“What makes us the strongest tribe on the continent is the fact that a group that opposes these values--a group that would have mankind remain in the new dark ages--is permitted to grow, permitted to exist...and, after it becomes a violent terrorist organization, is allowed to live on it own lands, taken out of the lands of those it has attacked and continues to attack!" He had to stop speaking then--the applause was louder than even his amplified voice. "They expect that fear will drive us to become like them...closed-minded, blind, angry. Our society will remain open and free so long as I am standing upright," he continued, once the applause died down.”

“Far more powerful than religion, far more powerful than money, or even land or violence, are symbols. Symbols are stories. Symbols are pictures, or items, or ideas that represent something else. Human beings attach such meaning and importance to symbols that they can inspire hope, stand in for gods, or convince someone that he or she is dying. These symbols are everywhere around you.”

“Why didn't you go with your parents?" I shouted at Michael."Because I knew they were all right!" he shouted back, fixing his eyes on me. "I wasn't so sure about you! I couldn't call on you after your arrest. All I could do was vouch for you."I blinked. "You vouched for me?" New Victorians charged with crimes could get out of paying bail or remaining imprisoned if they had someone powerful and aristocratic enough to speak on their behalf."Yes! Didn't you parents tell you? I met them at the courthouse the day your counsel summoned them."I shook my head, and committed a note to memory: If parents survive, kill them.”

“Issy, nobody invited you along. You don't get a vote. Mostly becuae you're an idiot.""A total idiot," he said. "Look, right now I am completely in agreement with you. I am an idiot of legendary proportions. But I'm an idiot who wants to live, thank you. Besides, you told Nora we'd wait right here! What if he can't find us?""The idiot has a point," Michael allowed.”

“I mean, I don't even like guys with light hair, for one thing! Never mind the fact that he'd knock me into a coma every time he opened his mouth. Oh, and that he's a hateful, violent half-wit. Yeah, that's prime courtship material right there."It wasn't me. YES!Wait. Was this that Allister fellow?I drifted over and sat next to her. She looked at me and offered the com unit. "Bram, tell Pamma that there's no way I would want Michael Allister, ever."I ran this through my "girl talk" translator and said, "I could eat him, if either of you'd like. Seems like it might be the easiest thing to do.”

“I had my father again.I had Bram back. We were a newly fashioned crew of soldiers and inventors and cheeky teenagers, armed with an airship and plenty or guns. We could, in theory, pack it all in if we wanted to, and strike out for part unknown. Colonize some little forgotten island, somewhere, and continue our adventures. Live generously; die gloriously.”

“Michael gave her the five-sentence rundown. "A fluid-borne disease made the dead come back to life. They like to attack the living. There are hundreds of them out there. The only way to kill them is to get them in the head with a weapon. There's a good chance we're all going to die."Vespertine was quiet for a moment before saying, with her usual coolness, "That will be engraved on a plaque someday, sir.I vote you Poet Laureate of the Undebuted Set.”