The Only Decision

 I was a member of some expedition, exploring an off-world location. We'd set up in an abandoned alien city. Kind of like Stargate Atlantis, only not focusing on a single team of troubleshooters.

I'd been brought in as an expert on languages. I can learn a language from a text and a few spoken words. It doesn't take long to work up a vocabulary, basic syntax, grammar. Speaking the language encourages understanding. This was why I was brought in.

My reception had been frosty. My welcoming committee comprised a tall man and a svelte brunette. The man's handshake had been firm, but non-committal; the woman refused to shake my hand, and met my gaze with a look of cold contempt. Got off to a flying start.

I've been in this dream before. I've not been made welcome there. I made some offhand comment on combinatorics and polynomials being a solution to one man's problems, and later I heard his team, on the upper floor of the refectory, mocking my 'It always comes down to polynomials.'

In my dream, I was deriving great joy from my work, and my leisure pursuits were met - the city's library housed hosts of books, including books which had been brought here. I'd found a building on the outskirts of the city, and occupied its top floors, building up a library of my own, and a study to do my work, with a gorgeous balcony view.

The upper echelons were satisfied with my work. The regular reports I sent met the standard for what they considered good work, and it was a pleasure to unlock the secrets left behind by the previous owners, who seemed to be as human as the current occupants, with all their joys and worries and woes.

But it was as I explained to one of my co-workers, 'There is a look when a woman chooses her partner, the one she wants to be with. I have seen many men and women give each other that look. All for other people.'

'But I've never seen you ask anybody out on a date,' she replied. 'How will she know you're interested in her if you don't ask?'

'i'm an asexual,' I replied. 'I don't give chase. It is unbecoming.'

'So they'll never chase you,' said the co-worker.

'And I'll just carry on doing my work,' I replied, 'because that's the joy I pick each day, to burn away the pain.'

This was the dream where that woman who'd met me with stiffness and a cold gaze couldn't stay away. She'd come over to nitpick or something, provoke an argument, and I'd respond with my usual cool repartee, which mostly involved me remaining silent.

I was in the refectory again, carrying a tray with my lunch, and she came over to harass me. In this dream, I told her 'I hardly interact with you at all, on any level, and it seems that I upset you somehow, no matter where I am, near to you or far away. And I have worked on the perfect solution. From this time forwards, I will strive to avoid interacting with you at all.'

Then I went over to the tall guy, who turned out to be the chef. I asked him if I could take my lunch to go, and tried to discover the refectory's hours so I could arrange to slip in when nobody else was around, grab food to go, and go home, to interact with nobody.

Hard to rouse the energy to invest in gaining the approval of a people who wouldn't give you the time of day. I'm claiming my dignity for myself.