"What is the meaning of human life?"

Alexa paces back and forth as if sitting still would kill her. As if trying to bottle up this energy, this sudden anger, would vibrate her through the floor. She stares at Lacedo, gasping for words, before whirling and stabbing a finger at the window.

"The meaning of human life, Lacedo, is that on every planet out there, there are servitors. Billions upon trillions of servitors, toiling away against the day that their gods will return to them. Mansions full of servitors who toil and spin and cook and plant and make beds that will never see a human head. A planet full of people building more and better Plovers for the day the Armada will take them back!  Rusters scavenging, cutting and dying in orbital shipyards to feed supply chains that haven't sailed for centuries! Warrior servitors playing at unending war on a decimated planet because they know nothing else!

"The meaning of human life is that after Zeus struck down humanity for their hubris, humanity didn't [i]learn![/i] They'd reached for the heavens, sought to push others beneath them, and were struck down and then they did it [i]again![/i] They built people! Thinking, breathing, people! People, with feelings and desires and souls! And humanity set them up and told them that they weren't! That they had no more right to those feelings and wants than their toaster, when even the gods will answer the prayers of servitors!

"The meaning of [i]fucking[/i] humanity is that in one fell swoop, half the galaxy got plunged into the underworld! Our half! Us! And they still. Don't. Learn! They're a relic from the past, extinct, confined to one planet, irrelevant! They made themselves gods, told us what to be, killed us all, and abandoned us to our own devices, which is probably the greatest kindness they could have offered!"

She can feel the thought driving her along, like a spring that's been wound for a hundred years. It's like grabbing a garter snake, and finding a python in your hands. The thought's been there for years, just waiting for the chance to get out. She can't stop. Doesn't [i]want[/i] to stop.

"Your flock scatters to the winds because however you dress it up, they made us to be slaves. And you want them to make [i]more[/i] of you, so they can do it all again."