“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.”

“You are the salvation of the human race. That is not nothing.”

“I don’t want that!” she yelled. “I want a life! My life. I want to live in a culture where people respect each other, where we have the liberty to follow whatever goals we can find for ourselves. I want to be free!”