Challenge #00437 - A063: Hivemind Negotiations
“It was rather like being surrounded by a mob of very curious puppies with no regard for one’s personal bubble. He/she stood very still lest he/she step on one and tried to resist the urge to pick one up for a cuddle”
There was also an urge to flee, shrieking, from the environment because the Trrt'krr -or ‘Jelly Dancers’- resembled nothing more than a sparkling cloud of very small jellyfish.
These were the lowest of known low-grav cogniscents. They could survive without atmosphere and found anything more than point three standard gravity[1] to be torturous. If not deadly. If they wished to operate in the heavier zones, then they needed a protective grav-bubble and a team of fussing Nae'hyn.
Small wonder, then, that the Trrt'krr much preferred telepresence and negotiations on their home turf.
Lesli wore skins against the lower pressure, with the mandatory breath mask of course, and an exosuit designed to restrain her musculature from causing any damage. She had to remember to use plural identifiers, not only for herself, but for the Ambassador.
Jelly Dancers tended to equate individuality with brain death.
And even then, communication was difficult. She had to use a light board to match the Jelly Dancers’ natural flashes.
We recognise the colony of Lesli, said the Ambassador, via the translation app. The swarm withdrew to what the Jelly Dancers considered a polite distance. Which meant that only five individuals at a time were investigating places that only cleansers would normally touch.
“We recognise the colony of Blup,” said Lesli in turn. “I understand there is a trade problem with the Consortium of Steam?”
They did promise chocolate before the mating season, complained Ambassador Blup. Mating season is almost upon us and they have sent soap.
Lesli scanned the regrettable example. Her own instruments could not tell her if it was very good soap or very bad chocolate[2]. “I shall investigate on your behalf. In the meantime, the Gyiik Union is offering replacement chocolate in order to make amends. I suspect a translation error somewhere along the line.”
Which would only be natural. The Consortium of Steam was well known to be… erratic. And not everyone had access to the really good translation apps.
[1] One standard gravity is equivalent to 10 m/s/s fall acceleration. By comparison, Earth is point nine seven eight standard gravity.
[2] I’ve encountered very bad chocolate that is too much like this.
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Answering this now because it’s more of an ask than a prompt.
For all the snippets involving Shayde, there hasn’t been much more than a hinted explanation of how she got to be where she is now. So, how did she arrive in the Galactic Alliance, and was it before or after other humans had made proper contact?
(Also, what does Shayde look like? I can’t find a description but I remember something about being like a living shadow so my best guess is similar to the Death in “Girl with the Skeleton Hand” or this http://strawberrydaydreams.tumblr.com/post/71572518590/thatisdebatable-merthuriscanon-my-sim)
Short answer: Close and “sort of”.
Shayde’s been inhabiting my imagination since I found a black pen and doodled her in the 80’s. And until I made my own universe, I never knew what to do to her.
Now. Keep in mind that there’s a huge list of things I can’t draw. These include:
- hands
- feet
- proper anatomy
- straight lines
- my own characters
That said, have some lineart of Shayde pestering Rael:
You can probably tell exactly where I gave up on this and shit, I forgot the line where the nehru jacket/vest fastens. AUGH! And you know what? Fuck the bottom of Shayde’s swishy hair. Fuck it to hell. Sideways. With a pineapple.
But my hands are cramping and I may not come back to this until next week. Because I hate myself.
This is why I don’t art.
Shayde’s skin is almost literally black. Especially when she’s tired or run down. Being a shadow elemental, her skin tends to match the darkness of local shadows when she isn’t paying attention to it. Her eyes are luminescent, but they also have the horrid attribute of changing with her emotions [OC crime #5, I’m told] so her face can be an open book.
The hair is smoke-white and prone to any spare breeze.
As for the clothing: Gold nehru vest/coat, white undershirt with loose sleeves, grey pants and white gogo boots.
Rael’s skin has been described as ‘Jacaranda mauve’ and his hair is a deep blue. His eyes are also blue. The turtleneck under his rainbow-patchwork JOAT coat is Engineering Blue, and the pants are just jeans.
And yes, those are supposed to be steel-toed safety boots.
I can’t draw.
Fuck.
Sigh.
As for how she got there. It’s a very long story that I’m saving for a later book. Told in a linear fashion, it goes like this:
- Katie Walker (slightly magical girl) tries to solve the energy crisis by drilling a pinhole into another dimension
- Her professor/mentor Hackmeyer tries to make it more interesting by fucking with the machine on the day of the big demo
- It go boom
- Katie is plucked from the event by self-proclaimed gods who change her into a shadow elemental so she can meddle in assorted destinies
- They promise to put her back when they’re done
- Katie wanders universes for ten subjective years and starts calling herself 'Shayde’ because many natives mistake her for a demon [“foul shade from out the blackest pit” etc]
- The alleged god make the huge mistake of bringing her into their dimension to tell her that she has to die
- The 'gods’ narrowly escape with their lives and dump her on Amalgam Station. They may have been aiming for the Glunk and missed
Naturally, the book’s going to be way more interesting. I want to build up Amalgam as a place for things to happen in before I publish Shayde’s story, though.
Challenge #00436 - A062: Humans!
If it’s stupid but it works, it’s not a stupid idea.
*post-plan*
I don’t care if it worked, that was still a stupid idea.
Ax'and'l glared at them. Taking up space. They had been taking up space in Hwell’s quarters, but everywhere they went… Hwell just had to trot a few out into the open and try to sell them off.
“When are we going to get rid of those horrendous–”
“Don'tsayitoutloud, theycanunderstandGalstand,” Hwell rattled through gritted teeth. “Ifyousayitoutloud, nobodywillbuythem.”
Ah. so he was actively trying to sell them and Ax'and'l pointing out the truth had been souring their profits.
“Let me guess. You have one of your human plans.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“All your plans are mind-bogglingly stupid.”
“If it’s a stupid plan and it works, then it isn’t a stupid plan.”
*
“Love gloves.”
“Yyyyyyyyyup.”
“Grooming aids.”
“Yyyyyyyyyup.”
“You sold sex aids from one species as grooming aids for another.”
“And as an interesting cooking tool to the Gyiiks.”
They were gone from his life. The original cardboard packaging recycled for their component atoms. Conspicuous by their absence. And yet…
“I don’t care if your plan worked. It was still a stupid idea.”
Hwell just blew him a friendly raspberry.
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Challenge #00436 - A061: Aftermath
*sigh* The latest Story Snippet just won’t leave my brain.
So I’ll inflict it back on the author.
http://internutter.tumblr.com/post/75405951567/challenge-00396-a031-to-stop-human
Directly related to this, can we see either some from the human that snuck into the ship’s POV or Koq'riix’s waking up after they left the two items.
[AN: Heh. The OP need not be notified ;) ]
Koq'riix jolted into awareness as the airlock cycled shut. It had been the better part of a year since he’d left the cutting tool in the derelict. Since he had barely escaped with his life. Since he ended the life of a human.
And that was his cutting tool.
He’d worked with it for years. He’d personalised it. He knew its every bump and scratch.
He’s last seen it bloody and dented and lying under the mutilated arm of the presumed-dead human. Yet there it lay. Clean. The dent had been fixed. Someone had, with great care an attention to detail, taken it apart, fixed it, and put it back together again.
Koq'riix could tell by the relatively fresh tool marks.
There was a small, colourful rectangle. On one side, seven strange symbols, arranged in peculiar groups. One. Seven. Three. And only one recognisable, repeated symbol. On the other side…
An image of the dead human. Grappling with another human. Both were baring their teeth.
Was this a threat? Or a gift?
Alarmed and disturbed, Koq'riix checked the security feed.
*
Kesha listened for alarms as she struggled through the airlock. There were none. This was like working through a kid’s playhouse. In full space armour.
Best not to take any chances.
She could have done this in all-over Skins and a breather. Scanners said this vessel had the same air mix and pressure as hers, but…
They’d killed Steve.
Something else had taken the body by the time she got to the derelict. They hadn’t taken the blood. Or the grizzly scene. Or one of the weapons.
A toy cutter for toy people.
Sure, she’d entertained visions of revenge in the beginning. It was only human. But as she ran through the evidence, it became increasingly clear that Steve had encountered a fatal failure to communicate.
The weird little lizard-person was clearly terrified.
Usually, if she or Steve bumped into it on a wreck, they would show it they meant no harm and back off. This encounter had not ended as well. The creature had reacted as anyone would react when encountering something five times its size and apparently armed to the teeth.
It viewed Steve’s attempts to show it that he was harmless as a threat and attacked.
So when she stood (hunched, of course) over the little lizard’s sleep niche, staring at the form shorn of all protection, all she could think was, It looks so cute for a killer.
Then she saw how tense it was. Even in its sleep. Curled up tight. All its muscles bunched. Heard the note of distress in its mutterings.
PTSD.
What she was doing right now was probably going to scare its tail off, or something. What she was going to do might shock it into medical distress. But she still had to do it. She had to try. For the betterment of her soul.
She laid the tool down in the middle of the floor. She doubted it could read the message on the back of the photo, but this was what Steve would have wanted. He was all about finding forgiveness. And giving it.
It would be so easy just to reach out and crush that thing’s head. She could see it in her mind. But she laid down the photo and, as silently as she’d entered, left.
Only when she closed the airlocks and undocked did she de-suit and cry.
Kesha was still wiping her eyes when she recorded her log.
“I did it. I returned the lost property and left an olive branch in the form of our photo. God, Steve… that was the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life.” Sniff. “I know. I know. That’s why it’s worth doing. We chose to go to the moon and do the other things, not because they were easy, but because they were hard. I remember.” She wiped her face. “I remember everything you told me, Steve. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. Your crazy theism finally rubbed off on me, love.” Deep breath. Sigh. “I’m going to head over to Hitizzy for a while. Go up to that cabin in the mountains and just… degauss. This has been intense. I need sky-time. I need you, but you’re not there. Guess my own weight in chocolate’s gonna have to do.” Illogical laughter. More tears. “Until the ever-after, then.” She cut it off. Set course for Hitizzy.
She’d done what she could in his honour. Now it was time to do what she could for herself.
*
Koq'riix kept the image in his personal spaces for the rest of his life. Kept the security footage hidden away for the same space of time. Evidence showed that he spent many hours puzzling over them both.
His last words, “They’re not evil, you know.”
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Challenge #00435 - A060: An Average Sight at a Particular Exit
2.
It was agreed by all that watching them come running out of the perfectly ordinary museums, occasionally while screeching or falling over (or more bizarrely a combination of the above and laughter) was most amusing. It seemed to happen more often around museums with audio assistance too…
[AN: Accessibility is a common thing in the Amalgam Universe. Grav-lifts in the middle of stair columns. Ramps wherever possible. Audio and visual assistance in a ‘take one if needed’ basket with a hygienist on staff to cleanse the equipment when it’s returned… so all museums have audio assistance. As do all libraries.]
Shayde was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Her cackles mixed with coughing and tears streamed down her face. And Rael was left with the struggle of balancing her six-foot-plus frame on his five-foot-seven one. Whilst simultaneously dodging her erratic feet.
“Must I fetch a paper bag?” he demanded.
For some reason, this was even funnier.
A row of galactic tourists were taking images and, no doubt, sending them out on the galactic info-nets with variations on the caption of, “Human status confirmed.” He was almost used to it. Shayde’s status as a may-be-human was almost a running joke, by now.
The only irritating thing was that he was so very, very often in the same frame.
“…all-devourin’ swarm…” Shayde giggled, as if that was some kind of punchline.
Rael hustled her out of there before she could start drooling.
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Challenge #00434 - A059: One Extraordinary Shift in the Museum of Disturbing Things
1.
No-one was quite sure if the now-almost-constant presence of at least a couple of humans wandering around the Museum of Disturbing Things ooh-ing and aah-ing at the exhibits made things better or worse..
What made the Disturbing Things so disturbing was not only that they existed, but the history that went with them.
Unsurprisingly, the humans had an entire wing. Some were gruesome exhibits from old Terra, like the skull of a man who survived being pierced through it with an iron rod. Some were more modern, like the replica of Andrew Jones’ space armour. The man had defeated ninety-nine planet-eaters. Or an eternally-turning human cookbook compendium, which demonstrated all the unusual, unappetising, or unconventional foods that a human could consume.
And now, almost every day, there were humans in it, too.
Shayde stopped at the diorama of a tyrannosaur menacing a fun-park jeep. “I ain’t seen it, but I’m pretty sure tha’ was a movie.”
“I’ll make certain the staff are notified,” drawled Rael. “Obviously, there’s been some confusion over your realities versus your fictions.” He sighed. “And sometimes, there still is.”
“Cannae help it if we’re good at it.” Shayde pondered the diorama. “This must'a been when we still thought tyrannosaurs were carnivores. And definitely before we figured out they had feathers.”
“Let me guess. You managed to travel back in time and see it in person?”
“Na, nuthin’ like that. I looked it up.”
Of course. Just when he was used to the impossible, she had to use mundane measures on him.
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Challenge #00433 - A058: Registered Toxic Passenger
(unfortunate real-life inspiration time!)
Considering how the aliens react to comparatively non-corrosive/hazardous materials, they must have either gone into DEFCON 1 or completely catatonic the first time a human vomited.
Other humans making sympathetic noises and cleaning up (*gasp* without even a hazard suit, the horror) while the aliens panic are completely optional
(No wonder the humans are insane, they’re full of hydrochloric acid strong enough to melt their own internal organs)
“We have lost spin,” said the Ch'ardva co-pilot.
“Oh no,” murmured Ambassador Patrice.
“You said this vessel never broke down,” wailed an aide, “that’s why we hired you!”
“There is first time for all, yes?”
Another aide was going through all their things, muttering, “Sick bags, sick bags,” to herself.
Patrice concentrated on her breathing. Picked something close. Something stable. Tried not to think about the mis-information her brain was giving her. Burped dangerously.
“The ambassador gets motion-sick,” said the first aide. “We didn’t want to cause any ups–”
Whoulp…
“Oooohhh…” winced the second aide, trying to net the flying globules with a terrycloth sack. “I am so sorry.” And gave her a piece of lemon peel to sniff.
Errant specks of effluvium landed on the more reactive parts of the Ch'ardva vessel. Where they sizzled.
Patrice finally got hold of a sick bag for the second round.
“You spit out acid?”
“Mild acid,” corrected an aide. “It’s one of the survival reflexes - to purge unhealthy food.”
“At least the rest of us keep our acidic internals on the inside,” growled the pilot. “Contain that lot before it hits the rest of the ship!”
Diverse alarms blared the Ch'ardva crew scrambled for cover suits and hazard-vacs. Pretty much all of them grumbled about even allowing such dangerous beasts on their ship in the first place.
“For the record,” Patrice gasped between bouts of retching, “this is an entirely involuntary res–” burp “–sponse.”
“Next time, keep your human things to a human vessel. Do you have any idea how hard it is to protect against toxics like you?”
“We’ll run you a nice deal on human-proof materials,” promised the first aide. “Discount wholesale.”
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Challenge #00432 - A057: Arachnaphobia
It took a surprisingly long time for the other cogniscients to realise how much /they/ scared the humans too.
Of course, some got the message more quickly than others
Lo-grav worlds are rarer than high-grav ones. For reasons that become quickly obvious the more one learns of physics and biology.
When low-gravity life evolves, it happens in artificial environments.
Which are also targets for scavengers.
The spider-people of H'nuf'ruf learned of humans through such expeditions. They never saw humans as dangerous, and became their chief advocate for the species to join the Galactic Alliance.
It took them centuries to learn that humans were, by and large, terrified of them.
All that time, the H'nuf'ruf thought that screaming was a human greeting ritual.
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Challenge #00431 - A056: One Dark Evening at a Motel of Ill Repute
“Dear person checking behind the curtain for serial killers, DO YOU MIND?!? Sincerely, serial killer trying to take a shower”
[AN: That’s practically a story on its own.]
Hannibal shrieked and hid his junk with the shower rose. And both hands. “What the hell, Will?”
“Sorry. It’s this place. It’s like I'm compelled to check the shower curtains for serial killers.”
“Well, there’s just me. Do you mind?”
“Sorry. Sorry. I’ll go check the broom closets again. Sorry.”
He sighed. What else could he expect when they were staying at the Bates Motel?
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Challenge #00430 - A055: Ballroom Blitz
Everything was going swimmingly until someone pulled out a disco ball.
“The music’s nice and all, but there’s somethin’ missin’.”
“By now, I dare not ask,” deadpanned Rael. “Just accept that whatever it is is most definitely a bad idea and leave things alone for a change.”
“Aaaahh… What sort'a party would it be wi'out a disco ball?”
*
The answer to that question, especially with Meyahndans sharing the party, was “safer”. Mayahndans, despite their carefully-crafted veneer of rigidly formal civilisation, had more instincts behind their facade than one would suspect. And those instincts were incredibly close to those of Terran Felines.
“I heard about murder on the dance floor, but that takes the cake.”
“I tried to tell you. You were right there. Why did you choose not to listen?”
“…iwantedtaehelp…”
Rael blinked. Shayde was many things, often related to the word, ‘brash’, but this was the first time she’d ever acted guilty about anything.
This was the first time she let herself seem vulnerable.
“Tell th’ medics I’ll pay fer their time. All their time. ’S my fault anywa’.” She rose from her seat and left. By dropping into her own shadow.
Rael didn;t know whether to feel relieved or alarmed about this sudden change.
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