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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave Human rights is a numbers game. Who is going to care if only 20 people pitch for a protest? - Quote by Christina Engela

Human rights is a numbers game. Who is going to care if only 20 people pitch for a protest?

Christina Engela
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Tracey hurriedly shut the door behind her to prevent the flames that had been licking hungrily at her caboose all the way down the corridor, from following her inside. Then, almost falling into one of the gravity couches, she hurriedly strapped herself into it before punching the emergency release. She hoped the escape system still worked. It did. The explosive dead-bolts fired, shaking the pod loose, dislodging it from the rapidly disintegrating wreck, just about shaking the crap out of her on its bone-jarring way into the great wide open.
Christina Engela
Swallowing, he entered the second code. Then there was a sound like a marble dropping on the floor - bouncing slowly, gradually getting faster as it dropped lower and lower… The thing was toying with him! Where was it? He strained his hearing, but all was again silent. He wanted to shout and scream obscenities at it, but he fought the impulse. It might not really know his location after all - and that would've led it right to him. It must be coming for him! It must be by the door by now, looking for a way in. Time was running out. He hastily keyed in the third and last code.Death the destroyer never is late!
Christina Engela
•tScientific and medical studies, research or evidence is either distorted and misrepresented, or disputed or outright ignored by opponents whose views are threatened by the facts, in public shows of articles, statements, websites and even legislation. Scientific facts are ignored or dismissed as being ‘a liberal agenda’ or ‘merely propaganda’.
Christina Engela
Attention, aboard the shuttle! You are under arrest! Surrender immediately! Come out slowly, in single file, with your hands behind your heads! Leave all weapons behind. Comply and your lives will be spared!
Christina Engela
This was his first trip on the Ossifar Distana, his first real splash in life. Look what it got him. Mister Smiff liked anonymity. He kept a low profile, often traveling under assumed names, claiming to be anything from a banker to a (very) successful life insurance salesman. He’d never broken the law, at least not irreparably. He was quite generous, well liked, sponsoring many charities anonymously – which is why it was so surprising to find him floating face down in the private spa in his apartment, murdered. He had been murdered, unless it was a freak shaving accident. Those old razors weren’t called cut-throats for nothing. Yikes.
Christina Engela
Life as a private investigator, slash bounty hunter wasn’t all Gary Beck wanted it to be. There weren’t any big mansions on a palm beach owned by an affluent writer generous enough to let him live rent-free and use his spare Ferrari. But then you have to ask yourself, what could you expect living on a planet like Deanna? As a third-rate colony in the Terran Empire, Deanna had more than its fair share of dull moments. It orbits a star called Ramalama. If you think that’s funny, Deanna’s two moons are called Ding and Dong, respectively (this is a local joke) and one of them falls down occasionally.
Christina Engela
Nothing unusual was noted during the voyage, in fact everything ran smoothly until Security alerted Biscay about the stiff in cabin 407. Nobody heard or saw anything suspicious. None of the passengers were missing or acting suspiciously. No airlock doors were opened or any transports allowed since their last stop four days prior. There were no notorious names on the passenger list, nor any unsavory persons among the ranks of his crew. In fact, the ship’s commander had never even seen a dead body in real – um, life before. And yet, almost magically, there it was.
Christina Engela
Same time as every day, Fyl..." she fussed, the rest of the bridge crew seeming to hold their breaths. "TWELVE THIRTY!" came the chorus. The next hour dragged by, in about the same way as the hour before that. At twelve twenty-five, Commander Ortez found himself stepping out of an elevator into an equally mundane grey steel corridor on his way to the mess hall. Turning a corner, he met with a stream of crewmen milling around between shifts. Some off-duty personnel were lounging around in civvies, which consisted mostly of re-revamped 60's hippy fashions. Of all the places on the ship, the mess was the most spacious, (i.e.: it was a big mess.) The command officer’s balcony overhung the rest of the crew dining area. Ortez sat at his usual place, wincing as he remembered to get someone to fix the springs in his chair. An ensign, 3rd class dressed in chef’s white, served him with a plate of what either ended up feeding the chefs latest pet - or strangling it. Marnetti, Barnum and the sciences officer Commander Jaris Skotchdopole filed in, not necessarily in that order, and found seats. After a few bites, Marnetti -- who was the first officer and navigator, put up a hand and signalled a waiter. The lad approached fearfully, appreciating the highlight of his day.
Christina Engela
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