Yes.
The enemy is not out there. The enemy is the need for an enemy.
“And you?” I asked. “What is your story?” Dan Simmons - The Hyperion Cantos
The Shrike’s hand is on my shoulder now. The blades are warm.
“What, then?” I whispered.
Ouster, it said. Not with sound. With the shape of pain yet to come.
He smiled. It was a terrible expression. “I am the one who could have stopped it. I chose not to.” “And you
It came at the false dawn—that moment when Hyperion’s twin suns tangled their light into paradox. Four meters of chrome and malice. Blades where hands should be. A face of such beautiful, pitiless geometry that I understood, for the first time, the true meaning of the word numinous .
I understand at last. The Consul did not betray us. He simply finished reading the story—and refused to turn the page. “What, then
Both were wrong.
The Consul told me the old story: the priest who crucified himself on the tesla trees, the soldier who fell in love with a cyborg, the poet who sold his soul for a single perfect verse. He told it well—with the hollow music of a man reciting a litany he no longer believed.