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There was no answer from the terminal.
"May all the gods forgive me," said Father. "I was weak in the moment when I should have been strong, and so my daughter has innocently done evil in my name." He shuddered. "I must-- purify myself." The word plainly tasted like poison in his mouth. "That will last forever, too, I'm sure."
He stepped back from the computer, turned away, and left the room. Wang-mu returned to her crying. Stupid, meaningless crying, thought Qingjao. This is a moment of victory. Except Jane has snatched the victory away from me so that even as I triumph over her, she triumphs over me. She has stolen my father. He no longer serves the gods in his heart, even as he continues to serve them with his body.
Yet along with the pain of this realization came a hot stab of joy: I was stronger. I was stronger than Father, after all. When it came to the test, it was I who served the gods, and he who broke, who fell, who failed. There is more to me than I ever dreamed of. I am a worthy tool in the hands of the gods; who knows how they might wield me now?
Chapter 12 -- GREGO'S WAR
<It's a wonder that human beings ever became intelligent enough to travel between worlds.>
<Not really. I've been thinking about that lately. Starflight they learned from you. Ender says they didn't grasp the physics of it until your first colony fleet reached their star system.>
<Should we have stayed at home for fear of teaching starflight to softbodied four-limbed hairless slugs?>
<You spoke a moment ago as if you believed that human beings had actually achieved intelligence.>
<Clearly they have.>
<I think not. I think they have found a way to take intelligence.>
<Their starships fly. We haven't noticed any of yours racing the lightwaves through space.>
<We're still very young, as a species. But look at us. Look at you. We both have evolved a very similar system. We each have four kinds of life in our species. The young, who are helpless grubs. The mates, who never achieve intelligence-- with you, it's your drones, and with us, it's the little mothers. Then there's the many, many individuals who have enough intelligence to perform manual tasks-- our wives and brothers, your workers. And finally the intelligent ones-- we fathertrees, and