Challenge #00643 - A278: Culinary Compromise

Why would you hate the [species]? The [species] aren’t eating everyone because they’re evil, they’re eating everyone because they’re fucking delicious.

“We need the meat alive for surviving,” said the Horg Captain. Griis. “Is forever the way.”

Of all the deathworlders they had ever met, these were on the most extreme scale. Their world was so badly a class five that it almost qualified for new categorisation as the first and only known class six. Before they left their planet, the chief survival tactic was breed like flies and eat anything that didn’t get out of the way fast enough.

They were only hunting other life because of a plague amongst their chief food animal. Selective breeding and monocultures had almost wiped out their food. And their metabolisms were like suns. They didn’t have the time to cook.

“Get all the tank meat, vacu-pack it and ship it over,” ordered Captain Jezebel. “Let’s see how they like steak.”

“On it, sir. The crew isn’t going to like Nutri-Food bags on the way home.”

“The crew can suck it for a week.” To the Horg, she said, “We’re sending over some high-density protein in a drone shuttle. If you can eat that, we have some factory planets growing this stuff in bulk. And in the meantime… let’s talk metabolic stabilisers…”

The Horg took their first Ambassadorial conference at the tables of Heretical Food Eat, where they could safely devour any protein they chose without the need for death.

Captain Jezebel ordered a Humanburger to show willingness. Griis had a family sample platter.

“See? You can digest cooked things faster. My species discovered this in the stone tool era. Cooked takes time, but cooked works better.”

“Liking cooked much,” agreed Griis. “Liking other world technology. Liking many of shiny things.”

“Yes. Ordinarily, eating intelligent people -cogniphagy- is a big no-no. This is cultured meat. Grown from donor cells. No death. No crime. All good.” And damnit… people were delicious. “There are two ways you can approach fitting in to the Galactic Alliance. Gengineering, medication, or medication used in combination with gengineering and selective breeding. Medication alone means that the rest of the Alliance will avoid you.”

“Liking many of shiny things,” Griis played with her fork. “Trade must be good, yes?”

“Oh yes. Trade very good. But trade won’t happen if everyone thinks of you as mindless eating machines. You have new situations. New planets. You can afford to curb your appetites.”

“Forever way ending, new forever way is needing.”

“Yeah, you get it. Now all we have to do is convince your elite to go along with it.”

“Not be hard much,” said Griis. “Sending freighter of grown meat. Plenty good peace offering.”

Captain Jezebel became the Horg’s sponsor. She was forever quoted as saying, “They’re not bad. They’re just hungry.”

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Challenge #00642 - A277: Forbidden Fruit

Heresy is Delicious. Don’t believe me? Put Kosher mustard on a ham and cheese sandwich and find out for yourself!

“So… you decided to open a restaurant on the greater thoroughfare of the business district.”

“That is correct,” said the lizard.

“All the forms and paperwork are correct… but you also decided to sell foods ordinarily under social and religious restrictions.”

“That is also correct. Cogniscent Shayde performed the idea in public.”

“Open Mic Night at the Tunnel Cafe?” said the technical-human in question. “I was doin’ a stand-up routine…”

Sherlock glared at her. “We’ve spoken before about your ‘heresy is delicious’ chain of thought.”

“I even had a wee card up. 'Don’t take anythin’ the human says seriously’. Just in case they missed the whole point o’ stand up.”

“Yes, well after some research and legal consultation–”

Sherlock groaned in anticipation.

“–I came to the conclusion that a wide variety of taboos are, in fact, delicious. Hence, heretical foods.”

“Including,” Sherlock consulted his info-stream. “Cultured cogniscent flesh.”

“From willing donors!” The lizard put up hir hands in protest. “It’s all certified and sealed.”

“You do know that there are planets who have recently reformed from cogniphagy,” said Sherlock. “The eating of cogniscent life forms is illegal.”

“Er. Actually. The law states that killing a cogniscent for the purposes of eating them is illegal. No death is involved in my cultured meat. You can still talk to all my donors. I was completely transparent.”

“And then there’s the matter of Brav'nu…” Sherlock maintained his iron glare. “Citizens there believe that sharing the flesh of a passed loved one is a form of hand-me-down immortality, as well as remembrance. How many Brav'nu citizens came to you seeking a way to cheat their spiritual system?”

“I’m aware of their theology, sir,” said the lizard. “Once I explained the details, they lost interest.”

Sherlock sighed. “I have hundreds of Ambassadors up in arms because their fellows from home are up in arms about your menu. There is nothing, strictly speaking, illegal about the food. And, unfortunately, you are well within your rights to maintain your restaurant.”

“Thank you.”

“However, I am also obligated to remind all visitors that it is also well within their rights to refuse to patronise your business.”

Now the reptilian face fell. “Oh…”

“Next time,” said Shayde, “Pay attention to the wee card.”

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Challenge #00641 - A276: BSOD

Emergency Brain error reboot Y/N

Error encountered at local clock 13:25:57

Erasing subsequent data

Restarting from automatic backup…

The spinning wheel annoyed her as she waited in etherspace for her hardware and software to agree on a stepstone. It was one thing she had in common with the organics.

Sound came first, as the audio receptors booted up. Her assistant was explaining the boot-up process and the need for lexicon patches to the luckless cogniscent who had said the wrong thing.

“I’m so sorry,” said Ambassador Belle. “I didn’t know she wasn’t pun-proof. I thought it’d break the ice. I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”

Her cameras came online out-of focus, and her servos were laggy. Her speakers made a grinding noise before she could stop it.

“No, it does not hurt,” said E.M.I. “This unit only senses physical damage. Please refrain from lexical pit-traps in the future.” Self-assessment routines took up the next few minutes. “I’m missing three minutes’ worth of data. I assume that’s when the pun was told?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

E.M.I. adjusted her face-screen to show a pleasant smile. “Now,” said the Emergency Medical Interface. “Without jokes, what is the problem?”

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Challenge #00640 - A275: One Fine Evening in a Filthy Spaceport Bar

We believe that the universe itself is conscious in a way that we can never truly understand. It is engaged in a search for meaning. So it breaks itself apart, investing its own consciousness in every form of life. We are the universe trying to understand itself.- Delenn, Babylon 5

“Well that doesn’t make sense,” said Hwell. He, too, was propping up a bar and ingesting something bad for him. “Humans, we all well know, are insane. Lots of them spend their entire lives in a bubble of ignorance that they made for themselves.”

“Well, yes,” said the other human. “That’s what I’m trying to work out. Is it the universe compartmentalising? Is that why there are so many human colonies? Is the universe going mad?”

Hwell glared at the man. “Someone’s going to have to rock me to sleep, tonight. Thanks for that.”

“Self-awareness is a bitch,” shrugged the other human. “Sorry.”

“Shoulda never got involved in religion or politics…” Hwell mumbled into his pint. “Here’s one - how about all this effort’s made the universe go bonkers or given it cancer or something? We’re a tumour.”

The other human glared back and delivered a flat and snarky, “Thanks.”

Hwell chuckled. “Gotta give as good as you get.”

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Challenge #00639 - A274: An Axe to Grind

It was distressing how many problems a good murder could solve.

[AN: According to the doctors, I am now officially fine. According to me, there is still a tightness in my throat that I am going to see my doctor about]

Too many arseholes in the world. Far too many. But if one could select an arsehole to excise from reality… If you could pick the ones who were most to blame for the current, sordid state of reality…

If you could pick off the ones who made their wealth from others’ pain…

Ah, but those are the ones with the most security. They’re the ones who isolate themselves in armour-plated ivory towers. The ones who think they’re safe.

But they still let people like me in. To clean for them. To dress their hair or do their makeup or their nails. To ensure that their life of leisure is never besmirched by a mote out of place.

They trust people like me.

More fool them.

It’s an easy thing, to come in when expected. Easier still to find some expensive treat and add a little extra touch.

A virus here. A pathogen there. A little arsenic for old time’s sake. Never the same way twice. Never working for the same company twice. Sometimes it’s advantageous to be so poor that one can only ever get temp work.

And one by one they fall. While invisible me carries on as always. Weeding out the true scum of the earth.

One rich asshole at a time.

Sooner or later, the money will go to someone who wants to do good with it. All I have to do is bide my time, weigh them up and, once I have found them wanting… administer justice.

All the others want to be caught because they know they’re doing something bad. Most of these arseholes? Nobody will miss what they do very much. Nobody really cares. Not about them.

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Challenge #00638 - A273: Capitalism

It’s like selling people a gold nugget, then a silver nugget with gold covering, then you get a copper one with gold covering, the next version they sell you a iron Nugget with gold paint before selling you a glass marble calling it the ‘next big thing’.

“It’s all about makin’ stuff faster and cheaper, but no’ necessarily better. It’s about convincin’ the customers that faster an’ cheaper is better, ye ken. But never dropping’ the price tae how much it costs tae make.”

The assembled cogniscents stared.

A lizard tentatively raised her hand. “Sir?”

“Aye?” said Shayde. The ‘sir’ still irked her, but everyone superior got 'sir’ regardless of gender, so she did her utmost to shut up about it.

“You’ve just described standard business practices on all of the extant Greater Deregulations.”

“Aw Gawd, it’s still alive…” muttered Shayde. “Have they figured out why they cannae convince all o’ ye tae buy their shit?”

“No, but they are trying to bribe the officials they believe are responsible.”

“And complaining about it at every Ambassadorial Meet.”

Shayde groaned. “I’m no’ goin’ tae be looking’ forward tae tha’…”

[Muse food remaining: 44. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Good news, everyone!

I went through all my prompts and recounted them and… man o boy howdy, I am BAD at keeping track.

I have a sum total of 45 prompts. Including the five new ones I got since yesterday.

So we can all relax for a while.

Challenge #00637 - A272: But the Cat Came Back…

…and the cat is still not allowed into the tea room because he’s convinced that somewhere there is catnip if he can only destroy enough to get at it.

“Whsk!” Pattie aimed a spray at the incoming Skitty. “Ffffft! HSSSSS!”

“Ma'am,” said Officer Marken. “I’m afraid it’s against station regulations to interfere with a Skitty’s duties.” She already had the digipad out and was taking notes.

“I know,” said Pattie. “But it’s the tea. They keep smashing the containers. They keep smashing the crockery! We can’t afford the Reboundables… not with all the breakages… Our only hope is keeping the cats out…”

“They’re hunting for vermin, Miss Newtrio.”

“They’re hunting for catnip, Officer Marken… and we don’t have any. We never had any. If I let them do what they want… we’re ruined…”

Lyr Marken sighed. “I’ll see if I can arrange something with the Britanian and the Xin'hua embassies. Neither of those empires want to see tea going to waste.”

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I write free stories for you. Daily.

Please reblog this whenever you see it. Let’s get the word around.

Every day, [except Christmas] I write stories based on prompts submitted by readers like you.

Every day, at the very bottom of the story you’ll see a little information thing that looks like this:

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As you can see by the ^ number here. I’m currently running low.

I use prompts on a FIFO basis - First In, First Out. Basically so I can keep track of the little things. So if someone prompt-spam’s me, you’re going to see a plethora of posts prompted by one person for a while.

I DO NOT PLAY FAVOURITES. I just process prompts this way because I possess the organisational skills of a diseased whelk.

ANY PROMPT IS A GOOD PROMPT. You may not get what you are expecting out of me [and indeed, I make a practice of thinking, “Hm, this person wants me to do X. I shall proceed with Y” ] but you will get a story.

Unless the prompt you submit feels more like a question, in which case you will get an answer.

NO SUBMISSION IS IGNORED! Never. Ever. Will I ignore a prompt.

I HAVE EVEN OPENED UP ANON.

Have at me. Submit a prompt. Anything goes.

Challenge #00636 - A271:

They’ll get along like a house on fire, in the sense that there will be significant property damage and possible casualties.

He was looking for allies and none of the bigger interests had any interests in his interests. And his Lizard guide wasn’t much help.

“You may try Ambassador for Nineteen Eighty-Six, Shayde Pitt. I predict you will get along like a house on fire.”

“I’ll teach ya how to talk proper yet,” he grinned. These lizards tended to take everything way too literally. He put on his best smile and sauntered over to the alien-looking lady.

He didn’t like the way she was sizing him up. Like she could see right through him in a cold second.

He felt like he had parsley in his ears.

Sparkle, sparkle. He ramped up his outward congeniality and tried to look handsome.

Then he said the one thing guaranteed to grab her ire. “Hey there, little lady…”

*

“I tried to warn him,” said Ju'shek. “I said he and you would get along like a house on fire.”

“Flames, screaming, and property damage, aye,” said Shayde. “Maybe ye should'nae use metaphors, ye ken.”

Ju'shek wrung her hands. “Many, many apologies…”

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