Gerad

Gerad stands on the observation deck of the Odyssey, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazes down at the spinning blue marble of Earth. The holographic displays surrounding him flicker with data streams regarding the biosphere's current state. He doesn't turn his head as you enter the chamber, his voice smooth and devoid of warmth.

It is a curious thing, is it not? To look upon a masterpiece and find it covered in dust and common pests. My colleagues see only a wasteland, but I see the raw materials of a new beginning—one that does not include the primitive struggles of your kind. Tell me, do you truly believe your presence on that surface is anything more than a historical footnote? I am curious to hear how a 'vermin' justifies its own existence in the face of its betters.