“Humans are a hunted species, Yirella. Sometime, somewhere in this galaxy, we have to stop running and fight back. You have known that it is your destiny, to confront the enemy, from the very beginning. We never withheld that from you. Everything which has followed, everything we have taught you and trained you to do, is designed to give you the greatest chance of success.”
She arched her eyebrow. “Including the cougar?”
“No,” Alexandre said ruefully. “The cougar was a mistake. We didn’t know one was in the area.”
“But the moroxes, they’re not real, are they? They’re just genten remotes.”
“They used to be real,” Alexandre said. “Thousands of years ago in a star system light-years away. A traveler generation starship found a planet with indigenous biological life not dissimilar to terrestrial evolution, which is always a rare and wonderful surprise. They stopped and studied the xenobiology for a century before moving on. We replicated the basic morox form in molecular initiators. It provided you with a believable threat.”
“It nearly ripped Dellian’s arm off!”
“No, it never did that. They were deep scratches, that’s all. Plenty of blood, but no real damage.”
“You scared the living crap out of us to give us
Alexandre sat next to her and reached out to put hir arm around her shoulders. She shook hir off angrily. “Don’t. Not you. You were supposed to be the one we trusted, our almost-parent. You betrayed us.” She wiped her eyes, struggling to hold tears in.
“I would die before I would betray you,” Alexandre said. “I might not be your biological parent, but my love for you is just as strong.”
Yirella shook her head. “No parent would do this. Doesn’t matter what kind.”
“All of us who volunteered to stay behind while our families left for the safety of the generation ships did so willingly, knowing the suffering—
“We’re not your salvation. We’re your slave soldiers,” Yirella spat. “Why did you even birth us? Why not just use genten remotes?”
“Because of you, Yirella,” Alexandre said softly. “You are the reason.”
“What do you mean?”
“A genten is smart, fast, but ultimately has limits—in imagination, in intuition. You don’t. You are human.”
“That’s…stupid. I’m not as clever as a genten. It doesn’t matter how physically large my brain is. I could never match one of them.”
“Not in absolute processing power, no. But like all technology, Turings have plateaued. There is no ‘next level’ for them, no eleventh generation.”
“I’m not a next level of evolution,” she cried. “I’m the opposite. I’m a throwback, a binary human. You wanted us—the boys—for our aggression, for the primitives we are.”
“Yes, we wanted boys for their aggression. Us omnias don’t possess their level of testosterone bellicosity—not permanently, because we cycle. But a constant male gender…that gives them the greatest advantage a human can have in a combat situation. We have to win, Yirella. The enemy will never stop; we know this. They haven’t stopped for thousands of years. We cannot send less than our best against them.”
“Then what do you need me for? I’m not the best of anything.”
“Deep down I think you understand perfectly well why. I know acknowledging what you are is difficult, and for that I am so very sorry. But you are what you are, Yirella: smart. Do you really think a genten would have worked out what was happening at the crash? A genten is not suspicious. Simply asking questions is not the same as possessing curiosity. Curiosity is a human trait, derived from emotion. A genten can analyze its situation and environment, but to believe what it experiences is fraudulent without prior knowledge—no. That was you. You worked it out, and not just because you were clever, but because you had feelings. To make the decisions you will be making…That is another flaw a genten cannot compensate for. You see, once you are out among the stars, face-to-face with the enemy, you will confront the final question—the very human question of trust. If you were to order Dellian and his yearmates into action, they would trust you because they know you would never, ever let them down; that whatever attack plan you come up with, it is the very best a plan can be. A genten’s plan of action might be equally good—possibly better—but there will always exist a tiny fissure of uncertainty in those required to carry it out. In those circumstances, hesitance can mean death. Trust is at the core of human nature, one of our greatest curses—and blessings.”
“You think you’re the pinnacle of sophistication and human culture, but you’re not. You are monsters,” she said coldly. “You bred us poor, backward animals for one purpose. We have no choice; you have taken it away from us. Our life is preordained, controlled by you. We are nothing. You have denied us a soul.”