You briefly contemplate explaining the important visceral, cultural and most unfortunately psychical distinctions between your species and some hypothetical naked apes whose idea of "alien" is forehead putty. You have been the flagship to conquer some legitimately alien societies, ones whose mindsets, biologies and ways of life were so impossibly unlike yours that you would have loved to study them peacefully, and in doing so learn about yourself as much as them. Perhaps this could have even led to some sort of confederated alliance of star systems, in which you could have taken a place as some sort of psychological officer using your psionic abilities to coordinate a diverse crew.
But instead, what happens is you just drive a ship over to pulverize their defenses, drop off the first waves of VICEROYNFANTRY to impose your cultural over theirs as violently as possible, and then skip off to deliver the queen to the victory parade with enough time to get a mani-pedi first.
The ship's loudspeakers crackle, advising personnel to prepare for acceleration. Your useless ruminations are an inadequate distraction for what's coming. You really need to think about something else. The worst part about it is always that it's the opposite of what being with the Sufferer was like. It's as though every single ounce of compassion and happiness he gave you is being drained out of you.
You can hear the hum of the preliminary stages of the FTL engagement sequence. Your baseline level of excruciation is about to multiply exponentially; not much time to try to focus on something else.
==> Helmsman: Remember the most peaceful, calm moment of your life.
==> Helmsman: Suddenly realize you look like a Star Trek alien. (FILL: TEAM Kanaya<3Rose)
You are not a merry man!
You briefly contemplate explaining the important visceral, cultural and most unfortunately psychical distinctions between your species and some hypothetical naked apes whose idea of "alien" is forehead putty. You have been the flagship to conquer some legitimately alien societies, ones whose mindsets, biologies and ways of life were so impossibly unlike yours that you would have loved to study them peacefully, and in doing so learn about yourself as much as them. Perhaps this could have even led to some sort of confederated alliance of star systems, in which you could have taken a place as some sort of psychological officer using your psionic abilities to coordinate a diverse crew.
But instead, what happens is you just drive a ship over to pulverize their defenses, drop off the first waves of VICEROYNFANTRY to impose your cultural over theirs as violently as possible, and then skip off to deliver the queen to the victory parade with enough time to get a mani-pedi first.
The ship's loudspeakers crackle, advising personnel to prepare for acceleration. Your useless ruminations are an inadequate distraction for what's coming. You really need to think about something else. The worst part about it is always that it's the opposite of what being with the Sufferer was like. It's as though every single ounce of compassion and happiness he gave you is being drained out of you.
You can hear the hum of the preliminary stages of the FTL engagement sequence. Your baseline level of excruciation is about to multiply exponentially; not much time to try to focus on something else.
==> Helmsman: Remember the most peaceful, calm moment of your life.