And then there were none by Eric Frank Russell, 1951: Gleed examined it, turning it over and over between his fingers. It was nothing more than an oblong strip

And then there were none by Eric Frank Russell, 1951: Gleed examined it, turning it over and over between his fingers. It was nothing more than an oblong strip of substance resembling ivory. One side was polished and bare. The other bore three letters deeply engraved in bold style: F.—I.W. Glancing up at Baines, his features puzzled, he said, ‘You call this a weapon?’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘Then I don’t get it.’ He passed the plaque to Harrison. ‘Do you?’ ‘No.’ Harrison examined it with care. ‘What does this F.—I.W. mean?’ ‘Initial-slang,’ informed Baines. ‘Made correct by common usage. It has become a worldwide motto. You’ll see it all over the place if you haven’t noticed it already.’ [...] ‘It didn’t mean anything to me.’ ‘It means plenty,’ said Jeff, ‘Freedom-I won’t!’ https://www.abelard.org/e-f-russell.php https://www.abelard.org/e-f-russell.php