My species do not yell. Not technically. We don't communicate vocally, like many other species in this galaxy; some say we evolved beyond it. I wonder if we ever had it.

Either way, if we did...my commander would certainly be yelling at me, now.

"That was a foolish move."

"They were signalling for help. That is the human signal for help, the three in three--"

"I know that. But we do not help."

"Commander--"

"Not like that, we do not."

"They were--"

"Besides which, they weren't. They were startled, not in danger."

I pause, feeling suddenly very, very foolish. Pieces are clicking together to make sense in my mind, but I don't want to believe them.

"But, they...signalled..."

The commander sighs, and I can almost see the anger with me dissipate from her eyes -- not that our eyes are expressive. Not the way Terran humans' are. I see everything my best friend feels displayed across her bizarrely tiny eyes as if they were screens full of information; I suppose after all this time, I've gotten used to it.

"Did you notice any signs of distress? You are supposed to be good at reading human behaviour, not me. Are you not?"

If I was a Terran human, I would be fidgeting. "I...did not."

"Why do you think they signalled what they did, then? These humans upon the..." the Commander tilts her head. "Water seedpod."

"It's a boat. For water travel."

"It's highly illogical. Terribly basic."

"But humans--"

"Are not logical, no. And neither are some Alnitakians, it seems." If I could wince, I would. The Commander's shoulders drop in what would have been a resigned sign if she was a human -- it's almost funny how I can map our sensations onto human movements almost instantly, now, but yet, sometimes... "Parel. I understand you meant well. But those humans probably didn't know how to signal anything but help. It was merely the first thing that they thought of."

"I...I know, now," I admit, miserably. I feel ridiculous. The Commander knew this and she isn't even part of the Human Complementation Program. I, however, am supposed to be an expert in Terran human communication, both involuntary and voluntary.

The Commander's emotions are much gentler, all of a sudden. She puts her hand on my shoulder -- a gesture that seems to be galactic, if not universal -- and would smile if we had the ability.

"Parel. You are a good one. Do use your head more often, though. And remember, first of all: Terran humans can be very dangerous."

"I will, Commander. I do apologise." I pause. "Do you...think they'll be mindscarred?"

The Commander seems thoughtful. "I detected a very high level of alcohol in their bloodstreams on the scanners, so...perhaps not."

I lucked out this time, I suppose. My Terran partner has often bemoaned the effects of alcohol -- or, well, more accurately, its aftereffects -- but I am very glad for it, right now.

"Commander, did we just--" A psychic thread enters into the room and I turn to see Crimson walking into the chamber, his slender arm protectively around the shoulders of his Terran human. Her name is Ella, I believe, a sweet female human with dark eyes and short dark hair that I want to pet, but wouldn't dare without permission. She is half-asleep on her feet, ready to be beamed back home and tucked into bed -- deep in the midst of a calmative haze. She gives me a sleepy smile and I raise a hand and wave in physical acknowledgement in lieu of communicating through emotions; I don't want to interfere with Crimson's haze if I can help it.

"Mild turbulence," the Commander says to Crimson, to my relief and gratitude. "We lowered to the water for a moment. I apologise if we disturbed the both of you."

"Oh, no, it's fine, I was merely wondering. We two are finished for this time, so if there's no trouble with movement, we'll take our leave." Crimson's arm has not left Ella's shoulders yet, and I doubt it will until he is sure she is back in her bed and sleeping well. He became Ella's full time guide perhaps something like five rotations previous, and I understand his feelings -- once you are partnered with one particular human in the program, their safety is your responsibility...and their companionship changes something inside you. Knowing this planet's humans can be complex, and the Commander is right when she classifies them as very dangerous. But one's own individual partner...I couldn't put the feeling of the bond between oneself and them into any sensible words. It changes how you think and feel on every level. We are, broadly speaking, tasked to protect the entirety of the human population, but I know well that Crimson would put Ella's safety and happiness over eight billion others. I know, because I feel exactly the same way about my human partner.

"All transportation is working correctly," I affirm to Crimson. "Ella's safety is not at risk."

"Of course it isn't -- I am with her." I can feel the determination in Crimson's reply, and the trust between the two of them. Ella looks up at him with a beaming smile, and he pets her hair tenderly. "We'll be off, then. Let us take our leave, Ella."

"Goodnight!" Ella waves sleepily at myself and the Commander, and she and Crimson leave the chamber. I watch them go with something that I have to admit is jealousy. I wish I could see my human partner this evening; I want to discuss my mistaken rescue with her, and so much else besides...

"Parel," The Commander interrupts my thoughts. "After Crimson returns his charge, go and see yours."

"What?" I'm startled. I was not scheduled to see her for at least another 48 hours. "But--"

"I thought that was a clear enough command, but let me say it again: please take some time to go and visit your own partner. I think it would be good for you." The Commander pauses, then I hear the soft, gentle noise from her throat that occasionally escapes from us, despite our constant use of telepathic communication -- laughter. "Plus, it keeps you from piloting for the moment."

I'm too excited to even pretend to be miffed. I get to see her again!

"Yes, Commander! Thank you!"