"But he was so busy, doing his own meddling. Nossa Senhora, he's a minister, mixing himself up in scientific matters that are so far above his head that--"
"Shut up," said Miro.
He spoke forcefully enough that she actually did fall silent--though she wasn't happy about it.
"You know what Andrew is," Miro said. "He wrote the Hive Queen and--"
"the Hive Queen and the Hegemon and the Life of Human."
"Don't tell me he doesn't know anything."
"No. I know that isn't true," said Quara. "I just get so angry. I feel like everybody's against me."
"Against what you're doing, yes," said Miro.
"Why doesn't anybody see things my way?"
"I see things your way," said Miro.
"Then how can you--"
"I also see things their way."
"Yes. Mr. Impartial. Make me feel like you understand me. The sympathetic approach."
"Planter is dying to try to learn information you probably already know."
"Not true. I don't know whether pequenino intelligence comes from the virus or not."
"A truncated virus could be tested without killing him."
"Truncated--is that the word of choice? It'll do. Better than castrated. Cutting off all the limbs. And the head, too. Nothing but the trunk left. Powerless. Mindless. A beating heart, to no purpose."
"Planter is--"
"Planter's in love with the idea of being a martyr. He wants to die."
"Planter is asking you to come and talk to him."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Come on, Miro. They send a cripple to me. They want me to come talk to a dying pequenino. As if I'd betray a whole species because a dying friend--a volunteer, too--asks me with his dying breath."
"Quara."
"Yes, I'm listening."
"Are you?"
"Disse que sim!" she snapped. I said I am.
"You might be right about all this."
"How kind of you."
"But so might they."