"They lit us up! Missiles incoming! Six count, closing, dead astern!" <br/k> "Back-trace the missile lock and feed it to the computer for counter-fir… - Matthew Stover

I don't have to be a hero, he thought in silent wonder. All I have to do is pretend.

He had no idea what he should do now. Without destiny to guide him, he was lost in a vast, whistling darkness. Any direction he might choose was purely abitary; it would make no more sense, offer no more hope, than would sitting still. Which offered neither sense nor hope at all.

Mace stared at the man as though he'd never seen him before. And he hadn't: only now, finally, was he seeing him. An undistinguished little man: soft face and uncertain voice, shaky hands and allergies: an undistinguished little man who must have had resources of toughness that Mace could barely imagine.