The Council of Seven

“I believe they should stand upright and walk with a distinguished gait,” says one of the forces, all of them seated around a large table.

“I believe they should be decisive and self-serving,” says another, leaning back, clasping their hands behind its head.

“Though I feel some should be less decisive—submissive even,” returns the first.

“There then should be two separate, distinct types.”

“Of course, combining some of both types into one—on occasion—would be very entertaining,” comments the outlier.

The council frowns upon its suggestion.

“One type should be the stronger with a primitive desire,” suggests another of the force.

“Which ‘primitive desire?’”

“A chemical release of gratification,” suggests the wisest of them.

“And the other type?” asks one who had yet to join the conversation.

“Cunning. Knowledgeable as to this desire the other has.”

“The cunning one. What shall it be that they desire?”

“To be like the other type.”

“Ah— That is very good,” affirms the eldest.

“And what of their weaknesses? The ones that will seek gratification?” “The form of the other. It’s physical attributes. Triggering curves at certain parts of the body. There will be a hormonal release, prompting for the one species to pursue the other.”

Grumbles of agreement circle the table. “Any weaknesses to the other?” “None. Through their cunning, they will be able to make the other species believe anything.”

“So, they will lie?”

“Near always.”

“The table of seven becomes silent for a period until the lead entity finally asks, “And so, have we finished?”

“All except for the namesake.”

“What shall we call them?”

“Humans.”