The Best Genes Money Can Buy…
Adam stared past the mirror-glass and into his own eyes. They were perfect in place and symmetry, blue as the sea. His cheekbones, nose and jaw came together to make a flawless model’s face. His rational mind said that he should be happy, for he had everything he could ever want in terms of intelligence and good looks, and his parents were kind and loving. Still there was sadness inside those eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his parents that there was something wrong with him, that the perfect son they had spent so much money on gene-tailoring… wasn’t really perfect after all.
Adam could lie to his parents, to the world, but not to himself. He saw the gorgeous young man in the mirror, but he hated him utterly. He shifted uncomfortably as he glanced down at the body in the mirror, resisting the urge to flinch in distaste, as he often did at seeing it bare. Yes, it was a perfect body, but it wasn’t his. It was the body of the perfect son. But in truth, all his life Adam had known that he much more wished to be the perfect daughter.
(#00668 - A303)
He’d stolen one of his mother’s old dresses. One of her ‘circus tents’ that she dragged out and laughed at to think she was once so fat with child.
Body gestation had its risks, they said. But it was the ultimate expression of love…
That’s what mother said. They could have gone for an artificial uterus, but the fashion at the time was to use the uterus already there…
If they had been unfashionable… Maybe Adam wouldn’t be in so much trouble.
He slid the dress on. Cupped a purely imaginary bosom onto his slim frame. Restyled the hair that Adam had been allowed to grow out to a certain length. Just a little too long for a boy.
“Hi,” she breathed, trying to sound more like the girl she knew she was. “My name is Adelle…”
“Do you want it to be?”
Adam froze. Panicked. Almost messed herself. “Please don’t be mad?” she squeaked.
Mother was leaning against the doorframe with her perpetual glass of tan liquid. It was fashionable to be an alcoholic… but only those closest to her knew that it was sparkling apple juice.
“I’m not mad. The risks were explained. Including the fact that you could have missed out on some important hormones. Entirely my fault. Adelle. It’s a pretty name.”
There should have been yelling. There should have been fury. Everything she’d read on the subject told her that the bodyqueer were routinely rejected.
“Y-yes…” she stammered. “I’d like to keep it, please?”
“Of course,” said Mother. “I suspected you might not be the son I ordered. I’ve had all the right doctors lined up for some time.”
The dress dropped. “Really?”
“Of course, darling. Only the best. And always the best. Want to start the process?”
Adelle’s mouth said, “Yes please!” before her brain could think it.
It was going to be a great year.
[Muse food remaining: 33. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00667 - A302: Slippery Slope
“He who fights with monsters should be careful he doesn’t become a monster himself. Unless that makes him more effective at fighting monsters. Like he becomes a badass werewolf who knows how to use a sword and has magic armor. That’d be so rad.”
My name… was… Vernon. A long time ago, now.
It began, as all beginnings must, with a quest to rescue a damsel in distress. Captured by vampires. Yes. She was held by monsters. And she became… monsters.
No. She became a monster.
They turned her. She turned me. Well… she tried to turn me. She was young. She didn’t know the proper process.
I drained them all into dust. I became a vampire of vampires and I was useful. I helped eradicate them from my country. From my country’s allies. They paid… my handlers well. I had every comfort.
Then they sent me against a werewolf. Did you know? When a werewolf bites a vampire that vampire becomes… something else? A hybrid.
It became… harder… to think. During the full moon. I could only eat raw meat. And sometimes… they sent me criminals… to feast on.
I still fought to be a hero. To be valorous. I would try to judge them myself. When I was not starving. And when they started starving me to be sure the criminals were executed… That was when I knew that my keepers were monsters, too.
I know what to do with monsters.
I’ve beaten them all, you know. Witches. Wizards. Sorcerers. Dragons. Each one made me stronger. Made me more… monstrous.
They say a pure heart can tame me. I pray it so. Yours is the purest heart I have found to date. Do your best. Do what you must.
I trust you.
You’re my only hope.
[Muse food remaining: 34. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00664 - A299: Perilous Ornithology
The difference between a goose and a swan: A goose will chase at the drop of a hat and proceed to peck and bruise if it gets you. A swan will only attack if threatened, but can break bones.
“That’s ridiculous,” said a student in the middle of Allegedly Quiet Reading Time.
“Do you need assistance?” asked Mr Myss, Learning Advocate.
“This is an objectionable description of avians,” protested Yokk. “It assumes the reader already knows the physiognomic distinctions of both birds. It doesn’t tell the reader easier ways of distinguishing ‘goose’ from 'swan’.”
“Ah. Yes. Many pre-galactic civilisations assume everyone knows what the writer is talking about. And since this is speaking of Terran biota, perhaps you can research Terran avians and show me how the author could have written that better.”
“They need it,” said Yokk.
Mr Myss predicted some angry tapping at a keyboard in her future.
[Muse food remaining: 34. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00663 - A298: Brawk?
T’reka meets a chicken
Her heart was already pounding as she scuttled from hiding place to hiding place in the human settlement. Their buildings were partially subterranean. Though some sat above the ground. Far above the ground. On a pole.
T’reka almost had a coronary when one of the residents of the strange little house said, “Cake?”
She remembered her breathing, and watched as her vital signs returned from red-lines. Only then, did she investigate.
“Cake… cake… sweet-sweet-sweet.”
There were… avians… inside the little house. Round things with tiny heads and rubbery, wobbly crests.
“I don’t have any cake. I do not have sweets.”
“Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet!” The creature seemed agitated.
T’reka backed away and it went back to saying ‘cake’ again.
*
T’reka watched the birds in the company of Su-syn. “They are not intelligent.”
“Dumb as bricks,” Susan agreed cheerfully. “Why would you think they were?”
She shrank a little in mortification. “Their calls sound much like Numidid words.”
“Really? What do they say?”
“Mostly… ‘cake’ and ‘sweet’. That one…” T’reka indicated a crowing rooster, “sounds like it is dying a horrible death.”
Su-syn found this funny.
[Muse food remaining: 34. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00662 - A297: Bad Instincts
The most ridiculously evolved trait of a human: The itchiness of newly healed skin.
“This area is almost finished repairing. I now have the unbearable urge to claw at it.”
The human in the next bay was rubbing at her bandages. She was rubbing with her knuckles and grimacing.
“Most people use talon for scratch,” said Pu'rii, edging a little further away from the human. Well. As far as she could get on a not-so-spacious hospital bed.
“Digging in bad. My skin, irritated make-for heal.” An anguished grunt. “Almost heal, make itch. Itch make want scratch. Scratch make new wound.”
Pu'rii boggled. “Why is having itch?”
“Long ago? Not so clean. Itch make for make certain no dirt.”
Ah. Vestigial instincts. “You is not removing from genes?”
“Some try. End result not good.”
Thinking about that very brief summary kept Pu'rii awake, long into her usual sleep cycle. When would she ever learn to not ask too many questions?
Muse food remaining: 33. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00661 - A296: Strange Encounters
Pre-Amity, a human and other cogniscient get stuck in some relatively small space together, say a room that both find out the hard way only opens from the outside. Rescue is on its way, but until then…
They tell some pretty wild tales in Scavenger Bars. This is just one of them…
Hor'tik had been stripping wire. It had been a long trip already and it was that or mass credit. If he stayed out any longer, he’d have to siphon air from the hulks, and that could get messy if the mother species felt protective.
But some primitive species paid good trade for gold, and one never knew one’s luck.
But when she came across another scavenger in a dead-end chamber, and the only door shut and locked behind her… she knew that luck was bad.
The other scavenger was human!
Remembering her training, Hor'tik dropped the tools in her hands and showed the open palms to the human. Digits splayed.
The human did the same.
It was a very long, very quiet, very tense space of time. Hor'tik very slowly opened her comms to all frequencies.
“I know you can’t understand a word I’m saying,” she said in a soothing voice. “But if I say it in a calm and rational tone, there’s a chance you’ll understand I don’t mean you any harm.”
From the sound of things, the human was saying the same thing. But by the gestures towards the only door, she could guess the human wanted out.
“Fine. Okay. I’m taking my things…” Hor'tik dragged them along the floor. Out of the way.
There was no handle on the inside of the door. And it was a re-enforced chamber designed to stop anything from breaking in. Not a survival room. A safe.
They’d both locked themselves inside a safe.
But that didn’t stop the human from attempting to cut the bulkhead around the door. Which was ridiculous. There was no way any tool known to intelligent kind could–
The human was making progress!
“If anyone can hear me, I am trapped in a locked room with a human… and it’s helping me. It’s cutting our way out.”
“Hor'tensss,” said the human, banging its suit’s chest.
“Hor'tik,” said Hor'tik, copying the gesture.
By the time help arrived, the human had gone back to whence it had come.
[Muse food remaining: 34. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Not necessarily needing to go Night Vale on this one…
To truly understand, you must look inside yourself, look deep into your heart… no, no, you’re too far down, that’s your liver, try a bit more up and to the left… ah, there you go.
(#00660 - A295)
[An: But it’s so very very Night Vale…]
“Excuse me, but my species is not transparent.”
“You’re transparent to my eyes.”
“Eugh… Sorry. Uhm… We find our internals to be offensive.”
“Not a problem. Most cogniscents tend to shun my kind. We see into the X-ray and magnetic spectrum. Honesty is key. Though clothing is translucent to us, we tend to pick fabrics that leave interesting shadows.”
“Ah, that explains the lamé…”
“Yes. Perhaps you can explain to me why my species is judged to be in poor taste.”
“Let’s begin with the lamé….”
[Muse food remaining: 35. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00659 - A294: Warning - Humour
Breaking bones is a death sentence for other cogniscients, so how unlikely is it that anyone has encountered someone missing a digit or limb, unless they were born missing it?
Jokes using one’s prosthetics (probably more advanced in the group that lives long enough to need them) optional.
[AN: Some species are more fragile than others. Havenworlders are particularly delicate. And it’s notably the Birds for whom broken bones are fatal]
The cogniscent trapped with her in the stalled veet had a warning shirt that labeled her as a comedian.
“It’s okay,” said the dinosaur. “I know you’re a havenworlder. I won’t try any of my usual tricks on you.”
“Usual… tricks?”
A gesture with an arm. “I wasn’t born with this hand. A combination of maternal stress and chemical exposure in the nest made sure that this arm was never completed in the build stage. Therefore I have a synthetic prosthetic.” A warm smile. “May I show you the seam?”
Dubiously, Hika nodded.
The saurian took up her sleeve. There, on a bicep, was a paired silver line with a thin black line between them. “Flesh,” a finger indicated the skin above the lines. “Not flesh,” the rest of the arm below. “I can disconnect with it at will. Which I generally do for comedy purposes. Hence the shirt.”
“Please don’t demonstrate?” asked Hika. “My warning lights are on.”
The dinosaur covered herself anew. “I don’t joke like that in front of havenworlders. And I got sentenced to the shirt after the third fainting spell I caused.” A careful grin. “I once left it on a counter at protest of the prices at a clothing outlet. That was the final pebble, actually.”
“…hee hee hee…” warbled Hika uncertainly.
“Sorry. I’m Woblé. And I won’t be talking about my arm any more.”
“Hika,” said Hika. “Wishing I picked a different stopover.”
The dinosaur chuckled. “True, but the food is magnificent.”
[Muse food remaining: 36. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00654 - A289: But Why?
Curiosity in humans vs. numidids, how the adults handle it in children
Before the attitudes changed, it went like this:
Humans…
“Momma? Why is the sky blue?”
“Some say it’s a reflection of the ocean. Some say it’s dust particles. Others sat it’s the air refracting the suns’ light. I think it’s a little of all of the above.”
“Oh. Okay. Can I have a cookie?”
“After dinner.”
“Aaaaaawwww…”
Numidid…
“Firstmother?”
“Yes, Tyrtyr?”
“Why are the plants here dangerous?”
“Because the scientists analysed them and told us they are.”
“Yes, but… how did they get that way?”
“We have already forwarded that question to the proper authorities, Tyrtyr,” she lied. “You must wait in faith and patience for the answer. If it exists.”
“But—”
“The next thing I want to hear from you is, ‘yes, first mother’. Now go learn your homework.”
Sigh. “Yes, Firstmother.”
She watched her chick move into her cote, and then dived for her co-wives. Literally. They were five Leaps below in the markets.
“I think Tyrtyr is in danger of Scientific thought. She persisted in seeking explanations beyond the accepted answers…”
Her co-wives gasped.
“No…” whispered her gene-mother. “I was so careful…”
“Nobody blames you,” said the third wife, who certainly did. “These things happen, sometimes.”
“We must discourage her at once.”
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Challenge #00651 - A286: It Works on Everyone
The universal phenomenon of chasing the laser pointer dot.
“Stay there. When I say ‘run’ you leg it.”
Barstaw boggled at the human. Their colourful phrases had no discernible end… and yet they were instantly understandable. For all her deathworlder status, she was extremely helpful to have around for this escape.
She hunkered down, ready to run at the door that was currently being supervised by one very bored guard. Barstaw half expected the human to happen to them in a typical deathworlder blur of shouting and violence. And, perhaps, explosions.
What did happen was a spot of anomalous light on the floor.
It jittered around in interesting squiggles until the guard noticed it. And then made very obvious play-with-me motions.
Even Barstaw, concealed in the shadows, had to control her impulse to chase it.
The guard did not, and left hir post to investigate the little wiggling dot. Which jinked away by a few Standard Distance Units before it wiggled some more.
Bit by bit, the guard got further and further away from hir post.
Then, abruptly, the light began to run about in a standard pattern.
Approaching footfalls. “RUN!”
The human smashed through the door that should have held any other known cogniscent firmly on the prisoner’s side. Barstaw scrambled to keep up.
“What was that?”
“Laser pointer. It works on kittens, ducks, babies, drunkards and now the obligatory stupid guard. Wooo!”
Barstaw boggled anew as she followed the human. She would never understand these mad apes.
[Muse food remaining: 41. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]