“I don’t know anything about who owns this planet,” Cainen said.
“And what’s even more interesting is you, Administrator Cainen,” Sagan said, ignoring Cainen’s comment. “While you were sleeping we did a gene scan on you to tell us who you are, then we accessed ship’s records to learn a little of your history. We know one of your primary areas of xenobiological interest is humans. You’re probably the Rraey’s leading authority on human genetics. And we know you’ve also got a particular interest in how human brains work.”
“It’s part of my overall interest in neural nets,” Cainen said. “I’m not particularly interested in human brains, as you say. All brains are interesting in their way.”
“If you say so,” Sagan said. “But whatever it was you were doing down there, it was important enough that the Eneshans would rather see you and your crew dead than in our hands.”
“I told you,” Cainen said. “We were their prisoners.”
Sagan rolled her eyes. “For a minute, let’s pretend we’re both not stupid, Administrator Cainen,” she said.
Cainen moved forward, leaning closer to Sagan from across the table. “What kind of human are you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” Sagan said.
“We know there are three kinds of human,” Cainen said, and held up his fingers, so much longer and more articulated than human fingers, to count off the variations. “There are the unmodified humans, who are the ones who colonize planets. Those come in varying shapes and sizes and colors—good genetic diversity there. The second group is the largest part of your soldier caste. These also vary in size and shape, but to a far lesser extent, and they’re all the same color: green. We know that these soldiers aren’t in their original bodies—their consciousness is transferred from bodies of older members of your species to these stronger, healthier bodies. These bodies are extensively genetically altered, so much that they can’t breed, either between themselves or with unmodified humans. But they’re still recognizably human, particularly the brain matter.
“But the third group,” Cainen said, and leaned back. “We hear stories, Lieutenant Sagan.”
“What do you hear?” Sagan said.
“That they are created from the dead,” Cainen said. “That the human germ plasm of the dead is mixed and remixed with the genetics of other species to see what will arise. That some of them don’t even resemble humans, as they recognize themselves. That they are born as adults, with skills and ability, but no memory. And not only no memory. No self. No morality. No restraint. No—” He paused, as if looking for the right word. “No humanity,” he said, finally. “As you would put it. Child warriors, in grown bodies. Abominations. Monsters. Tools your Colonial Union uses for the missions they can not or will not offer to soldiers who have life experience and a moral self, or who might fear for their soul in this world or the next.”
“A scientist concerned about souls,” Sagan said. “That’s not very pragmatic.”
“I am a scientist, but I am also Rraey,” Cainen said. “I know I have a soul, and I tend to it. Do you have a soul, Lieutenant Sagan?”
“Not that I know of, Administrator Cainen,” Sagan said. “They are hard to quantify.”
“So you are the third kind of human,” Cainen said.
“I am,” Sagan said.
“Built from the flesh of the dead,” Cainen said.
“From her genes,” Sagan said. “Not her flesh.”
“Genes build the flesh, Lieutenant. Genes dream the flesh, wherein the soul resides,” Cainen said.
“Now you’re a poet,” Sagan said.
“I’m quoting,” Cainen said. “One of our philosophers. Who was also a scientist. You wouldn’t know her. May I ask how old you are?”
“I’m seven, almost eight,” Sagan said. “About four and a half of your hked.”
“So young,” Cainen said. “Rraey of your age have barely started their educations. I’m more than ten times your age, Lieutenant.”
“And yet, here we both are,” Sagan said.
“Here we are,” Cainen agreed. “I wish we had met under other circumstances, Lieutenant. I would very much like to study you.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” Sagan said. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t seem appropriate, considering what being studied by you would probably mean.”
“You could be kept alive,” Cainen said.
“Oh, joy,” Sagan said. “But you might get your wish, after a fashion. You must know by now that you are a prisoner—for real this time, and you will be for the rest of your life.”
“I figured that out when you started telling me things I could report back to my government,” Cainen said. “Like the rock trick. Although I assumed you were going to kill me.”