Challenge #00680 - A315: Putting the Om in Omnivore

T’reka and some of the weirder things humans eat….

Of course putting a settlement into otherwise pristine land was bound to cause some ecological imbalance. The absence of so very many trees meant an upswing in homeless insects. Some of whom took the deforestation as a cue to breed.

The insects fed the birds and amphibians, who took the excess food as a cue to breed.

Which meant there was now an excess of Gargantua frogs looking for food in all the wrong places. Which, in turn, meant that the inhabitants of Wiwazheer were looking for things to do with predator frogs. Specifically, things to do with predator frogs that were going after the infant domesticated birds.

Which was why -when T’reka enquired about the activity- Wiwazheer was having the First Grand Gargantuan Cook-Off.

“Oh they’re edible,” said Su-syn, busily barbecuing and basting. “We’re all finding a way to make them ‘palatable’. This was the least-cost solution.”

Small children were still finding material for the town full of chefs. Some of them were struggling with the weight of the gigantic amphibians. Some of the very small ones were attempting to herd the beasts with pointed sticks.

“I have never seen a species with the primary solution ‘can we eat it’,” T’reka confessed.

“Well, if the long answer’s ‘yes, but—’ we’ll look to other uses for the things.” Su-syn turned a frog steak over. “Want to join the judges?”

T’reka unconsciously backed away. “No. Thank you.”

[Muse food remaining: 24. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00679 - A314: Ancient Beasts

Australian Pelicans are like something out of Jurassic Park - like they remember when things like them ate things like you, and are just biding their time. (I literally asked a zookeeper “do they run off with toddlers?!?” when I saw one for the first time)

[AN: I have not met any other kinds of pelicans, so I just assumed they were all like that. And for the record, they prefer fish.]

Irwin glared at the current batch of temporal tourists. Another bloody baby buggy. “Folks, you’re going to have to wait a few minutes before you can walk the path.”

“What? We paid for an hour. Our time’s already running out.”

“Were you told at Current-side that babies had to have extra protection?”

“We signed the waiver,” said the husband. “It’ll be fine. Nobody ever gets hurt on these things.”

“Yeah nobody gets hurt because we take every precaution to make sure nobody gets hurt. Which means having a stock of buggy cages here at Past-side and fitting all the baby buggies with them.”

“You want to put my daughter in a cage?” yawped mother.

Irwin sighed. She hated these kinds of tourists. She activated the hologram. “These are the gigantic pelicans we keep telling tourists not to feed. Of course, the tourists ignore us and flick them sandwiches, chips and stuff like that. Then when the food runs out? They go after small children. Last time that happened, Harry lost his arm. We’ve been using cages ever since. You either wait for a cage or go back for a refund because I’m not letting you out there to blame us for your idiocy.”

They stared at the pelican. They stared at Irwin. They looked at their darling little brat, who was far too young to appreciate dinosaurs, anyway.

“We’ll… go back for a refund,” said mother.

“Smart choice,” said Irwin.

[Muse food remaining: 25. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00678 - A313: Cogito Assassin Sum

Tossing Cows: The act of thoroughly derailing a train of thought, deliberately or not.

Yubsid was meant to be clerking. It was relatively mindless copy-work. Input this data into those fields. Nothing much in the way of brain power, just check that the right data was in the right place and mark the last entry so she didn’t get confused.

When she took a miniature health break to stretch herself or ensure that her digits got all their requisite exercise, she would muse absently about life in general and nothing in particular.

Except… whenever she really thought about things… Her neighbour Kerin got… talkative.

Just yesterday, she’d been stretching and thinking about the nature of light and space and time, and what it might look like if her cubicle was travelling at the speed of light… and then Kerin popped her head around the wall.

“Hey, do you have a stapler?”

“…huh?” Yubsid shook herself. The visions in her mind forgotten in the face of an otherwise friendly face.

“Stapler. I need one. You got it?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Yubsid got it out and handed it over. And then went back to work.

There were thousands like her in the corporation. Carefully placed next to their very own Kerin type.

The management had figured out how to isolate the kinds of people who derailed any train of thought. Thusly, their productivity skyrocketed.

Such a pity that the innovation rate was plummeting through the floor.

[Muse food remaining: 25. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00677 - A312: Loud Shy

They had never expected to be able to describe someone speaking as booming hesitantly, but that’s exactly what it sounded like.

The Ambassador for Gargantua was large, even for large cogniscents. He could easily intimidate a terran bear. He was all muscle and looked like he could conquer the universe.

And he was about to make his introductory speech.

“Er…” he boomed. “My name… is… Um. Grigri. Yes. Uh. I… was… an asteroid herder. I’m… very new… to. Uhm. Public speaking…”

Shayde watched as he fumbled his painful way through talking about Gargantua and what it needed in a loud, clear voice. Every ‘um’, 'er’ and painful pause. She leaned over to Rael. “Puir lamb…”

“Don’t help him,” Rael muttered.

“Aw but the puir wee thing needs a hug.”

“No. Let him speak. If you must help, applaud loudly.” He apparently thought about this and added, “After his speech.”

Shayde sighed and put on a Face. It was one of the ones she’d used to use when pretending Hackmeyer was saying something relevant. Though in the case of this Ambassador… she added a warm smile.

And when he was done, she added a little volume to the warm reception from the audience. He slunk into a desk next to her and blushed up a storm.

“Don’t be embarrassed. Ye did well.”

“THANK YOU MADAM!”

That was when she discovered that he had volume control issues.

[Muse food remaining: 26. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00676 - A311: Taming Humans

Humans may be rendered almost catatonic by careful scritches in the correct place - under the cranial hair, behind the ears and along the spine.

Important note: Although this technique can turn almost any human docile, 70% of the time it also makes it harder to escape, as ceasing the technique can lead to your human grabbing one of your limbs, even when partially asleep. As a human’s grip is nigh unbreakable even at rest, it is advised you use this only as a last resort or endeavour to keep anything graspable out of range.

Miles from home. Lost. Lonely. It’s easy to crave a friendly touch. It’s easy to need someone to talk to. And when you meet something - anything - that resembles a friendly face…

It was the fifth time that Foh ran across Allie that both human and saurian downed their tools and risked touch. Risked attempting some variety of communication.

For a deathworlder, this human was remarkably gentle. A surprisingly light touch. Foh was fascinated by her head plume, and discovered to her delight that the human responded positively.

Relaxed. 

Moved under Foh’s touch and made pleased murmurs.

It was rather like touching Velociraptor and discovering that it acted like a big, tame, compsognathid[1].

Foh was so amazed by it all that she didn’t realise the human had wrapped itself around her. And trapped her in place. The big, heavy, dangerous… and currently sound asleep… deathworlder.

Even in slumber, the human’s grip was unbreakable. It took some considerable hours for Foh to learn that a sleeping human could be coaxed to do things by tickling.

But even then, Foh wound up as the humans’ comfort-toy. She was lucky her kind were not from a havenworld. Otherwise the human’s sleepy squeezes may have killed her.

The most dangerous cogniscent in the sector feels comfortable around me, Foh thought. Now. How can I feel comfortable around her?

[1] Those unfamiliar with saurian biota would find this similar to touching a tiger and finding it acting just like an affectionate kitten.

[Muse food remaining: 27. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00675 - A310: Caution Considered

“That’s the secret truth about the kind of people you’re dealing with, Princess. They’ll tell you one thing, and then do the other, simply because they can, and are usually correct in assuming you won’t notice the difference. It’s coded in their DNA. We call them enabled sociopaths. You call them politicians.”

Yakish waited for a response. The young princess Elise looked so tiny as her bodyguard/servants inserted her into her formal regalia. She looked small and fragile. Pale and weak. She was barely past childhood.

“Thank you for your concern, Madam Adjudicator.” Princess Elise held her arms out so one of her attendants could wrap her about with a specially-fitted ceremonial corset. Tailored just for the occasion. At the end of the ceremony, it would be recycled to make other corsets. “But you have no need to worry about me.”

Another attendant bought a small knife on a silver tray. The delicate princess tested its heft and feel in her hand, as well as the sharpness of the blade. It then went into the integrated sheath that was part of the corset that, now that Yakish thought about it, could plausibly double as body armour.

It went in with a murmur of, “…for the honour of Vardia…”

Even though she’d seen it go in, Yakish had difficulty spotting where the hilt was.

A different servant added the purely decorative blade at her hip. Yet Princess Elise checked its draw, regardless.

“I’m… beginning to see that,” Yakish allowed.

“Vardians have been playing politics since we got settled in,” said the Princess. “These knives honour a time when we played politics in pools of blood. We still play with lives, Madam Adjudicator. But we play a more subtle game, where more is at stake than winning a crown.” Like the sparking gold thing riddled with gems that also, Yakish noted, held a small blade.

Her delicate-looking slippers were also armoured. The clicking noise they made as she walked was a warning. Danger approaches.

The Princess Elise, age twelve, smiled up at Yakish as if she were about to tell a joke. “Let them think me little. They’ll find out one way or another how dangerous it is to underestimate a Vardian.”

It took every conscious effort for Yakish not to recoil in horror.

She was a child, yes, but she was also a child who held the crown on the most dangerous planet in known space. She was a child who held worlds in the palm of her hand… and by her grace… decided the fates of billions.

Yakish began to thank her Gods that this child was responsible with her power.

[Muse food remaining: 28. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00674 - A309: Lines of XP

“I like women who are old enough to have had a little experience, and still young enough to want a little more.”

“Seriously?” said Shayde. “That’s what yer goin’ with today?”

“Oops. I thought you were older. It’s the hair. Not that there’s anything wrong with your hair. Ah crap. If I try to eat my foot, would it get less uncomfortable?”

“Ah, na. Keep diggin’. You might reach China.”

“What?”

Sigh. “Yeah that one works better on Earth. Except if you’re in China, then ya have tae say ‘Australia’.”

“Why?”

“Else it’s no’ funny, ye ken.” She peered over the luckless teenager’s head to a group of kids who were giggling amongst themselves. “Yer pals over there sent ye, did they?”

“Yeah. I had to get a kiss from a grandmother and they pointed you out.”

“And here am I thinkin’ that kind of contact between strangers was frowned upon. Yer no’ past the age o’ consent.”

The luckless lad boggled. “What kind of kiss are you talking about?”

Shayde giggled. “Didn’t notice the wee pin, eh?” She tapped it. Top-level Unintentional Insulter. She watched him break out in a cold sweat.

“I'mverysorryandI'dliketorunawaynow…”

“Aw na… yer a wee darlin’.” She kissed his hand. “Na go back and tell 'em I ain’t a grandmother. Yet.”

“Yes’m.” The boy fled. What was it with boys and accepting dares from other boys.

Rael caught up with her. “You aren’t happening to anyone, are you?”

“Who? Me?” Her portrait of innocence was the usual work of daycare collage. “Naw. It’s just a bunch o’ lads playin’ Stupid Dare. They’re that age.”

Rael cleared his throat. “It’s not limited to 'lads’…” he pointed.

It was a young girl, this time. With a giggling cohort hiding in a booth. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” she recited.

“Do I need tae set up a booth or somethin’?” Shayde enquired.

[Muse food remaining: 29. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00673 - A308: A Sight to See

Earth is one of a very few planets with a moon large and close enough to cause full eclipses. This will change as it gradually moves further away, but until then it’d probably be something people travel to see.

The ship full of tourists was directly under the moon shadow, of course. In a few minutes, it would be, once again, able to view the spectacle.

Lots of habitable planets had moons, of course. Some had sister planets to share their orbits. Which lead to some interesting alliances when each species discovered space travel.

Earth’s natural satellite was one of the few that caused eclipses.

Jarbis looked up through the protective plating on her life suit.  Through its obfuscating layers, the sun was a simple, yellow circle next to the dark shape of the moon. She’d seen it twice before. And in reverse as the ship skipped rapidly towards the next observational point in a sub-orbital hop. And yet, it was still transfixing. Awe-striking. Marvellous.

There were people up on that satellite, she knew. People clustering on the near side to watch the moons’ shadow pass over the globe above them. It was not as majestic as watching the sun turn dark in the sky, but connoisseurs came to marvel, regardless.

“Are you all right?” said one of the human guides. The name-tag read Wilson. “You’ve been clinging to that railing for hours.”

“I need it to stay steady,” said Jarbis. “My kind are not made for craning of the neck.”

“There are lounges for that,” the human indicated them with a sweep of her arm. “You can watch in comfort.”

“I will stand in the face of danger,” Jarbis recited, “and by standing grow stronger.”

“Okay. I’m just going to stay by you in case you fall over.”

Standing in the face of danger, indeed. The folks at home would never believe her when she told them she’d stood and watched the sun turn dark in the company of a deathworlder.

[Muse food remaining: 29. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00672 - A307: Instinct

“For some reason, whenever there is any number of humans in an open enough space, with enough raw materials, something will be set on fire. And something will inevitably be produced to cook over said fire, or at least hold over it on a stick and gently smoulder if there’s nothing edible available.”

The human was handy to have around. Deathworlders thought nothing of going into places that -for example- Brookessiin like Riik were loath to tread.

This one insisted on chatter. It made this labyrinthine hulk less lonely. And Riik could always trace the human by following it’s unpronounceable babble until they were re-united.

“Itellya, theinstantwegetthestuffweneedforrepairs? It'sgonnabehardtosayg'bye, yaknow?” The human said as it piled up wood and leaf litter. This was a nightly ritual. One that still fascinated Riik.

Humans, like all other cogniscent species, had discovered fire on their path to the stars. However, they had yet to find a place where fire wasn’t useful. And they had this instinctive compulsion to build a fire anywhere that counted as ‘open space’.

In this case, an overgrown park that had turned into a forest during its extended neglect.

Riik was in it solely for the roasted marshmallows.

Sadly, the human’s supply had run out, and Riik had nothing it could eat. Or hold over the fire to make edible. And everything growing on this station was poisonous to both of them.

The human just calmly speared a piece of bark with a stick and held that over the fire.

“Wegottahurryup, Rick,” it said. “Runnin'outtafood. Runnin'outtalotsastuff. ImeanIgotmatukkatukka, butyoucan'teatthat. B'sides, itain'tready.”

Riik held up two fingers, moved them closer together. “Small way to go. Two more days.” A gesture at the automatic lights with two fingers.

The human repeated the gesture. “Twomore. Icandealwithtwomore. You?”

Riik copied the human gesture of an upraised thumb. “Good. Self good.”

The human displayed its teeth. Tried to copy the Brokkessiin word. “Gud.”

Not bad for a first try.

[Muse food remaining: 30. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00671 - A306: To Be a SPOEn

Bear in mind this is a language where the word for “mess about with a small object and see if it does something” also means “play the violin”

“We have three different kinds of ‘moose’ and two are spelled the same,” argued Vic.

“Things went to crap when we switched to the phonetic alphabet. The entire context-necessary spelling convention has lead to unnecessary over-explanation.”

“I don’t like all the pronouns,” grumbled Jake. He was one of the Good-old-boy types from one of the less toxic Greater Deregulations. “It’s confusing. How in heck are you supposed to refer to something when you can’t tell its type?”

“I'faith, gentle sir, we find adequate use of their description, should their name become'st unknown.”

“SPEAK ENGLISH, DANGIT!”

“He is speaking English,” argued Vic.

“The problem,” said Paula, “Is none of us can agree on what English is. It’s a language that’s been begging, borrowing, and outright stealing words since it was recorded. It’s been changing because of invasion, invading, or just finding some word handy. Meaning is plastic… malleable. It changes with time… I’m starting to think this society is a lost cause. We’re only useful on occasion when some new Earth colony pops up and one of us has half a chance of understanding the dialect.”

The temperature dropped. Vic glared pure venom at her. “You can always leave the society. Should you continue to hold these… outrageous views.”

Right. Yes. Paula shrank in her seat. “It’s just a thought…” she mumbled.

[Muse food remaining: 31. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]