Miles got the impression Galeni was rather hoping for death. Bloody kamikaze. Miles knew the fey mood inside out. You could fall in love with that grave-narrow option-it was the enemy of creative strategic thought. It was the enemy, period.
"Schizod or no, not even you can compartmentalize yourself to that extent."
"I am not schizoid," Miles bit off. "A little manic-depressive, maybe," he admitted in afterthought.
Galeni's lips twitched. "Know thyself."
"We try, sir."
"Now there is this about cynicism, sergeant. It's the universe's most supine moral position. Real comfortable. If nothing can be done, then you're not some kind of shit for not doing it, and you can lie there and stink to yourself in perfect peace."