They appropriate our livestock, our seed, and even our precious metals, but we don't care because the aliens are beautiful. Seeing one talk on a vid is like hearing God answer your prayers. Standing in one's presence is like communing with the divine.
I hear we're repulsive to them. Less suave members of their race have spoken about it at length, comparing their revulsion to our revulsion for insects and frogs. Yet when they call us these things, it is still the lips of gods that say it, and most of us cannot be mad. Instead we hear a glimmer of hope because, after all, not all humans are repulsed by bugs.
I want to tell you to resist. I want to tell you that we can take the Earth back if we can shed this glamour from our eyes and find our true selves.
Instead I will tell you that recently I stood in their presence. She had come to ask me about my murmurs of dissension, about the cynicism with which I had infected my fellow miners. Miners understand darkness better than anyone. We can hold on to our hateful and suspicious thoughts longer than those who walk on the surface under the constant glow of They. That is why she came to me, to make my knees tremble and buckle in her light. I answered her questions. I would do anything for her.
Have you heard the rumors that They sometimes lay intimately with our lowly kind? I have been told to tell you that it is true, and that it is worth more than all the Earth's pitiful sheep, corn, or gold. That is my new message.