swinging through her own turn to avoid a collision with the van when the searchlight, probably from the destroyer Akatsuki, lit upon her from abaft the port beam. Captain Jenkins reacted as commanders had been trained in peacetime: Counter-illuminate! he shouted. His gunnery officer, Lieutenant Commander William R. D. Nickelson, Jr., preferred to respond with other hardware. At once he shouted into his headset mike: Fuck that! Open fire!