Challenge #00564 - A189: Perplexing
Turnabout is fair play: Something the aliens consider utterly mundane and/or harmless, that is dangerous or terrifying to humans.
It was a disaster. The freshly-introduced Ambassador Harry still hunkered in her improvised bunker of relatively solid furniture, butter knife held tight to her chest in a white-knuckled grip. The ability to speak had left her and she would slash or stab at anyone who came close.
Until Sui'dut came to sort out the mess. Sui'dut, the only alien Harry trusted on an instinctive level. With quiet words and caution, she talked the Ambassador down.
“It’s all right,” soothed the Chelete. “Ambassador Vrix was just yawning. It’s near his hibernation time.”
“Well ‘e can 'ibernate far off'a me, f'r all I cares,” muttered Harry.
It took some hours to sort out, but humans evidently have a pathological fear of wide maws with multiple rows of mobile teeth.
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Challenge #00561 - A186: Unlikely Meetings
Sara and Francouer.
{Pop!}
“Aaaaaah!”
Francoeur caught the falling form with two of his arms and a startled chitter.
In show business, there were many opportunities to see unclothed humans, but this was the most unclothed he’d seen any human. And she was green. Sort of. Somewhere between green and blue. And the top of her… garment… had no visible means of support.
“Ow,” she complained. “Sorry about that. Did I hurt anything?” She complained in English. Francoeur had a hard enough time speaking in French.
He struggled to set his palps right. “Pardonnez-moi?”
“Oh! Vous parlez Français. Excusez-moi, m'seur [I’m very sorry about my sudden entrance, there was a mishap with a cross-dimensional transit device and ever since…]” she trailed off as he set her upright. “[Omigod, are you Francoeur?]”
He nodded.
She did an excited little dance that ended in an exuberant hug and an, “[I love your work! Do you suppose we might… duet? Does this theatre even have a harp?]”
*
Lucille found them, later, jamming between the flats. Her with the harp that nobody had used as anything more than set-dressing, and him with his perpetual guitar. As if it was the most natural thing for a giant flea and a… whatever she was… to be making beautiful music together.
“[Alas, my time is up. Goodbye, Francoeur. It’s been marvellous.]”
Francoeur, never a big talker, managed a heartfelt, “Adieu.”
And then the green woman faded softly out of reality.
“[I was right],” Lucille sighed. “[Chaos does follow you. And it’s really telling that I’m getting too used to these things happening.]”
Francoeur shrugged helplessly as he chirred an apology.
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Challenge #00560 - A185: Surprises
From that original post that started the whole Amity thing: “What if every alien race has nothing but docile, harmless animals on their planets and they look at us with our sharks and bears and wolves and wasps and venomous snakes and just think “Holy shit! How do you guys survive?!””
T’reka’s people found and seeded the planet with their own wildlife and plants, presumably all fairly docile and harmless. What was the reaction on first discovering, not the humans themselves, but the results of humans also seeding the planet/just the island with Earth flora and fauna?
Scientists, according to the greater culture of Hu'lu'a, were idiots. They alone would wander out into a new world just after landing and poke at things that may be dangerous just to see what they’d do.
T'reka missed out on being in the first wave of explorers on this new planet of Ru'ku'la despite her bunk-mates’ insistence she sign as soon as possible. Discovering new things was why science existed. And exploring their future home before it all became civilised.
Even the second wave got their chance.
But T'reka was too slow. Or too unknown to make it that high up the list of expendable souls. She got to be amongst the fourth wave, with harvesting tools and protective gear, taking soil samples and examining the microflora and microfauna and, if she was lucky, the mycota.
And yet, she was the one who discovered the bloodsucking insect, by the ill fortune of being bitten by it.
The first sample was smashed, of course, but she had the fortitude to withstand the bite of a second one and caught it life. The hideous rash it caused would, physicians assured, heal and fade.
Which was how she wound up in isolation, being the subject for other scientists in full hazmat protection as they analysed every last micrometer of the rash on her lower-right leg.
By the time it healed, and the DNA of the flying bloodsucker ran its paces through the analysis computers, she’d missed everything good. Which left her in the windowless cubicles of Data Analysis. Student work. She couldn’t decide whether it was good fortune or bad that that insect had found her delectable.
But then the analysis started showing… anomalies.
The nucleotides were showing traces of… polluting DNA. It was almost as if another planet had seeded this one. With a far more hostile biota. Native forms of food plants on this planet had traces of… poison.
Not enough to do significant harm, but caution was generally advised when picking wild herbs.
And more ominously, some combinations usually relied upon turned out to be increasingly or exponentially toxic.
The new settlement of Kal'rike changed at the news. No longer a relaxed and huddled sprawl where every citizen had five cubic Flights of their own. It huddled inwards and grew upwards.
There was hazardous life, out there.
And those in charge devoted the scientists full attention to identifying, isolating, and if possible, eliminating it all.
To that end, they sent out probes to at least photograph most of the offending life forms.
Which was how they discovered Toxic Island in the first place. A land mass absolutely brimming with a tropical jungle’s worth of hazardous, toxic life.
T'reka found it enrapturing.
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Challenge #00559 - A184: Proclivities
Dragons and princes! http://scienceisadesiretoknow.tumblr.com/post/86360033211/rosengeist-faerill-a-young-gay-dragon-being
Prince Derek had fallen in love the instant he’d seen those bronze-coloured wings coming towards him. He had even let go of the reins and removed his feet from the stirrups.
Allethar didn’t fall in love until until Prince Derek began raining down praises with a tongue that was only metaphorically silver. There was something about *this* human that made him more than an exercise in extracting ransom and then a quick meal.
Thereafter, both their days were brighter. Allethar’s lair became their paradise. Derek worked with gold, silver and colonies of glow-worms to turn a dingy cave into a palace with stalactites.
Allethar made certain that he not only raided sheep and cattle, but vegetables for Derek’s health.
It was almost a shame when Derek’s family paid the ransom.
Then Derek said it. “You can kidnap me again, any time.”
It was like a light illuminating a dark place to discover a treasure trove.
And it only took their respective families five years to notice.
“It’s the same dragon, Derek! Why do you keep getting kidnapped by the same dragon?”
And…
"The humans you abduct seem to be… lacking something Princesses normally have…?”
To which the inevitable answer from both of them was, “Uh….”
It’s difficult to come out as homosexual. It’s worse to come out as cross-species homosexual.
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Challenge #00558 - A183: Strange Passtimes
The next intergalactic olympic sport: Human/Numidid Assisted-Launch Longflight
(aka throwing the numidids and seeing who can flap furthest)
Amity narrowly missed being the first civilisation to adopt human co-operation by a margin of two Standard Weeks. The Britanians became the first humans known as ‘mostly harmless’ to the Galactic Alliance, thanks to Ambassador Harry.
But that didn’t stop the Galactic Alliance from coming to have a good boggle.
“You’re in luck,” said the human. “There’s the Olympics going on.”
Every Terran colony seemed to have an Olympics. The Galactics had taken one look at the insane array of competitions of physical excellence and started motions to try and ban it. But they already knew the inevitability of a pan-Terran Olympics happening at some distant date in the future.
“On a centenary, we hold the event in Wiwazheer,” said the Numidid perched on the human’s shoulder. “Tradition.”
They quickly learned that the Amity Olympics included equestrian events, with both Human and Numidid riders… and one with both.
The crowd favourite was Miss Daisy, ridden by Martha Willard who was, in turn, ridden by Ku’lu.
The Human stayed in the saddle. The Numidid perched on a special harness attached to the Human.
“It celebrates the Life Run,” said their guide. A human with a Numidid-esque name of Syri. “Susan rode Calico with T’reka on her shoulder, from Wiwazheer to the base camp. And then threw T’reka towards the ladder when Calico started floundering in the sand.” Syri made an expressive, practiced gesture. “All to stop Kal’rike from firebombing the entire continent. The original coat Susan used as an improvised harness is still in the Wiwazheer museum.”
“Thanks,” managed Ambassador Hwrii in the solid tones of I-didn’t-need-to-know-that. As a Numidid herself, she was leery of the humans at all, and still in shock and awe that what should have been a backwards backwater was, instead, a thriving and prosperous planet. With in-system colonies.
That they had done so with the assistance of… deathworlders… and still survived? That was a miracle.
And another miracle unfolded below.
A competitive recreation of a race to save life.
T’reka must have been a truly mad genius to trust a human with not only her life, but all the life on this poisonous continent. Considering the tech level this entire planet was now capable of… was she trying to achieve this? Or just saving something interesting to study?
The original track raced around the starting circumference of Wiwazheer. A track that still existed, but no longer raced. There was another road that went from Wiwazheer to the nearest beach, and then took a sharp turn to the south until it reached the historical site of that base camp. It was no surprise that all the natives called it Calico’s Run.
Now they covered the same distance on a much smaller track. Culminating with a straight run where the humans hurled their Numidid passengers in a flight measured in both height and distance.
It was a gruelling contest. No wonder they saved it until last. And almost as visceral to watch as it must have been for the original participants. All that was missing was the element of lives being on the line.
All Ambassador Hwrii could think was, We’d best keep this away from the other humans. They’ll all want to play.
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Challenge #00557 - A182: Comfort Conniption
inspired by http://internutter.tumblr.com/post/77932780162/challenge-00429-a054-urgent-call-home
T’reka might not be as tactile as humans a lot of the time, but repeated exposure would presumably get her mostly used to them and the amount of touching, hugging etc. that tends to happen around humans, even when trying to be careful.
Extrapolating further: A scene with T’reka, a human and a new numidid having a minor conniption fit over perceived threats.
It had taken some significant time for both species to learn expressive body language. On the Numidid side, they shared the significant disadvantage of being scientists, and therefore inexperience with touch-gestures in the first place.
Hugging was right out. Su-syn and her family knew this.
They would gesture with open arms, but embrace with one. Covering the bird in question with the limb as if it were a wing. Winged coat sleeves became part of the human ambassadorial wardrobe, to assist with the verisimilitude.
As did a baby sling, when Su-syn live-birthed her young.
T’reka and her flock of students found it fascinating. Ze…. fascinating. Human infants were almost completely helpless and therefore guarded with a ferocious zealotry appropriate for a deathworlder with helpless young.
And there were days, like today, when she left her infant in the care of others, because an unknown factor was going to be present.
Administrator Ser was inspecting the facilities.
Numidid kind already benefitted from the humans’ punch-pen medication dispensers. Deaths from broken bones dropped eighty percent following their widespread adoption and training. Though the public did re-name ‘science breathing’ to ‘calming breathing’, just to avoid the stigma of the intervention’s origin.
Such breathing T’reka was doing now, in The House of Peace, where she planned to make a ceremony out of meeting the odious man once more.
“There now,” Su-syn sang. “We doing all. You is ready. Hush,” and laid an artificial cloth ‘wing’ across her back and squeezed lightly. “All is good. All is well.”
T’reka snuggled into the embrace and found it comforting. A predator species capable of crushing her in a thought, holding her as tenderly as she would a newborn. Possibly more so.
An unholy squawk shattered the peace.
Administrator Ser had arrived early.
Su-syn put her hands up to her shoulders, palms open, fingers splayed in a display that she was unarmed.
T’reka made a show of hopping off the human’s lap and greeting Administrator Ser with all due deference. Cringing and keeping her head low as befitted a scientist of her station.
Su-syn remained very still, watching Administrator Ser by looking at the furniture nearby. All the careful things she used to do, so many years ago. All that was missing was her camouflage costume. Gill-clothing or something.
“You were in the arms of a dangerous creature,” boggled Administrator Ser.
“Yes, sir.” T’reka bobbled and hunched and grovelled in his general direction. “As you see, they have successfully overwritten their primitive genetic programming. They saved my life. Even after it was explained to them that they didn’t need to.” She didn’t say, They value me. Not only as a scientist, but also a person. Kal’rike is going to suffer a brain drain when other young scientists find out about the tolerance of insanity.
“And you trust them?”
“They trust me with their infant.”
Administrator Ser boggled again. “Well… That is a definite indicator of trust,” he managed a few, discrete, science breaths to still his nerves. “I take it we are riding one of their… ungulates?”
“Horsss, sir. Yes. At a more sedate pace than the -ah- celebrated Life Run.”
“I have had many requests from other scientists willing to study this land… and the occupants.” A glare at Su-syn. “Humans and scientists seem to be a perfect fit.”
He had no idea which doors he was thinking of opening. T’reka could tell. And knowing that she could sway his thoughts one way or the other, that left the ethical question of which way she should make him lean…
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Challenge #00555 - A180: Essential Developments
Ridiculous fact of the day: We went to the moon before we thought to put wheels on suitcases.
Some things are essential for cogniscent development. The ability to control heat is one. Civilisation in any form is another.
It is impossible to have a planet where the entire population are dancers. People must eat. People must learn. People must make insipid sitcoms and nobody knows why.
But some things… don’t always happen in the correct order.
“Wait,” said the saurian beside her. “Your species hasn’t developed luggage wheels?”
“Er. They didn’t ere I left, ye ken,” Shayde explained. It was rare that she got an alien talking to her as a person and she wanted to encourage that. “I think some had ‘em, but they were still pretty rare tae find.”
“Terran calendar nineteen eighty-six?”
“I left in eighty-seven, but close enough.”
“And… your species had already landed on your moon by then.”
“Oh aye. In sixty-nine.”
“Your species left your planet before you thought to put wheels on your luggage?”
“Technically,” Shayde allowed. “Everyone was expected tae have muscles back then.”
The saurian shook her head. “I am always amazed by the way different peoples develop. We thought the usage of the wheel in all ways possible was vital before we met the Iilshur'aur'ur.”
“I met one o’ them. They’re lovely.”
“And I understand your kind didn’t have a global law until centuries after you began colonising other planets.”
“Aye. Us humans are terribly backward. Nobody’s discovered Slood yet.”
A perplexed expression. Then a growing smile. “Ahh… this is a human joke, yes?”
Shayde laughed along. “Oh aye, I’ll drop me trousers any minute.” Damn. Another day of keeping her mouth shut.
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Challenge #00554 - A179: The Second-Unkindest Cut
“Aliens do not understand papercuts.”
The death world menace flinched, howling in agony. “Idonotfirkinbelievethis!” It dropped the weapon it was holding. “Agodsdamnedpapercut. Afterallthis, agodsdamnedpapercut…”
The huddling assembly of survivors blinked in confusion. This creature had survived toxic gas, lacerations, contusions, concussion, shock, awe, and extremes of temperatures… and now it was halted by a relatively minor injury to its apparently thick hide.
It wasn’t even bleeding, there.
Yet the creature stopped. Retreated, cannibalising its wounded finger and murmuring in agony.
The word went out across the Galactic Alliance: Humans can be stopped by apparently small injuries to their hide. Tag knowledge: papercut.
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Challenge #00553 - A178: Monstrous, Not a Monster
(based on your SPG/MiP crossover)
Francoeur’s initial efforts to help with the wounded, being generally scared of the soldiers, figuring out he can carry tons of resources and singing to everyone.
They still ran the cabaret, though it was starting to be more of a hospice and partially a hotel. More and more soldiers came in, and more and more saw him in all his monstrous glory.
Nothing gets a soldier reaching for their weapons faster than a seven-foot-tall flea.
“No, wait,” Lucille tried to shield him with her diminutive frame. “He is harmless. He would not hurt a flea.”
“He is a flea,” added Raoul. “But he won’t hurt anyone.”
“That’s a flea?” said the General. He still had his hand on his gun.
Francoeur cooed nervously and cringed behind both his guitar and Lucille.
“Fleas drink blood,” said the General.
“Not Francoeur,” Lucille shook her head in emphasis. “He eats fruit and vegetables. Not blood.”
He chirped an agreement, adding a nod.
The general finally took his hand off his weapon. “Doesn’t he talk for himself?
Half a smile. A generous shrug. "He prefers to sing.”
Raoul played a few, prompting notes on the piano off to the side of the stage. Francoeur soon joined in with his guitar, singing a melody he had sung hundreds of times before.
“He’s a rum ‘um, no mistake,” said one of the 'walking wounded’ Tommies in the audience. “Hardly speaks a word, but he can sing up a storm.”
The General came right up to Francoeur and poked a chin-palp. “So it talks? Let it speak, then.”
“…please do not do that…” For such a big bug, Francoeur had a tiny voice.
This greatly amused the General. “We can’t enlist 'im. He ain’t human and sending something like him in would just make the enemy angry. He’ll still have to volunteer his services to help the boys.”
Lucille made a face. “Doing what?”
*
“Orange juice,” Francoeur sang. “Seltzer water… Lift your spirits, wet your whistle, have a drink from humble me. Just a giant singing flea… Cool your throat, bless your lips… before you go home in ships.”
Half of the Tommies couldn’t see him. Their heads bandaged. Some were hallucinating. Those who were conscious and still had their eyes, they heard his song before they saw him. Cracked jokes about his size and the usefulness of his large shadow.
As long as they were smiling, they were not a threat. And as long as they were smiling, they didn’t see him as a threat.
And, in a pinch, he could carry a soldier to a hospital in a very big hurry.
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Challenge #00552 - A177: Mischief at Work
Pretending to be an exhibit at the waxworks museum.
The real trick, of course, is to blink or change poses when no-one is watching. Or, in the case of this waxwork exhibit, adopt a pose when someone approached.
She had hers already. Propped up at the writing desk and staring at the blinking cursor. In some, she actually dropped off to sleep like that, and nobody noticed the difference.
At least she didn’t snore sitting up.
But this time, she had a poker. Someone who ignored the velvet ropes and honour barriers and clambered up into the carefully-set-up diorama to prod, poke, or simply play around with every valuable artefact in there.
Therefore Trezi kept her thousand-yard stare until he was literally right up to her. Almost about to touch.
Then she sprang into motion, turning towards him and very quietly saying, “Please don’t touch the exhibits.”
Which was the worst way to find out that a patron had angina pectoris.
Which, ultimately, lead to hers being the first waxwork exhibit with a warning at the door. It stated that patrons were advised not to interfere with the dioramas, as doing so could result in unforeseen consequences.
Ironically, it lead to more patrons. And less time to stretch when she was working as a Replacement Exhibit.
On the other hand, it meant more money to repair the exhibits she replaced.
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