“How can we know for certain what the truth is, unless we seek to find it?” an aphid named Quintillion argued. 

She kept her wings respectfully folded as she stood before the Council of Grand Numerators.  But she dared to sweep aside the train of glittering white filaments that plumed from her back, a particular characteristic of her tribe.

“They came out of the primordium, just as we did,” she said.  “They are not beasts.  They are an intelligent species.  They are potential companions.”

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