My Queen and I could communicate.
Her people were not capable of speech. Instead they communicated through telepathic signals. This did not, however, make them easy to communicate with. These signals did not take the form of words or even images, but thoughts. At first, I had trouble distinguishing these thoughts from my own. My Queen telling me to follow her took the form of a sudden notion to follow her, and I was left wondering why I felt the impulse to do so. In time, I learned to distinguish which thoughts were being projected, but that did not always make them easy to interpret. More in-depth conversations meant more complex chains of ideas and emotions that often became difficult to follow.
I also had the disadvantage of the limits of my human brain. The aliens could project their thoughts to each other, and would converse by taking turns projecting back and forth much in the way we talk. However, I lacked this ability, so to “hear” me they had to remain in constant contact with my mind. This was a tiring way for them to have conversations, and apparently quickly led to headaches. Furthermore, to initiate conversation, I had to get their attention in some way, usually by tugging on a tendril or waving my arms.
My Queen was unbothered by these limitations. In fact, she was both surprised and delighted that I could communicate with her at all. With endless patience, she showed me how to sort through long chains of thoughts, helped me correct misunderstandings, and taught me how to organize my thoughts in a way her people could understand. While most of her servants would only have short exchanges with me, she and I would have lengthy conversations, silently communicating for hours at a time.
I’m not sure when I began to love her. It wasn’t during the fog of terror that was my first few days on board the Regency Monitor. It wasn’t when, emboldened by my desire to help the animals, I made one of my first successful attempts at communication by demanding better conditions. It wasn’t even when I discovered how warm and comfortable the tight embrace of her tendrils was. But after a time, I realized I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight than her many piercing eyes, or a more pleasant sensation than the feeling of brushing my lips across her softly ribbed carapace.
Most of her servants had a scent which resembled cedar. It was pleasant enough, but it didn’t begin to compare to my Queen’s aroma. It was like a type of floral incense. It was the smell of comfort and safety. It was at once exciting and relaxing, authoritative and loving. I suspected that perfumes were like clothes to the aliens. The cedar scent was a military uniform, and my Queen’s incense was royal garb.
The Normalcy agent who managed my return told me that she had exerted a mental influence over me, making me believe that I loved her. But I knew that was a lie. Her thoughts couldn’t really control me; it was only before I had gotten used to them that I had been unable to distinguish them from my own.
He showed me a grainy photo of one of her soldiers, raising his voice as he demanded “Look at this monster. How could you touch it? How could you let it touch you? It’s disgusting.”
I felt pity for him. He reminded me of myself when I had first arrived and been horrified by the aliens. Now, however, comparing the photo with the hair-covered, stiff limbed, small eyed creature before me, I couldn’t imagine how I had ever considered the aliens less beautiful than humans.
