Challenge #00885-B154: Dawn Technology
“Like many other things, if you know what you’re doing, an open fire isn’t particularly dangerous.” Says the person wearing no safety gear, having lit a campfire with flint and steel and currently rearranging the burning sticks barehanded.
“You’re… burning raw cellulose,” said the alien, through its translator. “There is no safety equipment.”
“Got a shovel,” soothed Tanja. “Got loads of sand. We’re good.”
“You are not knowing if this cellulose is loaded with toxins.”
“I live here. Okay, not here-here. But I live on an island a lot like this one. These plants make a good fire. And we need a good fire.”
“You has stating previously,” said the alien. It kept its distance from the flames. Flinched at every pop and snap. “You is not stating why.”
“Survival. A light at night and smoke by day. That gets us noticed and rescued. Two: heat and light keep predators away.”
“False. You are predator.”
“Omnivorous and I have objections to eating anyone with a personality.” Tanja tried to sound as gentle as possible despite this being the fifth time she’d told the creature. She sighed. “Look. You’re a predator and you don’t eat me. Right?“
“Superior predator. Deathworlder. I posit I being tasty.”
Tanja cleared her throat and said, “Three: we want to make sure any unseen parasite is definitely killed, yes?”
“YES! Killing deathworlder parasite! Not wanting invisible bug eating intestines!”
Tanja couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know. My entire biota is dangerous and you’re lucky you landed in this…” island chain? Um. No. “General vicinity. Heck, you’re lucky my boat held out long enough to get here. And you’re really lucky that I know enough xenocookery to make sure that I don’t poison you.”
Case in point: tonight’s meal. Fish stew. Tanja had caught the fish earlier that day. One of the few breeds that multiple meat-eaters could consume. She’d marinated them in pineapples and pineapple juice to soften the meat, and then added fresh coconut to help eliminate the enzymes in the pineapple. The other vegetation, gleaned from both her stores and the island, promised to be harmless to her carnivorous guest.
“Self making bargain with invisible gods. Self never taking ride-for-joy again. Self never doing Deathworld stunt dive. Self practice safe tourism. Forever.“
Tanja dished it up. It was going to be bland as all hell for her, but probably borderline painful for her guest. She handed over its bowl with a pre-opened can of coconut milk, just in case. Then added Siracha to the contents of her bowl.
“What is flavouring?” asked the alien.
“Deathworlder flavouring. Many toxins. It might kill you, so I’ll stay downwind.”
The alien scooted even further away. Politely, so it wasn’t inherently obvious that it was scooting away. “…many thank…” it warbled.
Poor kid.
[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00883-B152: Stress Indicators
Hiccups.
“But… I can’t be an ambassador,” Lalama protested. “I’d be the worst. HIC! There’s a reason -hic- there’s a reason -hoik- a reason I -hic- I went for -hiku- for Oort mining.”
“Well understood,” said Ruraha. She was a saurian. “Galactic law is not on your side. Friend Yayama… is breathing problem medical-dangerous?”
“No, I -hic- I just get -hyurk- get hiccups when -hroooip- when I’m nerv– HIC! Nervous.”
“But… you are Deathworlder. None of any may harm you…”
“Tell -hic- that -hic- to my -hic- anxiety.”
Ambassador Lalama of Beach was the first known Deathworlder to come to the Meet with a security object. She was not the first ambassador to need a hiding-cover.
Her co-ambassador for Beach, a bottlenose dolphin called Ii’ii’a, was also not the first to need a pool.
[Muse food remaining: 11. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00882-B151: Stifled Rude Noises
Prompt: That “GNK” noise a person makes when they manage to sneeze with their mouth shut.
Brexx didn’t know what was wrong. The human ambassador spasmed suddenly and made a sort of Skngx! noise. Then she gasped for breath and went, Skngx! Skngx! Skngx! in rapid succession.
Brexx hit the panic button. “Human ambassador non-communicative. Making abbreviated noises of unknown meaning.”
“…th’ flowers,” gasped Ambassador Harry. Skngx! Skngx! Skngx! Skngx! Skngx! “I’b allergig…” Skngx! Skngx! “To th’ flowers…” Skngx!
Brexx flushed them unceremoniously down the recycling chute and cycled fresher air rapidly into the environment. At least until Ambassador Harry’s breathing regulated itself.
There was still an alarming production of mucous and liquid leaking from her eyes.
“What was that?” asked Brexx, just as the ERT’s arrived to add to the chaos of the scene. Brexx gave them footage of the last five minuted.
“Stifli’g sdeezes,” Ambassador Harry Blew her nose on a tissue. “If I don’d id’s very loud and sdardli’g…” HASCHOO!
The next thing Brexx knew, she was staring at the ceiling of an Intensive Care Closet Drawer. The infoscreen above her eyes told her that the Ambassador was very sorry about the noise and did not intend harm. Brexx’s hazard pay had been tripled.
Maybe admitting these Deathworlders to the Galactic Alliance wasn’t that great an idea, after all…
[Muse food remaining: 12. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00881-B150: One Missed Point on the Commercial Concourse
A time machine has to have flashing lights. It’s not a proper Time machine unless it has flashing lights!
It was a tiny little nookery of surprising inside dimensions. It only seemed small on the outside. The shelves were full of interesting things that looked very impressive. There were a myriad of blinking lights.
“Welcome, welcome,” beamed the proprietor. Their nametag declared them to be Thiite. “Do you like my time machines?”
Blez Jenkins looked again at the items on the shelves. “These are machines that make travel in time?”
“Oh. No. These are machines that measure time,“ said Thiite, beaming proudly. “I made them myself!”
Ah. Okay. Thiite’s species must have just discovered clocks. “They’re very pretty,” she allowed. “How do I read them?”
“Read… them?”
“Yes. Which pieces indicate how much time is passing?”
Thiite’s face was an expression of sudden realisation mixed with sinking, mortal dread. “…i have made a grievous error…” she squeaked. “This shop is temporarily closed while I perform some basic tweaks on my merchandise. We apologise for the inconvenience.“
“I can help,” offered Blez. “I feel partially responsible…”
[Muse food remaining: 7. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00880-B149: Feelers
“‘The flowers that bloom in the Spring, Tra, La!’ Have everything to do with the case.”
Prison cells on Amalgam were, for assorted humanoid species, a Ten Distance Unit Cube that accommodated the bare minimum necessary for existence. And monitors for all activity.
Shayde had chosen a rubber ball for diversionary occupational therapy and sat with her back pressed against one wall. She was currently engaged in throwing it against the floor so it would ricochet off the wall and return to her non-dominant hand.
Ta-bomp, catch.
And judging by the twitch in the cell guard’s door, she’d been at it since early shift-change.
Ta-bomp, catch.
She’d drawn her long, pale hair into a braid that went from her forelock to her nape, and then wound on to finally end in a knot of hair that rested on her chest.
“Ey up,” she said by way of greeting. Ta-bomp, catch. “Ye here tae keep me sane, aye?”
Rael personally believed that was a lost cause. “I’m here to escort you to your work assignment. Even pre-assessment, you can be valuable.”
Ta-bomp, catch. She put the ball down. “Physical, unskilled labour is it then? Doubt ye got many rocks fer me tae crack…”
“No, it’s recycling.“
“Trash-pickin’. Lovely.” She picked herself up and dusted imaginary dust off her unflattering grey jumpsuit. Then offered her wrists to the shield wall. “Ye like tae cuff me in t’ front or the back?”
What?
“You already have your DR locator bracelets. Escape attempts are futile.” He entered the code that opened the wall a door’s width. “Follow me, please.”
“Jus’ like that?”
“Yes.”
“I could be violent,” she said, falling into step beside him.
“We know you aren’t. You’ve been elevated from the status of study animal to that of a small child. In order to be trusted with yourself, you must exhibit civil behaviours.”
“Aye, and then I pay me debt back, I understand it… but I dinnae ken what ye do wi’ the violent ones.”
“Therapy.” Rael escorted her into a Veet. Dialled up their destination and watched her breathing exercises. “Society is geared towards ensuring that violent outbursts rarely, if ever, become necessary.”
“…at fookain last…” Shayde murmured.
Rael decided to ignore that. The veet piped a tinny version of Jennifer Juniper through the speakers. Just atonally enough to be irritating, but no more than that. He would have to have another little conversation with Eliza about being her experimental subject.
Shayde was jiggling. “So. Ye got a girlfriend?”
He glared at her. “No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Intimate partner?”
She picked up things fast, it seemed. “No.”
“Snuggle-buddy?”
“No.”
A pause. Her gaze was taking in his entire form as a smile began to form. “Want one?”
Ugh. What was it with everyone who crossed his path coming on to him? “I don’t understand why all you biologicals are obsessed with coupling.”
“Basic instinct, isn’t it? The flowers tha’ bloom in the spring, trala… all that nonse.”
“Huh.” He folded his arms in a defensive barrier between himself and this twist in their conversation. “My biological particulars are a company secret.”
Shayde’s bio-luminescent eyes were built for boggling. They opened white and flared like a distant star in a startled white before fading back to a sort of purplish gold. “Ye don’t want closeness? No’ even a hug?”
“Hugs lead to other things. I prefer not to begin.”
“An’ yer no’ lonely?”
It was a precipitous moment that could either lead to hostility or closeness. And Rael was uncertain of which he desired. Fortunately, he was saved by the saccharine song of the arrival alert. The doors opened into the massive Station Recycling Centre and Shayde breathed in like she’d been underwater.
“Time for work,” said Rael, glad of the escape.
[Muse food remaining: 8. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00878-B147: Educational Aside
Since this year was a bust, eurovision prompt 2: Lasha Tumbai
[AN: I looked her up on Youtube… wow]
“So… if that’s ‘Eurovision Lite’…” Rael couldn’t help himself. Perhaps curiosity was yet another Alpha-draft flaw. “What is -ah- ‘Eurovision Heavy’ like?”
“Nearest words I can get is - the video answer tae crack.” Shayde queued up another video segment and fetched more popcorn.
“I’m not going to see anything… awful… am I?”
“Na, na, na… It’s all good. This lot’re very good. It’s just… techno dance accordion.”
“That was word salad.”
“That was an accurate description.”
They were wearing mirrors in what could easily be mistaken for a third-dan Insulter’s uniform. The lead singer had a gigantic star on her mirrored skullcap.
It was techno. It did make him think about dancing. And there was definitely an accordion in there.
And it was catchy as hell.
“That,” he announced, when silence once again reigned, “was almost a level three weaponizable ear-worm“
“Glad ye like,” teased Shayde.
[Muse food remaining: 7. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00877-B146: Walk This Way
The ministry of silly walks.
“Absolutely not. That walk is the wholly-owned property of the Consortium of Steam.”
Ribuffo sighed and stood still. “Fine. It was just an experiment. What about this one?” Once again, she paraded in front of the motion capture cameras.
And once again, the alarm blatted.
“Don’t tell me. I accidentally did Wilgro. I knew it. One more. One more.” This time, Ribuffo added the little fillip with the half-skip left step.
“That’s Wilgro with a half-skip left fillip,” said the clerk. “And it’s owned by Dedtrii, you know? The–”
“–one who does all the Wilgro parody pieces. I know.” Ribuffo fell into the interview chair. “Dale… I want to be funny. Are there any -Idunno- public domain walks?”
Dale raised her eyebrow. “Uh… I could get into trouble for looking.” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper, “And I can’t tell you to go looking for Archivaas Blaiiz in the Fiftieth district, subsection forty-eight. I can’t tell you to go meet at the Undisclosed Coffee Shop because it doesn’t exist. There’s no such thing as a cafe with no surveillance on Ghiisham. And I definitely can not tell you to get Archivaas Blaiiz’s help with form WWITGI-84529G. Got that?“
Ribuffo winked and tapped her squeaker-nose. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I won’t do any of those things at all.”
Comedy was serious business on Ghiishem.
[Muse food remaining: 8. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00876-B145: DO NOT ASK
Murphy’s Law, and ensuing resulting chaos thereof.
[AN: You can get some really interesting ones over here: http://www.scottrainey.com/jokes/murphys_laws.htm]
There are rules to space travel. Primary amongst them is: Shut the flakking door. And many of them are cycled upwards or downwards depending on the frequency of use.
But always, somewhere in the top ten is: Never ask questions with an inherently obvious answer.
The examples of the lawbreakers are numerous. Blex T’iiv once said, “They’re only level three Deathworlders. What can they do to us?” and quickly found out.
R’ixxo the Mighty asked, “How can those squishy things conquer a solar system?” and got a very practical demonstration.
And many humans have had, “It can’t get much worse, can it?” as their epitaph.
And, in retrospect, Trader Ax’and’s should really learn to stop asking, “What else can this human do to make my life more complicated?”
The human had a nervous rictus and both hands cupping his genitals. “Hi,” was the only greeting he had.
“I take it your ‘date’ didn’t go that well.”
“Ah. No. Water-soluable clothing. Water sluice ride. Do I need to spell it out?”
Ax’and’l sighed. “Has a complaint been registered against Ambassador Shayde?”
Sherlock maintained his usual unreadable facade. “Mister Barrow refuses to press charges. He said he deserved it.”
“What did he do to–” Ax’and’l cut himself off. He was learning. “No. No. Never mind. I’m sure I’ll read about it in the news feeds.”
Hwell belched an anxious titter. “Yeah. She kind of made certain there was a lot of press…”
[Muse food remaining: 8. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00874-B143: Sufficiently Advanced Technology
Today’s challenge is to write anything you like based on the animated video for Mystery Skulls: Ghost
If you need to know, Blue = Vivi, Yellow = Arthur, Purple = Lewis and Dog = Mystery
[AN: This takes place sometime after a re-union of ghost and mystery team. Also I love the fuck out of MSA :D]
Mystery had his nine tails out as he slept. And one eye open. Lewis glared at the kitsune, and at the target beyond.
Arthur. Snoring gently into a cushion of electrical parts and crystals. The remains of an entire case of Caf-Pow Superbullet cans scattered around the vicinity of a trash can.
Like so many other nights. Many of them while Lewis still had flesh.
The way it used to be… they never let Arthur tinker alone. Strange things happened when he was hepped up on too much caffeine and sarsaparilla. And, yes, there was a scattering of root beer bottles underneath his desk.
Memories battled with each other. Lewis knew, as team mom, that Arthur was going to wake up with an atrocious back, a crick in his neck and one hell of a headache. Why hadn’t Vivi…?
Vivi couldn’t carry Arthur to bed. That had always been Lewis’ job.
But also, he remembered the push. One green hand and a lunge. One expression of demented glee battling with the other - utter, pitch-black terror. And his own, illogical concern that Arthur had once again become possessed. He’d forgotten his stupid amulet in the stupid car again. Even though they put the stupid thing on the stupid rear-view so he could stupid see it and remember to put it stupid on…
And he remembered the feel of the stalagmite. And the struggle for air. And begging Vivi not to look. And he remembered the hate. He always remembered the hate.
It was easy to hate Arthur. It was easy to enjoy scaring the kid. So easy… to forget that he had once been Arthur’s mentor. That he’d taken the nervous, twitchy, bullied and browbeaten mechanical genius under his wing. How Arthur had resurrected the Skullmobile from a burned out chassis and a veritable plethora of junk parts.
…how Arthur had invented most of the machines that had saved them all too many times from the otherworldly menaces…
…how scared and shivering Arthur had kept coming back to face his fears…
And he had to keep reminding himself. Why he should not hate Arthur.
Vivi told him, often, about the year and a day since the fall. She called it ‘the fall’. During their time apart, she called it ‘the bad thing’ and did not remember. And once she did… She literally cried for a week. Once she was done, she told him how Arthur had gone through a rapid succession of replacement limbs before inventing his own. It had half the tech they used on their adventures, inside it. And an improved Amulet. He’d never get possessed again.
Some days, it felt like too little, too late. Tonight… it made the rage go away. Because Arthur never took the arm off. Not even for a second.
Lewis tidied up, using his postmortem telekinesis to silently remove the remains of Arthur’s indulgences. And in doing so, he uncovered the plans. Like always, the contents of the plans were incomprehensible to Lewis, but there was a title and a paragraph. Added by habit to stop Lewis derailing Arthur’s train of thought with questions.
He still did that. Even after a year of Lewis’ death.
The words on the sheet read: Corporeal Recombobulator. Return flesh to Earthbound Spirits over the passage of nine months. The rest of it was the usual incomprehensible mixture of math, science, and magic.
And the finished product resembled a bright yellow companion cube.
“…’m s’rry, lew… didn’ mean it…” Arthur mumbled, turning his head. There were transistors and resistors and a crystal stuck to his face.
Lewis sighed and carried Arthur to bed. Things may never be as they were… but they could at least mend the bridges.
When he looked back at Mystery, he seemed like an ordinary dog, once more.
[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00873-B142: Distracting Objects
Keets and a laser pointer.
Problem one: Keets are super-delicate babies and must be protected.
Problem two: Keets are as hyper as all get out in rainy weather.
Problem three: Keets can climb, but they’re not that great at getting down safely.
Problem four: they’re suicidally curious and have worked out how to open the playroom door.
Keri had to keep them under constant supervision and off the shelving and occupied until the grownups came back.
And, as further trouble, the usual array of kidvids didn’t seem to capture their gnatlike attentions. Neither did any of the approved toys. They were bored out of their little gourds and had cabin fever to boot.
Then she remembered how she kept the kittens away from Mom and Ms Ri’ki. In a fit of half-crazed, sleep-deprived genius, Keri got the trinkets jar down and unearthed the laser pointer.
*
“We’re ho-ome!”
Silence. Ominous, heart-stopping silence. Anne rushed to the playroom door and sneaked it open.
One pre-teen child, deep in slumberland and the pillows of the hammock. Leg dangling awkwardly at an uncomfortable angle.
And in the nest-bed opposite, one, two, three… all four of Ri’ki’s keets. All snuggled up together under the warming blanket.
All alive, whole, and -yes- breathing.
“…mom…?”
Anne nearly jumped out of her skin. “Hi, darling. How was keet-sitting?”
“Hectic until I busted out the laser pointer.”
“Oh… kay?”
“Ran ‘em around until they ran out of puff,” Keri grinned. Then yawned. “And I’m still on ten percent battery. Can I go to my bed?”
“Yeah, go for it. The grownups can keep an eye on the keets, now.“
Keri sighed and lurched towards her room like a half-conscious zombie.
Laser pointers. They really did work on any creature with a small attention span.
[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]