Challenge #00940-B209: Arachnophilia

An alien aware of the general human reaction to spiders runs across someone whose first response to an Oshit is “how cute!”

“Being cautious, please, Engineer Murray,” K’teth warned as she unlocked her vessel. “Security measures on vessel mine being non-standard.“

The brown-skinned human grinned. “No worries. You can call me Baz. Everyone does. Now… I know you were knocking around Pirate Turf for a year or so?”

“Yes. Learning fast, am I, there are few tech solutions to hackers.”

“Right, so you have natural deterrents. Dogs?” She opened the inner door for herself and got a face full of pseudospider.

K’teth cringed. “Please not be hurting pet mine?”

To K’teth’s eternal surprise, the human giggled and gently encouraged Fluffy the Oshit onto her hands.

“Aaaawww… she’s burly girlie… hul-lo… ha-lo-oo?”

This was Human Pet Voice. Trying to be nice to an animal that didn’t understand words, but tone of voice.

“You… like… Oshits?”

“I love all arachnids and pseudo-arachnids. Oozadidduwfuzzyden? Oozadidduwfuzzy? Aaawww…”

K’teth was about ready to chalk this up as another example of Human Insanity. “You are not fearing poison biting?”

“No worries,” scoffed Baz. She guided the Oshit back into her holding tank. “These little buggers can’t pierce human skin. I’m aces.”

“Other humans not wanting take chance,” said K’teth.

“Their loss.”

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Challenge #00931-B200: Bunkmate From Hell

In the name of it’s late and eventually we both want to sleep, I agree to that deal.

“You ever really think about cats?” asked Sam. “You know. Really think about cats? Like they’re a solid animal, but they act like a fluid and they can expand to fill the space they want to take up…. And the super-fluffy ones always shock you when they’re wet because they’re all like those hairless skeleton things underneath all that fuzz?”

“WILL. YOU. SHUT. THE FUCK. UP?“ Alex demanded. “It’s eleven fucking fifty pee em. Can we PLEASE go to sleep before fucking tomorrow?”

“Y’know I read somewhere that if you cut a cat’s whiskers short, they get super disorientated?”

“I would sell my soul to make you shut up, right now.”

In an almost cartoony puff of smoke, the Prince of Hell appeared. “That could be arranged.”

“Dude,” said Sam. “Am I high or did you see that too?”

“Okay, fine,” said Alex. “I want to be able to make her,” she thrust a rude thumb in Sam’s direction, “sleep when I want her to. Only sleep. No death. No fucking sleep apnea, somnambulance, or talking in her sleep like she was awake. Just sleep and only sleep. Got it. Oh. And I want to be able to wake her up, too. No fucking around on that side, either.”

“…fucking lawyers,” grumbled the devil. “You will be able to command your friend to sleep. And wake. In return for your immortal soul.”

“Fine. Great. Let’s do this.”

What she got was a clicker that glowed in the dark. Alex immediately added it to her keychain before she tried it out.

“Dude,” said Sam. “Are you really responsible for geese?“

…clikit…

Sam’s head hit her pillow with a satisfying thud.

Peace. Beautiful. Wonderful peace.

“Er,” said the devil. “You do know that your soul is mine to torture for eternity, right?”

“You try bunking with Sam for four years,” sighed Alex as she made herself comfortable. “I’ve already been to hell…”

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Challenge #00896-B165: Instruments of War

The gentle breeze softly ruffled the hair of the Spine as he lay in the field

[AN: This fic is inspired by Photographic Memories and may contain The Feels]

He reached over and picked it up. The fastening clips were still intact. Good. He didn’t like being bare-headed. It made people stare and treat him like a thing.

The downside to always wearing hair was that he was not used to putting it on, so it took him three tried to get it properly aligned. Next, taking stock. His hands were working. Obviously. His legs were functioning and an internal diagnostic revealed all systems green. His clothing was… well… holding together. That last round of mortars hadn’t harmed his titanium alloy plating, but his GI outfit had taken a beating.

The distant sounds of battle filtered over the sound of wind in the grass. Not gunfire. Metal clashing against metal? Had he fallen through another portal?

He stood. No. This was still where he started. The gun battle had moved on without him. Now there was another one.

The Spine headed towards it, not bothering to affect his more amenable human-like walk. There was half a chance that none of these fighters wanted to be his friend, anyway.

It was a swordfight. One set of uniformed Samurai types against a lone figure in cheaper clothing and very little armour. The lone figure was holding their own. Barely. He could tell they were flagging.

Therefore, he did the only thing he knew he was good at, any more. He rushed in to defend the outnumbered and relatively helpless. He could use his body as a shield. So many others had.

It was always weird how bullies stopped being bullies when somebody stronger showed up to help defend their victim. All that The Spine had to do was toss a few of them at the rest and they all ran away.

“You idiot,” she screamed in Japanese. “I want one for questioning.”

Oh. Well, what a lady wants, a lady gets. His left arm tore the remains of his sleeve as he unfurled his Tesla cannon and took aim at the lead mook.

Zakow. Down like a sack of soggy potatoes. The rest scattered in all directions, but it wasn’t important. He had the leader. Or someone who dressed snappily enough to be a leader.

He wished he had a hat to tip for her, but settled on fetching the mook and laying his twitching, moaning form at her feet.

“Ma’am…” he said, also in Japanese. “I do apologise for my surprising entrance. I’m called The Spine. I’m one of Walter Robotics’ fine automaton products. Will you be needing any further assistance?”

She stared, gape-mouthed at him. “Does that mean you’ll do anything I tell you?”

“Within reason,” he allowed. “If you try to order me to attack a troop of GI’s, I’d have to politely refuse.”

“I don’t care about the GI’s,“ she said, cleaning and sheathing her sword. “I care about ending Wakahisa.”

Her name was Takenaka Yasu, and she was fighting to reclaim a treasure that Wakahisa had stolen from her family. A treasure that could very well devastate Japan… and then the world. And from what Yasu had to say about Wakahisa, he was the exact sort who would mishandle an artifact that had equal potential for good or evil.

He wasn’t just a threat to the Allies. He was a threat to all life. “I’ll help you,” he said.

It’s amazing how small words can start something beautiful.

*

They’d won. Wakahisa the Immortal was dead.

And Yasu was dying.

He cradled her gently, pressing her ancestral treasure into her lax hands. “Use it,” he urged. “Heal yourself. Please?”

“And become… soulless? Like him?” she shook her head. “No, love. Life must end. That’s why… it’s precious.”

Her breaths slowed. Her heart stopped. And there was nothing he could do.

He was made for war. He was built to kill.

All he was left with were memories. Precise and clear, like photographs.

His troop found him, three days later. Still wearing the traditional Japanese garb she had made for him. Sitting under the cherry tree where he buried her. Staring at the simple symbols he had etched deep into the marker stone.

Takenaka Yasu. May my memories of love outlast all war.

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand. For them the ‘japs’ and the ‘gooks’ were the enemy. All to be universally hated. They couldn’t fathom how love was literally in his core. About how he could only pretend to hate.

So he kept quiet. Pretended he had a glitch. Just for a little peace.

It was what they were supposed to be fighting for.

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Challenge #00891-B160: Nil Mortifi Sans Lucre?

FAQ Assassins

- Business hours are 9:00 to 5:30
- Please deposit last will and testament in box below
- Knock and remove shoes before entering

They say that life is cheap on Ghiisham, and they are correct. Life is cheap. You get one for free. Living can be expensive and death, though inevitable, is much more expensive than taxes.

Especially if you want it tailored.

Junior assassin Mykoss looked up at the client. They were all over sores and dressed in the bare minimum of charity clothing.

“Beggar’s Guild is across the road,” she said.

“Already in there,” said the misshapen wreck of a human. “I want t’ hire…” A wretched, wet, array of wracking coughs. “Someone t’ deal…” gasp wheeze.

Mykoss took pity on them. “The Charity applications are down the hall.”

“I’m already dying,” said the beggar. “Wanna kill th’ bastard as caused this.”

Oh. Mykoss brought up the short list of assassins who would work pro bono. It was a very short list.

“All the assassins willing to do the job are… booked… for six months.”

The shaking hand of the beggar slid across a single, printed image. “This was me… before the accident.”

A beautiful and vivacious lady smiled out of the paper. Youth and vigor turned into a corrupted monster about to die.

The transformation had taken, according to the date on the photograph, three months.

Mykoss scanned and filed the photo, as well as an image from the kiosk. “I can put you on the Extra Credit and Free Time roll. That means that every assassin on the planet who wants to buff up their resume will be going after your target.”

A shaky and weak nod. “Good. Good. That will have to do, won’t it?”

“For the records, I need your name and the name of the target.”

Wheeze. Cough cough. “My name,” she said, trying to remember it. “I used to be… Lilandry. Pessimer. Yes. That’s who I was. And your target is… Fortune Pessimer. My father.” A shaky smile, showing that she only had three teeth left and all of them were bad. “He never liked what I was doing with my life. Never wanted a daughter.” Cough cough cough cough. “Got all that?”

“Yes,” said Mykoss. Pessimer. That family was one of the high-rollers who paid assassins to not assassinate them. “I’m going to need a fee.”

Lilandry dug into her filthy clothes and produced a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. “My life savings. Thank you.” And without any further fuss at all, she died.

Mykoss unwrapped the bundle, expecting weathered and worn single Snifter notes[1]. Instead was a thick wodge of Ten-Thousand Keg notes. The highest denomination on the planet.

It was almost enough to buy the services of the Head Assassin himself.

Mykoss added it to the bounty notice, properly counted and added to the Assassins’ Guild funds. And added the fact that the client was recently deceased. Then she published it.

She was due to knock off in an hour… She could probably have a go at earning those Kegs, herself.

[1] Ghiisham was originally a penal colony with no guards. Therefore the economy is based on alcohol.

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Challenge #00848-B117: It Just Goes

About the EM Drive, a possible new space drive that no-one has a coherent theory on HOW it works, but as long as no mistakes have been made in the experiments, it seems that it does. …Somehow.

“Well, the future space programs will no longer need propellants. However, they should probably investigate this thoroughly, this looks like an accidental discovery of summoning…things. While using Cthulhu as a propellant sounds hilarious no one wants to know what happens after that. ”

[AN: The EM drive looks like a fascinating piece of technology even though it is the physics equivalent of a beneficial glitch in the matrix. The part about Cthulu is pretty much spot on, too. Note, though, that China has also previously claimed to have found live unicorns and injured dragons. A side-effect of using the device?]

All space propulsion is dangerous. The propellant used in the original NASA missions to the moon was renowned for eating the engine that used it. The liquid hydrogen used for decades to wrench human and vessel from terra firma has exploded mid-launch. More than once.

Numerous memorials remain in dedication to those who lost their lives to the Plasma Drive and the attempts at building a Warp Core.

And, once the Artificial Gravity Drive was invented, the tetchyness of the engines were renowned. More than once, a ship has succumbed to the forces of the virtual gravity well that was supposed to pull their ship towards its ultimate destination.

And then there’s the EM Drive. Nobody can explain it because it violates the laws of physics. Physicists have gone mad trying to explain why it works. One, who came closer than any other before her, filled her journal with the words, “It just goes!” before committing suicide.

The biggest downside of the EM Drive is, of course, the Unreality Field. It works because it shouldn’t work, and the resultant catastrophe to the fabric of reality - though undetectable by the instruments of science - is soon noted by the locals.

Put it this way - Earth didn’t used to have a continent called Mu.

There, you will find dragons of all varieties. And unicorns. And lizard people. And the EM Drive factory - now abandoned and the residence of vampires and ghouls.

Nobody goes to Mu. Not twice, anyway.

And there’s also the disturbing fact that Australian archeologists have unearthed evidence that the EM Drive had been previously attempted by the natives. Which would explain a hell of a lot about Australia.

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Challenge #00847-B116: The Diving War

This battle would be much more intense if both sides weren’t trying to lose.

“If we do not win for the glory of the emperor, we will be executed as criminals.”

“But we can’t win! The odds are stacked against us.”

“Have no fear! I have bribed the other general to lose to us. All we have to do is make sure that we don’t hurt his men.”

Meanwhile, in the other camp…

“The emperor told us to conquer his own army. That’s insane!”

“I know. I have secured assurances that if we don’t hurt his men, the general will appear to fight and fail.”

The next day…

The emperor watched in confusion from the hilltop. Both armies, supposedly fighting for his honour and his birthday, were doing a lot of shouting and swinging. But not an awful lot of killing.

“I’d heard that pitched battles such as this had the rivers flowing red with human blood,” complained the emperor.

“A poetic exaggeration,” said his advisor. He was sweating.

There were men falling. The emperor could see that. What was lacking was any kind of injury.

“Is it normally like this?” said the fourteen-year-old emperor.

“I couldn’t say,” hedged the advisor. “There’s no such thing as a ‘normal’ battle, sire.”

“Are they not sufficiently motivated? One had thought that the threat of death would inspire any man.”

The advisor smiled a nervous smile. “Most other renowned holders of the crown offered… much more generous rewards.”

The emperor stood. Cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “TEN YEARS’ SALARY FOR THE FIRST MAN TO REALLY DIE!”

“Sire…  you don’t pay them,” said the advisor, a little too loudly.

And that was how the revolution started.

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Challenge #00844-B113: In Vino, Vastitas

Now, I’m not a philosopher, but I AM drunk at this moment, so I’ll attempt to discuss philosophy within my own limited eckshp- expewir- …Stuff.

“Na, na, na, na, na, na. Y’ can’t do that,” said his drunken mate. “There’s a rule, right? Anything you attempt drunk, right? Anything… you try t’ do drunk… ‘S gonna end in d’saster.”

“She’ll be right, mate,” said Kevin. “Ph’los’phy’s jus’ words, innit? Can’t hurt anybody wif just words. It’s like… noise… duzn’ hurt.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, Kev. I’m tellin’ ya. I’m tellin’… I’m tellin’… What w’s I tellin’ ya?”

“Neveryoumindit, Bazza. We’re golden. See, thing ‘bout ph’los’phy is…”

*

It was later. They both had splitting headaches. And, apparently, an attending crowd of rapt followers.

“The hell’s going on?” said Bazza.

“Who or what must we eliminate next, Master?” said a follower. They had a weird and unblinking stare.

Kevin peeked up from the pillows. Took one look at the assembled cult and muttered, “Oh fuck me. You were right.”

There were fifty volunteers.

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Challenge #00843-B112: Relics of a Previous Age.

I think that I’ve never seen anything so stupid and so practical in all my life.

They called it The Archive of Earth. A massive tomb devoted to the Twentieth Century. And Shayde had, through adventure and misadventure, inherited the lot.

“How much of this stuff is plastic?” wondered Rael.

“Uh. After the Twenties? Loads.” Shayde was particularly uninformative, unpacking the vaults and sorting random objects. The swarming Archivaas had left her to deal with everything they didn’t recognise. Which was most of it.

It was a bizarre assortment. Unsorted and filed away wherever it would fit. People of the Twentieth Century had made an inordinate amount of junk.

“Aw. Would ye cop this…” She held up a box.

It declared itself to contain something called ‘Flowbee’ and it had been seen on television. Probably late at night, when the tired thought anything was a good idea[1]. And it was seemingly used for hygiene.

“People used these?”

“They tried to encourage it,” said Shayde. “Always wondered what kind of nutter would use it regularly.”

“The actors in the advertising, is my first guess.”

“Someone wi’ short hair, no time, and bad taste?” suggested Shayde.

“And sleep deprivation,” added Rael. “These advertisements, they happened late at night?”

“Oh aye. Always.”

“Q.E.D.”

[1] It’s been proven that a lack of sleep leads to extremely bad decisions. Which is why infomercials happen late at night and why late-night comedy is never funny in the sober light of day.

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Challenge #00842-B111: Complaints Department

Person who brought the bomb: ‘You’re genuinely offended by the fact that we didn’t bring big enough bombs?’
Person they were trying to blow up: ‘I’m offended by any job poorly done, but that’s not the prime issue.’

“You call that an explosion,” griped the target. Lord Bottomsbury. “You call that an explosion?”

“Er,” said Kieth, would-be assassin. “I thought it’d work?”

“Honestly. This is not the death I paid for.”

“I’m sorry, it’s my first day. I didn’t realise– wait. What?”

Lord Bottomsbury sighed. “It’s like this. I’m sick. I’m dying. And I’d very much like to do so whilst still leaving something to my favourite grandchild.“

“Er,” said Kieth. One half-hearted arm gesture indicated the estate, the gardens, the free-range peafowl, and a small flock of luxury cars.

“Do you have any idea how much it costs to die slowly in this country? It’d all be in hock. I wanted a quick, clean, painless death with a minimum of fuss and bother and you blew up the butler!“

“…sorryaboutthat.”

“I’ll write his family into the will. I ask you, what’s wrong with a little poison? I hear Antifreeze is rather sweet. You could dope my sherry with a lethal dose.”

“I didn’t know you liked sherry…”

Lord Bottomsbury glared at Keith. “Did I or did I not send you an information packet containing the numerous ways you could kill me?”

“Er,” said Keith. “Too long. Didn’t read.”

Moral: Never hire the cheapest contractor. No matter what the job.

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Challenge #00839-B108: Infodump

You know you’ve over explained something when you make a robot’s eyes go glassy.

“…and when he looks out the window, there’s this long shot that doesn’t make any sense? ‘Cause they’re in a left hand? But it’s a right hand? And that’s how you know that it’s another ship?”

T0B0r blinked. Dazed. “…this does not answer my question…” ze managed.

“And then when she escaped? You can clearly see she’s headed right for Canada?”

“…this does not answer my question…” T0B0r fought against an information-overload-related shutdown.

“Wait, was I talking too much?“

“Yes,” sighed T0B0r. “Shutdown recommended… System overload in twenty more information points…”

“What was your question again?”

“Who… is… Steven… Universe?”

“OH! Yeah he’s a character in a cartoon show.”

“Shutdown initiated. Please wait.”

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