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Isabella shrugs. "How do you reckon it?"

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"They use, oh, interfertility and such. You literally cannot maintain a population of only angels and no humans naturally. A species is...a population that freely and fertilely interbreeds, I think. At least the most recent time it was defined, scientists sometimes redefine things."

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"Then yes, of course under that definition we qualify - except that you can maintain a population of all mortals and no angels perfectly well, but perhaps that doesn't matter?"

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"No, that part was just for emphasis, not part of the definition. You could maintain populations of only people who had brown eyes or blue eyes perfectly well but that doesn't make them separate species."

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"I see."

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"Still, that answers a lot of my questions. And it looks like the bloodwork was directly done by other humans, which would explain why the design is imperfect like that."

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"...Excuse me?"

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"The original people who came to live on Samaria were humans. They created the angel gene--genes are what they call the blood thing."

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"It is generally understood that Jovah created angels."
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"And he couldn't have done it by telling the humans to make an angel gene?"

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"It is not quite specific, but it is - I don't have the passage memorized. If there were a Librera -"

I can loan you a Librera.

"Oh, thank you."

Isabella flips through the provided volume. "...The language is unclear on the exact method but does not leave room to assume that Jovah performed the office indirectly through mortals."
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"Hm. Maybe I'm getting interference and misinterpreting things."
Heylel does not believe this one bit, but manages to keep this out of her tone.
"At any rate,even if the humans didn't create the angel gene, then they definitely had plenty of warning for the first angel babies. You were...expected is the best word I can think of."
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"Oh, yes, we were not intended to be a surprise."

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"And--"
She makes a face.
"Who thinks it's a good idea to destroy a planet as a result of not putting on a concert?"
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Isabella winces delicately. "You're reading the Librera with magic or something, aren't you? The answer's in it. Our ancestors came from a place of desperate violence and watched their neighbors fail at lesser compromises with similar stakes and did not want the same to happen to their descendants. If we cannot even put on a concert, we have failed, is the idea. There are warning shots. One year one of them was invoked deliberately."

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"No, I'm still looking over what could be extrapolated from you personally. I probably should read your holy book with--I'm not personally offended, but it's generally considered incorrect to refer to power directly from God as magic." She places one hand on the book, mostly for show, and says, "I'm still not convinced that's a good idea. Some kind of noticeable penalty, sure, but the entire planet? Surely a bunch of squabbling factions would be superior to everyone dead." She looks deeply disturbed.

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"How can you derive from me, without reading my mind, that the thunderbolts will fall if we do not hold a Gloria?"

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"Because any object contains in itself an imprint of the world. You were formed by thousands of millions of billions of trillions of tiny coincidences and chances and decisions and actions and if any one of those things had been different you would not stand before me in the precise form you do today. I can tell from the shape of your skull what evolutionary pressures produced your ancientest ancestors, and I can tell from the precise tears in the keratin how you cut your hair and nails. When I look closer--at the position of microscopic dust particles on your clothes--I can tell the wind patterns that deposited them there. I do not read this information automatically from everyone because even my mind couldn't hold it all. What I did when I looked at you was that my God within me took in all that you are and gave me the information about how you became that way relevant to what I was looking for. The information is less perfectly complete than it could be because we weren't looking at anything in your brain proper, but that doesn't change the fact that it's possible to tell things like what you had for lunch when you were five by the composition of a tiny piece of the material in your leg bone."

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"You were not complete about the nature of this scan even after it was clear I value my privacy and I want you to stop at once."

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"It only happened once, it's not an ongoing process. And 'it's possible to tell' isn't the same as 'we checked.' I have no idea what you had for lunch when you were five. I don't know anything about you at all, really, beside what you've chosen to tell me and what I can guess from what I've seen of your culture. I apologize if I misrepresented my capabilities to you. It wasn't my intention, but I sometimes forget what other people don't know or understand."

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"If there is ever a time to be particularly cautious about what others understand it is probably in an interdimensional bar. What did you even check to determine the bit about the Gloria, if you're determining it from what's rubbed off on my skin and the flecks of color in my eyes, what other information did you learn and not happen to find conversationally interesting?"

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"Basic history of your world, mostly. The amount of time between when you are in your world and when we are in ours. How much of what kind of light your sun puts out. The salinity of your oceans. Most of what I got to determine the Gloria bit came from the precise location of various particles in your inner ear.
But you know what, I was a terrible choice to come talk to people in an interdimensional bar."
"I'm sorry--"
"This is not your fault, Anna. I should have realized the moment the door closed that I needed to swap out immediately for one of my siblings one of whose most defining traits isn't makes poor life choices because they didn't think things through."
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Isabella grits her teeth and doesn't comment, just holds her wings close to herself and looks away.

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"I don't know anything about you you haven't chosen to share," Heylel says quietly. "And I'm not picking anything up now. But--yes, I've massively screwed up, and if I had done so just a bit more massively it would have been an immense invasion of privacy. I'm sorry. I'll go now."

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"I apologize for my outburst," murmurs Isabella.

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