So, finally, two groups. One content to be trustful. And the other a fitful, restless clan, awakening sporadically, trusting to chance alone, which, by its laws, would insure that many of them were awake when the path drifted back. The Insurgents.
So, as well, two basic kinds of chrysalids. The human kind, and the others. Wolves, bears, tigers. Bats, seals—every kind of living thing, except the human. The Insurgent kind.
And so the struggle began. It was a natural outgrowth of the fundamental conflict. Which side had tried to over-power the first chrysalis? Who first enslaved another man? he thought, and half-snarled.
That, too, was unimportant now. For the seed had been planted. The thought was there. Those who are awake can place those who sleep under obligation. Control the chrysalids, and you control the sleepers within. But chrysalids endure for one generation, and then the sleepers pass on.
What then? Simplicity. Group your chrysalids. Segregate them. Set up pens for them, mark them off, and do it so the walls and fences endure through long years.
This is my country. All men are brothers, but stay on your side of the line, brother.
Sorry, brother—you've got a funny shape to your nose. You just go live in that nice, walled-off part of my city, huh, brother?
Be a good fellow, brother. Just move to the back of the bus, or I'll lynch you, brother.
And the chrysali die, the sleepers transfer—into another chrysalis in the same pen. SPQR. Vive, Napoleon! Sieg Heil!