Viewed objectively, being aboard an alien craft — faced with an alien leader — was fascinating.

Still, Petra knew little about the so called ‘Queen Commander’ sitting across from her, dressed head to toe in sleek black combat armor. 

From what Petra could tell, she was substantially taller — nearing six and a half feet — and humanoid in every observable metric. Her voice sounded almost auto-tuned, pitch perfect in an unnatural way.

They’d entered what one could ostensibly call a study. The lines of the furniture were unusual but not entirely foreign, reminding her of the more abstract modern pieces she sometimes encountered in the offices of fashion magazines. Shelves of thick, leather-bound books flanked them on either side. They were covered in an unfamiliar script.

The Queen tilted her head to one side, sitting down opposite her. “You do not seem afraid, Miss Giani.”

Petra looked at the place where the Queen’s eyes should be, if she were human. “I don’t see any reason to put on an act for you. There’s little you could say my fans would believe.”

“It’s interesting.” The Queen hooked one gloved hand beneath the chin of her glossy helmet, pulling it off in a single, smooth motion. “You’re much different than our research suggested.”

When the motion stilled, Petra raised a single eyebrow.

The most startling thing was how human she looked. Prominent cheekbones, wide, glossy dark eyes and full lips. 

But she was uncanny. Her pupils were almost serpentine, a series of emerald scales cutting across her forehead as two slender triangles at opposite edges of her hairline.

“I present a particular persona to the public,” Petra said, voice unharried. “It suits us both. They get a parasocial relationship with an objectively pleasing idol. I get extraordinary amounts of money.”

The Queen frowned, crossing one long leg over the other. The plates of her armor creaked. “We’d been hoping you would be someone amenable to the value of interstellar diplomacy.”

Petra blinked back at her. The Queen drew a long, thick, golden braid over her shoulder. She slid something long and thin from the center. 

It looked like an incredibly slender glass vial. But it glowed faintly, the color of lavender. Petra eyed it wearily. “I’m assuming this is something you think will convince me to help?”

“We have much on offer, Petra.” Her tone had morphed into something less cordial and more goading. “If I can’t appeal to your humanity, maybe I can appeal to your vanity.”

Petra turned the derision over in her mind, examining it like a jewel. “You dislike me. I find it ironic that you feel qualified to assess my humanity.”

“I find it interesting that you profess to have any.”