Challenge #00590 - A225: It’s ALIVE! …and Needs Counselling…
“What’s that? You say my creation is currently nigh unstopable and wants me dead? SUCCESS! It can move, self determine goals and figure out how to accomplish them! Now all I need is to figure out this sanity thing.”
“Master,” slurred Igor. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the problem…”
“Well, yes, there are a few little problems to iron out, but nothing a little careful negotiation can’t solve.”
“Master!”
“Yes, yes, I heard the ‘nigh unstoppable’ part. The key is 'nigh’. That means something can stop it. I’m going to need a megaphone, a jetpack, and an emergency set of retractable glider wings.”
“Master?”
“Just because I’m a mad scientist doesn’t mean I’m completely insane, Igor. I’m willing to negotiate, but I’ll have to do so from a safe distance. And that requires planning. Ooooh! And about three gallons of chamomile tea!”
“…chamomile… tea… Master?”
“Well we do want my creature to calm down, Igor. I’m perfectly willing to fix whatever it views as wrong or erroneous, but negotiating from a calm centre is advised. Poor little dear’s very likely to be upset…”
“Little? It’s nine feet tall, Master…”
“Little in terms of experience. It’s just seven hours old. Being upset with the universe is to be expected. Start brewing the chamomile!”
Sigh. “Yeeeessss, Master.”
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Beware the Creatures of the Night…they have Lawyers!
Lawsuits filed by supernatural beings. Bonus points for mentioning Wolff and Byrd!
(#00589 - A224)
“All rise.”
Lou Pine looked meek and mild at the defendant’s bench. Bracketed on one side by a tall woman with distinctive white hair, and on the other by a small man of seemingly permanent nonchalance. Noth lawyers seemed very happy to be defending miss Pine.
“Your honour, this is a blatant case of harassment,” began Ms Wolff. “The local police know miss Pine has a prescription for Wolfsbane on a medical concession she won in this court just last year. The police continue to harass her and stop and frisk her more regularly than any other citizen of that neighbourhood.”
“We have evidence to back that up,” added Byrd.
“It’s clear that the police want to start trouble with Miss Pine simply because of her medical condition.”
“Which is–?” prompted the judge.
“Lycanthropy, your honour.”
The judge made a little groaning noise and muttered, “…I thought this was one of the normal ones…”
“May we approach, your honour?”
“What’s going on?” whispered Miss Pine.
“I’m very sorry,” murmured Mr Byrd. “But it looks like we might have to present this case in front of another judge. Prejudice and all that.”
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Challenge #00588 - A223: You Can’t Make Me!
“You’ve lost the right to see me cry.”
“What?” said the cogniscent on his personal comms, sitting opposite Rael. “What does that even mean, Barbera?”
“It means you’ve hurt me for the last time,” said a higher-pitched voice. Either the cogniscent in question had her on speaker, or his volume was irresponsibly loud. Either way, the entire carriage of the Tram could hear them both. “I’m leaving, and I’m putting you on my blocked list.”
“What? How dare you? Did you know everyone here can hear what a bitch you’re being?”
“Actually,” corrected Rael, “We can all hear you–” a flourish of his handy mini-fan, all in silver, “–being an asshole.”
Some of the nearby passengers began digging for change.
“Those kinds of tactics don’t work, any more,” Rael informed. “She’s right. You’ve lost the right to see her cry.”
The cogniscent fell into stammering half-words as Rael collected a round of applause and enough Minutes to get something large and greasy at Unsuitable Food Eat.
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Challenge #00586 - A221: One Damp Afternoon on Tour
“Shock and awe can be dangerous and deadly, therefore the management has overturned your booking of the concert hall for a- what was it again?”
“A magic show.”
“Look,” sighed The Great Amaze-o. “We’re a comedy act. We show how everything is done and half the time we pretend to flakk it up. It’s funny.”
The Nephroton on the other side of the counter glared at them with her segmented eyes. “You are aware that our species is still limiting its contact with deathworlders, are you not?”
The Great Amaze-o made a show of carefully withdrawing some hardcopy documents from a very visible pouch in his cape. “We’ve had our act cleared for all known cogniscent species. And my crew will set up warning barriers. In three dimensions.”
“The expand-a-ball cage again?” whined Kev. “Why can’t we just set up a bug zapper?”
The Great Amaze-o grinned a very wise rictus and said without moving his mouth, “Excuse me while I strangle my associate for his very inappropriate sense of humour. That was very out of line and Kev should learn when to SHUT HIS ENORMOUS GOB.” The last four words were delivered with invective to Kev.
“I’m sorry, sir. You are still too dangerous to entertain in this sector.”
“Go to Insectia,” The Great Amaze-o mocked in falsetto. “They’ve never seen us there. It’ll be such fun…” Sigh. “There’s a reason why we call you Dense Kevin.”
“Why’s that, then?”
“Please leave before you disturb anyone?” begged the Nephroton.
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Challenge #00585 - A220: One Life in Song
Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun
Doe, a deer, a female deer…
Doe crept between the parked storage containers, heart pounding. She could still see the peak of the ship. She was headed the right way.
Ray, a drop of golden sun…
Shadows made her jump for all of five seconds before she realised it was her own shadow. A skinny stick of a thing. Undersized, underfed, under-represented and, so far, under notice.
She wished she believed in God so she could entreat the speechless fellow for help.
Me, a name I call myself…
She didn’t have her ID. It made it hard to be Doe because it called her Jonathan. She didn’t have anything. The less she had to tie her down to Greater Deregulation, the better.
Far, a long long way to run…
There was a mile between herself, her cover, and the gantry that lead to the habitation zones of the trade freighter currently parked like a fat toad on the spaceport tarmac. Any minute, now, there would be dogs. Any minute now, the sweeping spotlights would highlight her. Any minute now, a sniper would explode her head from a vast distance.
She’d never run so far, so fast, or in such a straight line.
There was no street debris to dodge. No alleys she had to duck down. No crowds of potential enemies who could move to stop her flight and therefore endanger her life.
She didn’t feel her injuries as she tripped up the stairs. Just scrambled for her life up the gantry and inside the darkened vessel. Into a small enough storage space seemingly designed to hide a small human safely inside. There was an emergency medkit and attachments to the air system. There was even inertia padding.
Sew, a needle pulling thread…
There was a huge gash in her leg. And a pre-threaded needle in the kit. Doe gritted her teeth and sewed the wound shut as best as she could. She was good at not letting the universe know when she was in pain.
Years of practice.
La, a word to follow So…
She flinched as the door opened.
Instead of a descending fist or a shout of outrage, there was a quiet, “Hello… That’s my hiding spot, kiddo…”
“…pleasedon'thurtme?” Doe begged. Possibly on automatic.
Tea, a drink with jam and bread…
The man and his lizard - or was it the lizard and his man? They gently coaxed her out of her hiding spot. Patched up her injuries and fed her.
Not the rationed fare she expected, but fully-flavoured printed meals. And hot drinks. Sweet treats.
She couldn’t understand why Hwell apologised for the lack of ladies’ clothes “suitable for such a young darlin’ as yourself.”
Doe was grateful for anything that she could get. That they had such ready abundance for her was stunning. Dizzying.
Exhilarating.
Which will bring us back to Doe…
Two Standard months had made an immense change. Not the least of which were vitally satisfying adjustments to her anatomy. A Galactic education revealed worlds of difference between the greater Galactic Community and the heavy misogyny of Greater Deregulation.
It was like wearing weights her whole life, and discovering how far and fast she could run when they were removed.
But the best thing of all was seeing her ‘Uncle’ Hwell waiting with flowers outside her physical counsellor.
“You’re glowin’, darling,” he chirped, presenting the flowers with a cartoon of a bow. And much foppery with an invisible hat. “Good news?”
She grinned. The flowers were lovely. Doe tried not to cling to them possessively. “The best. I’m going to start my menses soon.”
“I could try to schedule a party if ye like,” he breezed. “Got all you need? Any unwanted company you’d like me to see off?”
“Thanks for defending my honour, Uncle… but I’m fine. All the company I have, I want to keep. There is one thing I’d like?”
“Name it, then.”
“I’d… like to adopt the family name of Barrow, please,”
“Aaaaawww… Welcome to the fold, daughter-of-me-heart. That comes with free hugs 'till ye stifle you know.”
His arms always made her feel safe. She rushed into them because she knew he would never hurt her. He always asked first.
“Thanks, Uncle. Thanks for everything.”
“Best. Stowaway. Ever.”
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Challenge #00584 - A219: Rocky Start
Human: *sneezes*
Other cogniscient: What the hell was that?!
Ax'and'l had been dubious from the get-go about joining forces with a human… but he’d run the numbers and this venture was profitable in the extreme.
Insanely profitable.
Now it was just looking insane.
They were standing in an abandoned hulk of a spaceship, looting it for anything they could get out of it. Both had their survival suits on. Ideally, they were protected from everything the ship could throw at them.
If it were still operational, they could have deflected or absorbed any weapons fired their way. Even passive defences like long-lived virii or feral bacteria should have remained beyond their reach.
Until Hwell took off his helmet.
“Ah, relax,” he breezed. “Any of the sensors would have picked up anything hazardous. We’re going to be fine.”
“Speak for yourself, Mammal,” Ax'and'l growled. “I’m staying safe inside this hermetically sealed environment. You are going to be spending a week in quarantine.”
The mammal scoffed at him and then started grimacing and gurning.
“HASCHOOO!”
“What in the name of the First Egg is that?”
“S'deez’d. There’s dust.” Sniff.
“That’s a method for disease dispersal. Please aim yourself away from me.”
“HASCHOO!”
“One month in quarantine!”
Sniff. “Is dat sdandard or sobe calendar?”
Grumble. “I’ll consult with the Galstand Quarantine Regulations.”
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Challenge #00583 - A218: Draco Nobilis
“Which is better,” asked the ancient dragon, scales dull, horns broken, but eyes bright as he regarded the one sent to slay him, “to be born good, or to overcome an evil nature through great effort?” – Josh
[AN: JOSH! You live! You’re one of my fave anons :D I was getting a little worried that you’d fallen down a hole or something]
The Knight Gainsborough lowered their lance and became lost in thought.
“To struggle against evil would have to be more noble. Being born to virtue is to have no challenge. Maintaining virtue would therefore be easy. A virtuous child has but to remain virtuous. But a nefarious child must struggle against their inner demons on a constant basis.”
The elderly dragon nodded sagely. “Just so. Your lord sent you?”
“I sent myself.”
“Endeavouring. I appreciate it. So why did you come to slay me?”
“You have burned the Forest of Greeb. You have slain fifty head of cattle, and stolen a further fifty sheep. Your very presence threatens my lands.”
“Those sheep and cows… were they young and strong?”
“Uh…”
“Did you ask?”
“By… the accounts and book-keeping… the livestock you stole were bound for the slaughterhouse, anyway. They were old.”
“And the Forest of Greeb… do many go there?”
“Uh…”
“Go ahead,” said the dragon. “I can wait.”
“No. It’s infested by imps.”
“I have a deep mislike of imps. They torture wayward travellers. My methods of… pest control… direct and effective. The forest will recover. The imps will not.”
Gainsborough took off her helm. “You’re telling me that you’re doing my lands a favour?”
“Against my instincts, yes.” The old dragon lifted a wing to reveal a few very portable sacks of gold. “This should reimburse your impoverished farmers. And do let it be known that, so long as I live, I shall buy any livestock I eat. Should they have animals they can not sell, I shall buy them, too.”
“And if our enemies attack?”
“Should the need arise, while I can still make myself useful… I will.”
Which is how the hamlet of Gainsborough became known as a retirement home for dragons. And eventually became renamed as Dunbyrning.
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The most feared dance in the universe
(character) crept through the undergrowth, barely daring to breathe, as they followed the pulsing rhythm. Parting the bushes slightly, they sucked in a horrified gasp, seeing the flickering firelight and the Humans dancing around it.
There, in the light of the burning branches, were people skipping and hopping, drinking out of cups from large nuts and doubtlessly containing fermented grain juice. That, they could handle. But the dance, that caused all non-Humans to shake in fear … .
The dreaded funky chicken!
(there have fun with that!)
(#00582 - A217)
Night had settled firmly on the Humans-Only Island portion of the Resort Planet, Bigspa.
The heavy jungle beat gave Riitik all the direction she needed to seek a glimpse of the forbidden. They’d laughed at her. They’d said she’d never do it. Called her a coward. Said she wouldn’t dare.
Told her immense lies about their secret night rituals.
Well. She’d show them.
Riitik wove between the ferns. She could see the lights, now. The odd and outlandish shadow cast by crowds of hairless mammals as they moved to the concussive beat. She was getting close. Riitik turned on her eyecam. “This is Riitik of Cahriil. Recording for posterity the night time mating rituals of the tribal human. I’m about to venture to the point where I can see their activities. Wish me good fortune.”
There. A clearing with burning sticks providing some of the lighting. The controller of the party sound wore thick protection over their ears. As for the rest of them…
It looked like something had gone drastically wring with their motor control.
The last words of Riitik’s recording were, “They’re dancing like they’re birds… they’re dancing like they’re birds…”
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Douglas Adams
Aliens discover The Hitchhiker’s Guide.
(#00581 - A216)
Space, the text said, is big. Really big. If you think it’s a long way down the road to the shops, that’s peanuts compared to space.
“People paid money for this?”
“I think it’s some of their Terran humour…”
“I don’t see any references to trousers falling down in this narrative.”
Bloz glared at Kenka. “You and I have access to different worlds of humour.”
Kenka fluffed her feathers. “It said ‘guide’ in the title. There is very little contained herein that is useful. I’ve been to Traal. There are no Bugblatter Beasts.”
“Perhaps they went extinct.”
“Shall we ask a JOAT about the informativeness of this text?”
Bloz swiped through a few pages. “This is not an informative text. This is an entertaining text. It tells a story.”
Kenka fluffed and resettled her plumage with a nervous shake. “Then why are there so many who treat this as a religious text?”
“One of the mysteries of the Universe.”
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Deathworlders
Humans meet a species from a different deathworld.
(#00580 - A215)
Things around the negotiation table were tense. It wasn’t often that the humans met another cogniscent race that could kill them with ease. The fact that both sides were willing to keep their hostile actions in check was a telling victory for the mamalian side of the negotiations.
For a long time, Trodonti and Human stared at each other.
“We have studied your home planet,” said K'ress. “It is something we would consider as a holiday world. Your species is much weaker than us. How in the known universe did you manage to fight us to a standstill?”
Admiral Eig smiled. “You should have studied our evolutionary path, Captain. In our species’ infancy, we regularly hunted down meat many times our size. We regularly settled in or near volcanic cauldera because the soil is fertile. If something kills one of ours, we have a habit of either making its species extinct… or taming them. We have millennia of experience in taking a threat and turning it to our advantage.”
A minor adjudant whispered in the Captain’s tympanum. “The Gympie Gympie tree?” repeated K'ress.
“We’re still finding a use for it. Weaponizable neurotoxin seems promising.” She idly inspected her own nails. “Of course, we’re still working on ways to process it without harm to the manufacturers.”
“We would have eradicated such a hazard,” said K'ress.
“We might be able to bottle a small sample for you. According to our DNA scans, you might find it a tasty spice.”
K'ress couldn’t believe her senses. This mammal was offering her a violently aggressive toxin for their own species as casually as any other trader would offer beads and trinkets. “Why would you even try?” she boggled.
“We have an expression: one being’s trash is another’s treasure. One being’s poison is another’s medicine.”
“And sometimes both at once. I’ve read up on your ancient practice of ‘kee-mo therapy’…” K'ress shook her head. “The rumours were correct. Your species is insane.”
“Probably,” agreed Eig. “But we also firmly believe the expression 'waste not, want not’. Even something as poisonous as the Gympie Gympie or the Box Jellyfish may have its uses elsewhere. Even - and you may thank your Gods for this - people such as yours.”
Yes. The humans had fought them to a standstill. Not, K'ress noted, extinction. Though many other species would have if they could have. Many even urged the humans to do so. And now she had to be thankful that the humans wanted to see if she and her kind might come in handy at a later time.
“That,” she noted aloud, “I have fully noticed.”
Nods of understanding from the assembled mammals. One passed Eig a data tablet. Which Eig, in turn, slid towards K'ress.
“This is a list of what we consider to be sensible reparations. We’ve added the irrational ones in an appendix for your amusement.”
K'ress resisted the temptation to look at what an insane species considered irrational. These humans were capable of logic, after all. “My superiors won’t like this.”
“Your superiors need a tour of our weapons arsenal.” A smirk. A casual lean across the table. “We could have been worse. Always remember that, eh?”
It was painful, but not impossible. And not impoverishing to the point of generating another war. K'ress found it to be a very calculated balance. “I’ll have to pass it along, but…”
“Yes?”
“For mutual peace of mind…”
“Go on. Ask.”
“Explain to me how your kind managed to 'Rickroll’ the entire empire?”
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