that place. No where-being. All hungry for whereness. All thirsty for pattern. All lonely for selfness.>
"And you say that we're made of the same things?"
"But you said that finding me was like making a Hive Queen."
"The Fantasy Game," said Ender. "You made a pattern out of the Fantasy Game."
"And when you called ..."
"But when a philote takes possession of a new Hive Queen, it controls it, queen-body and worker-bodies. Why didn't this bridge you made take control of me?"
"Why didn't it work?"
"But you could still use it to read my mind."
"More complicated than you expected?"
"But we didn't know that. How could we know?"
"Too bad. Terrifying brilliance would be useful right now."
"We humans get slower as we age. Give me a few more years and I'll be downright cozy."
Ender didn't want this to become another conversation about mortality or any of the other aspects of human life that so fascinated the Hive Queen. There was still one question that had occurred to him during the Hive Queen's story. An intriguing possibility.
"The bridge you made. Where was it? In the computer?"
"But not part of me."
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