Children of Memory (Children of Time, #3)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

You used the threat of them to weld your community together. You defined us by not being them. And to do that, you needed to define them between you, reviling them, and making effigies to hang up and all the rest of the circus.

We seek for every possibility of life and sentience, because the universe is vast and cold and mostly empty, and variance from that void is to be treasured.

Among us.