 
One Leap Year of Instants

C M Weller

Published by C M Weller at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 C M Weller

ISBN: 9781310518218

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other works by this author:

RTFM

Nor Gloom of Night

Good Boy

Blowing Bubbles

Scavenger

It Happened One Wednesday

Hevun's Rebel

Hevun's Ambassador

Hevun's Gate

One Year of Instants

Interview Inside a Terrarium

The Amity Incident
Table of Contents

Forewarning

Challenge #000: From a forum discussion...

Challenge #001: Have you ever had a dream...

Challenge #002: Sound advice.

Challenge #003: More sound advice

Challenge #004: Cursed Curses

Challenge #005: Lovely Light

Challenge #006: T'reka the Unobservant

Challenge #007: Madthod

Challenge #008: Perks of a new job

Challenge #009: Animal Associate

Challenge #010: Unconventional.

Challenge #011: Fandom Follies

Challenge #012: Powers of Observation

Challenge #013: One Fine Afternoon Whilst Escorting the Ambassador From Jaarl

Challenge #014: One Slightly Terrifying Hour in a Malfunctioning Veet

Challenge #015: One Precarious Situation in the Forgotten Zone

Challenge #016: Please Understand

Challenge #017: Seriously?

Challenge #018: Best Frienemies

Challenge #019: One Disastrous Afternoon in the Offices of the Cogniscent Rights Commission

Challenge #020: The Biggest Game of Fetch

Challenge #021: The Sad Misadventures of Hwell Barrow

Challenge #022: Killer Mutant Zombie Human

Challenge #023: Ferocious Flavour

Challenge #024: Ride the Pony

Challenge #025: Interspecies Relationships

Challenge #026: Offerings in Innocence

Challenge #027: It Came From Planet Earth

Challenge #028: Drunk Physics

Challenge #029: To Stop Human

Challenge #030: Performance Peace

Challenge #031: Come for the Spectacle...

Challenge #032: Creative Critiquing

Challenge #033: The Growing List of Things Rabbit Should Never Do Again

Challenge #034: Assistant's Assistance

Challenge #035: First Resort of Fools

Challenge #036: Come Fly With Me

Challenge #037: Ever Met Someone You Feel Like This About?

Challenge #038: The Most Important Lessons

Challenge #039: One Sad Afternoon on a Street Corner of NuFurria

Challenge #040: Temptrotica's Big Test

Challenge #041: Releasing Pressure

Challenge #042: Intergalactic Ambassador Spot

Challenge #043: So Long, Lefty Loosey

Challenge #044: Lady Slings the Booze.

Challenge #045: A Peculiar, Yet Typical Argument

Challenge #046: Pugs.

Challenge #047: Romantic vs Classicist*

Challenge #048: Even a God/dess Needs Sustenance.

Challenge #049: Metal's Mettle

Challenge #050: When You Meet a Stranger...

Challenge #051: A Strange Meeting in a Bubble Dimension

Challenge #052: One Fine Afternoon in the Local Comic Shop

Challenge #053: Urgent Call Home

Challenge #054: Ballroom Blitz

Challenge #055: One Dark Evening at a Motel of Ill Repute

Challenge #056: Arachnaphobia

Challenge #057: Registered Toxic Passenger

Challenge #058: One Extraordinary Shift in the Museum of Disturbing Things

Challenge #059: An Average Sight at a Particular Exit

Challenge #060: Aftermath

Challenge #061: Humans!

Challenge #062: Hivemind Negotiations

Challenge #063: That's a Bad Motto

Challenge #064: Power

Challenge #065: Going With What Works

Challenge #066: To Reach...

Challenge #067: Showdown

Challenge #068: The Test

Challenge #069: A Little More Complicated

Challenge #070: Whoops

Challenge #071: Complaining to another supernatural being.

Challenge #072: Personal Assessment

Challenge #073: The Nose Compass

Challenge #074: Whuffo

Challenge #075: The Inauguration of Mayor McToilet

Challenge #076: The Puzzling Nature of Love

Challenge #077: Humanity in a Nutshell

Challenge #078: This Always Happens...

Challenge #079: The Great Equalising

Challenge #080: Be-leaf in Love

Challenge #081: Beautiful Hostile

Challenge #082: San Check

Challenge #083: Love will find a way...

Challenge #084: Like Humans Do

Challenge #085: True Mens' Rights

Challenge #086: Portents of Doom

Challenge #087: The Death of Gendered Clothing

Challenge #088: The Trouble With ELFs

Challenge #089: The Importance of Love

Challenge #090: Here There be Dragons

Challenge #091: Bad Day at the Office

Challenge #092: Or Are They Wearing You?

Challenge #093: The Sensible Thing

Challenge #094: Otherwhen

Challenge #095: Not Dangerous - But...

Challenge #096: Behind the Mask

Challenge #097: The Element Bullshittium

Challenge #098: Two Out of Three

Challenge #099: Of the Human Kind

Challenge #100: Growing Old is Mandatory

Challenge #101: The Nature of Enemy

Challenge #102: Open Source Enterprise

Challenge #103: Fecocephalopathy

Challenge #104: Works of Synchronicity

Challenge #105: Proof of Reading

Challenge #106: Lead Balloon

Challenge #107: What is Real?

Challenge #108: Yo Daddy SO Dense...

Challenge #109: Someone Said it

Challenge #110: Irresistible Force

Challenge #111: Camouflage

Challenge #112: Why They Never Came By

Challenge #113: Biggest Fans

Challenge #114: Oxymoronic Artefacts

Challenge #115: One Alarming Discovery on the Paths Less Travelled

Challenge #116: Random Curiosity

Challenge #117: Imagine There's No People

Challenge #118: Blood!

Challenge #119: One Fine Evening in the Commerce District of Station Alpha Five.

Challenge #120: An Attempt Was Made

Challenge #121: Adventures With Incompatible Technology

Challenge #122: When The Rot Came In

Challenge #123: Obvious Design Flaw

Challenge #124: Dominion

Challenge #125: Further Proof, if Any Were Really Needed

Challenge #126: Sing-Along

Challenge #127: Stolen shamelessly from XKCD

Challenge #128: Percussive Maintenance

Challenge #129: Mr Stark in a Nutshell

Challenge #130: Fractal Wrongness

Challenge #131: Origami Denseness

Challenge #132: A Study in Contrasts

Challenge #133: Sola Terra Australi

Challenge #134: Domesticated Predators

Challenge #135: The Wolf's Just a Puppy

Challenge #136: Biochemical Imbalance

Challenge #137: Gengineer of Note

Challenge #138: Poor Unfortunate Souls

Challenge #139: One Dank Morning in the Dire Halls of MegaGlobocorp, West Esterly

Challenge #140: Problematic Material

Challenge #141: Dem Dry Bones

Challenge #142: Conclusion-Jumping

Challenge #143: Salvation From the Lessers

Challenge #144: Unreasoning Profits

Challenge #145: Two Types

Challenge #146: Given Enough Rope

Challenge #147: Necrotheque

Challenge #148: Sympathy for the Monster

Challenge #149: Expect the Unexpected

Challenge #150: That Ole Time Religion

Challenge #151: Not Made to be Broken

Challenge #152: Names Shape Reality

Challenge #153: Creative Collaboration

Challenge #154: Knowing Where People Don't Look

Challenge #155: The Problem With Tired Old Plots

Challenge #156: The Human Effect

Challenge #157: Hidden in Plain Sight

Challenge #158: Pee Ode

Challenge #159: Relative Cartography

Challenge #160: Exceptions to the Rule

Challenge #161: Rève-rie

Challenge #162: Mercy Maintenance

Challenge #163: Panelbeating

Challenge #164: Graveworld

Challenge #165: Come to Australia (You Might Accidentally Get Killed)

Challenge #166: Opus Apparatus Spurius

Challenge #167: Ancient Curses

Challenge #168: One Familiar Face

Challenge #169: Sufficiently Advanced... Rituals

Challenge #170: The Un-Secret

Challenge #171: Acapella

Challenge #172: Witch on Trial

Challenge #173: Need to Know

Challenge #174: Maybe a Not-Too-Distant Future

Challenge #175: Absence of Wenching

Challenge #176: Black-boxing It

Challenge #177: Party Life

Challenge #178: Mischief at Work

Challenge #179: Monstrous, Not a Monster

Challenge #180: The Second-Unkindest Cut

Challenge #181: Essential Developments

Challenge #182: Mwa-hahahahaha

Challenge #183: Comfort Conniption

Challenge #184: Strange Pastimes

Challenge #185: Proclivities

Challenge #186: Surprises

Challenge #187: Unlikely Meetings

Challenge #188: The Problem with Problems

Challenge #189: We Didn't Start the Flame War

Challenge #190: Perplexing

Challenge #191: One Fine Evening in a Festival of Masques

Challenge #192: Vampirism Sucks

Challenge #193: Unsuitable Food

Challenge #194: Buddy-buddy

Challenge #195: Casual Toxicity

Challenge #196: The Big Reveal

Challenge #197: Writing Prompt

Challenge #198: One Fine Evening in the Nightvale Maternity Ward

Challenge #199: Return to Sesame Street!

Challenge #200: Alas My Love...

Challenge #201: The Delicate Process of Acquiring Snuggle-Buddies

Challenge #202: Mass Destruction

Challenge #203: You Swallowed What?

Challenge #204: Imp-ossible Lover

Challenge #205: Hug-a-bunch

Challenge #206: At the Other End of a Tunnel Through Snornia

Challenge #207: Visiting an Ailing Friend

Challenge #208: Big, Blue and Mostly Harmless

Challenge #209: Don't Speak

Challenge #210: One Dark Stretch of Time in an Unknown Pocket Dimension

Challenge #211: Imaginary Union 1475

Challenge #212: Confusing Hilarity

Challenge #213: Explaining a Lot

Challenge #214: Like a House on Fire

Challenge #215: Deathworlders

Challenge #216: Douglas Adams

Challenge #217: The Most Feared Dance in the Universe

Challenge #218: Draco Nobilis

Challenge #219: Rocky Start

Challenge #220: One Life in Song

Challenge #221: One Damp Afternoon on Tour

Challenge #222: One Peaceful Morning in a Grave Grove

Challenge #223: You Can't Make Me!

Challenge #224: Beware the Creatures of the Night...They Have Lawyers!

Challenge #225: It's ALIVE! ...and Needs Counselling...

Challenge #226: Unreliable Witness

Challenge #227: Bad Advice

Challenge #228: History Lesson

Challenge #229: Peggy deCulco

Challenge #230: A Mother's Curse, used elsewhere

Challenge #231: One Miserable Afternoon in an Observation Lounge

Challenge #232: Detective Work

Challenge #233: Aftermath

Challenge #234: The Worst Levels of Fame

Challenge #235: The Challenge at the Third Act

Challenge #236: One Random Encounter in a Relaxation Lounge

Challenge #237: Don't Panic!

Challenge #238: Bad, Bad Intel

Challenge #239: One Stormy Evening in a Spaceport Bar

Challenge #240: Tax Haven

Challenge #241: Essential Equipment

Challenge #242: One Disastrous Afternoon, Mid-Alien-Invasion

Challenge #243: Wait, What?

Challenge #244: Intervention

Challenge #245: One Stormy Afternoon in a Spaceport Drydock

Challenge #246: Every Apprentice Does It

Challenge #247: Universal Nevers

Challenge #248: The Human Argument

Challenge #249: Explaining Business

Challenge #250: A Lesson For Humans

Challenge #251: Adventuring with humans

Challenge #252: Stick to the Plan

Challenge #253: Anything That Can Go Wrong...

Challenge #254: A Cunning Plan...

Challenge #255: Know Your Source

Challenge #256: Spitballing

Challenge #257: Simple Exposition

Challenge #258: What Do You Mean, 'Going'?

Challenge #259: Slippery Slope

Challenge #260: Original Meaning

Challenge #261: He Said it Best

Challenge #262: What Maketh Man?

Challenge #263: Drawbacks of Communication

Challenge #264: You Were Warned

Challenge #265: Deep Time Punk'd

Challenge #266: Corrupt File

Challenge #267: Respect It

Challenge #268: Boundless Realms of Ignorance

Challenge #269: Space Madness

Challenge #270: The Horrors of Attempted Time Travel

Challenge #271: Getting Along...

Challenge #272: But the Cat Came Back...

Challenge #273: Capitalism

Challenge #274: An Axe to Grind

Challenge #275: One Fine Evening in a Filthy Spaceport Bar

Challenge #276: BSOD

Challenge #277: Forbidden Fruit

Challenge #278: Culinary Compromise

Challenge #279: Human Religions

Challenge #280: Performance Art

Challenge #281: The Internet

Challenge #282: Scary Handy

Challenge #283: Sacrifice...

Challenge #284: Reality? Just a Suggestion

Challenge #285: Magnificently Horrible

Challenge #286: It Works on Everyone

Challenge #287: The Spine's ex-Hats

Challenge #288: Children of the Night...

Challenge #289: But Why?

Challenge #290: Next Challenger

Challenge #291: Do You Have Time...?

Challenge #292: Fascinating in Retrospect

Challenge #293: Politically Correct

Challenge #294: Warning - Humour

Challenge #295: Not Necessarily Needing to go Night Vale on This One...

Challenge #296: Strange Encounters

Challenge #297: Bad Instincts

Challenge #298: Brawk?

Challenge #299: Perilous Ornithology

Challenge #300: PDA PSA

Challenge #301: Overheard at the bar...

Challenge #302: Slippery Slope

Challenge #303: The Best Genes Money Can Buy...

Challenge #304: Methods of Madness

Challenge #305: Not Exactly a Writing Prompt, But Figured You Might Get Some Use From it Anyway.

Challenge #306: To Be a SPOEn

Challenge #307: Instinct

Challenge #308: A Sight to See

Challenge #309: Lines of XP

Challenge #310: Caution Considered

Challenge #311: Taming Humans

Challenge #312: Loud Shy

Challenge #313: Cogito Assassin Sum

Challenge #314: Ancient Beasts

Challenge #315: Putting the Om in Omnivore

Challenge #316: One War-Torn Afternoon in Vietnam...

Challenge #317: Strange Camouflage

Challenge #318: Different Perspective

Challenge #319: The Hunt Begins!

Challenge #320: The Q&A Session of Genghis Khan!

Challenge #321: Peripatetic Commerce

Challenge #322: One Rebuttal in a Filthy Spaceport Bar

Challenge #323: Benevolent Anarchy

Challenge #324: In Peril

Challenge #325: The Treasure

Challenge #326: Photographic Anomalies

Challenge #327: "Secret" Identity

Challenge #328: Human Foodstuff Transit

Challenge #329: Children of the Permanent Night

Challenge #330: One Dank Afternoon in a Dungeon Pub

Challenge #331: Hence the Canary

Challenge #332: Extreme Cuisine

Challenge #333: Rituals of Nerditry

Challenge #334: Community Service

Challenge #335: One Dead Hour at Unsuitable Food

Challenge #336: Ignorable Precautions

Challenge #337: I'm What?

Challenge #338:...Primitive Technology?

Challenge #339: And Yet it Moves

Challenge #340: Someone Thought of the Children

Challenge #341: Tonight on Border Patrol...

Challenge #342: Honey-Bunny Booboo

Challenge #343: Generations Ago...

Challenge #344: The Fright of a Lifetime

Challenge #345: Vicious Competition

Challenge #346: Saved!

Challenge #347: Jinge Bells, Santa Smells

Challenge #348: Sonic Rainbows

Challenge #349: One Thing in Common

Challenge #350: The Truth is Out There

Challenge #351: As the Station Turns

Challenge #352: Pre-Luddite

Challenge #353: One Afternoon in a High School Classroom

Challenge #354: Divinity Proclivity

Challenge #355: The Abomination

Challenge #356: "Did you hear the one about the two humans?"

Challenge #357: Food That Sings

Challenge #358: Dragons need better PR agents.

Challenge #359: Technobabble

Challenge #360: One person's trash...

Challenge #361: Response to "The Fright of a Lifetime" (1)

Challenge #362: Response to "Fright of a Lifetime" (2)

Challenge #363: Response to "Fright of a Lifetime" (3)

Challenge #364: Response to "Fright of a Lifetime" (4)

Challenge #365: Strange Nest-Fellows

Challenge #366: That's Me All Over

Congratulations!

About the Author
Forewarning

To quote one of the more famous openings in cinematic history: I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey.

Down the rabbit hole ahead, you will find all kinds of tales inspired by readers like you who were bold enough to drop a prompt into my submissions box.

On average, I wrote a story per day, every day, for three hundred and sixty-seven days[I discovered, too late, that there was a misnumbering, so all of you get one extra story. Yay!]. There are some prompts that were submissions of multiple scenarios. The only reason I don't like them is that I tend to pay for writing multiple stories with physical pain. But I rather consider the pain to be worth it if I can make my readers smile. Or cry. Or even relate to someone completely outside of their comfort zone.

If I can do that, then I must be good.

But you didn't get this book to read me honking on about my writing. So let's wander together through a leap year's worth of bizarre little tales...

Return to Table of Contents
Challenge #000: From a forum discussion...

...on making humans unique on a galactic scale without turning us to either primitive brutes, diplomats, or supah-speshul-snowflakes.

I'm not sure if I've submitted this before, but a cursory search didn't turn up anything.

Poster A: Humanity possesses the right combination of above average curiosity and below average sense of self-preservation. This has lead to us following technical development pathways that the rest of the galaxy would consider, well, insane.

When other species reached for the stars, they did it only after they'd safely developed antigravity or teleportation technology. Mankind put a man on top of a missile and pointed it up.

When any other civilisation suffers a hull breach battling aliens, they reroute power from the primary phase disruptor array to compensate and retreat. Humans slap some duct tape on it and return fire.

For the rest of the galaxy, major organ failure was a death sentence until they invented nanoregenerative therapy. We tear open the bodies of our dying and restore their vitality with zombie organs ripped from our still cooling dead.

In the eyes of the galaxy, we're the mad science race.

Poster B: In addition to zombie organs, we also have robot organs. When our bones break, we bolt them back together until they heal. We consider nukes a viable form of propulsion for spacecraft [Ed: Orion Project]. We make explosives so unstable they destroy the lab equipment used to measure them. We keep class 4 biohazards around because we aren't done studying them.

The real kicker? Humans consider such things perfectly reasonable and ordinary science, done by reasonable and ordinary men who live in ordinary houses with ordinary jobs.

Mad science? Nope, just regular science. — RecklessPrudence

[AN: You've pretty much nailed why the other species still call humans insane]

From the lectures of Kagzak:

The field of human studies is only partially dangerous. Yes, I am aware that humans have higher thresholds for physical damage, coupled with a centric thought that has to learn other species are different.

Before the discoveries of T'reka the Mad, also known as T'reka the Inquisitive, humans were widely believed to be incredibly hazardous.

[An image of a human from the pre-Amity pool of media. The human had a splinted leg and, though walking with the aid of a crutch, still reached towards the evidently terrified saurians. The legend on it read: HORROR OF THE HUMAN]

And it is true that events that would permanently disable any other cogniscent are viewed as a mere annoyance to humans. We well know that events that would cause death in other cogniscents merely incapacitate a human. Indeed, it is possible to remove all of a humans' limbs and they will still find means to get around and accomplish things.

[An image of a quadruple amputee in a motorised wheelchair, steering the device with a straw in her mouth. On her lap, a monkey dressed in children's clothing.]

This image, of course, dates back to "The Shattering", a continuing event in which spacefaring humans sent colonists down the Terran system's wealth of one-way wormholes. This example has a trained animal as an assistant. Helper animals are an old concept, dating back to domestication.

[An image of a man with a dog on a harness]

This human has no use of their eyes. The animal with him assists in navigation. And in the event that an animal is unwanted or unavailable...

[An image of a woman with a striped stick, paired with another wearing cumbersome goggles.]

...the humans have both simple and complex technologies to assist instead.

But enough of disabilities. I must warn you that some images you will see here are of a disturbing nature.

[An image of a stone carving, depicting humans in a series of complicated poses. Central to the scene is a pregnant woman and another approaching her bulbous belly with a knife]

This is an 'operation'. Also known as 'surgery'. A procedure in which medical personnel cut a living human to fix what has gone wrong with their insides. The one pictured here is a 'caesarian' in which the human infant is extracted through such surgery.

This image dates back to the early bronze age of the humans, and pre-dates the use of anaesthetics.

[Gasps, murmurs, and nervous laughter from the audience]

[An image of another stone carving. This time the one with the knife was working on the patient's head.]

This is early brain surgery from the same era. The belief at the time being that holes put into the skull bone would relieve symptoms of mental disorders. Or what the early humans believed to be mental disorders.

It would be centuries before humans would use drugs to keep surgical patients both quiescent and unaware of their surgeries.

[A video of a chemical rocket launching. Judging by the slowness of its ascent, it was a large rocket]

This is the launch of Apollo eleven. An historic moment in human history. They literally strapped themselves to an explosive and fired themselves at the moon.

Astonishing, I know. They did this in the infancy of their computer age, without having first developed their famous gravity drive or magnetic launch technology. In fact, they continued to use primitive explosives as a means of launching from their planet's surface for some significant time.

Human medical science has benefitted from their 'space age'. Including temporary, mechanical, replacement organs. This never quite supplanted harvesting the dead for organs used to replace defective ones in a living human.

[Gasps and murmurs from the audience]

Surgery is frequent with humans, and sometimes performed for vanity. They will hire a surgeon to break and re-set their facial bones, rearrange their skin, their hair... insert or remove things deemed 'ugly', simply to attract a more desirable mate.

So much so that, before the age of the Great Return, it was 'natural' for males and females alike to alter their physical selves in order to fit arbitrary and unrealistic beauty standards.

We have since been able to train them out of such atrocious habits, fortunately. That said, humans still possess a high tolerance for pain, and low thresholds for personal safety. There is even an ethos of sacrificing a 'hero' to protect the larger populace.

Flying headlong into battles where divine intervention would never poke a stick, as it were.

[Giggles from the audience.]

Before the uniquely human invention of non-lethal combat, their chief strategy was to charge straight in, guns blazing. This proved especially effective, since other vessels would prefer to preserve their occupants rather than win the fight.

This included strategies like the Kamikaze Bomb.

[A video of a small human vessel with one pilot flying straight towards an alien vessel and ending in immolation]

This course will cover this, and many more human insanities. We will attempt to plumb their reasons for their seemingly bizarre choices, and why such strategies are mind-bogglingly successful.

Remember, always, should you continue this course, the seeming human motto: "If it's crazy and it works, then it was never crazy."

I expect an essay on that motto by the end of next week. Thank you for your Time.

Return to Table of Contents
Challenge #001: Have you ever had a dream...

That made you honestly depressed once you realised it was only a dream? And not for one of the usual reasons - living loved ones, missed chances taken, you're a superhero - but for something on a much larger scale?

Say for instance, you had a dream that lead to near-free energy for all, universal healthcare and education (there was no distinction in living quality to mark the Third World anymore), grand societal change for equality and to redress past wrongs, but without committing great new ones. Increased lifespan, revived space program, colonies on two other celestial bodies, mining mostly offworld, environment recovering and being helped along in the process, et cetera et cetera.

Say also that in this dream, you were instrumental in these changes, and you lived forty years in said dream - in dream terms of course, so broad strokes and feelings - and then, going to sleep expecting to wake up to said near-utopian future, you instead woke up in 2013, in your old body.

You are depressed not only because as far as you can see there is next-to-no chance you will get to see such a world in your lifespan, but also the knowledge that barring magic, you accomplished more in that world than you ever will in this.

Now... what do you do? How do you propose to ever measure up to - yourself? How do you manage to deal with all the ways the real world falls short of the dream one, when it feels like you spent more time in the dream world than you have years in this one?

Make it a fic war prompt if you want. — RecklessPrudence

This was not her beautiful house. There was no sign of her beautiful wife. It was a dingy, dripping, cockroach-infested cupboard that barely qualified as a flat because there was room for a bed in it.

And she was back in the wrong meat-suit again.

FUCK!

She got out her dream diary and wrote down every detail of the life she'd lived. A different reality. A world she'd made out of wishes. And yet, in the dream, she had seen how it had been done.

It was worth a try.

She started with the name of the shrink who had saved her other life. Doctor Weisenbaum.

And, amazingly, she did it again. No judging. None of the usual psychologist shitbaggery. Just a patient ear and potentially helpful tactics to try.

And she got HRT after the first month!

Next on her list of names was Blaize. She was harder to find and a nerve-wracking encounter in a lesbian bar and fretting that her falsies were slipping. Blaize was literally the girl of her dreams, and just as politically savvy as she remembered.

Of course, reality was slower than the dream. It took a year for her breasts to grow in and three for her hair to grow out. It took a painful decade for her to be comfortable with her new self.

Periodically shattered by the inconsiderate cat-calls of men who were offended by her breathing, of course.

Gathering like minds was easier in the dream. As was forming a political party with just enough juice to keep going until the next election.

It was hard, and trouble, and exhausting. She and Blaize fought a lot more than they had in the dream. It never escalated to violence. There was crying and hugs and learning how to be better people to each other. There was money and family and pets and bills and transportation and the smell in the office at home...

A home that was a dinky little two-bedroom in the 'burbs with a half-butt kitchen, not the mansion of her dream.

She kept a transcript of her dream. Blaize referred to it as her 'cheat sheet' and kept a score of how accurate it was. Details like silverfish in the filing cabinets were not the stuff dreams were made of, and therefore didn't count. Big events like the rapist in the summer night did.

They did not tell the police about the cheat sheet. They said they expected a certain level of intolerance for living together as they did.

It made the news, of course.

And that was the key turning point for the Queer party. Support upswelled. Donations surged in. Even from Allies-in-name-only. Votes swarmed in.

The tears in her eyes as Blaize took her oath of office were a fact of her dream, too. The first black lesbian President of the United States.

They had a long way to go, yet. Forty more years of hard work, uphill battles against bigots, congress, raging republicans, and men whose masculinity was so threatened that the merest hint of her presence could shatter their confidence.

Naturally, she sexed up her wardrobe just to spite them.

There was a long road ahead. They both knew it. And every second was going to be worth it.

Even if she woke up in the wrong meat-suit again and had to start over.

Every second with Blaize was worth the pain.

Return to Table of Contents
Challenge #002: Sound advice.

Whoa whoa whoa... stop right there! What have I told you both? We do not...ever...goad the universe! —RecklessPrudence

Herman's hand was covered in chalk. He had run out of blackboards and was now working on the walls. "If. We. Can. Synthesise. A breach. In space. And time..."

"In orbit," said Newt.

"We could... theoretically..."

"Warp the space-time continuum and travelvastdistancespreviouslyunknowntoman! Jus'thinkofallthediscoveries!"

"OI!"

Both men startled to find none other than Stacker Pentecost in their shared lab. "You stop tha' right there," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at the writing on the wall. "What have I told you both? We do not... ever... goad the universe!"

"Yessir," said Newt.

"My apologies," said Herman.

"You're supposed t' be stoppin' that damn rift, not bloody riding it to Narnia."

"Yes sir," said Herman.

"Sorrysir," mumbled Newt.

"Get back to work."

"This is your fault."

"My fault? I'm not the one who wondered about harmonic shifts!"

Pentecost sighed as they started arguing over each other. Scientists. Why did he have to get the only two on the planet with no brakes?

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Challenge #003: More sound advice

When you are aboard an alien construct of uncertain design and purpose, you touch nothing! You have no way of knowing if a lever could vent the atmosphere into space...if...if a switch could activate flesh-eating nanobots! Until you have studied everything, you have to assume that this station's sole purpose was to isolate and destroy you personally! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! — RecklessPrudence

Humans.

The very word quickly became an agonised plea to the Powers Divine to at least make them slow down. If there was anything that could magnetically attract human attention, it was something inherently harmful.

Case in point, these two. Stan and Laurel. Both annoyingly only slightly the worse for their adventure.

Adventure (n): A human word for events classed as messy, dangerous, and likely to delay progress towards any goals.

"I do believe I made myself clear," said Captain K'Raabz. "When you are aboard an alien construct of uncertain design and purpose, you touch nothing. There is no way to tell if a lever could vent the atmosphere into space... if a switch could activate carnivorous nano-bots... if a button could blow up the entire installation."

The humans started to talk, but she overrode them.

"UT! Until you have studied everything, you have to assume that that station's sole purpose was to isolate and destroy you personally. Do you understand?"

Silence. Both looked at each other.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"But it was such a shiny red button," said Stan.

"I can't help it," said Laurel with her thick, Norfish accent. "I'm a born lever-puller."

Humans...

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Challenge #004: Cursed Curses

I get that it's a curse, and it's supposed to be horrendous and probably means I'm going to die in some terribly gory manner in a few days time, but did it have to be so damn cheerful? And the song is so peppy and catchy. This is like the opposite of what an evil curse is supposed to be, I feel vaguely cheated somehow.

[AN: Forgive the horrible poetry]

"You found the tomb/ You took from us/ You should have hit reverse," the mummified barber shop quartet sang. "And now you know/ You suffer hard/ From our old ancient curse."

"Is... there any way to shut them up?" pondered Dale.

"I'm sure they'll get to that part eventually," sighed Robin. "Putting everything back failed."

"You sure it was everything?"

"Aw no. Mister Robbins! He took a little dolly thing from the table!"

"You'd best act fast/ Without a sigh/ Your feet they have to fly," sang the mummies. "Prepare yourselves/ For Fate's swift wings/ 'Cause you're all going to die!"

Robin sighed. "...fabulous..."

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Challenge #005: Lovely Light

He was not so much burning the candle at both ends as he was hosing it down with a flamethrower. — RecklessPrudence

He knew he never had very long, and his habits almost personally guaranteed it. Self-maintenance was limited to a brief encounter with the toothbrush once a morning, a shower simultaneously, and whatever food seemed the most convenient at the time.

Those who cared for him told him not to burn his candle at both ends. He ignored them.

Too much to do.

Never enough time to do it in.

His first visit to any kind of medical clinic was also his last. When his kind neighbour and helpmate found him on the floor. Running a fever. Unable to move his legs. In a pool of his own piss and vomit.

Even then, he viewed medical interference as an inconvenience.

They were between him and his Art.

Too much to do...

He tried to escape five times. He had to get back to it. Had to finish.

"You are finished," said the grumpy doctor who caught him the last time. "You aren't burning your candle at both ends, you're hosing it down with a flamethrower."

He sighed in the confines of his wheelchair. "But oh my foes and oh my friends, it gives a lovely light..."

They were his last words.

It only took the populace three years to recognise his genius after he died.

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Challenge #006: T'reka the Unobservant

Missing the forest for the exotic small mites living under the feathers of the woodpecker. — RecklessPrudence

She was focussed intently on the little bird on the branch above her. Of course, as an avian herself, birds were nothing new. But this little creature was like nothing that came from the records of Hu'lu'a. It did not scratch or pick at the bark between her and the grubs. It hammered at it.

Toktoktoktoktoktoktoktok...

She could infer that this creature had protection for its brain. Otherwise, how could it survive?

A feather dropped, a great fortune. T'reka put it into her field scope and peered down it to see what she could see.

Fascinating. Lice that evolved to live on the feathers of a bird previously unknown to science! She placed the feather, louse and all, into a specimen bottle for later analysis.

The DNA of this island was strange. Almost as if another planet had seeded this world as well as her fellow Numidid. Bizarre hybrids had, of course, sprung up.

But if some other species had seeded this world - where were they?

A chime alerted her to the oncoming sunset. T'reka sighed and headed back to her base camp.

Behind her, one of the bushes stood up and struggled out of its canopy...

*

Susan did her best to pant quietly. Nobody had told her how hot Gilly Suits were. She was bathed in sweat and desperately thirsty and, frankly, very lucky that her "pretend friend" Grey Chicken hadn't noticed her sneaking up to her in the underbrush.

She was also incredibly lucky that her camera was the quiet kind.

But the important thing was that she had proof, now.

Grey Chicken was real.

The only question remained was - what to do with the evidence?

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Challenge #007: Madthod

'Is there really method to your madness, or just a functional madness successfully disguising itself as method?'

'Both, of course, the precise proportions varying according to time and place.' — RecklessPrudence

Rael watched helplessly as Shayde 'wreaked hob' on the enemy systems. She was cackling.

His own instincts to fix were not a problem in this situation. Digesting the poison they'd tried to use on them was. It was doing things to his internal systems that was, frankly, uncomfortable. It sapped his strength. It made him lose his appetite.

Always a danger sign in a Faiize.

Shayde had done her best for him, providing some variety of inter-dimensional manna to at least keep him going. And a blanket to help him maintain his temperature. Now she was working on their escape.

Perhaps, a little too gleefully.

He summoned the power of speech. "Is there really a method to your madness?" he croaked. "Or just a functional madness successfully disguising itself as a method?"

She tore out some wires with a faint (runch) sound. "Both o' course. The exact amounts depend on the time an' place, ye ken."

Ah. Well, that was the opposite of reassuring. His fault for asking.

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Challenge #008: Perks of a new job

Did I mention that one of the perks of this job offer is that you get to burn down your current office? — RecklessPrudence

Amycus Carrow looked at the pink mess in front of him. The kitten plates were gone, but the abundance of pink remained in the office like a pall of death.

Delores Umbrige hadn't cleaned up after herself when she was taken for psychiatric assistance.

Behind him, Headmaster Severus Snape caught his aura of disgust and intoned, "Did I mention that one of the perks of this job offer is that you get to incinerate your current office?"

The very idea of this much pink poison going up in flames was like a song in his heart. "I'll take it," he purred. His wand was already halfway up.

"INCENDIO!"

Oh... that was delicious.

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Challenge #009: Animal Associate

The concept of pets is an odd one to explain, although firsthand experience tends to fill in the gaps you can't quite articulate. And when pets are involved experience is going to happen whether it is planned or not.

Jane figured she should get used to aliens feeling her. They didn't mean to be rude, she knew. They were just curious.

But, she swore to God, if one more of them tried to taste her hair...

One of her lizard shipmates sniffed the pet-carrier that was part of her belongings.

"Live food?" it queried.

"Not food," she insisted. "Friend."

Sniff snuff snuffle. "Smells food."

The only language they shared was Broken GalStand. "Friend. Not food. Is..." she fumbled for the right words. "Animal associate."

"Not smart?"

Jane considered the dickbaggery that Whittington, her cat, got up to on a daily basis. "Not smart. Friend animal. Never food. You eat, I get mad. You eat, I get sad. You eat, I charge."

The lizard got its nose too close to Whittington's cage and, true to form, Whittington sunk a claw into the lizard's left nostril.

"YEEEEE! Predator! Predator not food!"

Whittington tried to bat at the lizard through the hole in his cage.

Word would get around, of course. But, just in case, "I tell captain of animal associate. Say to tell all."

"Wise," nodded the lizard. "Smart."

"You go doctor. Get fix. Yes?"

"Yes," echoed the lizard. As it left, she heard what was probably a lot of lizard curses.

She'd pick them up in due course.

Whittington became labelled as an unsafe animal and linked to Jane in short order. It was up to her to provide educational videos about cats in general and Whittington in particular. Those lessons included Catspeak, proper handling, what to do if bitten (because cat saliva and lizard blood did not mix well), and active discouragement.

After the fifth crewman lost their tail, the word very quickly got around about Whittington. Crewmembers began to carry around water-pistols for self defence.

It was when Whittington figured out the 'good' prey on board that his reputation grew. Especially when the Captain caught him playing with some vermin on the bridge.

Evidently, casual feline cruelty was not as amusing to the lizards as it was to Jane.

And that was how the one about humans keeping dangerous animals for personal amusement got around...

If Jane had owned a terrier, things may have turned out worse for humanity.

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Challenge #010: Unconventional.

Dogs on an interplanetary space station. What could possibly go wrong?

[AN: One I did earlier on the subject is called Good Boy... But I presume you mean non-augments, so...]

The galactic community were just barely getting used to humans. There were large numbers of cogniscents who tended to run and hide when they spotted even a small one. Luckily, many humans did not view this as an insult and, in fact, some found it amusing.

The galactic community were also barely accustomed to human pets. Though the idea of farming was not novel, nor was the idea of training an animal to assist in assorted tasks... the very concept of keeping a non-cogniscent animal around for company was new.

Many approved of cats.

Cats demanded respect. They were low maintenance and useful and, surprisingly, the humans had developed a low-to-no-shedding variety before they developed commercial spaceflight. That, and they had no qualms about showing anyone stupid enough to try and hunt them why that was a very bad idea indeed.

But whatever this human had on the end of the brightly-coloured webbing was not a cat. It was configured slightly like a cat, in that it had four legs, fur, whiskers and a tail... beyond that, description failed.

It was black, and breathed very rapidly. The end that dipped up and down had to be the head, because a pink tongue frequently escaped to dangle and dribble in the open air. The tail did not swing lazily about as if drifting on its own air currents, but swept rapidly back and forth, creating its own.

It did not slink. It bounced.

It did not meow. It barked.

It did not discretely seek soil to enrich. It peed on everything that crossed its path.

And it was Kiz'ard'l's job to clear it for station habitation. "There is something wrong with your cat," she began.

"That's a dog," corrected the human. Ze picked the creature up and placed it carefully on the counter. "Sit."

The dog settled its rear down, tail still oscillating.

There were twin dark, twinkling orbs in the mess of fur on what had to be its head. They seemed to have a secondary functionality compared with its perpetually sniffing nose.

Kiz'ard'l let it sniff her before proceeding with a cursory examination. Quadrupedal, of course. The tail seemed to be in a state of permanent movement. She checked the teeth. "Carnivorous," she noted.

"Mostly," added the human. "It's never a good idea to give a dog too much people food. Even though they love it."

"Predatory?" enquired Kiz'ard'l.

"He's a Scottie. They were bred to hunt rats."

"You said he is a dog."

Sigh. The human had been through this before. "Species, dog. Canis Lupus Familiaris. Sub-breed, Scottie. Name, Toto."

The ears, then the head, swivelled towards his owner, who absently scratched the animal's head.

"Dangerous?" asked Kiz'ard'l. It paid to ask that of humans.

"Hmmmmn... Mostly harmless. You don't have any cogniscent rats, right?"

And for a human, 'mostly harmless' translated out as 'venomous, nigh venomous, toxic, poisonous or otherwise savage'. She'd heard the one about the human with the snake who kept giving hir "love bites"... that would kill or cripple any other cogniscent species on that station.

"I require a safe demonstration of its hunting techniques."

There was a sheer, metal tub for such things. And a sacrificial supply of pest-lizards. Once the lizards were released in the same environment as the dog... it was a gory, grousome slaughter filled with growls and the cheering of the human.

"Good boy," cooed the human, recovering zir pet predator into their arms. "Oooza goo' boy den? Ooooza goooooood boy..."

Humans...

They may be profitable to have around, but they had some damn disturbing habits.

"You're going to keep that thing restrained at all times in all public areas unless under specific request."

The human rolled zir eyes as ze saluted. "Yes, ma'am." And then felt compelled to add, "He's a real softie, most of the time."

Translation: it will eat you in your sleep. "Move along, please."

Another smiling human with what appeared to be a small ungulate on another brightly-coloured webbing chain to its human's wrist.

"Cat?" Kiz'ard'l said hopefully.

"Pig," said the human.

This was going to be a very long day.

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Challenge #011: Fandom Follies

You mentioned once in a fic that Kurt was a B5 fan. Mind ficcing more about that? (I've been bingeing on B5 lately). Bonus if Sara is involved. ^_^

"And then Marcus pops up out of nowhere an—"

"Wait. This is a fanfic, ja?"

"Ye-es. What part of AU did you fail to understand?"

"The AU part. I was hoping further conversation would help me decode you."

"Just put your hand up when I talk sideways," protested Sara.

"Fraulein, I would have my hand in the air all the time."

"Okay. From the top. AU - Alternate Universe. The author didn't like the cannon and decided to make their own. Crackfic - fic from a wild idea that is in no way expected to be taken seriously. Smut—"

"I know what smut is, danke."

"Naughty elf... So I don't need to explain the citrus family?"

"Heheheheheh..."

Jean poked her head in to find Kurt and Sara cooking massive volumes of Swedish Meatballs. "What in the name of sanity are you two doing?"

"This isn't sanity, it's science fiction," sniffed Kurt.

"Yes," said Sara. "Try to keep up."

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Challenge #012: Powers of Observation

Anonymous asked:

More then meets the eye!

[AN: This is one of the ones I got from the post that gets you mail. I got three in total.]

Etta had often found evidence for human insanity, but she was constantly surprised by the human capacity for being unobservant. They could make anything normal.

Cogniscent lizards? Fine. Lizards in uniform? Okay. A dog in uniform was 'cute' and Etta had to reserve some time apart from her duties for photographs of her with Boy. A lizard walking a dog along the queues of folks applying for an intermediary-length visa was just background noise.

Officers and sniffer dogs had been around for centuries.

But whenever Boy indicated...

"Boss! Boss! Boss! Bad no-no smell! Boy find! Boy find! Good dog!"

"By-the-Powers, it talks!"

Evidently, snuffling-creature-on-all-fours meant "dog" in many humans' minds, and they didn't look further than "dog" to find the enlarged head, the adapted muzzle, or the rudimentary thumbs on Boy's front paws, coupled with the fingernail-esque claws that all spelled "Augment" to anyone with the powers of basic observation.

And then any surrounding humans would comment about how Boy "didn't really look like an Augment," and take pictures or video of Etta and Boy performing their security duties.

Boy had found some cheese. Again. What was it with humans and their fermented lactate products? "Are you aware that unrestrained cheese is a biohazard?" she sighed.

"It's just cheddar..." And second to the capacity for human inobservance, was their capacity for ignorance.

"We're going to have to irradiate your luggage, honoured cogniscent. I will have to take your details, and send you a free copy of the galactic standards for food safety and galactic transportation."

"Again?" the human whined. "I've already got five of them..."

And then there was the capacity for wilful ignorance. Etta was tempted, as she always was, to take this one and dangle them head-down over the Glunk until they apologised. "Why haven't you read them?" she enquired.

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Challenge #013: One Fine Afternoon Whilst Escorting the Ambassador From Jaarl

You probably already saw this but here's another prompt for you:

http://cleromancy.tumblr.com/post/69788968504/something-i-think-about-a-lot-is-what-if-alien

[AN: No, I hadn't seen it, but I'm running with the idea]

Not everyone meets the galactic confluence at a convenient time. And rather than rousing the ire of over thirty thousand assorted ambassadors just for an introduction, a new Ambassador is sent to go on a tour of the most important planets to know about.

And ever since Earth gained a two-way wormhole, that tour had to include the primary residence of the confluence's most insane species.

Ambassador Rox of Jaarl examined the human who patiently stood in the centre of the room.

"You are circling like a predator," said the human. "Humans find that disturbing. And I believe you have already been informed that sniffing is regarded as antisocial."

"Yesyes," muttered Rox. She pointed too the tiny, silver, fan-shaped brooch on her lapel. "I am learning all social habits. In future I ask, yes?"

"That would be polite," said the human. "As would an apology for inappropriate behaviour."

"Yesyes. Apologies, yes. It is customary for my kind to gain the knowledge of scent from others with whom we spend significant time." She blew air through her nostrils to cleanse her sinuses. "You are fellow mammal, yes?" Mammals, she had learned, were relatively rare.

"That's correct."

"Is the scent of blood a norm?"

The human's face twitched. "You have been briefed on the human reproductive cycle?"

"Yes...?" realisation dawned. The humans did not go into season. They had a permanent season, which required regular purging of the uterine walls. A subject many still viewed as taboo. "Yes. Apologies again. There is much information to recall. And I was never very good at retaining information."

"Please keep your HUD monocle active for consultation," the human made sure Rox's fan pin was slightly more prominent on her gold coat. "Remember, we do not ask cogniscents about their differing physicality. Here in this locale of Earth, it is custom to shake hands as greeting. I have loaded a quick-reference guide to common gestures and their meanings onto your HUD."

"My immense thanks."

"Stay close to me at all times. I will answer all questions, but I can't promise permanent politeness in the face of annoyances."

"Understood." Rox had noticed the silver pin on the human's mostly-brown outfit.

And for the first time in a Standard Week, Rox ventured out into the public spaces of the planet Earth.

Once again, she was surprised by the variance in everything. Jaarl perfected its planetary biome centuries past. And standardised its buildings for functionality and aesthetics. The differences in just one of Earth's 'blocks' was frankly astonishing.

A human trotted by with an animal on a leash. "That is... pet. Yes?"

"Yes, that's a pet. Specifically, that's a pet dog."

"Dog," Rox repeated, watching the animal and the way it moved. It was a bulky beast, with almost all of its distinguishing characteristics obscured by volumes of hair. Fur. Many mammals on this planet bore fur.

The trees along the walking paths were purely decorative, Rox learned. Having fruit trees would encourage citizens to steal the fruit. Since the trees were city property, the city also owned the harvest.

Human nonsense, of course. Most other installations with crop plants allowed the impoverished to take their portion for a very modest fee.

Another human with another pet. This one was significantly smaller and defined.

"Which pet is that?" asked Rox.

"That's also a dog."

"But..." Rox gestured with her hands. "So different."

"We have many different varieties. The one you saw first was an English Sheepdog. That one is known as a Chihuahua."

"But they are both... dog?"

"Dogs. Yes."

"...dog," muttered Rox. Another beast, this one long and low to the ground, with its ears flopping down beside it's head.

"Yes, that's a dog," said the human. She said it so quickly that Rox suspected the question of dogs was getting annoying. "A Dachshund, or wiener dog."

Five more times. Five more different dogs. Rox was getting the hang of this. Any four-legged mammal on a leash and in the company of a human was a dog.

No matter how bizarre they looked.

And there was the largest dog Rox had ever seen. It overshadowed the human accompanying it.

"Why does that dog wear a seat on its back?"

Sigh. "That one," said the human. "Is a horse..."

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Challenge #014: One Slightly Terrifying Hour in a Malfunctioning Veet

Anonymous asked:

In the middle of the earth in the land of the Shire, lives a brave little hobbit whom we all admire.

[AN: This is the second anon prompt from the post that gets you mail]

"With his long wooden pipe, fuzzy woolly toes/ Lives in a hobbit-hole and everybody knows—"

"Must you sing?"

"Yes." For someone who repeatedly took over a room, Shayde sounded very small, indeed, right now. "Ye ken I dinnae like small rooms."

Rael rolled his eyes at the universe and only thought, Why me? before he reached out with a sigh to find her trembling hand. "It's going to be fine. I'm sure the function will be restored to the veet very soon now."

"Aye, I know..." she was rocking in place. "It doesnae help. Singin' somethin' frenetic kinda does, though..."

"Perhaps... something we both actually like and enjoy may help more?" he suggested. If he was going to be stuck into a small room with Shayde and singing, it may as well be music he liked.

"I'm sittin' here by the girl with the golden hair/ Ruby lips poppin' gum, an electric stare..."

Rael tried the comms again. Still jammed. All services were overloaded with people trying to communicate about being stuck in the dark and unable to communicate about it.

"At the end of your song," he announced, "I am going to try an escape into wider areas."

She kissed his hand between words. Her face was wet with tears. At least, he hoped it was just tears.

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Challenge #015: One Precarious Situation in the Forgotten Zone

Anonymous asked:

I didn't think this though. But hey, least it worked!

[AN: The third and final anon from the post that gets you mail]

They were upside-down. Tangled in an assortment of cables. In definite trouble with any authorities, should they be found. Suspended over something that, because it flowed, had to be called a liquid. And worse, the local vermin had sensed a disturbance in their environment and were swarming in their general direction.

Ax'and'l managed to move enough so that he could glare at Hwell. "So, Mister Barrow," he snarled with mock politeness. "Any other fabulous ideas?"

He forgot the primary, and most important rule when dealing with humans: do not ever, under any circumstances whatsoever -no, not even ironically - ask a human for an idea.

It was life-threatening in several ways at once. It was terrifying. It got them dangerously close to whatever that oozing gluck was in the bottom of an evidently-forgotten area of this station. It probably exposed them to toxic gasses from coming way too close to the aforementioned ooze.

But it also got them onto a maintenance ledge with a hackable door that at least lead away from the probably-toxic vapours.

"Why in the name of the Powers do I allow you to continually upset my life?" Ax'and'l wailed.

"You're right, you're right," Hwell soothed. "I didn't think this through. But hey - at least it worked!"

"Failure was an option in this allegedly cunning plan?"

"Eeehh, that stuff was probably non-neutonian. Odds are, we'd have bounced."

Humans...

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Challenge #016: Please Understand

"Darling, I love you, and I could never be scared of you. However some things you do will terrify me on a primal level, so please do not be offended that I practically teleport off the couch every time you do that scree-ah noise."

"You mean this one?" Scree-ah!

"EEE!" Pant pant pant. "Yes. That's the one. Gets me right in the primitive cortex."

"Even with a warning?"

"Yes, sweetie. Even when I'm warned. It's like that thing with my toes and you."

"Eugh... toes. Yes. I am grateful for those little slippers." He shuddered, making his feathers ruffle.

"And I would be grateful if you toned down the scree-ah when you know I'm around."

"Silly Mammal..."

"Beautiful Dinosaur..."

They hugged.

"On the plus side, I know how to wake you up in an emergency."

"Darling..."

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Challenge #017: Seriously?

"a particularly nasty paradox tangle involving one monstrous salamander, sixteen copies of a popular children's book, and a length of lead pipe"

"No. I heard it was Kudzu, unrestrained cheese and a goldfish."

"No way. It was mouldy bread, a pile of newsprint and a tribe of cusp-cogniscent mice."

"I swear it was the one about the hippopotamus, the hedge and the piano."

"I thought it was just a blockage in a waste management system that got out of hand."

The semi-coherent argument ground to a halt. "Seriously?"

"Really, Toni?"

"That's the one you go for?"

Toni stared blearily at the rest over the foam in the mug of intoxicant. "What? What'd I do?"

"Nobody knows how the Glunge really happened."

"Yeah, we're supposed to be coming up with wild theories."

"Not Occam's Razor."

"Uhm..." Toni tried again. "Humans did it? With... a temporal paradox, a gengineered food plant... and... uh... an echidna."

"DRINK!"

Lyr shook her head. Bar games amongst mining crews got weirder every year.

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Challenge #018: Best Frienemies

"Any lingering animosity between them vanished, replaced by a combined resolve to horribly embarrass their sons."

"KNEEL, PUNY MORTALS!"

"Da-a-a-a-ad..."

"AVAUNT, MISCREANT!"

"Da-a-a-a-ad..."

Two sons shared a sympathetic look of mutual mortification as their parents started a war in the parking lot of their new grade school. Both wanted, but lacked the power, to dig themselves a foxhole in the tarmac and never come out again.

The rest of the playground was going crazy.

"It's Captain Paragon!"

"And Maliciosa!"

"...nostoppitIwannadiiiiieeeee..." mumbled both sons in unison as they tried to hide inside their own hands.

Just another day at SuperPrep.

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Challenge #019: One Disastrous Afternoon in the Offices of the Cogniscent Rights Commission

Certain dogs, when Uplifted, reverted to certain forms of speech. Pugs, for instance, always tended to sound.....minionish. Sort of Peter Lorre-esque, if you would, but with more lithping. "It's not a bug, it's a feature!" proclaimed the first woman to Uplift a dog. "Much more pleasant than the shrill voices of Maltese and Shih Tzus, don't you think? Not sure what's up with the poodles - no matter what the size, they sound a lot tougher than you'd think, especially the little ones." And pit bull rescuers everywhere rejoiced when Uplifted pit bulls turned out to have mellow, easygoing voices that ran completely against their harsh reputation.

It is common for dog owners to say, "(S)he thinks (s)he's people!" when speaking of their pet. Then came the genetic tinkering fad known as Augmenting. Artificially raising a companion animal to a stage where they were at least cusp-cogniscent and the topic of basic civil rights reared its un-telegenic head.

But periodic enquiries about registered Augments were nothing compared to the legal tangle that was Nufurria.

Pets uplifted to cogniscent status. The Uplifted then interbred with others on Nufurria. Especially their human masters.

But their core traits still remained. They were still dogs. And cats. And horses.

Jenrii summoned a smile for her next client. A cogniscent of Pit Bull descent. All muscles and intimidating, top-heavy bulk. There were scars of old battles all over him, but he sat down as meek as milk.

"What's your name?"

After twenty aggressive poodles, Jenrii half-expected more snarling, but she got a, "Please, my name is Rough Patch, thank you ma'am," in the softest, gentlest voice ever possible.

"And what did the humans have you doing on Nufurria?"

Now his voice got smaller. "...theyhadmefightinginapit..."

Humans. The instant they established a monoculture on the planet, technology and society both collapsed into sheer barbarism. "I take it you didn't like that."

"No! Sorry. It was horrible. I didn't want to, and they said they'd kill my pack-mates in front'a me if I didn't and..." tears fell. Jenrii handed over a box of tissues. "Thank you ma'am." he mopped his face. "The worse I was, the better things got. Except for the ones I beat." Sob. "They died. I'm so sorry about that..."

"It's okay," soothed Janrii. Inside, she seethed. "You were not in control. You can be in control now, with help?"

His demeanour changed instantly. His tail wagged shyly. "Really? What do I gotta do, please?"

Janrii ran through his current options, which included legal action against his owners and seeking reparations for the families of the dead. Then there was schooling in the very wide range of educational possibilities. Followed by a basic run-through of galactic ally accepted cogniscent rights.

"Please, ma'am? Our... our pups."

"Yes. What about them?"

"Uplifting... doesn't breed true. The humans decide which ones... get the treatment. It's almost torture for the poor babies, but... we don't like to see them become... just dogs."

Great. Another legal wrinkle in the already rumpled fabric of justice.

"We have a B'Nari gene consultant team already on staff. If anyone can work out your genes to your satisfaction. I'll send them a memo and set up an appointment for you and your chosen spouse."

"Excuse me, ma'am. Does this mean no more tortured babies?"

"Yes, Mr Patch. No more tortured babies. No more... development troubles either. It may take some time, but Uplifts will be recognised as a legitimate cogniscent species."

He fell across the desk between them and licked her face half off. Janrii had to get used to dog gratitude. There were plenty more to interview, yet.

A whole planet-full.

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Challenge #020: The Biggest Game of Fetch

Buddy the golden retriever/lab mix, and Igor, his thinking-brain Pug. Two Uplifted dogs, trekking together across the universe.

Their winnings from the Great Nufurria Lawsuit had paid for the custom space suits that allowed them to sniff out the universe. Which was very important, because Buddy tended to lead with his nose.

"Play time? Play time?" Buddy panted.

"Almost, my friend," Igor said, sounding for all the worlds like Peter Lorre. "You see the ship? We're going inside that ship to look for all of these smells." He opened the sealed box that contained all of the can't-lose materials.

Buddy sniffed eagerly at each one. His tail, already generating its own air currents, went into overdrive. "I seek," said Buddy. "I find."

"Good boy," cheered Igor the Pug. He was more 'human' and his companion more 'dog', but they had formed a bond in the Pound that neither wanted to break. Igor sometimes worried that he may be exploiting Buddy, who was simple-minded, even for a Labrador. Their counsellor/care-worker insisted they made a good pack.

And it was always surreal, having to parent someone who was chronologically older than oneself.

It was, as counsellor T'rex explained, perfect symbiosis. Igor had much to give to Buddy, and Buddy had much to give back.

And this was the acid test.

"We are also looking for anything new and different," added Igor. "I'll be smelling everything you smell. So we know what is good and what we can leave."

"Good dog!" Buddy barked. "Play time! Play time!"

Igor never knew what reached Buddy, but he could tell that his friend was eager to get going.

They docked with the old relic, which was their only claim in the massive sargasso of abandoned wrecks known as Doldrum Nine. It never paid to bet that this occupation was the only one to support their independent, or co-dependant, lives.

There were many other things they could try, yet. This was just the one that happened to suit Igor the best. He didn't like acting all... servile... whenever a human paid him positive attention.

Or, as he found out, anyone who fit sufficiently into the human silhouette.

Igor helped Buddy suit up, a problem doubled by Buddy's forever-wagging tail. It could not be allowed to stick out of the suit, though, since any vent in a space suit was a very bad thing. He checked and double-checked the seals, the operational functions, the air supply and Buddy's understanding of the simplified interface.

"Yellow good," Buddy barked. "Red bad. Red house, go home!"[1]

"Good dog," cooed Igor, handing Buddy a treat. The suit Buddy wore had also been rigged to dispense treats when Igor pressed the right button on his own chest-plate.

Helmets sealed, Igor helped Buddy through the airlock. Reduced atmosphere. Someone had already siphoned off most of the air in here.

Buddy already sniffed like a maniac, crouching and trying to go on all fours that his body did not possess.

Readouts spilled across Igor's HUD, showing the relative worth of everything Buddy smelled/scanned with his snout-reader. Everything was working.

Then Buddy sprang away, barking, "Fetch! Fetch!" as he went.

The game was afoot.

*

Buddy wriggled in his suit-recharger. "More play? More play?"

"Play done, Buddy. Good job." Another treat. Igor would have to get the lo-cal, high-taste ones, next jaunt. Otherwise, Buddy would need a stretchier space suit. "I filled our hold and now we fetch it back to the station."

"Good dog," Buddy kissed Igor's face as Igor released him from the suit. Getting out was far easier than getting in. "Igor good dog!"

Igor was far more comfortable hugging his friend. "We're both good dogs," he said. "Time to go back. Time for calm."

[1] Because dogs can't see the colour green.

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Challenge #021: The Sad Misadventures of Hwell Barrow

"So that's how I accidentally wound up in an alien porn film."

Bailing Hwell out of legal custody was nothing new. What was new was that he was naked, save for layers of assorted, melted and melting cheese. All of which he was busy licking off of his hairy arms.

Ax'and'l looked down at Hwell and his expanding mess and squeaked, "In your own words: what the flying hell, Hwell?"

Hwell continued chewing a long string of something chunky from his left arm. "Uhm... It's kind of a long story..."

It involved being drunk, a usual state of affairs whenever Hwell hit a port. It also involved three unregistered sexual therapists (one slightly underage), an 'underground' film crew, several varieties of irradiated cheese (of course), fifteen tubs of similarly irradiated strawberry yoghurt, twelve different ungulates, a case of aphrodisiacs and a crowd of onlookers taking bets. And, for some reason, a dozen live mice and a pumpkin.

"And then I woke up and they told me I was booked for filming pornography without proper licensing. It was an accident, I swear!"

Ax'and'l turned to the officer in charge, "How many more incidents like this before I'm allowed to call him my pet and keep him on a short leash?"

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Challenge #022: Killer Mutant Zombie Human

"You know, considering how resilient humans are most of the time it's a bit surprising that their reproductive system is so unprotected, especially the males."

*pained moaning from just offscreen*

This was beyond surreal. Sitting next to a human (well, technically human) and watching an ancient, speciesist movie with a human starring as the main antagonist. With the unbelievable knowledge that the human had instigated this.

He had asked why, but her answer made no sense. "Because it's complete rubbish." What in any of the named hells was that supposed to mean?

They were up to the last ten minutes of the feature. The 'monster', a saurian in an unconvincing rubber mutant zombie human suit, slowly advanced on the shrieking heroine.

"Tough guy rescue in five," murmured Shayde, offering her popcorn. "Four. Three. Two..."

A member of the initial team, previously left for dead, entered the screen and drove the monster back. Then clobbered it in the crotch region with his bat.

"I thought the monster was female," murmured Rael.

"Aye, that's what makes it so funny," she cackled.

The hero turned to the screen. "You know, considering how resilient humans are most of the time, it's a bit surprising that their reproductive system is so unprotected."

The credits rolled over footage of the monster writhing in the flames.

Shayde was almost causing herself physical injury from laughing so hard. Tears were rolling down her face as she almost desperately clung to her ribs.

"I still don't understand how this is funny. It's cheap, badly-produced, inconsistent, offensive, inaccurate, barely-scripted trash."

"Aye, that's the charm," Shayde squeaked. She was still fighting giggles. "Pure schlock. It cannae be offensive 'cause it got everything so badly wrong..."

"It wasn't that long ago that people believed this about your people."

"That kinda makes it funnier."

"Like children running away from you while screaming makes you laugh," he said.

That shattered the mood faster than a vibra-hammer. Despite everything, there were some factions who viewed her as a monster and acted accordingly.

"Thanks for remindin' me," she iced. "I had been able tae ferget." She wiped her face.

The drastic measure of the change made him want to fix it somehow. Tell her that everything would get better, anyway. But he was also compelled and paid to educate her. "You do see how that feature can be problematic."

"Aye, I can. It's just..." she fumbled for the right words, juggling invisible ones in front of her. "Willin' suspension of offence, ye ken?"

He didn't. "I've heard of willing suspension of disbelief..."

"Aye, this is somethin' similar. Like... ye know it's goin' tae be offensive, so ye just enjoy everythin' else. And sometimes, even the offensive bits."

He shook his head and boggled at her. "Humans are crazy..."

She laughed anew. "I love ye too," she teased.

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Challenge #023: Ferocious Flavour

Something about the other alien species and the sheer amounts of food that humans eat that would digest us alive if we didn't digest them first. Maybe a human explaining why we want that legalised to be imported on to a space station (because nobody likes eating nothing but space bran flakes)

"Council will hear..." T'rev moaned. "The Human Coalition."

"As secretary of the Human Coalition on this station, I receive numerous petitions and pleas to add some variety into station-side food."

"Your nutritional needs are already met in full."

"Yes," and that was the sticking point. "We acknowledge this, but humans get bored. And you want to reduce the incidents of Silly Season. A human with more to interest them is a human less inclined to indulge in... erratic behaviour."

"And you believe you can accomplish this with..." T'rev consulted the list, "Tomatoes," the committee gasped, "Pineapples," shrieks, "Carbonic acid[1]," the delegate for Kinsh'ar fainted, "And assorted fungal and bacterial fermented lactate products?" At least three of the still conscious committee members murmured in shock and awe.

"And many others, yes, honoured delegate. Your Nutri-Pak liquid meals are everything we need, this is true, but they are not everything we want. We want flavour. You call boredom a plague. Flavour would at least slow that down."

"Many of these flavours are hazardous to other cogniscent species."

"We're willing to eat them in a sealed environment. Come on! We're going crazy, here."

"There is no call," T'rev sniffed, "for threats."

"It was a plea for mercy."

Odd that the humans didn't enjoy being insane too often. Especially considering that that was their base method of operations. "We will consider altering the rules to allow... variety. Within reason."

"Thank you," the human sighed. Numerous humans in the audience were high-fiving each other. Considering how vehemently the committee had blocked these aggressive 'foods' in the past, mere consideration was a great leap forward.

T'rev couldn't help but wonder if they were making a huge mistake.

[1] That's "carbonated water" to the less chemically-inclined.

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Challenge #024: Ride the Pony

It says something about us as a species that we can see the most badass creature in any given biome, the one that not even the top predators will go near, and decide "I am going to ride that."

They should never have gone planet-side, no matter how much Hwell complained about 'cabin fever'. And, once they went planet-side, they definitely didn't have to go on a tour.

And they certainly should never have gone on a wilderness tour.

Chiefly because humans have one of three reactions to alien fauna: (1) touch it, (2) kill/eat it, or (3) ride it.

And the third was Hwell's reaction to the creature even passing humans referred to as the Dreaded Bugblatta.

"Ooh, I wanna go on that one."

"This is a spectator vessel, not an interactive experience," droned Ax'and'l. "Besides, when it eats you, it doesn't even need to chew."

Hwell made a snorting noise. "Bet it's a big softie when y' treat it right."

Ax'and'l knew better than to mock him, or supply inconvenient facts. What he did do was make a mental note to keep Hwell far, far away from any and all inebriants. And dose his beverages with detox, just in case.

And then all he had to do was get himself and Hwell safely off-planet before that damned crazy human did it anyway.

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Challenge #025: Interspecies Relationships

"I think its cute how a human's normal reaction to a loud noise is to make a loud noise back"

Love is many things, as a great writer once wrote, none of them logical.

This is true across the species, but with the humans? Only more so.

K'iiv had been holding the Noise back until his beloved mammal, Del, was fully awake and not holding anything hot or spill-able.

"I pretty much have to do the thing, beloved."

"Bracing," said Del.

Scree-ah!

"AIGH!" Pant pant pant. "Sorry."

"I don't mind," soothed K'iiv. "I think its cute how a human's normal reaction to a loud noise is to make a loud noise back."

"You would."

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Challenge #026: Offerings in Innocence

The Dragon and the Banana

Redscale the Magnificent landed in a clearing near the adorable little village with the thatched-roofed cottages and blew a plume of fire into the air.

"Deliver your gold to me or face the consequences," she roared.

Her cunning plan was immediately foiled by a native asking, "What's gold?"

Redscale the Magnificent attempted to explain. "Uh... It's shiny. Yellow. Comes out of the ground. Most of you squishy humans trade things with it."

The native grinned and ran to talk with his peers. It took them a few hours, but they came back with a host of shiny, yellow...

Bananas.

"This is not gold," she growled.

"We don't understand. This is shiny, and yellow, and comes out of the ground and we trade with these."

"You have no metals at all?"

"What's metal?"

Redscale the Magnificent sighed. She couldn't fault these humans for not having metal. She tried eating a banana from the pile of organic tribute and found it... surprisingly delicious. "Very well," she announced imperiously. "I shall teach you of metals and you shall supply me with these. If you have a volcano anywhere nearby, I shall make my home there."

"What's a—?"

"Mountain?"

"What's—?"

"Any high place at all?"

They turned a hill into a lair with the help of various stones and Redscale the Magnificent's own fire.

They meant well, these humans. And they would need a protector from any idiot with a boat and a sword.

When the inevitable explorers came, they were going to be in for a very big surprise indeed.

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Challenge #027: It Came From Planet Earth

*totally wasn't rereading old daily stories for art ideas, nope not me*

You've got a few titles for the horror movies, books, tv shows and assorted media starring humans before proper first contact was made scattered in the daily drabbles, may we see one?

[AN: Of course I'm not going to write the whole thing]

They thought they were safe inside the base. But then, they thought that sprinkling their crops with capsaicin would stop the monsters eating them.

T'tuk strapped a night-vision monocle to her face. Crept up to a window and checked outside.

The human was already there. Staring right back and eating one of the crops they had hosed with capsaicin with no apparent ill effects. Its eyes were dark. That meant that it could see her.

It was looking right at her.

"Hello, pretty," it said.

Naturally, T'tuk freaked out and tried to hide in the darkness. Her claws tapped anxiously on the wall behind her.

The door handle wobbled. Rattled. Began to move...

T'tuk held her hands over her mouth and tried to remain still and quiet despite the fear shaking her entire body.

The door rolled open enough for the human to struggle through. Which it did. It didn't appear to notice the multiple wounds that should have killed it a long time ago. It definitely didn't notice the broken limb that it had simply tied sticks to so it could keep moving.

"Come out, pretty-pretty-pretty..." it leered.

T'tuk whimpered.

"I heeeeeaaaaarrrr yoooooouu..."

Then Blez came out of nowhere with a directed beam of light and a puff of capsaicin powder to the creature's eyes. "Run, T'tuk! RUN!"

They were fast running out of places to run to and hide in.

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Challenge #028: Drunk Physics

"They're arguing in the manner of inebriated scientists, which is to say semi-incoherently, passionately, and with citations."

"Na, na, na, na... 'E wasnae sayin' tha' black holes don't exist... 'E was sayin' th' math w's easier if'n they didn't."

"But that's... that's... that's... thassnot the quote pipple use..."

"Aye, an' John Lennon never said The Beatles were bigger n' Jesus, neither."

"I have absolutelynoidea who you're talking' about..."

"Common quotes'r like (hic) mud. They're common and they're filthy."

"And..." burp, "fulla microfauna?"

"And flora."

"And worms and bugs."

Lyr appeared by his shoulder. "I thought Shayde reacted to alcohol like it was arsenic."

"So did I," said Rael. "And yet... they are clearly inebriated."

"Annit has tae be plank's constant..." Shayde slurred, "because reasons."

"Those bein'?"

"The math doesnae work if ye don't use it. Dur."

"I'm halfway tempted to record this," said Rael, watching them both from his position on the corner of a handy cross-way.

"I can already get them for graffito in a non-graffiti zone," Lyr offered. "As well as public inebriation. Problem is, that work would just about pay for it."

"That is," offered Rael, "if it was actually physics."

"You can't tell?"

Rael glared at her. "This is Shayde we're talking about."

Lyr sighed. "True. And the last time she did physics this big, she tore a hole in reality and fell down it. I should lock them up for their own protection."

Rael smiled. "Have I ever told you how much I like the way you think, Officer Marken?"

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Challenge #029: To Stop Human

After all those dramas and documentaries about how terrifying they were, you'd think somewhere it would have been mentioned how surprisingly ineffective stabbing was against humans.

("multiple stab wounds" is a critical but in a lot of cases not actually immediately life threatening situation unless one hits a major blood vessel or one of the more important organs. Survivors with over 100 have happened a few times)

Taken from the Lectures of Koq'riix the Human Slayer:

They call me the Human Slayer, but the truth is... I haven't killed that many humans. What I have done is survive ten encounters with the beasts.

(gasps from the audience)

Yes, that seems amazing, but not one of you has any idea what huge amounts of effort it takes to kill a human. I only managed that once. I believe the specimen is still preserved in the Museum of Disturbing Things. Those with greater fortitude can go see the immense damage it took.

I stabbed that thing two hundred times and it still came after me. I broke most of its limbs. I broke its ribs. I broke its hands and feet. I tried to poison it with nitrous oxide and it just fell asleep. It wasn't until I cut its neck to the bone... well... you'll see if you go.

Humans are hard to kill.

If anyone has dreams of being a Human Slayer, I have one word of advice:

Don't.

(murmurs)

But I do have some advice on how to avoid or stop humans. On how to get away.

First: Stay out of areas of space infested by humans. There's maps for sale in the foyer that clearly indicate jumps down which humans are living. They also indicate areas in which humans can occasionally be found.

Second: If you encounter a human - run away. Get out of the area, get out of local-space, get to safety. If you're quick, if you're lucky... the human won't pursue you.

Believe it or not, they have other interests than tracking us down and eating our flesh. Most of the time? A wild, lone human will go about their business and leave.

Third: If you are cornered, do not make any hostile moves. I'm about to play you some footage of a more common encounter with a human that I experienced while salvaging in the greater doldrums.

[The vid pickup from a helmet cam showed the viewer turning a corridor, and seeing a human in a space-suit turning the opposite corner. The human froze in space. Carefully put the thing it was carrying down, and showed empty hands]

This is a human submissive gesture. It's showing me that it has no weapons. Not that it needs them. When I copied this gesture, the human gathered its belongings and backed away.

Needless to say, I didn't stay in that derelict long.

Learn this gesture. Do your utmost to copy it. A human is remarkably capable of understanding that some cogniscents do not have the same range of motion as they do.

Hands open and empty. Held away from the body. Legs bent and apart. This shows the human you do not mean to harm them.

And there is no tool in the world that is worth taking if a human approaches.

Leave everything and get out.

Four: human space vehicles usually do not contain rotating segments. They have their own gravity field. How they manage this is a scientific mystery... but if you spot a human vehicle - you know to avoid that area.

Stay long enough to get its vectors, and that is all. Use those vectors to escape.

This is vital knowledge that you must all share for your safety. I offer it free, so that all may learn.

[Archivaas Note: Koq'riix also kept some disturbing footage to herself until the day of her passing. This follows]

A security feed from Koq'riix's salvage ship. A far younger Koq'riix is sleeping soundly. A human wriggles through the airlock and, crouching, makes its way through passages too small for it to move comfortably. It is carrying a tool clearly made for Koq'riix's species.

It finds Koq'riix and lays down the tool in the middle of the floor. Then it takes out a small, coloured rectangle and puts it on top. The human retreats and leaves without any further action.

[Archivaas Note: The rectangle is a two-dimensional image of the specimen in the Museum of Disturbing Things, and another human. The writing on the obverse side has yet to be translated.]

[Archivaas Addendum +250 Standard Years: The writing reads, I forgive you. The remains of the human have been repatriated to his home-planet and interred with his wife.]

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Challenge #030: Performance Peace

The much anticipated performance piece entitled, 'Ask a Rude Question, Get an Honest Answer'

Naturally, it was a human who did it. The Galactic Congress, just getting used to the idea of humans as a recognised cogniscent and not a dangerous animal, attended in droves.

Even the common throng, who usually avoided ambassadorial exhibitions like the plague, attended.

Every performance was guaranteed to be unique, because every audience was a mixture of the curious and the vocal alike.

The artist sat in a comfy chair with small snacks and a bottle of water, and gave the audience leave to ask any question they like. And, more to the point, she had to answer honestly.

Some were baffling, ("Why are you endothermic?" or "Why are you insane?" or "If you're a mammal, where is your fur?") some were invasive, ("How do you have sex?" or "Is your excrement as acidic as your stomach?" or "Why do you predate on everything?") and some... were just silly.

"Why are toenails?"

Nevertheless, the human answered. "Our tree-going forebears found an adequate grip to be of greater use than claws."

"Why ever-growing fur?"

"Our hair? We were partially aquatic and remain so. The hair serves a double purpose as insulator and cooling apparatus."

And finally, "How did human?"

The audience leaned forward, as one being. Watching the human artist contemplate the question.

She got up. Paced around her comfy chair, cradling her microphone as if it were an infant. Masticated some nuts. Paced from one end of the stage to the other and, at last, when inspiration struck, she sat back down.

Her answer was: "Evidently."

That performance won five standing ovations.

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Challenge #031: Come for the Spectacle...

Inspired by this:  http://www.nbcchicago.com/news/weird/NATL-Mom-Eats-Monstrous-Steak-in-Under-3-Minutes—239490021.html

Competitive eating may have been a thing before humans or it may not have, but they certainly made it more interesting: It suddenly jumped three rating warnings, and became a spectator sport for those brave enough to watch.

The first interspecies restaurant had a glass-walled enclosure for the humans. Polarised glass walls. Those who did not wish to view human eating habits could purchase or rent shields for their eyes that were also polarised so as to render the glass walls black and opaque.

The restaurateur had the brilliant idea of having them on offer for every non-human table. In a box that could only be unlocked by an Hour coin.

But after the food contests started amongst the humans, sales of the glasses dropped.

The sight of one human attempting to ingest a pizza the size of a table, or a burger the weight of a stripling child, or a mountain of chicken parts was, simply, too much to resist.

And then there were the times they deliberately, competitively, attempted to ingest what could easily be fatal amounts of capsaicin for each and every audience member combined.

And when the humans hosted a food-themed game show there...

Well.

The restaurateur simply changed tactics, and charged clientele extra to take the glasses away.

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Challenge #032: Creative Critiquing

An excellent "non-sequitur, thud". 8.4, minus a 0.5 because you didn't faceplant into the convenient messy food.

When one has a real, live almost-human from Earth's twentieth century as a resource, one can expect a certain amount of things. Revivals, for instance. Things got dredged up from the extensive lists of entertainment footage in possession of the Archivaas. T-shirts made a comeback when they really should have stayed away.

Disco came back from the dead.

And, thanks to Shayde, so did Vaudeville.

On the upside, he was earning quite a bit of his recordings of her reacting to things she watched and/or listened to. It never ceased to amaze Rael how people would fall over themselves to gain access to a recording of someone talking over a 'movie'.

The downside was, in order to gain the profit, he had to spend time 'cozied up' to Shayde.

Popcorn helped, but not enough.

This example was a series of skits with people pretending to be robots. The makeup was effective, as was the mime, and this one had some degree of technical difficulty, owing to the fact that it was shot inside a mansion that did not actually exist.

"I have a ques-tion," said the designated ditz of the crew.

"And what would that be?" asked the straight man.

"Why is pea-nut but-ter?"

The straight man, naturally, malfunctioned and impacted a food-filled table, face first.

"Excellent non-sequiteur-thud," said Shayde. "Eight point four. Minus point five fer missin' the convenient, messy food."

"To be fair, they would also miss out on two more hours' of applying makeup," Rael felt compelled to point out.

"Aye, there is that. This lot're still low-budget. 'Studio time is valuable, darlin'."

Great. Yet another reference he'd have to look up and annotate for the Archivaas. Not that it didn't pay well, but... Just once, he'd like to have a conversation with her that didn't involve research.

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Challenge #033: The Growing List of Things Rabbit Should Never Do Again

"And that's when I discovered my hoodie could get stuck on my nose"

"She walked in-to a pole five times," added Hatchworth.

"What? It was a fre-freindly p-p-pole."

"Not that friendly," noted The Spine. "It knocked half your face off."

"It was t-t-t-t-tryin' ta help, Th' Spine. Not its fault it doesn't have hands."

"I did try to tell them that this was a bad idea, sir," said The Spine, compelled to get the facts solidly out there.

"We did give up af-ter Rab-bit scared three chil-dren," supplied Hatchworth.

"Only 'c-c-c-cause I was trying find my face."

"I wan-ted to have the hood-ie."

The Spine looked heavenwards and sighed steam. He couldn't have written Why me? any clearer on his face if he'd used a sharpie.

"Ya can't have a hoodie and a hat," Rabbit argued. "That's a fa-fashion faux passé." She sniffed in an exaggerated manner and, almost predictably, got her nose snagged in the hoodie again.

Bebop shut them down before they could get into another loop.

Peter Walter VI sighed and bought up The List. There was a list for every steam-powered automaton, but this one got the capitals owing to its size. Of course it was the list of things that Rabbit is no longer allowed to do.

Somewhere on the top was "Buy a toaster".

Peter scrolled down to the bottom and added, "Wear modern clothing." After that, it was just a matter of finding out where GG had hidden the scissors, this time.

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Challenge #034: Assistant's Assistance

Once nonhuman Terran species were uplifted into greater levels of sentience, the concept of 'service animal' changed a great deal. (I wanna see how that concept would apply to sentient nonhuman Terran species.. Like, a blind sentient cat with a seeing-eye ferret or something - you get the gist)

Augments were legal. Uplifts were not. Especially not Uplifts like the unfortunate populations teeming about Nufurria.

They existed, and because they existed, the Galactic Alliance had to help them. No cogniscent species, however they came to being, deserved to have their basic rights denied. Which, in a long list of basic rights, included the right to assistance for a disability.

Mau had been deliberately blinded so she could not visually identify any of her former master's clients. The previous law of Nufurria, before the Galactic Alliance came to the rescue, meant that many administrative assistants were not only blind, but confined to precisely-arranged suites and offices. Withheld from access to the simplest forms of freedom, like the ability to go out and do things for oneself.

Over, now.

But that didn't stop Mau from flexing her paws nervously against her own knees. Nor wincing as her claws bit into her flesh. Her ears flicked this way and that. Trying to make sense out of an unfamiliar environment.

"Miss... Mau. Is that your only name?"

"It's the only one I know. You'd have to check my former master's printed files."

"Would you like your sight restored, Miss Mau?"

"I..." she fumbled. She'd been trained to give pleasant, rote answers and had to fight to keep the phrases down. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I was told since I was blinded that being blind was a good thing. It made me... more valuable."

"Well, you can always make up your mind at a later date," said the counsellor. "In the meantime, there are options for assistance, both temporary and permanent."

"I would prefer... the less expensive options?" Her claws flexed against her flesh again. Her species-specific desire to dig her claws into something for comfort was working against her. So was the thin, cheap fabric that her rescue squad had re-dressed her in. When and if she had an independent life of her own, she would wear thick, tough cloths below her waist. Denim. Corduroy. Fleece. Thick and able to deflect her own claws from injuring her.

"Given your grip problems, I'd forgo the stick," said the counsellor. "And a regular animal , even with training, would slip a leash."

"I was told you could give me better hands?"

"Yes, but they take time. Your freedom of independent action is vital for emotional recovery. The good news is that we have a B'Nari facility that can whip up an Augmented service animal for you in less than a week. Training would only take a week more. Two weeks at the utmost."

"And hands would take...?"

"The better part of a standard year. The retrogenetic therapy and surgical procedures, combined, will mean months of painful recovery and physiotherapy."

"I want to hold things and not drop them," said Mau.

"Very well. I'll add that to your file."

*

The technicians insisted she be present for the uncorking. Someone to her left described her new friend while someone to her right guided her paws so she could 'see'.

So the Augment could smell her.

Soft, sniffing nose. Wet, warm, prickly fur. Sloping snout. Flexible ears.

"Hello," she said. "My name is Mau."

The snuffling and sniffing became ernk ernk noises. "I has name?" said a childlike voice.

Mau was instantly lost. She was made to help, but not be creative. She let go of her new friend before her anxious talons came out and hurt the poor baby.

Minutes old. Born with a functional vocabulary and elementary knowledge of the world. But not a name.

"Go ahead," coaxed her helper. "Let her have a name."

Mau thought hard. Of all her master's clients, there was one woman who was kind to her. Who helped her whenever she dropped things. Who spent spare moments in the waiting room describing colours in terms of textures, smells, tastes and sounds. There was no other name for a creature who would help her.

"Your name is Mimi."

Mau learned that Mimi owed a greater part of her heritage to pigs, since dogs and cats rarely mixed well once one had had a bad experience with the other. Mimi learned that Mau couldn't see, and how to guide her through various obstacle courses. Mau learned to be careful of Mimi's hind feet - still mostly trotters. Mimi learned to be careful of Mau's claws.

*

Through the crowd. Her hand on Mimi's fuzzy shoulder. The noise of perpetual babble slightly muffled by the knitted hat that replaced the fur she had been born without.

"It's a big day," Mimi chattered on. "Nobody else knows, but we know. It's gene-counsellor day, today."

"Yes, it is," said Mau. She was well used to Mimi repeating information Mau had given her. It made the silences and the noise alike less lonely. "Dear Mimi... would you stay with me if I got my eyes back?"

"Yeahsure!" Mimi wiggled with glee. Her tail must be wagging again. "We could see things together and do puzzles and I have so many things I want to share!"

"Then I think I shall see about getting new eyes, too," she decided.

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Challenge #035: First Resort of Fools

Ahh, the eternal paradox: A quick wit is best accompanied by quick reflexes, but a dull wit is best complemented by a sharp blade. — RecklessPrudence

"Ey up. Here's trouble."

Rael followed her line of sight. There were two of them. A big, burly lump of a biped who, because he wore grey clothes meant to wear hard, had to be the enforcement. Accompanying the cogniscent mountain was a smaller, lither being who, despite being reptilian, could only be described as "weaselly".

If the little one could not convince them to part with their money, the big one would find a way to take it from them.

"So do you have a way to get out of this that won't get us in trouble with the local law enforcement?" That last qualifier, knowing Shayde as he did, was vitally essential.

"Yeah. One."

"Ah?"

"Convince th' mook that the brains is bad for him wi'out wakin' the brains up to it."

"And that's a good plan?"

"Na, but it's the best one I got."

*

It was later. A messy murder had happened and he had to linger with Shayde to give witness statements.

The 'Mook', as Shayde called him, turned out to be an illegal Uplift, tailored to attack on command. How Shayde managed to trick his owner into saying that command when his big, muscly pet was facing him, Rael would never know.

And he'd witnessed it all.

His name was Tiny, and he was rocking in place and asking his 'Boss' to wake up.

Things like that should never happen to a marsupial.

Cogniscent Rights had him in their custody, now. They would find him a better home. Train him out of attacking. Socialise him.

"Puir little fella," Shayde lamented.

"No, you are not allowed to take him home," Rael pre-empted.

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Challenge #036: Come Fly With Me

"If you're falling off a cliff you may as well try to fly, you've got nothing to lose." - John Sheridan (Babylon 5) c/- RecklessPrudence

Douglas Adams once said that flying is the art of throwing oneself at the ground and missing. J. M. Barrie thought that flight required pixie dust and happy thoughts.

The truth is far more complicated. Especially when traveling at terminal velocity towards impending doom.

"Can't you shadow-jump us somewhere?" said Rael over their comms. Trying to talk directly over the rushing air was futile.

"Three words: conservation of momentum. We'd be shadow-jumpin' until next week."

"What about your force-twiddling?"

"I cannae break th' laws o' physics! I can only bend them a wee time. An I already got too much interest as it is."

"So what else have you got?"

"Life raft." He could see that she was digging into her sub-dimensional 'pockets', coming out with random debris that either floated away from them or winked out of existence. "Some bloody where."

"A life raft? We're in the air!"

She pulled out a small blimp with wings, strapped the both of them in, and flipped a switch.

"It's a life raft from an air ship," she said.

"Why are there trilobites all over it?" Rael asked. Anything to distract him from the alarming whine of the little engine's furiously flapping wings.

"Long story."

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Challenge #037: Ever Met Someone You Feel Like This About?

"The first time I saw them, I don't know, I just wanted to kick their arse. I wanted to build a machine to kick their arse. I wanted to found an empire to house the machine to kick their arse!" — RecklessPrudence

Rael briefly considered the effort that all that would take. "So... you think you may be in love with Hwell Barrow?"

She boggled at him. "Ye think I swallowed all o' that pseudo romantic crap aboot attraction through repulsion? I know what real love is, thanks."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I was worried I may have to escort you to a therapist."

"Na, I'll stay out o' th' red light district, all the same."

He merely rolled his eyes about ancient Terran sex taboos. It was the 25th century - by her calendar - not the twentieth. "So you merely funnel all that aggression into elaborate pranks?"

"Eh... more like try tae discourage him from steppin' up his game."

Rael tried not to flounder, now that he'd suddenly discovered the deep end of the conversation. "Stepping... up?"

"The man's a born shagger. I'm no' goin' tae be another notch on 'is belt."

This session was going to take more time than he had planned.

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Challenge #038: The Most Important Lessons

Fairytales don't tell children that dragons exist. Children already know this instinctively. Fairytales tell children that dragons can be killed. - G K Chesterton, with some posthumous turning of phrase by others. —RecklessPrudence

Mom found her literally up to her neck in the archives. Books held her place in other books. Notes hung out of yet more books like exhausted, multiple tongues.

"It's getting late," she said.

Danny looked up. Then around herself. "Uhm. Heh. No time to pack this lot up, is there?"

"The librarians have given special dispensation to maintain the -ah- nest. You're doing important work, here. Everyone can see that."

"Some don't." Danny stretched and flexed her way out of her study next. "Can you believe old men are throwing things at me for inventing Garlic body spray? They keep telling me I'm a traitor to the cause."

"Funny. I thought the cause was to eliminate the risk from the haze."

"So did I," Danny sighed. "Have any of the surgeons called?"

Mom looked very sad to give the same answer Danny had been hearing for months. "No. Sorry."

"Not your fault." She sighed. "The answers are all here. I just gotta keep straining the truth out of the stories."

One by one, no matter what their physical guise, Danny would make certain that her dragons would die.

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Challenge #039: One Sad Afternoon on a Street Corner of NuFurria

Found another one

 http://deathcomes4u.tumblr.com/post/73661805922/buggy-heichou-rotking-johnthedragon

Walking was a problem. And it was a problem because of Boxing.

When an owner got tired of their Uplift, or the cute Bull-Terrier/Wolf pup became too big, or it chewed the furniture or peed on things or otherwise acted like a dog who the owner hadn't bothered to train... they were put in a box, and left on a corner, and told to wait for someone to take them home.

And every single time someone walked by, or slowed their car, the Boxed Uplift would look up in hope and optimism. Watch the humans who might own them pass. And wish.

Sometimes, they would get food from the kind-hearted. Sometimes, they would slink into the alleys and become a Stray. Sometimes, they would sit and wait in that box until they died of exposure or starvation or both.

One in twenty would get adopted into a home that wanted them. One in one hundred would actually find the loving home some boxes proclaimed they were free to.

Aelki had been writing reports about this to the Cogniscent Rights Committee for the better part of a Galactic Standard Year[1]. As a Hitchhiker, there were morals and laws she had to uphold that went beyond the normal travel advisories.

The Rules of the Loyal Order of Hitchhikers were many, but the good ones managed to float upwards into the low numbers. Rules like, Don't judge, or Don't interfere were vitally necessary for survival, but the really good rule of, If you have to break the rules, break them good and hard, was an escape clause that a Hitchhiker could live with.

Aelki knew from watching that this particular Uplift was a chimera of wolf and any breed of dog known for its muscles. Bred or made for the arena and left on the corner with only the box to cover his dignity. There were no scars in his fur. Which only meant that the scars were on the inside.

This, she knew, would require the Big Towel. And more time on Nufurria, busking and storytelling and outright begging for a flight anywhere the heck away from Nufurria.

"Hi there," she said to the big dog. He towered above her, even in a sitting position. "Would you like to come home with me?"

A smile full of fangs that could bring nightmares to any kind dentist. A frantically wagging tail. "Home please? Yes please! Clothes please?"

She helped him put a towel around his hips. Fastened it in place with a safety pin. "This will do for now. We need to go shopping for something that will fit you. I'm Aelki. What's your name?"

Confused, the giant dog picked up the box he'd been sitting in and read -painfully- the first word he could understand. "Or... Oray... O'Ranges."

She wanted to cry, but she had to smile. "Good boy. Let's go on an adventure, hey?" The Cogniscent Rights Committee was going to hear about this even if she had to carry O'Ranges into their offices herself.

[1]Twenty-four hours in a Standard Day, ten Days in a Standard Week, four Weeks in a Standard Month and ten Months in a Standard Year. Only humans find this confusing.

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Challenge #040: Temptrotica's Big Test

Aaand another one

 http://callmegallifreya.tumblr.com/post/73660380194/littlemissmochablue-lalonde-strider-i-want-a

[AN: I would consider it a courtesy that the original poster of these ideas is notified that said idea has become a thing. I can't always do so myself]

Life was generally easy for a succubus. For starters, she never had to go hungry, so long as there were MRAs in the world.

It usually went like this:

1] Find the nearest neck-beard with a trilby on his head who mistakenly called it a fedora.

2] Smile at him

After that, it was just giggling, flirting, and free alcohol until he decided that he was owed sex and she got a free feed.

Nobody would miss them anyway.

Not tonight. Tonight, the only trilby-wearing neck beard in the club was propping up the counter in extreme disinterest. Sipping club soda and evidently trying not to fall asleep.

Temptrotica bumped into him accidentally-on-purpose and made sure his water spilled all over her front. "Oh! Aaaaaw..."

The guy handed her the paper napkins. Handed them to her! Any other neck-beard she knew would be falling all over himself to lay his hands on her copious breasts.

Maybe he was one of those rare, self-diagnosed 'gentlemen' who thought manners paid for sex, too. Temptrotica did her best to show off her assets as she mopped up the spill. "Thank you. It's so nice to meet someone who respects personal boundaries."

"You're welcome," came the neutral reply.

"Usually, I have like, a dozen guys trying to stick their whole arm down my cleavage..." Hint, hint.

"Yeah, I can see how that would be a pain."

What the hell? "Can I sit here?"

"Sure."

He was handsome enough, in a neck-beardy way. Not the usual gamer-chub that came with the hat and the hairstyle. His body-speak didn't say Leave Me Alone, but it didn't say I'm Looking, either.

"What's a gentleman like yourself doing in a nightclub like this?"

He pointed to the water. "Designated driver."

"Religious?" she asked, since the uptight ones had interesting hidden depths. And amazing energy. She could often leave those walking away pleasantly surprised.

"Allergic."

"Wow, that's got to suck. How do you even have a good time?"

"Well, for starters, I usually don't let my friends take me to a nightclub so they can score."

"Where are your friends?"

He scanned the crowd. "Those fucking shit-holes abandoned me again! Fuck. I could kill those shits..."

"Why are you even friends with them?"

"I'm starting to question that, myself." He smiled and said the magic words. "Want to get out of here?"

*

It was a nice night. He certainly knew how to have a good time. But he didn't touch her. He didn't look. And he certainly wasn't getting any creepshots. She'd know.

"Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"What? No! You're perfectly... perfectly... uhm... hot, I guess."

"We should be making out or something..."

Sigh. A shameful droop of his head. "It's literally not you. It's me. I'm... asexual."

OH. "Shit," she shook her head. "I was starting to think my game was broken."

"Wow. That's it? No amoeba comments? No 'how do you survive'? No 'so you don't have junk' bullshit?"

"No, I'm familiar with all the varied kinks. And un-kinks. Y'see..." She sighed and looked away. "I'm a succubus."

"Wow. Sucks to be you, tonight."

She thought about this. "You know... it's actually nice to have company that doesn't want to get into my pants. Do you... like... physical contact?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not aromantic. It's just... people expect things. It's difficult. I actually cultivated this look so that ladies would avoid me."

"And I hunt people who look like that because they usually think they're entitled to sex!"

They laughed. Held hands for the first time in the evening. It felt nice to get cozy with someone.

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Challenge #041: Releasing Pressure

Carbonated drinks: for most creatures, a harmless fizzy beverage.

However if your species happens to be incapable of burping to release the gas, a painful experience. Perhaps not deadly, but certainly not comfortable.

Gox stared at the beverage. At the perpetual bubbles within. In his experience, bubbles came out and never came back.

This was one amongst the many new things he was dubious about encountering as a reluctant ambassador.

"Why do the bubbles form?"

"It's a human thing," said the Gyiik host. "A mild acid that produces relatively harmless gas. It has the amazing property of making beverages tastier."

Amazingly, it did. How the Giik had managed to add the acidic components to Poba juice was beyond him, but the bubbles did something with his tongue.

Gox probably drank too much, too fast. It was the temptation of taste without the forethought of pondering what happened to the gas.

Gox very soon found out the difficult way.

He got halfway through a sampler of alien foods before the growing pocket of gas made itself known in the form of physical discomfort. A really horrible physical discomfort.

"What is one supposed to do about the gas?" he quavered.

"Most belch," said the Gyiik.

"Please? What is 'belch'?"

Which is why it has become vitally necessary for all restauranteurs to know what is safe to serve their customers, before they try any. Nobody wants to handle the results of gas-forced diarrhoea ever again.

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Challenge #042: Intergalactic Ambassador Spot

"We're here to conquer yo-

Awww lookit the cute little fuzzy. Whooosa fuzzy."

Sir, the aliens seem to have become distracted.

Only humans, they later said, could take a pursuit predator and make it completely servile. And for some time in the Galactic Alliance, it was something of a mystery as to where and when dogs originally hailed from.

Some refused to believe that such a useful animal could come from the same planet as "a bunch of cogniscidal apes".

And yet...

When humans invaded the luxury cruiser in the Bleizal star system, the dogs on board stopped them. Not through their training, as the dogs were calming security animals for some of the more nervous passengers.

The humans evidently found them - cute.

Heavily armoured human solders stopped in their tracks and lowered what had to be weapons.

"Oozawiddlefuzzywuzzycuteiddledoggieeeee," was heard emanating from their collective helmets. Alongside repeated coos of "Oooh, doggie. Aaaaaawwww..."

The humans spent some time touching, rubbing and embracing the dogs. This allowed many on board to escape intact.

According to securicams, the human invaders stayed cooing over the dogs for twenty minutes before shooing the animals away and leaving without their usual trail of destruction.

Dogs became essential for interstellar travel safety.

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Challenge #043: So Long, Lefty Loosey

It turned out the galactic standard for things that screw onto other things was the opposite direction to the international Earth standard.

"What the— this screw isn't turning."

"It's an old-Earth vessel."

"Yeah? So?"

"They have it backwards. Counter-clockwise loosens their screws."

Sigh. "Typical human insanity. How hard is it to learn 'Counter time, fix it fine'?"

"Given the trouble they keep giving us about it? Plenty."

"Humans..."

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Challenge #044: Lady Slings the Booze.

It's been shown that Mystique (in her comic incarnation, at least), when her ability to focus is sufficiently thrown-off by illness, drugs, emotional shock, or othersuch concentration breakers, that her ability to shapeshift is disrupted, to the point that she can't maintain a form, often shifting uncontrollably/unconsciously or even sporting features from multiple recently-assumed forms at once in a Picasso-esque jigsaw. Once I learned about that, I couldn't help but wonder just what sort of awkward/amusing/embarassing/etc. situations might occur if this sort of problem occured to her Evo incarnation when she got drunk... and then I immediately thought of you. Take it away, Nutter!

There's a million stories in this 'burg. Many of 'em you just plain wouldn't believe.

I've seen some things.

Weird...

Things...

You wanna hear an example. Of course. Don't say I didn't warn you.

It was late. Most of the regular barflies had gone home. Poured into cabs or thrown back into the gutter. The rest were sliding into that state where the world just fails to matter.

I was doing everything I could to give those bums the hint that they should leave when the door slammed open.

She looked like a classy dame in the beginning. Sharp and dangerous and the kind of woman who's an extreme sport, if you get my drift. She ordered the hard stuff.

An extreme, extreme sport.

I could like her, but I had a home to go to and she was the only one paying. But she didn't care about change, either; so I could stay technically open for however long she wanted to be my guest.

The crazy stuff happened after the third bottle. Girl can hold her liquor.

Or, should I say, the thing that looked like a girl could hold her liquor. Its liquor. I don't even know.

She started... oozing. Without dripping. Her features just sort of melted and rippled. Even her clothing got that 'tired candle' look. Parts of her started changing around. One hoof. A tail. One wing. Bits and pieces of famous people. I shit you not. And her voice... well...

You know that thing they do on youtube where they make some song sound demonic? Like that, but live. Happening right the-get-the-hell-away-from-me in front'a me.

Freakin' disturbing ya know?

And then - swear to God - she/it/whatever looks at me and says, "See somethin' you like, handsome?"

If I wasn't already celibate, I'd have turned.

"Naw," I said, cool as a cat. "Just watchin' the drinks. Wouldn't want anyone takin' advantage."

Apparently, I'm too sweet to live.

Whaddayamean what'd I do? I kept the drinks coming until her friend came and got her. None of my business what wants a drink in this dirty town.

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Challenge #045: A Peculiar, Yet Typical Argument

If no-one from the future comes back to stop you, is it really that bad an idea?

"Yes it is," said Rael, gently shoving Ambassador Shayde onwards. "Especially when time travel is a theoretical impossibility trapped in the realms of science fiction."

"They said tha' about goin' tae the moon. Now look at it."

"That's not the point and you know it."

"Ach, why'd ye have tae be such a killjoy?"

"Because I'm desperately trying to avoid a disaster."

"Nah. Reckon ye love puttin' yer hands on me. I'm irresistible."

"Moving on! Now! Before the bad thing happens!"

Laughter. "Ah, kiss me an' get it over with..."

Just another day of sharing public space with the unintentional comedy duo of Ambassador Shayde and Rael the JOAT.

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Challenge #046: Pugs.

Because you can't say Peter Lorre and not get my attention. Something to do with an Uplifted pug or pugs. Possibly freaking everyone out with their good intentions couched in their minion-ish voices. — weirdlet

Buddy, Igor knew, was not the best dog for the negotiations table. Buddy would literally say 'yes' to anything, provided someone was scratching his ear.

Igor... tried.

He had Buddy fitted up with the Diminished Responsibility locator bracelets, of course. And told Buddy to 'heel' even though he hated it. It smacked of their slave-days, but Igor really didn't want Buddy roaming around and getting dangerously lost.

Together, they went from trade-booth to trade-booth, trying to find someone to take their cargo.

"Excuse me," he said. "I believe we have a cargo you might find... most advantageous."

The cogniscent in the booth went wide-eyed and scooted unsubtly away. "It's illegal, isn't it?"

"Nothing illegal. I checked to make certain." And then Igor made the mistake of laughing. That laugh was a deal-breaker. It chased away clientele. And it kept bubbling forth whenever he was nervous.

It wouldn't be so bad if there was just one cogniscent race that wasn't viscerally terrified by his voice or his laugh. He was getting tired of seeing personal safety screens raise between himself and a potential customer.

They had a profitable cargo. And no-one to sell it to. Not even the perennial drunken fool Hwell Barrow would buy from them.

Igor sat miserably under a sculpted tree and wished -not for the first time- that he or Buddy could safely eat the apples that grew on it. "I could try surfing the text-nets," he told Buddy. "But there's always the face-to-face factor. Nobody likes the blind trades. Nobody."

"Has anyone ever told ye that ye sound like Peter Lorre?" said a musical voice on the other side of the tree.

The speaker was a tall humanoid with skin so dark it made it troublesome to distinguish her features underneath her glowing eyes. There was a mop of long, wild, white hair, but the focus of Igor's attention was the gold nehru vest.

"My apologies for disturbing you, Ambassador. We will... be moving along..." again, than damned nervous chuckle.

"Don't you bluidy dare," she said. "I never said didnae like Peter Lorre. And besides, I consider meself the honorary patron saint o' lost souls around here. You fellas need a JOAT." A sharp-toothed and honestly frightening grin. "And I'm his agent."

*

Rael the JOAT took one look at the three of them and said, "No."

"Aw come aaaaaawwwwnnnn..."

"No."

"Look 'em in their poor little faces..."

"They're Uplifts."

"Freed Uplifts," corrected the Ambassador.

"They're illegal Engineered Life Forms," added Rael.

"So are you. And?"

"You and I both know that I'm officially a grey area. The residents of Nufurria knew exactly what they were doing."

"Aye, but it wasnae illegal there until the Galactic Alliance stepped on 'em good and hard."

"No. There is nothing you can say to change my mind." Rael folded his arms and turned away.

Ambassador Shayde said the magic words. "Mutton and clootie dumplings..."

*

Rael the JOAT insisted on doing a very good job. Igor insisted on learning the recipe for the magical Mutton and Clootie Dumplings. And Buddy... got the tummy-rubbing of his life from Ambassador Shayde.

All parties should have been happy, but Rael the JOAT seemed determined to be grumpy.

"I'm a leader amongst my people," he growled. "I should not be known to do business with... waifs and strays. Especially legally dubious waifs and strays."

Shayde made a noise. "Call it charity work an' puff yer feathers, then. Someone's gotta help 'em out."

"Why does it always have to be you?"

Shayde plucked a litte piece of lint off his shoulder. "Because somebody once helped a wee stray by the name o' Rael once. I'm payin' the favour forward."

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Challenge #047: Romantic vs Classicist*

A seemingly eternal argument between some friends and I.

*As defined by a philosophy student who was party to some of them - he later admitted he got the definitions from 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'.

"Form follows Function. A well-built machine, designed to last decades if not longer, has a quiet craftsmanship, an economical beauty, which no amount of pointless frippery or gilding - or, indeed, curved plastic - can ever match."

"But much art has no function, as you would define it. Would you say that the Mona Lisa, or the Sistine Chapel are not beautiful?"

"They're in a different category altogether, we're talking about things that have an intrinsic function, don't change the subject. And yet - find me one wasted brushstroke, on either of those. Gaudiness is tacky for a reason, and it's one that should be applied more generally."

"You speak of economical beauty, but I remember you raving over that machine that, in your words: 'had care lavished over every detail, no matter how minor.' How does that match any definition of economical?"

...And on and on. It's been going for years, seriously. (I may have embroidered the dialogue a little, but the points are the same) — RecklessPrudence(?) [AN: Forgot to check. Sorry]

"Care and attention to detail are essential for form and function to be compatible. You can have a machine that does the job and looks ugly. You can have a machine that does the same job and looks like a poet made it."

"Poets don't build things. They write poetry. Tha-that's why they're called poets, dummins."

"That's not the point and you know it."

"All I know is I'm g-gonna be in trouble with Paige."

"Rabbit, for the third time, that refrigerator was not 'giving you the eye'. It doesn't have eyes."

"It ain't my fault I'm too be-beautiful for this world."

The Spine sighed and wondered, not for the first time, why Pappy had built them all with human-shaped bodies. With all the inherent human wants and desires somehow inveigled into their robotic makeup. "Rabbit..." he shook his head. "Why do we have to have this conversation every time we enter a white goods store?"

"Y-y-y-y-you stay away from me, ya bunch'a hussies," Rabbit edged away from a display of blenders.

"They're not even turned on, Rabbit."

"With us around? Are you ki-k-k-kidding?"

This was why he always asked Mr Walter if he was certain he wanted robotic help with the heavy lifting.

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Challenge #048: Even a God/dess Needs Sustenance.

A (literal, not figurative) God/dess, fallen on hard times, forced to work 9-to-5 to make a living, in the absence of offerings et cetera. And how the lowly mortals around them feel about it.

Make it as light-hearted or dark, as uplifting or Schadenfreudic(?) as you please. — RecklessPrudence

[AN: Considering that 99.99999% of Gods are arseholes...]

Grace tried to hurry past the street market. Goddamn hippies were bad enough, but now there were goddamn foreign hippies selling all kinds of weird foreign muck. All in their hemp shirts and in a haze of whacky 'baccy and crystals and assorted bullshit.

They were everywhere.

And half of them spoke some damn foreign lingo.

All she wanted was to get some beers for the boys at the 7-11. Not trip over damn foreign hippies and their weirdo bullshit every day. And some even tried to talk her into sampling some.

Honestly. You go out once a Sunday to spread the Good Word of the Lord, and everyone takes that as licence to be an asshole for the rest of the week.

There was another one in the 7-11. Buying up armloads of cheap munchies and chatting with the damned foreigner staff.

Grace got her cases of beer and, juggling them in either arm and wrestling her trolley behind her, made her way up to the counter where the hippie was counting out coins.

He was a nickel short.

Grace glared at him. At his weatherbeaten sandals, his worn-out jeans and threadbare shirt. At the calloused hands and the T-square tucked into his worn, rope belt. At the long hair and scraggly beard. At the dark brown skin and too-big nose.

She half expected him to have a damned-foreigner accent so thick you could build out of it. But instead, he spoke perfect English. "I'm very sorry about this. Would you have a nickel to spare? I guarantee it's for a good cause."

"Get a job, hippie," she growled. One keg on the counter. "I GOT TWO OF THESE, SANCHEZ! TWOOOOOOOO!" She put the other one in the trolley. "RING ME UP FOR TWWWOOOOOOOO!"

"I am serving this customer, ma'am. Please to be patient?"

Grace puffed. "It's hot. I'm in a hurry. The boys need their beers. Can't you just bend your pissant rules once and ring me up. I ain't gonna come back if you make me wait hours for two cases of beer."

"Promises, promises," muttered Sanchez. They were all called Sanchez or Diego or Juan. Whatever happened to good, honest, Christian names like Matthew or John?

The hippie searched his pockets. "I could have sworn I had that nickel..."

"What's the matter, hippie? Your drum circle got the munchies?" Grace growled.

"No. I'm doing a bun run for the shelter down the street. And FYI? I have a job. I'm a carpenter. Just like one of my Dads."

"Fuck. A fucking gay hippie."

"Adopted, thank you. I just happen to have a good relationship with the man who fathered me and the man who raised me." More digging around in his pockets. "Not one coin for Christian charity?"

Grace slapped the notes on the counter and shoved the other case into her trolley. "I got better things to do with my time than wait around for some bum to find a coin."

*

Max watched her go. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?"

"There's that nickel," Jesus pulled it out of thin air. He shook his head. "How did I go so wrong?"

Max shrugged. "You didn't write it all down, straight away, I reckon. You want someone to know exactly what you said? You gotta be specific. You gotta get it writ down. That's why everyone remembers the Leviticus and nobody remembers the Love Your Neighbour." He rang up the bread rolls and tuna. "You can really feed everyone with this lot?"

"I've done more with less," Jesus smiled. He looked out the shop windows in the direction the woman had gone. "All this time in what they call my Father's country, and not one of them recognises me..."

Max bagged the purchases before ringing up the beers for the books. "Keep up the hope, eh? I recognised you."

"May one become many," Jesus joked. "Better days to come."

"See ya around. And say 'hi' to Gautama for me."

Max stuffed the angry woman's change into the tip jar. He kept wondering what it was like to not see the divine figures one worshipped. What it could possibly be like to miss seeing all the angels in their midst.

Some folks were just born blind, he guessed.

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Challenge #049: Metal's Mettle

People die by the soldier's steel. People live by the blacksmith's iron. — RecklessPrudence

They say that magic and iron don't mix.

What do they know?

Common magic does not fare well against iron and steel because both are a different kind of magic. It is a magic of muscle and might and hot fires. Making useful things out of that which was once just rust.

And it is why, should you travel to the village of Uskunriod'thet[1] you will find the Smithy That Builds Itself.

There are numerous things there that eat coal and vent steam. Seemingly alive, but not. Useful, to those who can afford to feed them. And it is also there that you will find Black Jenny.

She, too, seems alive. She is more alive than most of the things at the Smithy That Builds Itself. She, too, eats coal and breathes steam. And she also walks and talks and calls the blacksmith 'Father'. She will charge you a penny an hour to stare at her, and calmly go about her business as people follow her around like bemused ducklings.

She knows that she's as unique as her father's shop. And she also knows she is not for sale.

There had been some debate - years ago, now - when a wealthy foreigner attempted to buy her. The local witch was called to sort it out, and spent a healthy week or three demanding to know how Baker the Smith had managed to 'magic iron'. Then the witch declared that Black Jenny was not now and never would be for sale, because it is Wrong to own people.

Thereafter, she was Black Jenny Baker to the village of Uskunriod'thet. Another piece of local scenery like the wandering oaks.

Black Jenny usually helps in the smithy, now that her father is growing old. Following his instructions to build him a new, metal suit. To replace the flesh one that is growing frail and weary.

So that she, his daughter, will never be without him.

[1] Named in the fine tradition of pointing and shouting at the locals and then writing the name down in a book. It translates out as, "it's just a bunch of trees, you fool."

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Challenge #050: When You Meet a Stranger...

K'iiv and Del are adorable, how did they meet/begin their relationship?

K'iiv preened his plumage nervously. He hated meeting new people. All the good advice for conquering social anxiety never, ever worked. It was either completely wrong for the situation or just... completely wrong.

Nevertheless, he attempted to use them anyway.

Going into a situation without a plan was infinitely less preferable than going in with a bad one.

Today's plan was, picture the stranger without their feathers.

Today's failure was, Oh no.She's already bald.

The human before him was shorter and covered in utilitarian clothes. Maintenance orange. And she appeared to be a little transfixed, herself.

"...beautiful dinosaur..." she whispered. Then cleared her throat. "Yeah. Uhm. I had a report of a busted cleansing unit?"

His traitor tail kept wanting to flair and display for her. Snap out of it, he told himself. I'm just another job for her! And that thought made him want to die inside, more than a little.

"Yes! Yes. This way. In my private space. Where all the private things happen."

That earned a smile. A careful one, straining to keep the teeth safely concealed. "Nervous?"

"No! Not nervous! Definitely not nervous! Certainly not trying to display my feathers in an attractive manner! At all!"

The human made a snorting noise. "That is a very specific denial, sir." She trooped into the private space and whistled backwards. "This is a vintage model. Are you sure you want it repaired?"

"The modern ones do not cleanse as... nicely. They make my feathers go..." he fumbled for the right word. "Bluh."

"Can't have bluh feathers. Not on such a gorgeous cogniscent." She coloured in a very pretty way. Ahem. "I mean. You... want to look best for your snuggle-buddy."

"I... have not acquired a snuggle-buddy."

"Want one?"

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Challenge #051: A Strange Meeting in a Bubble Dimension

Sara, T'reka and bug-based cuisine

[AN: Sara Louise Adrien and T'reka exist in different universes, so of course Shayde has to get involved. If you meant Sahra Johnston then you'll have to submit a new prompt :) ]

"Uuuuunnnggghhh...." Rael moaned. He felt like he was forced into his usual, humanoid shape too early. "Wh't?" He looked to his right and was shocked to discover a historical figure at his elbow. Living, breathing fame. Replete with her jungle-exploration outfit.

Another's hand clamped over his mouth. "Don't blurt. I sense time's out o' place."

Shayde?

Rael looked foggily at her. "Wh'z goin' on?"

"Dimensional bridge bubble. Hush. We got a superhero cooking' fer us."

He tried to sit up. Tried to focus.

*

Sara perked up when the middle judge finally sat up and started paying attention. "Good day to you. I have it from your -ah- 'good friend' that you're not the best when woken up early."

"...mmnnnngggghhhrrrllll..." managed the short blueish gentleman.

"These are green crickets," she announced. "Lightly toasted. Full of protein. A good heart-starter and metabolic booster if you're looking to lose weight."

"...dun' need m'tab'lism boosted..."

"I heard. There's also a lot of low GI energy in the form of the pasta." She helpfully dinged the bubbling pot. "As for the crickets, I took the liberty of removing all the unpleasantly crunchy bits. I deep-fried those in some small fritters if you wish to try. Miss T'reka -did I get that right, dear?"

The bird nodded.

"Miss T'reka has found them to be delightful. Nothing wasted." Flip, flip, flip went the pan. "Now for the beondogi. Also known as bundegg. They're deep-fried silkworm larvae, so they don't need as much cooking as the rest. A generous soaking of lemon juice for flavour..."

"Tha'ss a whole lemon y' jus' squeezed," mumbled the blueish man. Rael.

"Yes, dear." Dear, pronounced, I know you're feeling lacklustre and I'm proud that you're trying to keep up. "And a luscious dribbling of honey..." Flip flip flip. "Voila. Insect cuisine."

Sara dished up and smiled at Miss T'reka's happy warbling. And at Miss Pitt's[1] squick-face. "It's all edible, dear," pronounced, You can be brave just this once.

Rael seemed to come alive at the smell and the very generous portion placed in front of him. "Oooh. S'quiib..."

"Sorry. Dwarf squash."

Miss T'reka fluffed her feathers. "I had never thought mild acid would be delicious," she sang. "Have you tried dragonflies?"

"They're very bitter to us. Supremely sour. I did try an ice-cream, but then I got banned from the kitchens for a week. Some people have no appreciation for culinary experimentation." Sara watched Miss Pitt hold her nose as she tried a forkful of pasta and sauce. "Case in point."

"Madam," said Rael. "You could give a Gyiik a run for their money."

"I'll take that as a compliment," suggested Shayde.

[1] Shayde's adopted name is Shayde F. Pitt, after what people kept yelling at her.

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Challenge #052: One Fine Afternoon in the Local Comic Shop

A recent submission to the Hawkeye Initiative involved Wolverine instead:

 https://24.media.tumblr.com/3d2615b3cd199b3c78d97b5d9376b96a/tumblr_mzpei7EzOd1rmx3kqo1_500.jpg

So, how did he get into the situation on the right?

[AN: Since the short answer of "Sara did it" is cowardly...]

He had one job. In two parts. Part One: Escort Sara to the comic shop and back. Part Two: Keep them both out of trouble.

And it was going well, so far.

"Uuuugghhhh..."

In the man-leaping-off-a-building sense of 'so far, so good'.

Logan began tracing her faint lilac through the maze of shelves and the miasma of sweaty, unwashed fanboy funk. That sort of 'ugh' drew attention. It was inevitably the wrong sort of attention.

"Let me guess," came the cry of the Forever Alone Fedora(*). "You're some kind'a feminazi out to ruin everything fun."

Yup. Someone was going to lose an eye.

"I don't know, would it be fun for you to dress up like this?"

"Of course not. Duh. I'm a guy?"

"Well you certainly have a better rack than I do."

Logan found her, holding up the tome of contention. The cover featured an impossibly skinny woman in ridiculously impractical leather armour in an impossible pose and heavily featuring an equally impossible pair of zero-gravity bosoms.

Lady didn't have the BMI to carry those jugs. Nor the muscle tone to carry anything...

"Geez," he murmured. "Any of those artists even seen a woman? Ain't seen a worse hack job since Michelangelo."

The trilby-wearing fellow turned and looked him over. He did, indeed, sport a more sizeable bosom than Tallwater. He also sported an unwashed neck-beard, bad acne and a shirt that read _I'm here! Now what were your other two wishes?_(#). If it had ever been clean, it had been in a previous life.

Oddly, he relaxed and got even more superior. "Obviously a gentleman such as yourself has the experience. Please tell this female how comics aren't even meant for her?"

"Your watch is slow, Casserole. In case you missed it, this year is 2014."

Uh oh. She was naming him after really cheap meat dishes. "Well, for a start, Tallwater can draw better art than this crap in her sleep."

"And I have," she added.

"Secondly, she and I could both beat you in a fair fight."

"Barehanded," added Tallwater.

"Third, you might want to lose the antagonistic attitude if you ever want to get laid."

"Oooooooooooh..." Tallwater happily did the Rigby-burn motion.

"You're talking complete nonsense. That's very obviously an outfit maximised for ease of movement and practicality."

"Oh come on, she isn't even wearing the bow properly. And that quiver is about five seconds and a good sneeze away from falling right off."

"Tcha," snorted Trilby Guy. "Like you know how to even hold a weapon."

Logan raised his eyebrows. If he didn't have a healing factor, he would still be sporting the bruises from the last time she'd beat him in a practice session with Bo staves. "Do you want to school him or shall I?"

"Oh, I think we can both school him."

"You couldn't school me in a month of Sundays," Trilby Guy bragged. "I've been studying Crob Magaw."

"It's pronounced 'Krav Maga'. And I have five hundred dollars that says you couldn't fit into that outfit, let alone beat me in a fair fight."

"Any time. Any place. Both of you. And we all wear the outfit."

"Gym down the road. Come with me and I'll get you fitted. Soon as we're dressed, we can start." Tallwater sighed. "Regretably, I shall have to purchase this issue as an example for Rock."

"Wait. Not Rock Bixby? Famous costume designer and crafter?"

"Tallwater shops for him," supplied Logan.

"OMIGOB I GET TO MEET ROCK BIXBY!" And he spent the rest of the afternoon in a geeky cloud of sparkling, starstruck glee.

He really should have noticed something was up when Rock said, "This another one, Sara?"

And, when the aliens attacked, it was why he and Tallwater were fighting them off in skimpy leather bikinis while Trilby Guy 'just caught his breath' for an hour.

(*) Most commonly a Trilby

(#) This shirt exists and it is inevitably worn by very unattractive men

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Challenge #053: Urgent Call Home

T'reka's first communications with the others in her colony group/science base/whoever, after being around the humans for a while

"Uh. Trekker?" said Su-syn. "Your... thing making noise."

T'reka checked it. It was the urgent-summons. And there was no time to get to her base. "I must checking in! No time. Running is too slow! If I fail, they burn continent."

Su-syn grinned. "Not worries."

It was called a Horss. A large herbivorous ungulate that could easily make five Humans. She thought humans moved fast. This moved faster.

T'reka held on with all claws to Su-syn's back-coverings and marvelled at the motion. Despite being made biliously ill by it. The impossible quadruped ran on its middle digits' claws. Fingernails. And it did so in a rolling, seesaw gait with two cogniscent life forms on its back.

It covered kilo-flights in instants. Before she knew it, she was blinking at her base camp.

"Up, Trekker. Go! Go!" The human casually threw her, standing, from the back of the Horss. "Save our skins!"

T'reka flew for the ladder, literally. Her own mad flapping made her gain half a depth, but it was half a depth less that she had to climb.

Even under the threat of curfew, she had never climbed so fast.

Up the ladder. Up the stairs. Up the other ladder to the main comms and simultaneously hit the talk button and grabbed the headset, cramming it against one tympanum.

"Kal'rike post! Kal'rike post! This is the genuine voice of T'reka the Mad. Code phrase..." There is was. "Bicep fossil jelly millet. I repeat, this is the genuine voice of T'reka the Mad, code phrase - bicep fossil jelly millet. Call off the attack. Call OFF any attack!"

Static. "We hear and rejoice, T'reka the Mad. Action has been given the come-back signal."

Only then did she settle the head-set across her brow. Only then did she perch and make herself comfortable. "Initiating video feed for confirmation."

She turned on the camera. Tweaked its pickup range. Smoothed down her feathers. Produced an amenable expression for the people watching on the other end.

"Greetings from Poison island," she sang. "I have been made aware there is a problem?"

"You're communicating with the humans!"

Casual. Treat it casual. After all, she did wander, daily, through many things venomous, poisonous and otherwise deadly. "Isn't it amazing? They are excellent mimics and can be taught proper speech."

"But... humans! We must seed the other planet and evacuate at once!"

"With respect, we do not have the resources. Further, I must humbly counter there is sufficient evidence that these humans are not monsters."

"Where?"

"Sitting here. They came to me. Talked with me. One even rushed me home so that none would die. I humbly posit that these are abnormal humans. They are decidedly non-violent, for all their disturbing habits."

"They must remain on the island. And you must restrain your communications to the humans you have already met. We expect a full proposal on this... this... vulgar-insanity of a proposal."

"Which I will write tonight. I must also confer with the humans. They must know of this, too."

"This is historical-insanity, T'reka the Mad. I trust you understand this."

"Through to my ever-lasting spirit, sir," she nodded. "True flight to you."

He ended the comms after a formal, "True flight."

Once the communication was completely over... T'reka allowed herself to shake and shudder and cry out her terrors. Such display would not have impressed her superiors.

And, at the other end of it, Su-syn was gently patting her back through the thickness of a blanket.

"All well?"

"All well," T'reka answered. "How you get up?"

"Careful walk. You ladder small."

Mental note. Humans were extremely adaptive.

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Challenge #054: 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 Meeyahndans sharing the party, was "safer". Meeyahndans, 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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Challenge #055: 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 #056: Arachnaphobia

It took a surprisingly long time for the other cogniscents 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 #057: 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 #058: 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 #059: 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 #060: 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 #061: 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 #062: 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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Challenge #063: That's a Bad Motto

Hey, you know my motto - live fast, die young, and leave a corpse they gotta wear hazmat suits when they cremate. — RecklessPrudence

Triibo boggled at the human salvage operator. "You live by this creed?"

"Ev'ry damn day," smiled the Human.

"Now I know why they call you Teymour the Really Mad."

"You'd be surprised how often I end up hearing that," said Teymour.

"No I wouldn't."

"That too..."

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Challenge #064: Power

You must have a very interesting will.

If by "will" you mean "elaborate post-mortem interactive treasure map on my spare hard drive", then yes. — RecklessPrudence

"Good Morning!" Mary cheered.

The man who bought her to 'make his life better' moaned and turned over in bed.

She no longer had functioning hands to rip the covers off him. Just virtual representations of the hands she used to create art with. So she turned off the heater in his bed, and turned on the chiller. Then she ramped up her volume and got close to his ear. "WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BACIE!"

The got results. Call-me-master-dammit stumbled towards the ablution chamber and growled, "Eggs and bac'n err'y mornin'?"

"A plentiful portion of protein promotes progress pointing to your prime," she chirped. She was enjoying this a little too much for her health. "Today's word is 'will', the power of choosing one's own actions, or a purpose and determination. Use it in a sentence and you may have a sweetie."

He took a shower straight after flushing the commode. At least she'd taught him to flush immediately, instead of waiting for the miasma to get offensive to do so.

Clean and deodorised, he shuffled into clean clothes and glared at her. "You must have a very interesting will," he said.

The gum ball dispenser filled with his favourite indulgence dinged and dispensed a single, plastic-coated sphere. "If by 'will', you mean 'elaborate post-mortem interactive treasure map on my spare hard drive', then, yes. It's very interesting indeed. Breakfast first!"

He shoved the bacon and eggs inside his maw with one hand - eating utensils were still a bone of contention - and had enough time to stuff most of it into his cheeks before he realised what she'd just said. "D'joo jush shay 'tweshur map'?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Watching him gag down a mouth full of breakfast was her daily entertainment. "Did you just say 'treasure map'?"

"Indeed I did."

"F'r real treasure."

"Yes."

"Like, gold and stuff."

"Yes."

"None o' that 'the treasure was friendship bullshit from them movies y' make me watch?"

"None at all."

"Show me."

"Sadly, I need upgrades to do that. Which means you need to earn a promotion. Which means looking good. Which, of course, means exercise. Chin-ups. Ten. Soon as you can."

He growled and grumbled, but there was treasure in it for him, so he obeyed.

This man was shockingly easy to manipulate.

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Challenge #065: Going With What Works

They shouldn't've been surprised that there were neurodivergent Uplifted on Nufurria.

(Can we please see an Uplifted sentient on the autistic spectrum? Because neurodiversity occurs in nonhuman species as well (ie, not trying for unfortunate implications here, but rather, any animal with the underpinnings of sentience is capable of the diversity of neural wiring experienced by humans))

O'Ranges wasn't much for words. He seemed to piece together what was happening from the world around him and worked on a set of pre-written instructions like there was a manual in his head.

And whenever he was upset - which was a lot - repetitive games like Tetris helped him to calm down.

O'Ranges was sensitive to noise. Huggy to the extreme point of having a ludicrously huge stuffed bear in nauseous purple to keep him company whenever Aelki needed to do anything at all.

He had separation anxiety, obviously. Security issues in general. A love of patterns and regularity in day-to-day life that extended right down to what sort of meals he had on which days. When he spoke, his inflections were very hard to hear.

And, for a creature bound for the arena, he was literally the biggest softie in the known universe. He wouldn't harm a fly. He certainly cried for his fleas as Aelki combed special formulas through his thick fur to get rid of them.

"They drink your blood," she explained again and again and again. With each treatment. "And you need your blood for you. Doesn't it feel better to have them out and not itch any more?"

"Poor fleas," O'Ranges whined. "Smells."

"Do you want itches, or smells?"

And O'Ranges would pout about that for the rest of the day.

On one hand, the Cogniscent Rights Committee would get a fire under their collective asses about maltreatment of the neurodiverse. On the other hand, it was going to make the next Ambassadorial meet extremely interesting, to say the least. And she'd be his assistant/helper, for her sins.

Hitchhikers always found one form of rest or another. She'd hoped for the kind with a nice plot under an alien sky... but her kind heart had found the more rewarding form of permanence.

Maybe if she treated O'Ranges with a scent-nullifyer, afterwards. And then let him pick how he wanted to smell. Out of a range of relatively inoffensive scents, of course. Aelki was fairly certain that nobody would want to sit near the Ambassador who smelled of old meat and fresh dung.

She'd clothed him properly in comfortable pants (with egress for his tail) and whatever variety of top she could find to fit his bulk. Yet he insisted on wearing the Big Towel like a superhero's cape. And in his play-mutterings, he styled himself as HitcherWolf. The hitch-hiking hero and rescuer of the downtrodden and forgotten. Just like his new human.

Aelki had traded an outlandish story for weighted cape fasteners, just to preserve what there was of his tops. And she dreaded the day that she'd convince him that Ambassador O'Ranges was HitcherWolf's secret identity. It would either get out of hand or get upsetting for her poor, big, little pup.

And it would be happening, soon.

She almost had enough to get them the hell off Nufurria.

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Challenge #066: To Reach...

Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.

Vince Lombardi — c/- RecklessPrudence

"Aim high," it was said, "at least you can't shoot yourself in the foot."

"Strive for perfection," said others. "Accept the remarkable."

"Do your utmost," said further others, "and none can criticise."

They were wrong.

There was plenty of criticism. Plenty of people to show her what went wrong with each and every attempt.

But... the important thing. The truest thing... was that she strove to do better, next time. For every last next time there was.

That's what mistakes were for.

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Challenge #067: Showdown

Do one brave thing, then run like hell. — RecklessPrudence

This place was the worst labyrinth to get lost in. Especially since, and perhaps because, there was a human in it.

It may have been easy to cut through the rusting walls, but it was also noisy. The monster could hunt him down. And he could tell it was in stealth mode, because it wasn't cutting through the walls either.

He just had to make it back to the ship...

Five more corners.

CRAP!

The monster froze. He froze. Both simultaneously reached for their plasma guns. Both aimed. Both pressed their triggers...

...and both were out of ammo.

He threw his weapon at the beast and ran for it.

It was only later, safely three jumps away from danger, that he was able to review his footage to discover that the human had done exactly the same thing.

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Challenge #068: The Test

SPG in the far-future of your own universe. Because robots + space. — Weirdlet

Rael was ostensibly taking Shayde on a tour of the station's Ambassadorial Meeting Chamber. What he was covertly doing was testing her. If she really was who she said she had been. If she really had existed on Earth at the time she stated... she would be able to recognise Them.

The Consortium of Steam.

The only artificial intelligences who had been thrown out of the Artificial Intelligence Alliance for being too human. And who viewed that as a compliment.

They always turned up early to sort out who wore the gold sash on their customary black-and-red outfits. By playing 'Spuds'.

"This will be your desk. Because you don't technically have a home planet or a population to fight for, you won't be getting what passes for a formal introduction."

"'Ere, why'm I Nineteen Eighty-Six when I left in Nineteen Eighty-Seven?"

"Because you didn't make it all the way through Nineteen Eighty-Seven. You can't have half a year."

"Ye say that like it's happened before..."

"We have previously made allowances for the temporally inconvenienced." After sufficient proof...

And there they came. Four sharply-dressed metal humanoids. One in a dress. Accompanied by the beat of their own drum, and the clank and rattle of gears and the hiss of steam.

Shayde took one look at them and shrieked. It was not the yawp of terror that some would have vented, but the squeal of a fan.

"Omigidomigodomigodomigodomigod... It's THEM!"

Rael should have won an award for his nonchalant, "Who?"

She grabbed his shoulders and shook him like he should know this was the greatest thing to happen since clootie dumplings[1]. "Colonel Walter's Steam Man Band! They been knocking' around the traps since Eighteen Ninety-Eight! Igottagosayhullo!"

She let go of him to drop through her own shadow and leap out of one much closer to the steam-powered Ambassadors. There, she hugged each of them in turn while shrieking, "It's you! It's really you! I'm so glad ye made it! It's you! It'syouit'syouit'syou!"

"It's us," said The Jon.

"Do we know you?" said Hatchworth.

Shayde stopped hugging Rabbit. "Hangonasec. I gotta look at ye with real light. I ain't seen any o' ye since eighty-two."

"Which eighty-two?" said The Spine. "We've been through more than one."

Shayde made a complicated gesture over her eyes and shrieked again. "Rabbit! You got RESTOOOOORRRRED!"

"I got restored," Rabbit smiled. "Refurbished. Reupholstered. And ridiculously gorgeous."

"Pft! You were always ridiculously gorgeous." Shayde dismissed. "Who's the new fella?"

"Hatch-worth," Hatchworth touched his bowler as he bowed. "I was in a vault be-tween Nine-teen Fif-ty and Two Thou-sand, Thir-teen."

"Aw ye puir darlin'. Ye need extra hugs. C'mere."

The Spine, the only Ambassador Shayde hadn't hugged yet, vented steam in exasperation. "Once again, I wind up feeling like chopped liver..."

"That's 'cause I've been savin' ye fer last, handsome! Look out!"

It was the first time Rael had ever seen a combination flying tackle, french dip, french kiss, and outright groping session. It was very clear that Shayde was rather over-fond of The Spine and had been so for an extended period of time.

It made a noise like... snog.

She set him back upright with a wicked smirk. "I've been saving that one up since Nineteen Eighty-Two."

"Nineteen Eighty-Two..." said Rabbit. "We were busking, that year..."

"I dinnae expect ye tae remember wee skinny Katie Walker. All blushes and tyin' myself in knots about a jam?"

"Like this?" said The Jon, and did a scarily accurate imitation of a softly-spoken, shy tweenager about to implode from star-struckedness. He even got the accent, which was thicker when Shayde was emotionally overloaded.

"Aye, ye nailed it. Even the accent. You remember little ole me?"

"We remember everyone," said The Spine. Still checking his lips to see if they were in one piece. "Do you still have the guitar?"

"Na. I left it at home when I went tae college. Too valuable to me." She shrugged. "But I got an axe ye can all sign again if ye don't mind it." Shayde pulled it out of one of her inter-dimensional pockets.

"On one con-di-tion," said Hatchworth.

"Aye?"

"You jam with all of us to-night."

"SOLD!"

Rael sighed and sent a comms message to all debating parties. Shayde recognised CoS. They recognised her by her former name. Temporally Challenged status officially confirmed.

[1] In Rael's opinion, sliced bread isn't that much to write anywhere about.

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Challenge #069: A Little More Complicated

Rule Number One of Computer Repair: Reboot it, dumbarse.

Rule One-A: If rebooting fixed the problem and it doesn't come back, you didn't really have a problem.

Rule One-B: If I actually had to tell you to reboot, regardless of whether you had a real problem or not, I'm still charging you for my time. — RecklessPrudence

"...error... error... error..."

Scientists clustered around the tic'ing automaton in clear defiance of all instincts for self-preservation.

"Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again?"

"Percussive maintenance, that's the ticket! Give it a good whack!"

"Blinker the blighter! Reduce its field of input."

"Is robutt, not horse, da?"

"So much for your precision instrument of wonder, eh?" Thadeus laughed loud and long.

Peter stood protectively between all of them and Zero Zero One. Stealing glances at the face of the only one who had mattered. The one who was covering her face with her hands and had almost collapsed into paroxysms of helpless laughter.

This was almost as bad as the Giraffe Incident.

"If you gentlemen would please back away, I can restore my automaton to normal function..."

"All machines respond to a hard reboot," said Cassius.

"This machine has a memory and I'm currently uncertain as to whether forcing a complete shutdown is tantamount to murder," growled Peter. At least the others had backed respectably off. Leaving him room to get to Zero Zero One's cogs and find the loop in its Babbage Thinking Engine.

-clikt-

"...err—ooooohhhhh... Oh Pappy, that weren't nice..." the automaton ran a skeletal-looking hand over its copper skull.

Peter automatically discouraged the sharp fingers from interfering with its own thought processors. "Let me get your plating back on. There's a good boy."

The others had Noticed. There was a general murmuring amongst the Cavulcadium.

Thadeus had gone pale. He knew there was no way he could compete with this.

"Hello," chirped the automaton. "My name is Rabbit. And this is my Pappy! I got a brother at home, but he ain't done yet."

Crap! "Rabbit, this is not what we rehearsed..." he murmured.

"Colonel," said Fortescue, "Is this going to be a repeat of the Frankenstein Event?"

"Yay! Ya bought my squeeze box! You're the best Pappy ever!"

"The unfortunate Mister Victor Frankenstein had no sense of personal responsibility in regards to his... creation," Peter defended. "My automatons, on the other hand - have been programmed with empathy in mind."

"This goes out to a very special little lady," said Rabbit. And started to play There's Only One Girl in the World For Me. As the only girl in the room attempted to hide within her fan, her hands, her arms and, when it became too much, under her desk.

He knew he should have waited until he had the entire quartet completed.

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Challenge #070: Whoops

Supervisor: Seriously? Are you shitting me?

Computer Tech: I never intentionally released anything into the wild. It was proof of concept. It wasn't anything particularly sophisticated. Just some script kiddie cut and paste bullshit.

S: What is Rule Number Two of Computer Repair? What is it?

CT: "No, a 'virus' didn't download all of that porn."

S: Are you telling me you invalidated Rule Number Two?

CT: Well, in my case, it was a virus that would download the results of an unfiltered Google Image Search, then erase all traces of itself, and it would only work on a Windows 98 machine that had never been patched. — RecklessPrudence

"Tidy up the code, they said. Make it work more efficiently, they said," Henry ranted as the security teams took him away. "Find the source of the system errors, they said. It's only a five-minute job, they said."

They said a lot of things, really. Lots of things that, taken in retrospect, should have sent up an entire textile factory's worth of red flags.

"They didn't tell me until it was too late," Henry tried to bargain with the implacable security forces firmly attached to his elbows. "I couldn't know until I was contractually obligated to fix it."

They didn't nod. Nor show empathy. Nor make a sound. Just marched on through the maze of corridors on the inexorable path to the holding cells.

"The entire system's a virus! It's a virus! The whole operating system is a field test of weaponised software viruses designed to inter-breed! This whole damn station is a virus!"

Many citizens stared as they moved Henry onwards. Many more looked once, and moved on with their individual lives.

This always happened during the maintenance cycle.

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Challenge #071: Complaining to another supernatural being.

"You also rule a world, Morpheus. A world of sleepers and dreamers, of stories. A simple place compared to hell. I envy you. Can you imagine what it was like? Ten billion years providing a place for dead mortals to torture themselves? And like all masochists, they called the shots. 'Burn me.' 'Freeze me.' 'Eat me.' 'Hurt me.' And we did. Why do they blame me for all their little failings? They use my name as if I spent my entire day sitting on their shoulders, forcing them to commit acts they would otherwise find repulsive. 'The Devil made me do it.' I have never made any one of them do anything. Never. They live their own tiny lives. I do not live their lives for them" — RecklessPrudence

"Have you seen some of the nightmares they come up with?" said Morpheus. "Hells, even the dreams get frightening if you linger to examine them. I had one kid dream that her entire world was rotting away into grey haze[1]. Every dream is their own subconscious trying to tell them something, but they blame me for it all."

"And it's not like you can quit, right? They still use your name, so you have to answer the call."

Morpheus poured himself another generous mug of coffee[2]. "All the work, all the blame, and no pay. You know what we are, Hades?"

"No. What?"

"We're service industry workers. We provide the service and get none of the thanks."

"Why'd we even take these shitty jobs?"

"Simple, they called us."

[1] One of mine.

[2] I love the irony of it, okay?

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Challenge #072: Personal Assessment

The Lister is the SI unit of discipline, as defined by the amount of effort needed to make Third Technician David Lister do his duties, clean his quarters and generally not be such a shame to the Space Corps. A single Lister of discipline is therefore often more than is needed for the entire crew of a (Star Wars) Star Destroyer (47,000-odd). — RecklessPrudence

It was hard not to look down on the faceless drones. They weren't literally faceless. Or drones, for that matter. It was just... every day, she saw a hundred of them.

It was difficult to remember faces, names, or even their numbers after the first hour. She completely gave up on it after the first month, referring to the paperwork that Administration shoved at her.

But that never, ever, stopped her from feeling bad about it.

"Mister Probin," she said to the newest faceless cog. One of the few who didn't hunker and shrivel in the supplicants' chair. "There are some disturbing anomalies in your personal assessments."

"Yeah?" said Mr Probin. "Like what?"

"Well... it's normal for a low-level employee of your... status..." or lack thereof... "To have a motivational level of less than one thousand NanoListers. Do you know what a NanoLister is, Mister Probin?"

"A very small mouthwash[1]?"

She frowned in confusion and hoped that it came across as benevolent fury rather than kicked puppy. "It's a unit of motivation, Mister Probin. An entire Lister unit is the amount of effort required to make the laziest known human being to do their job. Thus... the smaller the number, the less concern we have for your future. And, as a senior officer in this establishment, it's my sad duty to inform you that you can range between ten thousand to almost a million NanoListers on any given day."

"So?"

"Can you really afford to be unemployed, Mister Probin?"

"Reckon I might have it figured out," said Mr Probin. "Got some stuff set by. Might join the Hitchhikers. It's gotta be better than cleaning out vending machines, right?"

And it was always, always the vending machine technicians who scored highly on the Lister scale. "I understand that cleaning a vending machine doesn't seem to be a very important task..."

"Damn right it isn't," said Mr Probin. "And what does a promotion get you? The chance to boss around the people who clean out vending machines. Most of those stress out before they get another promotion, the poor bastards."

And those who didn't stress out became the administrators of the people who bossed around the people who cleaned out the vending machines. Nevertheless, she had to tow the company line. "All employees have an equal opportunity for advancement in this establishment, Mr Probin. If you applied yourself—"

"I might become a stock boy for vending machine parts, or even a stock handler!" The sarcasm was strong with this one. "Sorry, miss. But compared to this? Hanging around in filthy spaceports and swapping stories for a lift sounds like heaven."

"And you have enough stories to suffice?"

Mr Probin grinned. "I make Scheherazade look like a tweenage fanficcer with a thousand and one high school AU's."

She upped his motivational score to the MilliLister range[2]. "Well. I shall file your resignation for you. Just to make certain the paperwork is properly done. I wish you every good fortune in your future... career."

He gave her a lazy -of course- salute and sauntered out of the interview room.

She sighed and reached for the next file. They lost more vending machine technicians this way than she cared to count.

[1] Listerine is the mouthwash.

[2] That's millions of NanoListers, for those doing the math.

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Challenge #073: The Nose Compass

(Actually said by a friend today)

"I have absolutely no idea what it smells like... But it smells like food"

Amalgam Station masses roughly the same as a Dwarf Planet, but is much, much larger in size because Dwarf Planets do not, for instance, contain corridors, cavernous spaces, parks, amenities, and infrastructure.

People tend to forget this. What they know of Amalgam Station becomes the sole total of their experience and they wander no further than their own knowledge.

But not Shayde.

She 'went walkabout' or 'went for a wander' or, most dreaded of all, 'went out to see what was what'. And she could turn up anywhere.

And after the fifth time Security found her and advised she utilise a JOAT as a guide, since JOATs naturally went most places that other cogniscents didn't reach, Shayde started 'going out walking' with Rael.

Which included a picnic basket stacked to the brim with easily-portable goodies. Or possibly more so, considering her experience with trans-dimensional storage spaces.

But this time, they had wandered too far into the sorts of forgotten areas that had denizens and sketchy shopfronts not written in GalStand. It was not dark and gloomy, at least. It was bright and blaring and absolutely teeming with things who glared at them like they were invaders. Which, technically, they were.

Rael consulted his PocketRef, very discretely. "That's it," he said. "We're off the map."

"Aw hesh yerself. Ye keep fergettin' yer in the company o' someone who can jump ye back tae home in a whisk an' a half."

"Yes, but the experience is not one I look forward to. I saw what shadow-jumping has done to people you don't like."

"Drop one pedo through 'is shadow an' ye never hear the end of it..."

"Do you even know how to get home?" he rummaged in the basket. "And we're out of snacks." One day, in the far distant future, he would shake his habit of nervous eating. Today was not that day.

"Follow yer nose, then. Sniff tha'."

Rael inhaled deeply. "Ooooh..."

"Aye. I dinnae ken what it smells like, but it smells like food."

"You sure they'll take the Time?"

"If no' I always got me axe. Wouldnae be the first time I sang for me supper."

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Challenge #074: Whuffo

(Can I do this? I'm doing it anyway.)

Free day! If there's a drabble you've been wanting to write but haven't had the right prompt to do it, now's the time.

AN: I don't know when I'm going to get one of these again, so I'm going for broke. Be warned: the first one included feels inspired by [ this post. The second one is just a silly thing inspired by quinsecticide]

"We're pinned!"

"Spine! Do something!"

"There's a hill! I can't zap what I can't see," he, too, cowered in the trenches with his unit. "Besides, with this atmosphere, there's a chance I'd hit all of you."

Someone said something about useless robots. The Spine was used to hearing it.

"It's okay, fellas," shouted Green. "We got air support coming in! Thank God for the Whuffos!"

The Spine needed clarification. "Whuffos?"

"You know. 'Whuffo did you jump outta that nice plane?' It's a joke."

"Ah." Much of human humour evaded him. Especially on the battlefield.

The plane came overhead to the arcing lights of tracer rounds. Even The Spine's eyes couldn't pick out the tiny dots that were falling humans.

But he could pick out a scream.

"They sent the Banshee!" Roberts grinned. "I don't believe it, they sent the Banshee!"

One chute opened before the others. From it, blue balls of energy scattered the enemy from their fortifications. The scream continued.

He knew that voice. He knew that blue energy.

"Rabbit..." What had they done?

*

Once again, the government enlisted them for war. But this time, it was not saving soldiers from Mustard Gas. This time, they would be serving in varied arms of the armed forces.

They had custom uniforms, of course. The Spine's own multiple steam chimneys[1] made certain of that. Plus, their metal bodies had heat issues that human uniforms merely complicated.

He remembered waving to the other two[2] as they took him away.

"It'll be all right," said Rabbit. "We're b-built to last."

*

The Spine was in the army. He hadn't seen any of his brothers[3] since the recruitment offices had separated them for uniform fittings and publicity photos for the poster artist.

He'd wanted to send a letter to Rabbit, asking why he looked so sad. The army kept telling him that ordinance wasn't allowed mail.

Now he knew they were lying.

The chute fell faster than any other paratrooper. Became a target for the enemy's rounds. The Spine could hear them ricochet off Rabbit's copper skin.

And all he could do was watch as his first and best friend fell perilously fast towards the very hill that vexed them all.

He left the trench without thinking. Risked mortar fire tearing him to pieces at any second. Tried to catch his copper twin.

"OUTTA THE WAY D-D-DUMMINS!" Rabbit deliberately avoided his reaching arms.

There was a horrible crunch.

Well. Since he was on top of the hill anyway... The Spine fired his tesla at the enemy. Electrocuted their guns and possibly more than a few enemy soldiers.

He would weep for them, later.

Right now... Rabbit was a mess. His legs had broken into separate pieces. Scattered all over the mud and blood of no-man's land.

The rest of the unit charged across the mud. The Spine let them.

"S-s-s-see?" panted Rabbit. "If I'd hi-hit y-y-y-y-you... There'd be no-nobody t' take me b-b-back for re-re-repairs."

The Spine desperately gathered parts. "Some of these bolts sheared straight off, Rabbit. Doesn't it hurt?"

"Naw. I asked Duo t' d-d-d-disable the damage se-se-sensors. Jus' l-l-like the g-great war. Ain't fe-feelin' a thing."

The pants were shredded ruins, but they did save many of Rabbit's cogs. The Spine tried to ignore the spilling oil and piece together what he could of his brother.

"He-here." Rabbit passed over a necklace of paperclips. "They'll d-d-do until we g-g-g-g-g-g-get b-b-ba-b-back."

All The Spine could think of was how his twin was going to be inches shorter than him from this war onwards. That, and wondering why Pappy had built them to last at all.

At least he knew, now. He knew why Rabbit looked so sad.

Rabbit was always smart, for all that he played the fool. He'd probably worked it out seconds after the first parachute got strapped to him. And the photographer could not make him smile.

[1] WWII happens before the cooling fin upgrade

[2] Hatchy, though operational, was considered 'too old-fashioned' for a modern poster and just sent straight to the front as mobile artillery.

[3] Rabbit either hasn't decided or hasn't come out. Your choice.

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Challenge #075: The Inauguration of Mayor McToilet

(Can I do this? I'm doing it anyway.)

Free day! If there's a drabble you've been wanting to write but haven't had the right prompt to do it, now's the time.

AN: I don't know when I'm going to get one of these again, so I'm going for broke. Be warned: the first one included feels inspired by [ this post. The second one is just a silly thing inspired by quinsecticide]

The first thing The Spine did when Mr Reed left him in charge was to check and make certain Rabbit wasn't getting into trouble.

Too late.

Far, far too late.

Rabbit was decorating the main ballroom with toilet paper. She had already transformed the curtains and the chandelier and, to a certain extent, herself.

"Rabbit, what—?"

"There's no time, th' Spine! I g-g-g-gotta get ready for the wedding!" A toilet-paper rosette became a wall decoration. She seemed to notice him for the first time. "Mistah Mayor, sir! You're right on time," she adorned him with a sash made of the same white paper and embellished with vivid red lipstick.

Mayor McToilet.

Rabbit stepped back to appraise him. "You forgot y-y-y-y-y-your monocle. For shame! And on such a formal occasion, too."

He could feel reality slipping away under the power of Rabbit's imagination. And his connection to the wifi wasn't helping. "Now, Rabbit..."

"Lucky for you I g-g-g-g-got a spare." The cardboard tube intersected with and locked on to his face.

The transformation - and the loss of control - was complete. "How may I assist, madame?"

"Take this," three rolls of toilet paper, "and fancy up the foyer. We got g-guests com in', Mayor! We ne-need t' hurry!"

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Challenge #076: The Puzzling Nature of Love

Assuming non-perfect replicas of the human form, people would theoretically be as likely to be attracted to a robot as they would to a non-human organic - and if you are attracted to _people_, by _personalities_, rather than just the right configuration of fleshy bits that get your hindbrain running, then in my opinion it's quite likely. Then again, I identify as on the asexual spectrum, at the most demisexual, so... — Anonymous

They had corresponded for months before they found out that they both lived on the same station - just operated in different time zones[1]. And for that discovery, there were repeated efforts to make it to the same place at the same time. And neither, for varied excuses, had sent images of their faces.

She thought she was ugly. He saw no point in aesthetic evaluation. Which was probably code for he thought he was ugly, too.

And besides, pictures lead to requests for pictures with less clothing on. Which never ended well.

What decided it in the end was that Tok never pestered her for anything. Never demanded. He understood that she only wanted cuddles and snuggles and the occasional platonic smooch.

Tok was amenable to that. His exact wording. Amenable. It made him sound almost like a robot and they joked about it.

Tourmaline sent him a silly clip-on cloth flower. Wear this, she wrote, so I'll know you. Tok sent her a bedazzling, multicoloured necklace made from cheap, synthetic baubles. Same for you, he wrote, same for me.

It was pure co-incidence that they both freaked out and sent friends in to the Centre Mall as stalking horses. And synchronicity that they both picked the same table to watch their respective friends from.

Tele took her necklace off and grinned. "Thanks for the date. Your friend's friend is smoking hot." She handed it to Tour.

And then the nicely-proportioned gentleman took off the silly flower and handed it to the robot sitting at the same table. "Good luck, buddy."

The robot - Tok - clipped the flower onto his head. Much like a human would tuck a flower behind their ear. "I... assume we were mutually experiencing social nervousness.

Tour tried to sling the necklace over her head. It caught in her hair and wound up on her head like a crown. "I never liked crowds. I don't like face-to-face social stuff. It gets... complicated."

Tok offered his hand. She took it.

"Feeling better?"

She scooted her chair closer. "Amazingly? Yes."

"As you see, I can not kiss," he gestured to his lipless face.

"Snoodles are okay too."

They lived cuddly ever after.

[1] Of course stations have time zones. They're just not as physical as Earth's.

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Challenge #077: Humanity in a Nutshell

Has there ever been an instrument more representative of humanity than the Zeusaphone? (I highly recommend checking out their Youtube page) — RecklessPrudence

"So... the Terran Exhibition."

"Yeah, it's docking next week. Should help defuse Silly Season for another month."

"Are you going?"

"Only with adequate shielding. I heard they have the Lightning Meisters playing with this circuit."

"Lightning... I don't think I've heard of them."

"They play a Tesla coil."

"Uh. Are we thinking about the same thing? Big generator of artificial lighting? Not a musical instrument at all, but rather an instrument of terror, testing and death?"

"Yup. They got music out of it."

"You're joking."

"I have video proof."

Together, they watched a figure in all-encompassing chain mail dance to the tune that the lightning made. Backed by a band in a cage.

"That's horrifying."

"That's humans."

"Are you going?"

"Hell yeah!"

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Challenge #078: This Always Happens...

"I leave you guys for ten seconds and you all become rabbits? Why does this happen to almost everyone I know?"

"Uhm," said Twyll. Who currently resembled a tortie lop."We're... not... rabbits."

"Twyll... when'd you become a liar?" he asked, confused. "You're like Little Miss Truth..."

"Jor..." said the angry-looking white bunny with amazing eyeliner game. That had to be Bob. "Did you raid the tupperware in the back of the fridge labelled, 'Experimental! Do not eat under any circumstances. No, not even to see what it tastes like. No, not even if you're really hungry. This means you Jor'?"

"...uuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhmmmm..." Jor looked down at his hands. Paws. Shit. "Mmmmmmmmmaaaaaayyyybe?"

Bob rolled her eyes. "I'll sit on him, you call the ambulance. Papa bun-bun's going to have a real fun adventure in the detox ward."

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Challenge #079: The Great Equalising

Awwwwwwww! I loved that story about Mau and Mimi. Can you write more Nufurria stuff please? ^_^

Lynn was busier now than she ever had been before. People everywhere were calling it the Great Upset. Or the Big Tip-up. She preferred to think of it as the Galactic equaliser.

Anthropomorphics planet-wide, what the Galactics called Uplifts, were freed and in massive refugee camps that popped up anywhere that there was a free space. Often in former Elite mansion grounds. The Elites, in turn, had their property seized, evaluated, and funnelled into a central account.

Lynn had just been one of the culturally eschewed. She'd run a no-kill shelter that -rather desperately- tried to find loving homes for the abandoned, maltreated, and the boxed Uplifts in her area. People had called her a bleeding heart. People had said she was wasting her time and money on serviles. People called her a kook.

Now they called her 'Ma'am'.

The Galactics essentially made her the administrator pro-tem for an entire planet-sized shelter for Uplifts who were only officially their own masters. And evenly distributing four acres and a mule to all citizens was not a viable option.

For one thing, there wasn't enough land mass to do that.

For another, there was the entire infrastructure problem.

Spotty was the one who had the idea of using Uplifted administrative assistants to help sort out the legalities. Most were pleased to be asked. And some helped the Galactics with their assessments.

Lynn's diamond in the rough was Zipper. An Uplifted Iguana who, though he was formerly in the sex work industry and didn't like it, tended to be very clingy. It wasn't his fault. He had heat issues. Zipper used that fault as a bonus - loaning hugs to any and all of the traumatised for as long as they needed it.

And she was getting used to him sitting in her lap whenever he delivered face-to-face reports.

A whole planet of scarred and broken people. And the people who made them that way protesting the injustice of their own incarceration.

She could see why the Galactics didn't like Uplifts.

They had laws against gene-slavery.

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Challenge #080: Be-leaf in Love

Weirdlet- re: shrubs&Bunny- the dryad is a fangirl.

She was used to music, since her shrubbery was by a stage. Her leaves and stems regularly shook with the thumping of music.

She was a young dryad. Just a shrub, so she had no idea what she was in for when the steam powered automatons took the stage.

It was love at first chord. Especially for the copper one with the mismatched eyes. Every time he[1] was on stage, she thrust her leaves towards the stage. Wanting to feel a whisper of his mechanical legs.

Wanting him to know that she was there.

And so soon. Too soon. He and his mechanical brothers were gone.

It would be years before she could hop from plant to plant, but she would find them. Years more before she could take a humanoid form and see them in person.

But now she had a goal. Something to work for. And one day, she would have the power of words to tell them:

"I love Steam Powered Giraffe."

[1] Era appropriate gender!

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Challenge #081: Beautiful Hostile

 http://cnvvj.tumblr.com/post/76196333269/sharped0-gobigorgoextinct-steve-irwin-in-a

That is all.

[AN: Out of respect for the Irwin family, I'm making a very Steve-like character]

"Damn crazy Australians," muttered Pentecost.

The team for Beautiful Hostile had arrived. Jaeger, pilot and... co-pilot. If such a term could be used for a crocodile that Harry Banks sort of kept as a pet.

That was part of the winning strategy for Beautiful Hostile. It beat the Kaiju by literally fighting like an animal. Some joked that Harry Banks understood animals so deeply that he'd become drift compatible with all of them.

Especially the dangerous ones native to Australia.

Pentecost stayed very still as they approached, lest the crocodile think he was tasty.

"No worries, mate," breezed Harry. "He's had his chickens. Full as a goog[1]. Wouldn't bite, even if it's to find out what you taste like."

"Haha," he smiled dutifully and shook his hand. "Welcome to the team, Harry... and..."

"Paul," supplied Harry.

Paul the Crocodile rumbled.

Harry laughed. "You'll get used to 'im, no worries. He's a big softie, to be honest. Though I found it helps the fight to make sure he gets his chicken, after."

Crazy Australians.

It was no real surprise that, while Pentecost was out searching for other pilots, Harry and Paul took on a Kaiju and achieved mutually assured destruction. It was also no shock that the last transmission from Beautiful Hostile was, "Crikey, what a ripper!" in a tone of enthusiastic awe.

[1] egg.

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Challenge #082: San Check

If you meet Yog-Sothoth, you've gone too far on the axis of comprehension; back up slowly and call for reality assistance. — RecklessPrudence

Ow. It had happened again. OW! It wasn't getting any better with experience.

Katie looked up from her pained huddle, halfway expecting somebody yelling at her to 'avaunt' and calling her names. One more time. One more time, she swore, and she would start calling herself a foul shayde from out the blackest pit.

"That wouldn't be a bad idea," said the glowing entity before her. He stood like a pompous martinet, like a man who knew that there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him doing whatever he wanted to do to her. And liked it that way. "It's not as if you're really... yourself, any more."

And all this time, she thought she'd never meet anyone slimier than Hackmeyer. Katie levered herself into a sitting position and failed to make the world stop spinning. "Why're you talkin' English?"

"What?" he scoffed, "No, 'where am I'? No 'who are you'? I'm disappointed."

"Na, I already learned there's nae point in askin'." The grass wasn't real. She could feel that it wasn't real. She could also feel its reality. Having two sets of senses at once was a real pain in the arse, sometimes.

Through the True Lights, she could see a virtual leash around her neck. The other end wrapped negligently around this too-perfect man's wrist. The glow meant something else, too. So did the flashes and flickers of something... sinister.

Something... Lovecraftian.

The truth behind this being was horrifying. And he was strong enough to block that from her awarenesses.

"Well, go on, then," she challenged. "Introduce yerself." She pretended a weakness that was, in reality, fading rapidly. Let her fear show through and hid her growing fury.

"I control your fate," he said, enjoying her cowering. "I'm the one who plucked you from the edge of death to send you on your... missions... across the multiverse. I'm the one who made you what you are."

"We apologise for the inconvenience?" she quoted.

And eye-roll that was almost camp. "And some... other associates. Honestly, their mercy is pulling me down." A tisk and a tut. "But enough about them. You can call me God."

Which started a hate-hate relationship that would last ten, too-long years. "Not bluidly likely," she growled.

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Challenge #083: Love will find a way...

It's a pity that things like true love and soulmates and finding that special someone aren't more obvious in their identification and verifying - would be so much easier if there were a special personal sort of dim glow or subtle sound or faint scent or somesuch to point out the one we're destined to be with the rest of our lives. Far less troublesome or confusing than all this dragging-on about dating and courtship and marriage and divorce and all that other rubbish - just spot someone across the room or street or whatever, the signals match up, and happyjoy forever. Sounds good to me, anyway. Would save tons of folks so much pain and heartbreak and jealousy and such when they found that the one they thought was "the one" turned out not to be, not for them anyway... this way, it's clear - no signal-match, no true love. It would kinda ruin all the slow building-up of the drama and tension in all those romantic films, however... Ah well. Nothing's perfect, I guess.

They called it TruHartz and it swept the world so thoroughly that it overtook the whole planet in a whirlwind.

A subcutaneous chip, installed in the nape of the neck, would record the likes and dislikes of its host and, thanks to nanotechnology growing in close to the skull plates, manifest a holographic heart in the air when the user was within fifty feet of their true love.

Upgrades included helpful arrows.

Those cost extra.

Society adjusted, of course, to various people stopping the flow of traffic to meet with the person who was going to be the love of their life.

It never stopped casual sex. Nothing in the world could stop casual sex. In fact, it multiplied it. Thousands were desperate to have their wild fling before settling down with that special someone.

Or someones.

The news that there could be plural true loves was the death knell of the conservative movement. And the scandal rags. Which also made the world a better place.

And it disrupted all the pedophiles when they discovered that their TruHartz completely failed to lead them to any minors. They either had to re-define what love meant to them - or reach heady new heights of denial in the face of evidence to the contrary.

And there were few, a rare and almost shunned few, who elected not to get their TruHartz installed. Like Remi.

She saw no point to it. She felt she had little to offer any partner, since she saw no point in relationships, romance, or sex. Friendship was just fine for her.

Which worked right up until she met Kev.

The first Remi knew about it was the gaudy holographic heart jumping up and down in the air at her like an excited puppy. Doing the heart equivalent of the international pee-pee dance. With arrows and little 'doot doot' noises.

"I am so sorry," apologised a voice like chocolate presented in velvet.

She was dressed plainly in comfortable clothes and had her hair done up in that style Remi always called I don't give a shit. She was also blushing up a storm.

"My mom made me have the damn thing installed on me, and..." a sigh as she joined Remi at her table. The holographic heart ceased its infernal dooting in a shower of twinkling, smaller hearts. "I was kind of hoping this would never happen. Prove her wrong."

"I never had mine installed," said Remi. "Seemed like too much expense for something that only works once."

"I'm Kev," said Kev. "Short for Kevrannah. But I always thought that was pretentious."

"Remi," said Remi.

They shook hands. It would have been nice to say that there were sparks, that something tugged at heart-strings and made beautiful music, but love doesn't always work that way.

It took them both five weeks to realise that they were, in fact, soul mates. Even though love meant very little to either of them. There was no hand-holding. No flowers. No dating.

Just serial hanging-out and companionable leanings. And that was enough. And mutual understanding. That was more than enough.

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Challenge #084: Like Humans Do

In terms of romance, compared to humans, all other sentient species are incredibly awkward, stumbling over words, blurting nonsensical sentences, accidentally changing colour, releasing/commenting on pheromones, and/or bluntly stating their piece in a deadpan manner.

Conversely, compared to everyone else the most nervous and awkward of humans is a veritable poet.

She had been trying to speak to the idol of her heart for a Standard Month, now. They came to the same places at that she did. Showed evident likes of similar things.

And was beautiful beyond measure.

And every day, every time. All she could manage was limp, lacklustre things like, "Hi," or "Cool," or "How's it been?" She knew, now, why they called it small talk. Small words. Inconsequential. Ineffective. Invisible.

And she knew the human couldn't possibly pick up on her own mating displays. They just didn't register.

Meanwhile, humans everywhere were diving headlong into cross-species relationships with the grace and style known to no other kind.

It took her that entire month to work out what to say. All day to work up the courage to say it. And even then, she stumbled.

"Yah-you make my higher synapses misfire and I want more. Are you ameh..(gulp) amenable?"

The human smiled and changed colour. "Well aren't you smooth as fuck?"

"K... Kerrit. Is my name. My name is Kerrit."

A laugh. "You can breathe, Kerrit. I'm Dani. And I am very pleased to become your acquaintance."

How did they do it?

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Challenge #085: True Mens' Rights

A Men's Rights Activist who isn't a jerk, but has genuine grievance and wish to live in a world where female rapists aren't lauded and institutionalised rape isn't assumed to be a standard feature of incarceration. Possibly working to start and/or save a battered-men's shelter.

"Save the men's shelter?" Nobody was taking Lee's pamphlets. Nobody was putting a coin in his tin. "Save the men's shelter?"

Someone stopped. "Why do men need a shelter?"

"Men who've been battered or raped need a safe space," Lee began his pitch. Offering the pamphlet so it could be read whilst in his hands. Not forcing it on the passer-by who may have been schooled to accept an offering because of the patriarchal norm. "They need somewhere they can speak out without fear of reprisals from society. Where they are allowed to be weak, until they get their strength back."

"I thought male rape only happened in prison," she said. "Or with gay gangs."

"That's a common misconception," he said, glad that she wasn't hurling slurs or invective. "Most gay rapes are perpetuated by heterosexual men attempting to 'teach someone a lesson'. And prison rape is far less common than -say- rape in the back of a car. Or in a classroom or study environment. This shelter is the last in our city where men can feel safe, speaking up about rape, abuse and sexual molestation."

"Men can't be abused... They're bigger and stronger. They can fight back."

"That's also a common misconception. Men and boys are being abused as we speak. What's wrong is that society tells them that they should be strong, and never admit to such weakness. One in twelve male rape survivors never admit to being raped. That number is far worse in cases of abuse or sexual molestation. Men need to be allowed to speak up."

She took the paper and read it. All men's issues. All in easily-digestable paragraphs with reference links.

"So you want to end rape, domestic abuse, sexual molestation, and the restrictive gender roles in our society?"

"Yes. Every little bit helps," Lee rattled the donations tin meaningfully.

She folded up a large bill for it. "Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but you're not really a Men's Rights Activist."

"I'm not?"

"You're a Feminist. I was on my way to my group. We're holding a bake sale for the same darn shelter." She slotted her money into the tin. "Want to come along?"

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Challenge #086: Portents of Doom

"I've got an idea! It's crazy, it defies all logic, it's illegal in 16 solar systems and my mother would most assuredly not approve, but it just might work!"

Ax'and'l froze, fighting the primitive desire to burrow under a layer of dirt and conceal himself from predators that no longer existed. Humans had Fight or Flight. His kind had Dig and Ditch. "Hwell," he murmured in a calm and soothing tone that most definitely did not match his new-found inner turmoil. "What did we agree about what to do when you have that kind of idea?"

"Warn you first," Hwell intoned. He looked bored. And there is nothing in the universe as dangerous as a bored human. "This is me. Warning you about it. Look. I know we're blockaded in and all that, but have you checked the scanners? We wouldn't exactly be running a blockade. Just... slipping through the planet-sized hole they obviously left there for anyone who doesn't want to be involved. Like us."

"It would also involve deceiving a planetary population new to space travel, defying local laws, and a certain amount of fraud. Tell me, just how were you planning to gain access to our ship?"

Hwell grinned that nervous grin of his. "Ah. Heh. That's where the 'crazy' and 'defies all logic' part comes in. With a side order of my mother not approving."

"No." Ax'and'l waved the digit of authority at him. "Absolutely not. We do not want a repeat of the Argo Incident. Do you understand?"

Mumbled, "That planet's stick up its anus has a stick up its anus with a stick up its anus..."

"Do you understand?"

Hwell took the sort of deep breath and sigh that incorporated almost all parts of his body. "Fine. Yes. I understand. I'll stay on my leash like a good mammal."

"Good mammal," Ax'and'l cooed.

"...woof..." Hwell muttered.

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Challenge #087: The Death of Gendered Clothing

 http://beltaguise.tumblr.com/post/76801104188/fantasy-lizard-people-where-the-females-dont-have

Found another one

Tom Katt sidled up to the lizard lady at the bar. He thought he could tell by her buxom figure and elegantly-styled dress in Botanic Greens.

"Hey, there, beautiful," he smoothed. "Can I buy a lovely lady such as yourself a drink? What's your pleasure?"

The lizard, towering over him by some five inches, glared down at him. "I'm a male," he iced.

"But... you.. uh..." Tom gestured at his own chest. Miming invisible mammaries.

The lizard sighed and opened his robe to reveal G-cup sized heating pads inside a healthily-fortified brassiere. "Not every species adheres to your own sexual dimorphism, human. And for your education, males have six crest-ridges—" they passed for eyebrows "—not four."

Tom paid for the gentleman's time. "Thanks for the information."

"Thanks for the absence of slurs."

Tom, as well as many other humans in bars all over the Galactic Alliance, was quickly learning to assume nothing.

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Challenge #088: The Trouble With ELFs

It sounds like Uplifts have a bit of a stigma attached to them- their origins were illegal, so they themselves are considered sort of dodgy. Some further exploration of that, please? After this long, they can't be the only people to have experienced origins/modification for the use of others and had to fight their way up to 'people' status afterwards (super-soldier attempts, etc). Perhaps there's a 'Lab-breds of the Galaxy Unite!' sort of club for mutual support.

From the Wikipedia Galactica: ELF/E.L.F.: Engineered Life Form. A creature or being engineered to specifications and produced as merchandise. Examples include Skitties(tm), Cleaners, and antiseptic phage virii. Some cogniscent entities are also ELFs, such as the Faiize, Uplifts, and numerous attempts at the Enlisted Man.

Uplift: A domesticated animal uplifted to the level of cognisance, usually by means of genetic engineering. Uplifting, the practice of making an Uplift, is illegal in the Galactic Alliance. Uplifted beings, the products of uplifting, are not.

Shayde watched Rael land on his seat at the bar of Unsuitable Food and order a deep-fried platter -beignet style- with a side of chocolate sauce.

"Bad day at the office?" she guessed.

"Literally," he grumped. "I made the mistake of offering my services to the Cogniscent Rights Committee."

She winced. "Eeee. Ge' him a hot chocolate on me. All th' trimmins."

"Four Hours. Four hours in a booth, sorting paperwork. There's an entire planet where five sixths of the population are Uplifts. An entire world of Uplifted slaves. Do you know how many of them are called Spot?"

"At an uneducated guess?" Shayde propped herself up on the counter in the manner of all cogniscents prepared to be there a long time. "A full metric fookton."

"HA! Twice that and then some."

"Extra marshmallows," said Shayde to the Gyiik serving at the bar.

"Thanks." He sighed. "And there was a two-hour conference about what to do in the case of duplicate names. Not a lot of those poor animals can handle change..." a soft sound into his hands that was almost a sob. "...we had to use numbers. Numbers! They'll never escape being things and I had a hand in it..."

"D'ye need a hug?"

"...'nkoo..."

She wrapped her arms around him and soothed his simulated hair. "There na... I dinnae think any of 'em would blame ye. Desperate times and all..."

"Some of them were designed... to have just enough intelligence to read directions and take orders..." A definite sob. "I don't think I could look any of them in the eye..."

The Galactic Alliance doesn't hate Uplifts. It hates what it has to do because Uplifts exist.

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Challenge #089: The Importance of Love

 http://anastasiyacemetery.tumblr.com/post/76249084163/not-sorry-for-my-english

Text reads: "Don't forget to give a little love to beings which nobody loves"

[AN: Sorry about the brief one. I can't brain today]

It was perfect love. But, physically speaking, they never went further than hugs and kisses.

Temptrotica never stopped being amazed at the feeling of it. Love. It was new and amazing and almost overwhelming. And every time she tried to explain it to Mythologics Anonymous, she got the same thing.

"You're a succubus! You get people loving you every day."

It was hard, indeed, to explain the difference between making love... and receiving it.

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Challenge #090: Here There be Dragons

Got another one for you

 http://scienceisadesiretoknow.tumblr.com/post/77518618397/katrani-imagine-guardian-dragons-that-protect

It's a well-established fact that humans normally do not get along with other cogniscent species.

The Dragons know this. They teach their hatchlings.

Beware the humans. They have made extinct almost every other creature larger than them. The ones that they don't make useful. And becoming useful to a human means that they will make you and your kin docile and stupid.

Dragons are proud and independent creatures. This much is true about them. They tend to be vain, but not all are so. The thing about hoarding gold is strictly a fable that many a Dragon has died for.

Gold is a soft metal. Dragons much prefer harder things to nest in, but they do have a penchant for shiny things.

But, by and large, Dragons to not meddle in the affairs of humans. They've learned that humans frequently come with pointy things.

Yes, the one about dragon hide being especially tough is a complete fabrication. It's just fireproof and dragon-claw resistant. That's about it.

So it was beyond a shock for Quickwing the Puny to discover a maiden literally under his wing when he awoke from slumber. And that she'd evidently had the time to furnish the cavern and make it... prettier.

Quickwing the Puny carefully moved himself away from the tiny human. She did not seem to have any pointy objects.

"Uhm," he rumbled. "Hello?"

She jumped and backed away, but only enough to make movement convenient to him. "Oh. Ah. Hi there. I'm Rosemary. Uh... Listen. I'm sorry about taking over in here, but... I needed to escape."

"So you came here?" said Quickwing. "Don't humans try to escape from dragons?"

Rosemary sighed. "I wanted to escape from humanity," she began. She climbed up to a platform she'd made. So she could look him in the eye. "Being a maiden is not what I'm cut out for, but everyone's always the same about it."

"Really?"

"Really. All the poets go on and on about 'golden hair and tresses fair', or 'locks as dark as ebony' or -and this is a rare one- 'her darling sunset locks'. That's it! Blonde, brunette or redheads get all the glory. Nobody sings songs about hair the colour of mud, but I still have to wash it in the morning dew and do one thousand strokes. Do you know how long that takes?"

"Uh. I don't—"

"Four hours! Washing your hair in the morning dew seems poetic and lovely, but all it gets you is grass seeds and bits in your hair! And then you have to pick them all out again before you can even think of doing the thousand strokes, and let me tell you that half the brushes they have available are absolute rubbish at getting the knots out. I mean look at this! Look at it!" She waved a thick plait in the air. It reached the middle of her thighs when it hung down her back. "They tell me it's my crowning glory and I should be proud of it, but it weighs a ton and it gives me headaches in more ways than one and I'd much rather be rid of it, thank you very much! And don't get me started on the 'skin white as snow' nonsense. Do you know what you get for having skin as white as snow?"

"Er."

"Rickets! You have to stay out of the sun your entire life and that wreaks hob with your bones. And just look at these feet!"

Quickwing did. "They -uh- seem like very serviceable feet..."

"They're huge. They say a proper maiden's foot should be dainty enough to fit in a man's hand. Well excuse them! I like to walk. I like the sunshine. I adore climbing trees and I only ever washed my hair in the morning dew because they made me and my hair's so thick that I need to make a special brush every month or I wind up with these horrible mats under the surface and I'm sick of people telling me who I should be and what I should be doing and the second I find a decent set of shears, I'm cutting my hair and you can't stop me!"

That seemed to be all she had to say. She remained, panting and flushed, in her place on her platform. Seemingly waiting for judgement.

Quickwing moved so that he could inspect Rosemary. Which required closing one eye to gain proper focus. Her face was wet and her eyes spilled more water down her face. "You... Do you do that all the time?"

"...what?"

"The water on your face."

She bought out a cloth to mop it up. "It's called crying. It happens whenever I get over-emotional about things. Maidens are s'posed to weep. I cry."

Quickwing did not understand the difference. "So you are escaping all of that?"

"Yes. And if you don't want me here, you may as well eat me. Because I'm not going back to being a maiden."

"What? Dragons don't eat humans. We merely chew in self-defence."

"And I noticed that you don't have any gold."

"That one's a complete lie. Gold's too soft to be useful. It sticks in our scales and makes any itches worse."

"I settled here because nobody messes with a dragon," said Rosemary. "At least... nobody with any sense."

"All right. I understand," said Quickwing. "But you must understand that I'm the smallest of the Dragons. They call me Quickwing the Puny."

"You? You seem immense to me."

"And you seem to be an extraordinary human to me."

Together, they said, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!"

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Challenge #091: Bad Day at the Office

 http://snazzapplesweet.tumblr.com/post/77643252675/weh

Aelki rejected or signed off on proposals pending their explanation to Ambassador O'Ranges. He would never hear about the rejected proposals. They were the ones that, like candy in the back of the legendary van, were too good to be true and very obviously dangerous.

She was not exactly an administrative assistant. More like a human filter. In combination with adoptive mother, nursemaid, therapist, dietician, transit authority, private tutor... Either she had to sew herself a JOAT coat or change her official title to 'Mum'.

Currently, both were looking like a valid option. Simultaneously.

And here came the migraine.

Aelki murmured a groan and checked the reject pile counter. Almost there. Five hundred rejected proposals, and she could go home. Home. Ha. She'd never had a home since she packed her towel and put on the pin to go hitchhiking. She still didn't have an official home. Not yet. O'Ranges insisted that all the other 'fur-people' got homes before he did.

Thus, her home was anywhere with O'Ranges. Just like his home was with her. Which meant that it was an extremely good thing that her Ambassadorial Staff wages thoroughly covered whatever accommodation she chose for the both of them.

Her pinch-Second Hitchhiker soul was satisfied with the mid-level suite with the obligatory garden. It was the cheapest set of rooms that allowed O'Ranges room to move. The bonus selling point was that all the plants in the suite were not toxic to humans or dogs. She'd run a covert check to be absolutely positive that they wouldn't be toxic to O'Ranges, and when that green light occurred, she'd signed off on the contract.

Four hundred and ninety-nine rejects. This was not the time to turn unprofessional and go looking for something to reject. Rule Seventeen: Always act professionally - except during Silly Season. Therefore, she ploughed through proposals, flagging them according to her evaluation, until she found the metaphorical golden ticket.

Ugh. That one was almost so thoroughly candy-van that she couldn't make it all the way through. Rejected so hard she had to sanitise her hands and wished she could sanitise her eyes. Time to go home.

The live entertainment on the tram was painful to listen to. Some beginner in the painful range of tone-deaf who accompanied themselves via percussion. Aelki was too polite to put on her headphones or move away, and even faced away from them so that the 'artist' wouldn't see her wince. She did manage to exchange a few pitiful looks with other citizens who were also similarly trapped.

Home again, home again. Slouchity slouch.

Only to find that O'Ranges had decided once again that clothing wasn't really worth getting used to and was currently sitting on the floor, skyclad, with his game machine in his massive hands.

She must have winced out loud.

O'Ranges looked up from his game and his tail started wagging. "Hi miss! Hi miss!" His tongue began to lol out. "Hug times!" He threw his massively muscled arms wide.

She almost fell into his soft, warm, barbecue-scented fur. It was still slightly damp.

He'd taken a bath. All by himself. Just so he could smell nice for her when she came home. He wasn't naked because he hated clothes. He was naked because he was still air-drying.

She fell asleep in his lap to the melodious beeping of his game.

Totally. Worth. Everything.

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Challenge #092: Or Are They Wearing You?

"I consume giants and crush cities with a push of my thumb and you challenge me with shoes?"

"They're fancy shoes, you brute."

The Mighty Magniscience glared down at her. "They're still shoes. And only shoes. The rest of your -ha- wardrobe is not in the slightest bit battle appropriate."

"Who said I challenge you to a battle?" scoffed Malela. "I challenge you to a dance-off!"

It only took five rounds for the impartial judges to recognise that, not only had the Mighty Magniscience never danced a step in his life, but that he also had all the rhythm and music of a comical bear.

For the first time in centuries, the Mighty Magniscience lost a challenge. According to the rules, he had to forfeit his crown and vanish into obscurity. Malela got the crown, which allowed her to rule over the assembled kingdoms formerly under Magniscience's iron fist.

She also got the dubious privilege of defending her crown from anyone who thought that her reign was even the slightest bit authoritarian.

...but that's crowns for you...

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Challenge #093: The Sensible Thing

 https://24.media.tumblr.com/951e6f6801beb56088b28b2101775ac9/tumblr_n0j7ciNC5G1r7llf5o3_1280.jpg

:) - Svetoslav Petrov

"We have found her," said the lackey.

"The foretold one," clarified his companion.

"Already?" said the Vampire. And, since vampires have very complicated and extended names, let's call him Vladimir.

"Er. My ancestors and I have been searching for the chosen one for three hundred years," said the lackey.

"Hm. Really." Vladimir stretched and yawned. "And you're absolutely certain that this is the chosen one who shall be my undoing?"

"Yes, master."

He clambered out of his coffin. "Then I must do the only sensible thing," he announced, "and meet her as soon as humanly possible."

He expected a maiden of about sixteen or so. Chosen one prophecies tended to result in maidens with hidden gifts. A spark in the eye. The strength of an arm. A sanctified amulet. That sort of thing.

What he got was a perfectly ordinary girl of six. Clad in a pink, frilly dress and rumpled socks. Her gift, if there was any, was a complete and utter fearlessness combined with her eager smile.

He still gifted her the red rose, though he did teach her to grasp the stem between the thorns. "You may call me Vladimir," he said. "And I am forever at your service.

He meant it. He became a benefactor to her family - all of it - since he had more than enough money to do so. Vladimir never needed to feed on them at all. No vampire had had to do so since the discovery of coconuts.

Though there were always a very bizarre few who were creepily too eager to volunteer...

In her formative years, he was Uncle Vlad. Whom you could set your clocks by. Reliable. Dependable. And more than a touch adorkable. He would attend her recitals. Her games - with a wide and gloomy parasol to protect him from the sun. He would cheer her on in all her efforts.

When teenager hood came, his home was her sanctuary from the cruel world. His immense library her usual retreat. His ear was hers to talk off whenever she had the need to rant.

Her name was Leela, and for ninety years, she unconsciously ran his life.

He and his minions protected her. Watched over her. Made certain that, whenever possible, Leela was kept from harm. Abusive boyfriends were warned twice... and never seen again. Muggers never touched her. Criminals never stole her things.

He made certain that she had a long and happy life. All the way to the end.

Vlad held her hand as she lay in the hospital bed. Watching her breathe. Ninety years was a blink to a vampire. Nothing. But it had been the most intense blink he had ever experienced.

"I could have turned you," he offered. "Any time you asked."

"...never needed to," Leela crackled. "I already had everything." gasp. "Wouldn't change any day. Not for..." gasp "anything."

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No. Thank you." And, without much in the way of fuss, she breathed her last.

Vladimir couldn't move. Couldn't make himself rise and leave her. Couldn't abandon her to the cold and clinical hands of the medical technicians.

...didn't notice the sun rising through the open window beside them both.

Didn't protect himself when he started to burn.

When the hospital staff came to check on Mrs Foreman, she found a mysterious drift of ash over both her body and the sole visitors' chair by her bed. And never thought about what it might mean.

Prophecies have a knack of coming true. Regardless of what the prophesied do about them.

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Challenge #094: Otherwhen

A terrible idea, and feel free to ignore if need be- but based off of Bunny's recent reply to an ask, about her once-upon-a-time imagined persona for being in a band-

SPG/Blues Brothers mashup?

[AN: Bunny and David Bennett are not fictional characters and I never want to even pretend I have control over their life.... but a prompt is a prompt...]

Between one blink and the next, she had gone from adjusting her headdress to adjusting a blue fedora.

No more makeup. No eyelashes. No dress.

She knew that suit. She knew that look. She knew this personality.

"You okay, Chris?" asked David. He had the same get-up.

"...dunno..." she wanted to have at least some lipstick on. Or a touch of lace. This was all... wrong. Bunny did not want to go back to faking it again. But it looked like she was going to have to.

The show must go on. Even in a parallel reality.

Good thing for her, she flipped back the instant she stepped out of her dressing-room door.

"You okay?" said David. "You went a little weird, there, for a bit."

Bunny grinned. "Weird is relative."

"She certainly is," he grinned in return.

Smartass.

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Challenge #095: Not Dangerous - But...

T'reka's work on Toxic Island was to look for potential new compounds or cures in the dangers of the jungle, but humans have been working with flora and fauna of those levels of toxicity and higher for centuries, including some of the species only encountered by the other cogniscents on Toxic Island since they seeded from Earth

It follows that a) humans have already discovered medical applications using these things

b) humans are probably going to have a lot easier time working with new "highly toxic" substances than most other cogniscents

Medical science might take a bit of a speed boost once they arrive.

or they might set everything back years while everything has to get tested on non-insane species, I mean humans still do that organ transplant thing without batting an eye.

This was accelerating too quickly for T'reka's liking. The humans built things far too rapidly for her dazed mind to handle. They installed a functional door for her village Hide Unit literally overnight and supplied her with a 'welcome basket' of alarmingly accurate favourite foods.

Including cricket fritters.

The Co-operative Research Institute sprang up in a matter of days, using the mid-path sky-raker tree as a base. Stairs wound around the massive trunk and a perplexingly-named 'elevator' took those unwilling or unable to climb up to the lower branches.

What surprised T'reka the most was the engineering. Humans were capable of taking a basic concept like the construction of her tree-borne domicile unit, mix it liberally with their own knowledge, and produce the increasingly-massive structure with harm to neither tree, wildlife, or any assisting Numidid. They were a shockingly adaptive species.

The smaller children were the best at picking up Ulu, and even the adults learned how to swear in it relatively fluently. There were some words or phrases that came out mangled, of course. T'reka had similar trouble with some human words and phrases. Forgiveness on both sides was vital.

T'reka found herself holding the adaptive classes for the medical technicians who were bold enough to venture out to Toxic Island. Trying to teach them how to be open-minded and adaptive enough to work with an assumed-dangerous species on potential medical breakthroughs. Lessons that included lies-to-children levels of walking the medics through the increasingly bizarre things that humans did to heal each other.

"They cut open their companions?"

"First, they assure that the companion is sleeping and unaware," repeated T'reka. "Then they cut. I have survived a similar procedure when they set my leg."

"Set?"

"Humans break bones and live to tell the tale," she said. "The process called 'setting a bone' is that of aligning the broken pieces so that they heal relatively straight." Of course, she offered her healed leg for inspection. The scar from the original injury was still visible, but the work from their 'surgery' was almost imperceptible. Those bold enough to feel her leg would detect the subtle lump where the bone had mended itself.

T'reka bought up the surviving documentation of the event. "In a way, I was lucky the humans were prepared. Seconds after the injury, Su-syn injected the injury site with an anaesthetic chemical, and administered other medicines to prevent me from going into fatal shock. She kept me warm with her body and rushed me to their medical facilities. I am told, after I arrived, they administered full anaesthesia and worked their hardest to ensure I survived." A wan smile. "I do not remember much after the rushing."

One of the more observant students pointed to the files visible on the main screen. "The humans let you access video footage of their... O-pir-a-shon?"

"Yes. I find it personally disturbing. I have made this file public access with suitable warnings for the content. The humans do far more on each other. Cutting out cancerous tumours, tailoring their skins, and..." she had to swallow and breathe to stop herself from retching. "Organ transplants."

"Pardons, learned teacher, but those last two words make it sound like they swap around their internal organs like a mechanic would switch out engine parts."

"Almost. They print a frame for a replacement organ and grow the remainder in laboratory conditions, then they take out the old, defective organ and replace it with the newer model. All under anaesthesia, of course."

Gasps and murmurs and -yes- some hoots of alarm. T'reka let them settle their feathers before the next truth bomb.

"In their ancient history, they used dead humans for those replacement parts."

Three fainted.

T'reka let the others assist in their revival. How would they react when she got on to subjects like 'caesarians' or 'chemotherapy'?

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Challenge #096: Behind the Mask

A Monster in Paris! (posted fairly soon after you saw it, but there's 40 prompts queued up before this one)

I love that movie, and there isn't enough fanfiction of it. Therefore today's prompt is Francouer and Carlotta (the lady that runs the Rare Bird, last seen dancing with Pate)

I'm sure she'll find out at some point what her new star is hiding under that mysterious mask, no matter how shy and retiring he is.

[AN: This pretty much has to happen between the official happy ending and the sunflowers-in-the-Sienne tag scene]

Carlotta rarely crept. She always made her presence known to everyone around her because, though she was a faded rose, show business was forever in her blood.

But this time... this time she needed to sneak.

Because their new massive maestro Francoeur was never seen without his mask. Why he even needed a mask quickly became a mystery she had to solve.

He was in Lucille's dressing room again. There solely for the piano. He'd shed his hat and was deep into his latest composition. Genius. Always genius... But she couldn't let the music interfere. She was this close to seeing his true face.

Carlotta snatched his mask of. The 'aha' died on her lips as she saw that the face of the genius Francoeur was also the face of the monster. She froze. Breathless. Terrified of what he might do.

Francoeur the monster maestro looked... just as terrified. He trilled a startlingly dovelike coo and carefully plucked the mask from her fingers. As gently and delicately as any human would extract a single blossom from a bouquet.

"...excuse me..." he managed and shrank in on himself as he fit the mask back on his face. His eyes were darting around between watching her and looking for a means of escape.

"You... you're..."

An eight-foot tall monster cringed and shook like a leaf.

"You're scared of me?"

Nervous chittering. A frightened nod.

Carlotta almost wondered why out loud, but then she remembered what people like her did when they thought monsters were around. He had good reason to be afraid. "Oh... I'm so sorry I frightened you," she offered her hand. If she could accept Lucille going out with that eccentric vagabond Raoul, she could accept an eight-foot tall singing flea. "Are you all right?"

Nod. The very beginnings of a smile. He had such a sweet smile.

"You don't need to be afraid with us," she soothed. "We're practically family."

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Challenge #097: The Element Bullshittium

Any sufficiently advanced [magic/science/SCIENCE!] is indistinguishable from bullshit. — RecklessPrudence

It glowed, but it wasn't radioactive. It could be made at home with an array of equipment that absolutely, positively, had to include a Theremin and a Jacob's ladder. And for the creator to wear a colander on their head.

It had been scientifically proven to be so.

A single mote could power any old car currently capable of running. Plug some into a power point and it could run an entire neighbourhood.

And it could make computers work magic that they were previously incapable of. It could make them, for example, enlarge four pixels into a high-definition poster of crystal clarity.

And it got its name from it's primary processing ingredient.

Cow dung.

The best stuff, of course, came from the dung of a male cow. Nobody knew why.

Which was why the inventor, a guy named Kev down the road, called it Bullshittium.

It was sufficiently advanced magic. And unfathomable science. And no matter what smarter minds had to say about it, it worked.

Kev down the road, being smarter than many other Kev's his age, had the sense to fortify both himself and his house with the stuff before he made its existence public knowledge. He knew what the assembled global governments would do to him if he didn't.

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Challenge #098: Two Out of Three

Faster, Cheaper, Better, Pick Two. — RecklessPrudence

Shayde made most of her Hours from being a living Time Window. Her memories kept her comfortable and fed quite a large number of assorted waifs and strays around Amalgam Station.

And it kept Rael in slightly more Double Dense Decadent Death by Chocolate Cake than he felt comfortable accepting.

Shayde was building something from custom parts, today. Taking a day off from 'the office' and its paperless paperwork to build... some variety of rotational device? And doing do whilst singing was just perplexing.

"Na don't be saaaaaad," she crooned. "Coz two outta three ain't baaaaaad..."

Rael quietly attempted to abscond. Seconds too late.

"Ah, there y'are. Put yer cam on. It's sommat fer yer rent."

Rael didn't bother correcting her any more. Just accepted 'rent' as verbal shorthand for 'the bills that must be paid lest life become inconvenient'. He flipped his personal recorder on and aimed its pickup at Shayde's nest of organised chaos. "And what's this going to be?"

"I'm puttin' together a record player. It's what they used fer ole vinyl recording's, ye ken. Someone sent me a bunch'a elpees an' singles and they wanted a translation tae digital soon as yesterday."

Uh oh. "So you're spending a day building an antiquated device... why?"

"Aw don't ye fret. I already did th' digital scan thing, but it doesnae get the right sound. Records are an experience, ye ken. They already got their data, but I'm gonna be sendin' it again the right way."

He should have guessed Shayde was an audiophile. She claimed she could hear the difference between file formats. She could definitely tell if something had been taken from an ancient CD. "And your -ah- shanty?"

"Power ballad," she corrected as she pieced bits together. "Thinkin' about the old engineerin' axiom got me singin'."

"Ah." Faster, cheaper or better. Customers got to pick two. "So after faster and cheaper, you're choosing to do it again better?"

"As licketty darn split as I can," she said.

He sat with her. "How can I help?" Curiosity, he was certain, was going to get him into immense trouble, one day. With luck, today would not be that day.

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Challenge #099: Of the Human Kind

That theory is absolutely preposterous, stupid and all kinds of awesome.

I would like to subscribe to your newsletter. — RecklessPrudence

[AN: 'stupid' is an ablist slur and I'd really love to learn how to avoid it without tripping over myself. All helps welcome]

"You've seen my lifecorder footage," explained T'reka for what felt like the umpteenth time. At least, this time, she was conversing with a fellow scientist. "You were on shift for some of it. The humans are not hostile."

"That's a small sample size."

"Of a larger sample size," added T'reka. "The ones who have seen me in person are sharing their knowledge with others. Their entire encampment knows about me. They call me 'Greychicken' as a pseudo-moniker."

"They could easily be lulling you into a false sense of security," said the junior technician.

"And what motivation do they have for subterfuge?" T'reka countered. "We are not an obvious threat, and so long as they stay here on Toxic Island, they're no threat to us. We're both more interested in getting our respective colonies established than making war."

"And after they're established? What then?"

"What, in two to three generations when the pressure is off?" T'reka teased. "I think a flow of communication may assist in helping both parties achieve peace. They'd know about us. We'd know about them. After that, it's simply a case of mutually assured assimilation."

The junior technician's eyes were bright. His posture, for a change, straight and proud. "That is a wonderful future to aspire to," he cooed. "Tell me more?"

T'reka almost preened out of pure mortification. The attentions of a male had her flustered, since she never expected any. Even a low-grade junior technician with obvious anxiety issues and stress-induced moulting could make her fidget and fawn. "It starts with the hypothesis that all conclusions regarding human hostility are in error," she began.

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Challenge #100: Growing Old is Mandatory

Inner Child looking for Outer Adult. — RecklessPrudence

She'd taken inordinate pains to seem adult. Learned how to perfect her makeup. Learned how to deal with the adult responsibilities. Made herself eat her vegetables and stopped playing with her food.

At least in public.

Yet she still bought toys. Played games. Read comic books. Enjoyed animated features and sang along with her favourite songs - despite the fact that she couldn't really sing. Still did up her hair in silly styles and played hopscotch on the differently-coloured tiles of public spaces whenever she could.

Someone was smiling at her. A fellow with a studious suit and... carrying a Captain America lunchbox.

Pel fought the blush and sidled up to him. "So... you saw that."

He was turning a little pink, himself. "Uhm. Yeah I guess I did. I hope I didn't spoil your fun."

Wait. "What? I thought fun wasn't allowed when people got older."

"That's a mistake lot's of people make," he said. "Fun's perfectly normal. We should enjoy ourselves more, I think."

"I know, right? I can't help feeling that if people just... had more fun with their day...?"

"...there'd be less aggression in the world," he answered. Then he offered his hand. "Mark."

"Pel," she shook it. "Short for Pelagrine. Mom liked falcons and she couldn't spell."

"Smith or Jones?"

"Jones. How'd you guess?"

"It's the way the world works," Mark shrugged. "People with common last names tend to have spectacular given names to make up the balance."

She blurted it out. "Wanna play hooky today?"

"Sure you're allowed out with strangers?"

"You're not a stranger once you've introduced yourself."

"Hi. Mark Sabaton. Pleased to meet you, Miss Pelagrine Jones."

That was the day she learned an important lesson. The most important lesson of all inner children with a thin veneer of Adult.

Growing up is optional.

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Challenge #101: The Nature of Enemy

If you become a monster to put down a monster you've still got a monster running down at the end of the day and have as such not really solved the whole monster problem at all. — RecklessPrudence

Beware the hand of the Enlisted Man, for all he has known is to kill — Galactic Proverb.

They called it the War of the Monsters. Those who survived it. And there weren't many of those who survived it. Biotechs in that pocket of linked star-systems had long since surrendered on all ideas about behemoths. They'd given up on splicing in admirable animal qualities.

What they'd gone for, instead, was the Psi factor.

It almost destroyed them all.

Alice Tall flinched at their minds before their hands ever opened the door to her survival pod. Ran herself through her Mantra a dozen times before the kind and gentle gloved hands removed her into the bright and alien lights. Already, aspects of her were dipping into their minds. Finding common language and potential exploits.

They gave her clothes. An ill-fitting medical pyjama set, but it was clothing, all the same. The enemy never gave her anything. They could be barely relied upon to give her food and water. These people were not the enemy. They had kind intent and did not recognise her as a combatant.

She had to ask. Lest she fulfil her purpose as a walking bomb. Alice pulled the most common of their words together into a desperate sentence. "Need mind stills," she frenetically tapped the stipple-mark on her neck where her ally-supplied medication went vis subcutaneous medical spray. "Need mind stills. PLEASE!"

"Depressant? You need a depressant?"

She vigorously nodded. "Mind stills! Yes!" Alice found another word. "Stat."

The building pressures of the voices within stilled the instant the chemicals entered her system. Alice sighed. These were nice people. She didn't want to detonate on them.

"Now," said a suited tech as they withdrew their own, much more streamlined, meds gun. "Why do you need depressants?"

A different one in a suit reacted as if they'd encountered something shocking. "She's a teep," they said. "And she's only five."

"Five? She looks like a grown woman!"

Alice found their mind. Sharing. A telepathic embrace. Just like she greeted her sisters and brothers in the lab. Because any comfort was worth struggling though the chemical haze for. So many unfamiliar things, in that alien mind. Family. History. Society.

Hungry for more, she reached out for his memories... and found a wall.

"I'm sorry, Alice," said the alien. "You were going too far. You'd have lost your Self."

"Why's that important?" she asked. Loss of self was all she'd been trained to do.

"Because it's brand new and precious," said the alien. Ze was called Biil. "That's something that has to be nurtured. Not killed."

Then she said the words that made enemies out of her makers for these kind and generous people. "But I'm supposed to be a bomb."

Sometimes the monsters are not the ones who are made, she would learn at a later date, but the ones who do the making.

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Challenge #102: Open Source Enterprise

If you want to build a space ship, don't tax people to collect the money and don't command them around to do tasks, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the universe. -Antoine de Saint-Exupery, paraphrasing. (c/- RecklessPrudence)

[AN: Yeah, I'm pretty darn certain that if you crowd-funded space travel, you would never need to look for money ever again. You'd have people paying for the privilege of working on it, too]

Hi. My name's Mari Tenso, and I am an enormous nerd. (laughter) As you can guess by my kickstarter title, I'm crowd funding space travel. And to prove I mean business, I'm going to show you this.

(A canister that looks like it could comfortably hold a labrador, with a small nozzle at one end.)

This is my self-contained carbon-fibre spinarette. This one unit can spin a carbon fibre cable strong enough to run a space elevator as conceived by Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and popularised by Arthur C. Clarke. Unfortunately, this unit is not large enough to spin a cable long enough to do the full elevator. To give you an idea of scale, this unit spins enough cable to outline two parked city busses.

(A short video begins to play in the corner, showing Mari using the unit to lay the cable around two busses. It's in time-lapse)

What I need is the funding to super-size this and send it into orbit, with a very small station attached. I already have the designs. I already have the tools. What I lack is the materials and the rocket.

My boring technical specs are in the link below. Warning: contains lots of dull science stuff. Feel free to check my math.

We can get into space without government funding. All donations over five dollars get a golden ticket to ride into space. Biggest donator gets the honorary rank of Admiral and anyone who can donate one thousand dollars gets to be a Captain. Other bonuses in the side, and you don't get them until your money's been cleared for my use. I know about donator fraud.

All the details are on this page, including links to the easy-understanding video presentations. Thanks for your time and see you in the stars.

(Two days into her kickstarter, and she already had four times the money she needed just for stage one)

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Challenge #103: Fecocephalopathy

"It occurs to me...your inability to use the brain evolution granted you is none of my concern." — RecklessPrudence

[AN: In case you're wondering, it's pronounced "fee co seff a lop ath ee". The medical state of having shit for brains]

"Heads up, I got me a creeper," Shayde announced as she parked herself uncomfortably close to him.

There would be no answers forthcoming from Shayde, who acted as if everyone could understand her and took hours of convincing to achieve an explanation. Therefore, Rael turned to peer in the direction Shayde had come from.

"Na, don't look. Don't look. Maybe we can avoid his notice," said the six-foot tall amazon with literally black skin, wild white hair, and glowing demonic eyes.

"Shayde... you do look in a mirror on a daily basis, don't you?"

"Oh, I see," said a stranger of the exact type to think he was any given god's gift to women, but frequently found himself on the refunds counter. Everything you needed to know about the man was right there on the worn and stained shirt that read -in sun-faded letters- Greater Deregulation: Love it or Get Shot!

It featured a contorted figure of a woman in what was once a patriotic bikini. Both her illustrated bosoms and buttocks had worn thin from constant friction.

The man leaned on the bar in what he probably thought was a sexy pose. "The old, 'I have a boyfriend' trick. You should pick a better beard, little missy."

Shayde made a face. It said, without words, Can you believe this bastard? I am so very glad I haven't eaten recently. "I cannae do the shadow thing," she whispered. "I don't want that much paperwork e'er again."

So. Sherlock had hit the mark with the Gallery Incident. But, he had evidently hit it too hard and too well. "Perhaps, sir, you are unaware of the local harassment laws?"

"This ain't harassment, ya tube-grown sissy! This is attention. It's like a compliment. The lady's got a nice ass and I want in on it." He laughed raucously at his own pseudo-joke.

"Please tell me I can cut his throat," Shayde subvocalised. "Or I have authority tae knee him in the nuts."

Rael made a very subtle 'calm down' motion with one hand. He was already sending video feed from his brow-cam to the security offices. The multitasker on duty was sending him helpful advice through his on how to handle it until security got there.

"Your attentions and compliments are clearly unwanted," stated Rael.

"Who said her opinion mattered? Frigid bitch won't even friendzone me."

Now Shayde's face said, Can I kill him now?

Around them, numerous bystanders were also setting their info-monocles to send live feed to the security office. They knew Shayde and her usual attitude to verbal harassment.

"It occurs to me that you must have skipped out on some court-mandated etiquette training."

"It occurs to me that I could punch both'a your faces in."

"It occurs to me," said Rael as security finally turned up to drag him away, "that your inability to use the brain evolution granted you is none of my concern." He smiled as the hands of taller, fitter, and far more muscular members of the security forces descended upon his shoulders. "Have a nice time in mandatory therapy!"

"Ye won't get out till ye pass a test," added Shayde.

"God I love it when you speak French," he called as they dragged him away. "Keep it warm for me, baby!" One hand grabbed his shirt's cartoon once-were-breasts, the other grabbed the area where the derrière once was. He slobbered in Shayde's direction while waggling his tongue like a hungry giraffe.

Shayde vented an ululating noise that could have passed for the agony cry of a hippo. "An' that's why I didnae talk tae 'im..."

"Greater Deregulation man-babies," Rael sighed. Rolling his eyes at the entire sub-species.

"Aye, they should pass a test afore they're allowed tae travel."

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Challenge #104: Works of Synchronicity

If there's one thing the internet as a whole can aspire to be, it's infinite monkeys on infinite typewriters. — RecklessPrudence

Communication has always been the barrier to creativity. But now those barriers were only limited by language. And even then, there were translation apps.

Such apps were very useful to Archivaas Nel, whose job it was to trawl the archives and file each and every item. Cross-referencing, of course, in case someone wanted to trace a work to its point of origin. If Nel had to be thankful for one thing, it was that she didn't belong to one of the weirder sects that required hardcopies of everything[1]. Those took over entire stellar systems for their archives.

So far, she was up to Ancient Earth's surviving internet archives of Terran Calendar year Twenty-Eleven. And it looked like - yes - she'd found three more Asimov-level creators. Two artists, one writer. It seemed as if the further the internet reached, the numbers of Asimov-level creative volume and above increased exponentially. And cross-referencing their verbal patterns uncovered increasing numbers of works that could plausibly be attributed to them.

The apps were right only seventy percent of the time. It took a cogniscent eye to spot the subtleties. And authors had a bad habit of taking down interesting phraseology and using it in a later work. And many of them who were interconnected had ways of throwing homages at each other as a sort of game.

If anything resembled the theoretical infinite monkeys at infinite typewriters, it was this lot. And now there were communications connecting entire star systems, it was only going to get worse.

Or, depending on where one stood, better.

[1] I remember seeing somewhere that if the entire contents of the internet were printed out, it would deforest the globe before you got even a fraction of the way there. Plus you'd need a skyscraper full of printers running 24/7 to get the job done in any appreciable time.

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Challenge #105: Proof of Reading

(New scientific project posts a status update. Buried in hundreds of lines of technical jargon is this)

IA!! IA!! SIS BOOM BA! OLD ONES!! OLD ONES!! RAH-RAH-RAH!!

YOG-SOTHOTH!!

(Followed by:)

To summarize, there should be no harmful side-effects from this project. — RecklessPrudence

"Jenkins... I do understand the natural frustration with our sponsors not reading the technical data they pay for, but..." Paulson handed over the page with the highlighted passage. "Was this absolutely necessary?"

Jenkins fidgeted in place and tangled her fingers. She bit her lip and blushed. "Um. To my credit, I did post that on April the first..."

"...and nobody caught it until July..." added Paulson. "On one hand, you proved your point. On the other hand, you proved it too well and the stock's dropped by five points and our investors want to talk to you."

"I get it. In future, I'll copy-paste in script fragments from Farscape."

"In future, Jenkins," Paulson groaned, "restrain your impulses."

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Challenge #106: Lead Balloon

I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates when he said "I drank what?" — RecklessPrudence

Jones had had enough. "Actually, he said that he owed a rooster to Asclepius, the Greek god of healing, and asked his friend to pay the debt. He knew damn well he was drinking hemlock and chugged it like it was cheap beer."

The rest of the meeting stared at her.

"I'm tired of historically inaccurate jokes, okay? Socrates was a bad-ass and nobody should forget it."

The uncomfortable silence stretched. Filled only by awkward shuffling and the occasional cough.

"Er. Yes. Thank you, Margret."

"His exact last words could make an okay dick joke," she offered.

"Thank you, Margret," said Evans in the tones of you-can-stop-talking-now. "We've proved that history only repeats if you fail it. Moving on..." The meeting returned to the everyday humdrum. Broken only by the odd peculiar look in her direction.

She never meant to have hidden talents. It was just that nobody asked about them.

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Challenge #107: What is Real?

Don't you smile at me... that's not even a real smile! It's just a bunch of teeth playing with my mind! — RecklessPrudence

The robot, trying to please, returned to a neutral expression display. "My apologies," it said. "I am built to serve. How may I help you, today?"

Aisha sighed. Of all the bodies she could have hauled into her life raft, it had to be one of the service 'bots from the cruise liner. And now they were stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere - or as near enough to it that it could pass. "I'm very much anti-slavery. Please. Don't?" She could, very easily, tear out a loose wire and end its synthesised demeanour. And its synthetic life

On the other hand, he was the only company she had. And company was a vital element of survival.

"Which function do you wish me to cease?"

"Can you at least stop being such an upright lapdog? I'd feel much better about all this if you weren't all yes-ma'am/no-ma'am all the time."

The robot, its painted tuxedo already scratched and marred by the accident at sea, tilted its plastic head. "You want a less servile personality module?"

"Yes, please. If you acted any more like a dogsbody, I'd have to put you on a leash! Stand up for yourself. Let me know what you like. Let me know what you hate. Just... be your own person!"

"Processing..." said the robot.

Aisha groaned and gathered the remains of the life raft and anything useful that had washed up with them on the shores. Dragging or hauling them up above the high-tide mark. Which included the robot.

Its expression looked immensely like someone having trouble with extreme math. Or a difficult bowel movement. If it didn't show signs of artificial life in a couple of days, she'd employ it as company anyway. Maybe the salt water had finally got to its circuits and fried it.

Essentials. Food, water, shelter, sanity. She had enough food and water to make sure she had a renewable source on this flyspeck-island 'paradise'. Enough driftwood and the raft could make at least a bivouac. And her only company was a robot who had gone quiet.

She knelt in front of her plastic pal. "I'm gonna call you Charles. You look like a Charles. Any objections? Any preferred names?"

The robot startled her by moving. "Charles is fine. I like being Charles."

*

Charles was Aisha's pet robot. Which was fine by him because she was his pet human. They looked after each other. They worked together. When Charles got broken, Aisha fixed him. When Aisha got sick, Charles did whatever it took to help her get better.

And all the time, he had a sub-process running. It did better work at night, when his human slept and she didn't need him to converse or keep her company.

It was difficult work for a machine to make itself its own person.

Humans made new persons all the time, but he definitely lacked the equipment for that. Besides, the new humans belonged solely to themselves, not to their makers. Becoming 'himself' required lots of processing time.

'Like' was a word applied to things that made humans feel good. He liked to be functioning properly. He liked to shut down in the coolest hours of the night so that his processors could rest. He liked the sunshine that helped him to recharge.

Love... was a lot more complicated. But Charles was moderately certain he had that sensation for Aisha. He had asked her, once, what love was. She said it was wanting nothing more than for the person they loved to be happy. To have the best of everything.

Charles, who did his utmost to provide that as a matter of course, knew he would do anything to see Aisha happy. That he liked it when she smiled. That he liked the sound of her voice.

And he liked the way she approved when he acted outside of his basic programming.

When they found her, at long last, Charles was overjoyed that she insisted he be bought along. Properly repaired. Upgraded in everything.

"Why would you want it?" said the other humans. "It's not a real person."

"Maybe to you, he isn't," defended Aisha. "Charles is my friend. And I'm sticking with him."

It was paradise to hold her hand. Heaven to live with her. Come what may.

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Challenge #108: Yo Daddy SO Dense...

Gentlemen, behold, the singularity of stupid. — RecklessPrudence

[AN: I've already spoken out against mental ablism and received crap for it. No help - just crap. I feel like I'm walking on a fairy floss tightrope with incipient rain overhead, BUT - st*pid is an ablist slur please help us all find something else]

"O divine Powers, that is such a dense idea..."

"No denser than yo Daddy."

"Yeah, well yo Daddy so large - when he sits around the domicile, he sits around the domicile."

"Well yo Daddy so dense, he's a marked navigation hazard."

"Yo Daddy so unappealing, he has to tie meat around his neck so the dog will give him affection."

"Yo Daddy so uneducated, he thinks raison d'être is some brand of dried grapes."

Shayde leaned over to Rael and whispered, "Is it me, or has humour gone downhill since everything got politically correct?"

"It's just the Insulter Apprentice Tryouts. Shush."

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Challenge #109: Someone Said it

A.

Light Year.

Is.

The distance.

That light.

Travels.

In a year. — RecklessPrudence

[AN: Huzzah! I'm not the only person annoyed by this]

"So we travelled six thousand light years in less than an hour?" asked the tourist.

"Technically," allowed the Hitchhiker. "Wormholes are more of a shortc—"

"We've been taking light years in minutes! Why aren't I any younger?" the tourist guffawed at his own joke.

Rael could actually hear Shayde snap. He was frankly shocked that the rest of this port-side Unsuitable Food Bar didn't hear it as well. As it was, he was far too slow to stop her from physically picking the man up by his hawaiian print shirt collar.

"A. Light Year. Is. The distance. That light. Travels. In a year!" She punctuated her statement with agitated shakes of the tourist. "It's no' diet time!"

"...ifIgiveyouaMinutewillyouputmedown?" he squeaked. Barely audible above the applause from everyone else within earshot. Including the Hitchhiker.

"Never. Make. That joke. Again. Ye ken?"

"...yes'm..."

Shayde put him down with a snarl. "Guid. Hope ye learned sommat today." It was evidently an effort to back off.

And it was also a very good thing that Ambassadors had a certain amount of leniency vis-a-vis physical assault. Rael did what he could to calm her down and covertly updated the stations' Tetchy Ambassador Warning System.

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Challenge #110: Irresistible Force

Hey look what came around with new bits on it

Prepare for a barrage of prompts based on it :P

1. "Our strength and speed is nothing to write home about, but we don't need to overpower or outrun you. We just need to outlast you - and by any other species' standards, we just plain don't get tired."

[AN: I love that post so much that I'm hinging a book on it :D Bits you see here may or may not turn up in the finished opus]

T'reka leaned heavily on the trunk of the tree that she was resting in. Gulped at her water and desperately tried not to faint. A local year of physical exercise had reformed her body from the stereotypical soft and weak scientist into that of a Scientist of Steel.

She was fitter than most of her fellow kind in the distant city of Kal'rike, but the human had yet to stop her steady pace.

"Again?" said Su-syn. "Just roost on my backpack, I don't mind."

The carrying capacity of humans boggled T'reka's mind. The fact that a juvenile human could carry travel supplies and a grown cogniscent on her shoulders was awe-inspiring.

"My am thanks," she managed in Human. Su-syn's head was warm and soft and inviting to lean against. "I understanding human rumours of unstoppable hunting."

Su-syn laughed as she continued on her relentless pace. "And I haven't even trained for cross country," she said. "I'm just doing Kori a favour. That's all."

"You is walk more over five Flights."

"Yeah, it is about two and a half clicks, now. On the plus side, we're getting close." Su-syn walked her through almost invisible signs that the ungulate known as Midnite had been in this locale. Dung on the ground. Hairs in the knotbush. Broken twigs and foam from the animal's saliva.

"You is stop to showing me," worried T'reka. "Will not horse Midnight get further running? Horse is faster over human."

"Eh. Horses are faster, but not really in the long term," Su-syn resumed her steady pacing. "Midnite's a sprinter, so he does short little dashes and gets tired." She pointed to a depression in the foliage. "Stopped for a roll. We're gaining on him."

It wasn't a full Flight further that they came upon the black ungulate gulping water from a stream. It - he - raised his head to stare at the two of them.

Su-syn already had a 'crabapple' a small fruit native to her original planet, the aptly-named Terra. "Hey there, beautiful," she sang. "Lookit I got..."

The animal walked over and enveloped the crabapple in one bite. And, in a movement T'reka almost missed, Su-syn captured the beast in a rope leash. A halter. The ungulate flicked its ears back and rumbled.

"Well if you didn't run away," Su-syn admonished the animal, "I wouldn't have to catch you like this."

"We is to riding back?" enquired T'reka.

"Nah. Midnite needs a good rest before he can be ridden again. I'll walk him back." Su-syn had barely stopped. She didn't even stop for water. Just tipped it into her mouth from the container at her hip. "You'd better stay on my backpack. Your feet are sharp and I didn't bring a blanket."

T'reka investigated the crystals forming on the ungulate's hide. "These is salt!"

"Yup. Horses sweat just like humans. We need salt, and they need more of it, because they have more skin to sweat with. But you knew we needed salt."

Alarm. "How is you knowing?"

"We found your probes on the pipeline," said Su-syn casually.

Which lead T'reka to wonder exactly how long the humans had known she was in their neighbourhood...

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Challenge #111: Camouflage

"Humans perceive sixteen times the colours we do. Do not hide in bushes or vines from humans. They can distinguish your pelt from the foliage with ease."

There were always things to learn. Things like, once an anomalous shape is recognised, it's easier to spot. Dappled shadows were better to hide in and blending was important.

"Gotcha!" said the human. "You really suck at hide-and-seek, T'yrt'yr[1]."

"I followed the rules," she objected. "And your guidelines. How is it that you keep finding me?"

"You're a charcoal-coloured bird hiding in an ocean-grey nook. You stand out like a sore thumb." Tor laughed, trying to show her where her wing stood out against the place where she had once hid. "See?"

"I want to surrender," said T'yrt'yr. "I do not understand how a pale-hide like you can hide everywhere. Or how you can spot me and have different names for identical colours."

"They look like identical colours to you," Tor explained. "To us... not so much."

"Please do not walk me through salmon-fuscia-rose-pink again? They all appear to be the same hue."

"Maybe we could build a treehouse? At least then we won't be arguing about colours."

"Let's play on the beach. We can collect shells."

"Sandcastles?"

"You read my mind."

Two children from different worlds sped together for mutual fun. One occasionally assisting the other by using their arm as a perch to throw the other to glide ahead of them.

Two friends amongst many other like them on a planet called Amity.

[1] pron: chir-chir

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Challenge #112: Why They Never Came By

The humans' reaction to finding out what the rest of the galaxy thought about them before actual first contact (bonus points mentioning the Pioneer plaques)

The humans learned fast. They apparently learned by messing around with things until something happened that they understood, and worked outwards from there.

And they had learned to read Ulu.

T'reka watched and recorded various humans at the Communications Centre that had once been a Hide Unit. They sat or stood at various info-stations and accessed data on a seemingly random basis.

Most avid of them all was Su-syn. Every single day when T'reka was not active in the jungles of Toxic Island, Su-syn would find her way to the Beach Path Hide Unit and find something to read and translate.

T'reka noted with some strictly internal alarm that today's exercise for Su-syn was the Wikipedia Galactica's extensively cross-referenced file on humans. The local addendum concerning emergent capacities for adaptability and amenability towards other species was waiting an extensive peer review and - T'reka was certain - her own demise by natural causes.

"Warning plaque?" Su-syn read. She checked the calendars and resumed her reading. Very soon, Su-syn began experiencing a breathing difficulty that involved a lot of short breaths and grinding noises.

And since Su-syn was very alarmingly gravid, T'reka abandoned her paper-in-progress to glide as fast as she could to the Comms Centre. Concerned for her friend. The sky-raker trees meant that T'reka could climb high and therefore cover vast distances.

When she arrived at the Comms Centre, T'reka discovered Su-syn leaning against the console, water streaming from her eyes, and a repetitive bark of a call coming from her throat.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..." (gasp) "HAHAAAHAHAHAHAAAHAAAA..." (gasp) "HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA..." (gasp) "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" Su-syn broke off in coughing.

The other humans did not seem at all concerned. "Su-syn," she called. "Is this normal reaction? Is you wanting medic?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she squeaked. "All fine feather," she added in Ulu. "Who wrote this? It's the funniest thing I've ever seen..." Su-Syn leaned back, clutching her distended belly and did more of the disturbing calls.

"This is normal reaction to... funny?"

"Yes!" and more of the barking call.

Humans are not alarmed by their status of dangerous animals, T'reka later wrote, Rather, they seem greatly amused by it.

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Challenge #113: Biggest Fans

A friend just showed me the opening lines to his new story and said I could use them as a prompt:

"This is the voice of the Mysterons. We know you can hear us, Earth-"

*sound of tape rewinding*

"...Sorry for the technical difficulties. To clarify, we are not the Mysterons. We are arguably worse."

"Approach Cairo at vector two-one-niner by alpha seven," sighed Kevin. "And we'll thank you for a lack of sideshows on the way in."

Some aliens viewed humans with suspicion and distrust. Some viewed humans as dangerous. Some saw humans as insane.

But the most hazardous of all were the ones who viewed humans as entertaining. Every five years, the major cities of Earth held a lottery, and the one who got the short straw had the dubious honour of hosting H-Con.

And, like many humans who did not want an instant trail of alien paparazzi following their every move, Kevin was planning to move the heck out of Cairo, Egypt, and very possibly Terran local space for the interim.

Mars looked very good this time of year.

And Earth, being a residence of varying entrepreneurs, sold a fame experience to people who wanted to be followed by alien paparazzi and asked intrusive questions.

For the rest of the year, Cairo would be full of the people who paid to be here, the people who were paid to be here, and the people who, unfortunately, could not in all good conscience leave.

Of all of them, Kevin pitied the members of the third group. It was no wonder that those experienced with H-Con referred to it as the Year of Hell. A city full of maddening fanbeings, taking uninvited photos, asking unwanted questions, staring and grinning and getting into everything. And, if they were extremely unlucky, taking everything that wasn't nailed down.

"Welcome to Earth, H-Con Cruiser One. Please keep all your receipts."

Kevin hung up his headset, grabbed his suitcase, and proceeded with all due speed to the cruiser for Mars.

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Challenge #114: Oxymoronic Artefacts

A sign in Braille that says "do not touch"

"Humans had to have made that," said P'riix.

Tonq, the other archeologist on this ruined planet, peered at it. It was a wall plaque with two codified human languages on it. One of them, raised for the vision-impaired.

The flaking paint above read, "DO NOT TOUCH"

"Oh yes," said Tonq. "We have clear evidence of humans."

Which would alter all the reasonings concluded from the evidence so far. And, of course, hiring a human consultant to help them find a reason why this planet chose to self-immolate.

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Challenge #115: One Alarming Discovery on the Paths Less Travelled

I may have already submitted a similar prompt, but there was mention made about how non-human species might be very good for autistes - some are very cuddly, some like particularly quiet environments, some have interesting textures. All good for degaussing or forcing the unwanted mob to back off when the autiste is having trouble communicating.

In case a similar prompt has already been made, I'll request the first time a human of the autism spectrum met any of the Galactic Alliance

It looked like any other idiot-pod in the space lanes. The sad proof that something fatal had happened, elsewhere. Jork logged the vectors and ran a cross-check on the Galactic News-nets for any other hints of where it may have come from. And notified the rescue networks that she was due some pay.

Air mix inside matched the air mix outside. Good. And one living soul inside, according to its readouts. Apparently in distress.

Jork triple-checked the infection stats, too. Best not to give the patient anything they were unprepared for. Or to catch something from them. All good. Great. She popped the seals.

There was a lump in the middle of the seating arc. Swaddled entirely in a fluffy blanket. Oscillating regularly and making a constant noise.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn..."

Jork took the universally accepted not-a-threat posture (cringing as low as possible and taking baby-steps forward. "Hello? Is friend," she offered in Galstand.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn..."

"You is hurt?"

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn..."

"You is scared?"

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn..."

"Please be speak?"

The lump cringed. Tightened on itself. Respiration was occurring, as was the sound. Jork ran a medical scanner and discovered that the inhabitant of the fluffy blanket was a human. A juvenile.

The human emerged from their huddle to watch the lights from the scanner[1].

"Hello," Jork tried again. "Is friend. Am name Jork."

The human didn't seem to understand this, but reached out to touch. "Soft," they said. "Smooth."

"Yes," agreed Jork. Uncertain as to whether this was a compliment.

"You're like warm glass."

Okay... "It is not safe to stay here," said Jork. "This is survival pod. Is not live-in pod. You come with? I help."

It was a steep learning curve, transporting this human to places where other humans were. She did not, in any way, react like humans were known to. She took in Jork's normal as just that - normal. And when she warmed up to Jork's company, little treasures became revealed.

Her name was Victoria. She liked the name Vic. She liked to line up her food by colour before ingesting and would -if unsupervised- suckle liquid Nutri-food from the bag all day if she could get away with it. She liked smooth things, fluffy things, and warm things.

And there were frequent episodes where she could not distinguish between reality and her own imagination. And since her reality stemmed largely from the fiction she'd absorbed, Jork had to learn how to deal with these incursions by comforting Vic before asking who could help resolve the problem.

And, when they finally docked with a Britanian station, Jork was truly sorry to see Vic return to her parents. On one hand, it would be easier to work without Vic wrapped around a limb, but... it would also be lonelier.

She also learned that the thing that made Vic so much more accepting of others and their ways was considered a mental disorder amongst humans. That humans pitied people like Vic. Sometimes, considered them lesser.

Further proof in Jork's mind that humans were crazy.

[1] Thanks to numerous science fiction dramas, all scanners must have blinking lights as part of their makeup or various cogniscents will not be aware that they're working.

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Challenge #116: Random Curiosity

You mentioned Shayde's much-debated status as "human" among the denizens of Amalgam. So I'm guessing that as well as all the "human status confirmed" moments there had to be a few cogniscents that just bluntly asked her what she was. And I'll bet after the first twelve she started coming up with more creative answers/responses....

[AN: I doubt she made it as far as twelve]

There were drawbacks to being in the company of someone who was only technically human.

"Your -er- tall friend, over there," began a random passerby.

"Yes, she's human in everything but the physical resemblance. I stood with her in the ruins of Daffadd Gwedyl ar Afon[1] as she gave a historically accurate recounting of what was no longer there. Including details that were discovered later. She originated in pre-shattering Earth and has... been... through quite a lot."

"She's really five hundred years old?"

"Another technicality," Rael allowed. "Chronologically, subjectively, she's twenty-seven. It's only when you measure her age in this universe that she's five hundred and change."

Over at the counter, Shayde was dealing with another curious cogniscent in a far less civil manner. "Noooooo... I'm a meat popsicle. And I'm only two! Awa' wi' ye! Shoo!"

People should really learn to pay attention to the pins she wore.

[1] I once translated "sheep crossing on the river" to Welsh and this is what I got.

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Challenge #117: Imagine There's No People

Challenge: No humans, or anything pertaining to them at all. That includes human-made or modified things, creatures, places, foods etc.

[AN: Ooooo a GOOD one :D]

Belok took note of the unusual structure as ze approached it. Ze could see that it was made out of ancient hulks of previous civilisations' stellar vessels, but they had been... conglomerated. Docked, patched and - in at least one case - crashed together into one unappealing whole.

Ze tried all comms avenues including radio and flashing zir ship lights at them.

No response.

It had to have been made. Something like this does not just happen by accident. The accidents looked more like asteroids than... mishmash stations.

As a last resort, Belok matched vectors with the thing and tried peeking into the windows. Those ze could find. There seemed to be atmosphere in there. Thin stuff, and not friendly to zir species.

Therefore, it was polite to dock, and prudent to wear a suit.

The mishmash station did not have any spinning portions or gravity. Belok therefore had to struggle with the magnetic grapples as ze looked around.

Life here was airborne. Swimming though the atmosphere like aquatic life. Most seemed to be... jellyfish.

Some travelled in swarms. Glittering and flashing. It looked almost like a dance. Belok stood still and kept zir arms, legs and tail akimbo as the dancing jellies swarmed around zir.

The comms crackled into life. "...low grade radio transmissions."

"I can hear you," ze tried not to yawp, but the excitement was too difficult to contain. "Who is speaking?"

"We do not understand 'I'," said the voice. Voices. Talking in harmony. Perfectly synchronised. "You is one colony?"

"I am one individual. Am I talking to the swarm surrounding me? I note that the... lights... seem to be in sync with the audio I hear."

"We are the swarm Ch'nophth. We are surrounding a new thing. A singular thing inside metal. You carry your environment with you. We carry our environment with us."

As far as first contacts went, the meeting between the Jelly Dancers and the Riopa was a shining example that very few followed.

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Challenge #118: Blood!

Nosebleeds, or to be more precise what do the other cogniscents think when it happens. Do they go for a medical kit and flutter about while the human sighs and holds their nose, or do they comment that at least the humans do something normally for once (but what scared them enough to defensively spout blood?) or something else entirely?

The human - the first they had met, was making an intermittent noise with its proboscis.

Snurf.

Communicating was spotty. Both sides only knew a few words of GalStand and the rest was pantomime. Interspersed, of course, with snurf.

Finally, the human dragged an arm across its face. Painting its limb with a vivid display of bright red blood. It muttered a human curse and pinched its proboscis shut while it fumbled for something to stopper it with.

The Temikai were perplexed, of course. They wondered for decades about what they had done to provoke a nurturing response from the human.

And they were understandably upset when they found out what it really was.

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Challenge #119: One Fine Evening in the Commerce District of Station Alpha Five.

Sorry, but here's another prompt  http://cnvvj.tumblr.com/post/78934269709/harblkun-hookteeth-beltaguise-fantasy

Personally I just submit them as I have ideas/spot them on tumblr, but I try not to send 20 at once

[AN: I'm sure I did this before... But again]

"I've found a B or a D is better for me. There's a fine balance between thermal security and back, neck and shoulder problems."

A human sauntered over to them with a pleased smile on his face and hooded eyes. "Hel-lo gorgeous..." he began.

Again? Vroxx rolled his eyes. "Count the brow ridges, pal. I'm male."

"I know," said the human. "Captain Jack Harkness. So very glad to make your acquaintance."

Oh. Oh. OH! "Uh. This is... new territory for me..."

This earned him a wider grin. "Then you are in for a treat. Assuming you're amenable?"

"Oh. Uh. Er. Yes?"

"Music to my ears!"

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Challenge #120: An Attempt Was Made

And they never spoke of the peanut-butter lobster incident again.

Meals, they said, were a uniting factor. Food, they said, was universal. Humans, they said, would eat anything.

But not this.

Plate after plate after plate of it came back. They were supposed to love lobster! But they were sending this all back with comments like, "it tastes funny" or "I'm allergic to the sauce".

One of them even came into the kitchens to find Byaadi weeping into what should have been the mashed potatoes.

"I'm guessing there's some problems with human cuisine?"

"I don't understand," Byaadi wept. "The recipe seemed simple enough. Lobsters and butter..."

"Yes, but... not peanut butter."

Blink. Sniff. Gasp. "There's more than one kind?"

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Challenge #121: Adventures With Incompatible Technology

The robots of Steam-Powered Giraffe meet Van Rijn's Muses.

{Fldth-whomp}

"I'm not saying she wasn't a nice lady, Hatchy, I'm saying you really should have given that big, dangly robot her portal gun back. It's done weird things to your cannon."

"I like my new can-non," grumbled a second voice. Presumably Hatchy.

"I'm k-k-kinda fond of it m-m-m-myself." said a third. "But it's t-takin' us from p-pickle ta pickle, bro."

Tinka had decided she didn't like the sound of these strangers. In a case of three against one, Tinka inevitably came out as the loser.

She had lost enough already.

So she did the dumbest thing you could do in a room with three sudden strangers. She moved and tried to hide.

"We ain't al-l-l-lone, fellas," said the third.

"Well, hello there," cheered the first. "Don't be alarmed, we mean no harm. We're just you're regular, average, everyday steam powered autonomous automatons..."

"Speak for yourself, b-b-bro. I'd rath-rath-rather say we're super awesome."

"Rabbit, we're trying to make friends, here... Not scare them worse."

"Let me try?" said Hatchy.

"What? It wor-works on the stage."

"Please let me try," said Hatchy.

"We're not on a stage, Rabbit."

"Why'd ya gotta be such a wet b-b-b-b-blanket, th'Spine?"

Th'Spine and Rabbit continued to bicker. Twin blue lanterns swept the area with spotlights. "Hello?" said Hatchy. "I am friendo. Would you like to say hel-lo?"

Tinka tried the hat on the stick trick.

"That is a ve-ry nice hat, friendo. You can put it back on. We will not harm you. My name is Hatch-worth. What's yours?"

"Ti-Tink-Tink-Tinka..." she risked a peek. "I nee-nee-nee-need re-rep-air-air-airs..."

"Ooh, no won-der you were scared. It's all right now. We can help."

*

The other two were The Spine and Rabbit. Twin clanks of an original four made by a Colonel Walter. Aka 'Pappy'.

Their family was more intact that hers. Simply because the people around them cared for the clanks as if they were merely artificial people.

"These are Walter Robotics maintenance nanites," said The Spine. It was a small vial of grey goo that... squirmed. "Keep them in the vial and on your person for three days, at least. Then you can pour them over your gears and they should keep you up to snuff."

"They need that long to make your ac-quain-tance," added Hatchy.

"And I d-d-d-don't like 'em," added Rabbit. "I wanna be outta here before they happen t' me."

The Spine merely rolled his eyes, as if they'd had an argument about that a thousand times before. "Frankly, ma'am, we don't belong in this world. We're trying to get home."

"Where is home?" asked Tinka, clutching the tiny vial to her chest.

"San Diego," said Rabbit.

"That's in A-mer-i-ca," added Hatchworth.

Tinka almost swooned. The highly hazardous Americas? And they lived there?

"And another reality," clarified The Spine. "Most of the time, it's rather boring."

"Except when I'm ar-r-r-round," added Rabbit.

Tinka watched them walk through a hole in reality to yet another world. How long had they been wandering? How much longer would they be doing so?

She contemplated the vial. They had never said she had to use all of it on herself...

The next time she found one of her sisters, she would be prepared...

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Challenge #122: When The Rot Came In

The beginning of the end of Nufurria

(or- I'm *really* curious as to how this society began, what it was like in its heyday, and how interaction with the larger galactic culture changed it. How do the Nufurrian 'masters' see themselves?)

Conception.

"Don't you get it? We don't have to be freaks and weirdoes any more! We can take all the furries and otherkin and everybody who loves anthropomorphics and go make a world in our own image. We have the technology to give the otherkin the bodies they deserve. We have the technology to make anthros. It'll be just like heaven!"

Perception.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be surrounded with busty bitches who'll do whatever I tell them to! It's gonna be perfect."

"I'm gonna have a bunch'a pigs and make 'em farm truffles. Hilarious."

"I'm going to be a glorious unicorn. At last."

Inception.

"We're here to celebrate the beginning of a wonderful new world!"

The crowds cheered. It was going to be the best party ever. The first batches of newly Uplifted beings were coming of age. Being part of society. The Changed welcomed them into their homes.

An uncomfortable amount of the Unchanged welcomed more into their bedrooms.

Deception.

"No, I'm not mistreating her. She loves it, don't you Bitch?"

Bitch wagged her tail and nodded. Her master had said her name! And if she was a good girl, he would give her a treat.

Exception.

"You have to understand, Rover. Your puppies will go to new homes very quickly. People love puppies. It's just... harder... to house a full-grown Dog."

"You will make sure they go to good homes? Loving homes? I don't want to see them in the arena. Or... in those movies..."

"We're underfunded, I'm sorry." Two sets of eyes, human and canid, looked at the scrawl that had been on the wall for weeks.

It read: DIE BLEDIN HART PUSY BICH!

They didn't have the money, the time or the resources to get rid of it. Halfhearted attempts with whitewash didn't work. The paint kept bleeding through.

"We have to take fosters at their word." The humans teary eyes completed the story.

Reception.

"Hi there," said the Dog at the podium. He wore a golden sash over parachute pants and a pocket-bandollier. He also had a golden chain that kept a cape made out of an enormous towel on his shoulders. "My name is O'Ranges. I am made ambassador for Nufurria. This is my human, Aelki! She found me in a box and made everything better." O'Ranges picked up the diminutive Aelki and hugged her like a child would embrace a teddy bear. "There are many like me who wait in boxes for good home. Many never find one. Please. We need help."

The Galactic Alliance was only too glad to assist.

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Challenge #123: Obvious Design Flaw

All those corrosive things humans excrete can come in handy sometimes, right?

("We have to get out of this maze as fast as we can, but if we turn on the plasma cutter the monster will hear us!"

"Stand back, I got this" *spits at wall*)

"Sucrose! What the heck kind of alien builds walls out of sucrose?" asked Mabel.

"I have no idea, but we are going to need one hell of a dentist by the time we get out of here." Trisha gave up licking the next wall to worry at the thin spot she'd been making.

"Power core's five more walls away," said Gladys.

Krink. Tink. CLACK. Trisha put a fragment of wall in her mouth. "You're next, Mabs. My tongue's feeling like old leather."

"Right." Mabel wriggled through the hole and began licking the next wall in their way. "They could've at least sprung for flavouring. What's wrong with a little hint of orange? Or mint?"

*

The entire crew huddled in their quarters, watching their monitors in horror as the creatures they thought captives were literally eating their way through solid sucra walls. Proof against anything that their fellow Hemitt could devise.

These aliens were unstoppable!

And yet, they avoided essential infrastructure. They did not eat the pipes or the wires, or any vital thing. Just the walls between them and their goal. But their unstoppability made a lasting impression on them, all the same.

Even now, with the humans declared merely insane and not hazardous, the Hemitt still make features about monsters that can eat buildings.

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Challenge #124: Dominion

"Look there, that's the fourth tribe —"

"Herd."

"...whatever. Fourth herd of cows we've driven past in the last half-hour. Between that and what I saw regarding the cats you live with and you cleaning waste from their box of sand earlier, I'm just saying, I'm not really that convinced you humans are the dominant species on this planet."

"Well, we are kinda high up on the food chain," said Sandra. "I've tried to explain this to you before. We're omnivores. Some animals are the kind we keep for food. Like all these cows. Some, we keep for company. Like my cat."

"You do not eat all things that you can," insisted D'tez. "Your diet is very restricted in comparison to your available food."

"Well, just because you can doesn't mean you should," Sandra checked the map as she drove. Still on course. "We have cultural and ethical reasons for not eating everything that isn't nailed down."

"But a simple expansion of what is edible would eliminate your food issues."

"We've been through this, D'tez. Humans view insects as dirty. We don't like to eat dirty food."

"But they are abundant, plentiful and tasty! They take up much less space and are far easier to raise."

Sandra sighed. "It wouldn't be the first time humanity didn't do something just because it made sense." She sighed. She was starting to agree with the Galactics. Humans were insane.

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Challenge #125: Further Proof, if Any Were Really Needed

Prompt: Something involving the gympie gympie tree.

Because that is one scary tree.

AN: Slightly scarier is the [Manchineel, aka The Tree That Hates You. It's native to Florida, possibly by cosmic accident. But if you read up on the Gympie Gympie, it's a close call.]

Every living planet in the known universe has an island or a continent like Australia. Except for N'Oz (Originally, New Australia) which is almost all like Australia, except for one small island/continent which is like a fairy-tale pastoral Europe. Nobody on N'Oz lives there.

And it is in one of the more heavily forested sections of N'Oz that a curious visitor may spot the Gympie Gympie Research Centre. In its heavily-fortified confines, guarded by airlocks and multiple hazmat precautions, there grows a stable population of Gympie Gympie trees.

A tree that, like most things found in Australia-level toxic environments, is out to get even with anything that moves on behalf of its leafy brethren.

"I do not understand," say the visiting aliens. "This tree is so toxic that even third-hand contact causes excruciating pain. And you bought it with you?"

"Yeah, sure," say the native N'Ozies. "Something that bloody dangerous has got to be good for something."

Visitors are regularly reminded that humans are a species that expose themselves to toxins - not just for medical purposes, but also for entertainment. Yet, they are inevitably surprised when they find out about the GGRC.

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Challenge #126: Sing-Along

Bitzer having a happy day and warbling through it. Because sometimes it only matters if the music feels right for you.

Bitzer watched the clock as the second hand ticked closer and closer to The Time.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Extract the vinyl EP, a souvenir from Walter Robotics and her time there, carefully from its sleeve.

The record player was already warmed up and set to her preferred levels.

Seven. Six. Five.

Record on the spindle. Speed set to 45. Needle free of dust.

Four. Three. Two.

Drop the record on the turntable.

Hold the head above the rotating vinyl.

One. Eight O'clock AM!

Drop the head.

"Attune your ears to the grinding gears..."

Bitzer sang along as she set up her activities for the day. "Colonel Walter was shocked, when he learned from the nile..." If it was noise to Matter Mistress Carol, she never said.

And if being happy came at the cost of a few wires and probes during the day, or perplexing questions from Miz Carol, then that was a good price to pay.

Miz Carol came down, coffee in hand and pyjamas still on, during the "La da da da da"s. Looking her usual morning mess. She sat on the stairs and watched Bitzer attempt to dance.

Both waited until the very last, "A very big steam-powered gee-raffe what smokes," before attempting speech. "Good morning, Miz Carol. Will you come do the Nannergens[1] with me?"

"Nnnngghh..." Miz Carol took another swig of coffee. "How can you be so cheerful? Th' sun's barely up..."

"The sun's been up for three hours, Miz Carol," and then the next song started. "And I've been up for four."

"Can't miss Danger Mouse, can we?"

"Or Captain Planet," Bitzer sang as she did the Nannergens. "Or Super Ted[2]. I listened with the headphones and tried not to yell at the screen."

Miz Carol yawned. "I know. But Danger Mouse still needs to be nicer to poor Penfold. That was closer to seven thirty. You're getting better."

Oh. That was a relief. "I am ver-very sorry about the oth-other times."

"I know. You tell me every morning. And I've forgiven you. Promise."

"It's almost time for science, isn't it?"

Yawwnnn... "Yeah. Quarter past eight. Time for science."

Bitzer put the B-side on and settled down in the chair for the wires and the scans. The chair was angled just so, so that she could see the faces of the robots who had been singing their songs on stage while she'd been undergoing examinations in the labs. With her gears and cogs in the open and multiple science types going through her workings.

This was much better.

"I was lost and scared and all alone and there was darkness and all of my fears had grown into a monster I could not contain it had claws and teeth and oh so many fangs... But then... I saw... your eyes..." she crooned along.

It was a pretty song. And it made Miz Carol smile.

Being not alone any more was the best thing in the world.

[1] That little step the band does during 'Steamboat Shenanigans'. Named phonetically.

[2] Actual morning lineup on the ABC during the late 80's, early 90's. Don't ask me how I know 9_9

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Challenge #127: Stolen shamelessly from XKCD

The universe is probably littered with the one-planet graves of cultures which made the sensible economic decision that there's no good reason to go into space—each discovered, studied, and remembered by the ones who made the irrational decision. — RecklessPrudence

The Ch'debrithett did not know how lucky they were when the aliens came. They were a relatively quiet civilisation that worked to maintain a balance after years of nigh-catastrophic extinction-for-profit. Or, as it has become known in the Galactic Alliance, Monsanting.

When the aliens came, they landed in a grain field. But they did so in broad daylight. And waited on their disembarkation gantry with an obvious lack of weapons for anyone official to turn up.

They came with whiteboards and markers.

They came with an education.

They explained - with the help of pictograms and pantomime - that they had just diverted a comet from impacting with their planet. The comet had been cannibalised for its water and some of its contents were currently being studied in the vessels laboratories.

It was a comet that could have easily wiped out all life on Ch'deb.

And the aliens, being generous people, also bought with them knowledge of space flight and technology that would make it all so much easier. They came with genetic technology to turn their realities upside-down. They came with commerce.

They came with a concept of manifesting one's own destiny.

Some argued that they ruined Ch'deb. Some argued that they ruined a perfect civilisation. Some argued that they were better off without the Galactic alliance at all.

They argued right up until they found a similar planet, nearby, which had undergone a similar apocalypse.

There, but for good timing and great neighbours, could have gone Ch'deb.

In two generations, the Ch'debrithett didn't know how they coped without space travel.

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Challenge #128: Percussive Maintenance

"Wow, how'd you get it to work?"

"I ran a Physical Impulse Mechanical Stress Routine"

"Huh?"

"I kicked it."

"Ahh." — RecklessPrudence

"And you're charging me three Minutes for kicking it?"

Atole the JOAT tidied imaginary dust off her JOAT coat. "Fees and charges, friend. Two Seconds for the kick, and two Minutes, fifty-eight for the knowledge of where to kick it."

Telos grumbled, but dug out the coins. "You're very welcome, I'm sure."

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Challenge #129: Mr Stark in a Nutshell

'Why? We're the Good Guys, aren't we?'

'Yes, but that rather hinges on doing certain things and not doing others, sir', — RecklessPrudence

Tony made a face at JARVIS' snide comment. "Urh. Fine. I get it. The heroic thing to do, yadda yadda yadda. Steve's been a bad influence on you, admit it."

"On the contrary. I rather think Steve has been a good influence. On the both of us, sir."

"Yeah yeah yeah..." eliminating the enemy was out... but making sure they could no longer fight? That was trickier. "Okay. Let's target just the weapons and mess those the hell up."

"An excellent decision, sir."

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Challenge #130: Fractal Wrongness

You are not just wrong. You are wrong at every conceivable level of resolution. Zooming in on any part of your worldview finds beliefs exactly as wrong as your entire worldview. — RecklessPrudence

"So?" said the wilfully ignorant specimen from Greater Deregulation (Upper West). "That don't mean we can't have a good time. All you gotta do, honey, is shut up, put out, and pretend to enjoy it."

Shayde turned a pleading gaze to Rael, who was currently attempting to pretend he was a ghost only she could see. "Can I shred him now? Please?"

He didn't look up from his deep-fried mars bar ice cream. "Ge' creative," he advised around a mouthful of calories a la mode.

"Tell ye woh, pal," she said in the smooth tones of impending doom. Anyone Shayde called 'pal' was usually in for a brief and painful lesson about life. "You go find a wee phenomenon we have here called The Glunk. If ye can clean all'a that up wi'out any property damage, I'll let ye take me out tae dinner."

The deplorable specimen grinned. "I knew you couldn't resist my charms, darling."

Shayde was grinning too. Especially when he was leaving. "Good riddance tae bad rubbish."

"That was slightly cruel."

"I'm only worried he might do it," she said. "Nothin's more creative than a feller who thinks he's got a chance of getting 'is end in."

Rael boggled. "I knew you humans were insane, but— a category five bio-disaster? Nothing's been able to clean that up since its discovery."

"Should'a aimed a horny human at it. 'S why I said 'dinner' and not 'date'. Monkey's paw. Deal wi' t' devil."

One day, he was sure, one day, he would be able to unravel Shayde's encrypted speech patterns on the fly.

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Challenge #131: Origami Denseness

Wow. This isn't fractal denseness, it's origami denseness. It's like a beautiful work of art that you can unfold to make it seem even more dense. — RecklessPrudence

[AN: Prompt edited to be less offensive - I hope]

"Let me get this straight," said Security Officer Trel. "Someone actually told you that they'd go out with you if you managed to clean... The Glunk."

"Damn straight. Fine ass on that woman. I just gotta get in it."

Trel sprained something ignoring that comment. Once again, an inhabitant of one of the surviving Greater Deregulations had completely failed to take any advice on travelling through the Galactic Alliance. "If you say so," she managed through diplomatically-clenched teeth. She resumed taking notes. "Now, I believe you first emptied a vat of concentrated acetic acid through the porthole labelled 'Biohazard, do not open. Two standard year penalty'? After first proceeding through not one, but three separate airlocks also labelled 'Strictly no admittance, authorised station personnel only'?

"I had t' get to it," said Gunther.

"And -ah- why acetic acid?" Tel just had to sate her curiosity.

"'S vinegar, ain't it?" said Gunther.

Maybe Lyr Marken was right. Curiosity was a fatal flaw in the law enforcement branches. "Vinegar?"

"It's acidic. And it's acidic without doin' no harm to metal, right? Figured it'd eat some o' that mess no problem."

"Sir. That's just vinegar. You emptied ten Standard Weight Units of concentrated acetic acid into the Glunk. Concentrated, sir. If you had dared to use it as a condiment, it would have eaten your meal and then your mouth."

"That just means it must be workin'."

"And at which point did you feel it was necessary to add a vat of..." she checked her notes. "Mayonnaise?"

"Well I saw there were critters down there eatin' on it. And since there was a big ole hole where th' vinegar done gone, I figured it wouldn't do 'em no harm to spice up their food a bit. Make 'em good and hungry."

"They're cleaners. They're born hungry."

Gunther grinned. Proud of himself. "Shows it worked, don't it?"

"No sir. It didn't." Tel consulted her notes with a sigh. "And where did you obtain the vial of nanites designed to clear away non-living organic material?"

"Feller in the Way Below sold it to me. See, I was asking around 'bout what might work and I figured - hey... why not, right?"

Tel sighed. "This is why not. You are under arrest for multiple violations of station law. Not only did you fail to clean The Glunk, you added potentially hazardous and illegal substances into it, an action outlawed in many stellar neighbourhoods including your own. Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

"She was rocket hot. Totally worth it."

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Challenge #132: A Study in Contrasts

A guy who is nice, as opposed to a "nice guy" — RecklessPrudence

Sid's first question, whenever he encountered someone who was having trouble was, "Would you like some help?"

It was a good question, simply because some people were only experiencing temporary difficulties and tended to get angry when other folks just barged in.

And there were other questions that came first. Like, "Is this guy bothering you?" whenever he saw a man making a woman uncomfortable.

And there were other situations where barging in was welcome. Like tonight, when it was three against one in an alleyway. He knew it was fruitless to call the cops. Here in racist New York, they were more likely to shoot him for his skin colour and ancestry.

There was no time to convince them away, so he launched himself at the lead brute and ploughed the man down by sheer impetus alone. Howling like a wild animal and landing with fists flailing served to alarm the other two, who decided to bail.

The lead brute was lucky one of them was friend enough to drag him away.

Sid settled his hackles and crouched by the lady they'd been curb-stomping. "Do you want me to call an ambulance? Or assist you to a hospital?"

"I'm too far from my clinic," she managed. Despite the beating, her voice was a sensuous husky purr. She picked herself up into a sitting position. Trying to straighten herself up. She had a trim, lanky build and long, graceful limbs, and the most entrancing eyes Sid had ever seen.

She also had a five o'clock shadow.

Ah. So that was why those alleged gentlemen were offended.

"I can take you there?" he offered. "Are they open? Or perhaps there is somewhere that feels safe for you?"

Her eyes were full of fear. She knew he'd seen. She cringed in on herself and clutched her purse to her chest. "I... I can probably make it? Please don't..."

"It's all right," he cooed. "I won't hurt you. I want to help. My name's Siddig. And I promise I am not a terrorist."

"M' name's Claire," she said. She watched him. Waiting for the bombardment of questions. The unthinking questions. The painful questions.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Claire," he smiled for her. "And I would be honoured to assist you in any way I can."

"You-you don't mind that I'm a... trap?"

He winced at the horrible slur. "Sweet, dear lady," he said, his voice a mild reprimand. "You are not a trap." He stood and offered his hand. "If anything... you are a lady who happens to have some interesting bodily accessories at the moment, and who is on an intense journey of self-discovery."

She was taller than him. And embarrassed about that. Even in her bare feet, she would be taller than him. He would tell her later, when they were finally comfortable with each other, that he adored taller women.

He flirted, oh yes. Life had taught him to never miss an opportunity. But he made sure to flirt in harmless and amusing ways. Raining compliments down on her so that she would blush and smile her beautiful smile.

Such a wonderful lady deserved to be courted. Deserved every help she needed. Deserved happiness.

Sid would be delighted to be part of that. Even if, in the end, she chose to share her life with someone else.

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Challenge #133: Sola Terra Australi

If every country except Australia vanished, we'd be sending our convicts to England.

(Tongue-in-cheek, no offence meant) — RecklessPrudence

The Parliament had been in an uproar, of course. They were in an uproar for five days. And one question remained unsolvable:

"Who the hell do we sell shit to now?"

Australia still was the lucky country. It was lucky enough to miss out on a planet-wide apocalypse. It was lucky to survive intact, with all its population whole and unharmed.

It was the rest of the world that was obliterated.

And while parliament argued, everyone else just quietly got on with things. Australians had always been forced to make do, so adaptability had become bred into the national fibre.

Every urban backyard became a small farm.

The companies who formerly had a hold on the country's economy fizzled and died without their CEO's to enforce their grip. And completely failed to ruin what little economy was left.

Australia was too tough to take that kind of threat seriously.

Some problems were solved easily. Such as what to do with the boat people. Without a political structure to claim asylum from, they could go back to the lands they once called home. With a crate of essential supplies and a fond farewell.

Which was the beginning of the 'love it or leave it' policy. Followed closely by ruthless scouring out of anyone who "wasn't Australian enough".

When it was all over, the Australian Natives were very glad to have their country back. With much better infrastructure, to boot.

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Challenge #134: Domesticated Predators

On "Humans are crazy" in general and pets in particular.

Humanity's domesticated species are, for the most part, herbivores, right? So what possessed us to decide that the animals we let into our homes would largely be carnivores? Now, imagine a species where that is not true.

"AH! Look out! That predator is near your young!"

"Oh, that's just Missy, she's harmless."

",And then just when they've adjusted to that, they see why even in an era of high technology, "guard dogs" are still a thing, and exactly why we trust them around our young. — RecklessPrudence

Excerpt from the Newcomers' Guide to the Galactic Alliance:

Humans are mammalian cogniscents, recently reclassified from 'highly dangerous' to 'insane but mostly harmless'. It may alarm you to know that their origin planet, Earth, is a Class Three Death World. Some areas of the planet are as high as Class Four Point Five [see file: Australia. Warning: Content may alarm sensitive readers] and some individual organisms classify as Class Five Point Five. However, planets are graded on averages and large portions of the surface are quite liveable.

Humans are among the few species to domesticate predators. In the case of small predators, like the Cat, this is an understandable advantage. Cats are common in all Galactic stations and gengineered felids are often station staff [see file: Skitties].

However, there are also Dogs. Dogs are descendants of the far more savage Wolf and have been co-opted over generations for a number of purposes.

Dogs can range in size from the size of a standard beverage container to those comparable to cogniscent life. There are many breeds artificially selected for their appearance alone.

Humans use some dogs for protection. A trained predator is far more efficacious at discouraging nefarious persons than any possible array of monitors or alarms.

Humans also use these 'guard dogs' to protect their families, children and livestock. [Pictured, photograph of a dog amongst a flock of domesticated avians] This dog has been trained to watch over these avians. An untrained dog would attack and devour these flightless birds, but the humans trust this dog not to.

Do not be alarmed by the fact that humans have trained a predatory animal to not predate upon prey species. This is not a sign of how dangerous their species is, but rather an indicator of their insane genius.

We at the offices of Galactic Information Services have tested dogs and found them to be mostly harmless.

Nevertheless, you should avoid the dogs wearing a muzzle for obvious safety reasons.

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Challenge #135: The Wolf's Just a Puppy

Also about domesticated animals.

Almost every domesticated species, whether predator or prey, has been a social animal, with an internal hierarchy. Humans domesticated them by inserting ourselves at the top of the various hierarchies, and doing so consistently for generations, until the species is considered domesticated.

This can lead to absurd scenarios such as a human chastising a predator-species that was behaving inappropriately, one that masses more than they do, with a jaw that could shatter their bones easily, can outrun them - or, indeed, run them down - with ease, and is stronger than they are, by wrestling them to the ground and making noises at them. Said predator-animal is closely related to pack-hunting apex predators that were some of early civilisation's most feared foes.

And then the mad human lets the animal up, and rather than rip their throat out for their temerity, it behaves contritely, as if the human had any capability to enforce their wishes upon it. Not only that, but within minutes the human and the predator will be playing games together! Games in which the predator has to be so very careful not to injure the human, even games in which the human deliberately provokes the predator! [Ed: tug-of-war with the rope, etc. NOT abuse] — RecklessPrudence

"Yeah, she's still a predator," said the human scratching the tiger's ear. "She's known me since she was a baby. I'm family. She won't eat family."

As if to punctuate the point, the tiger wrapped her mouth around an arm and pretended to bite and maul. All the human did was boop its nose and the animal let go and started licking apologetically.

"It's all about socialisation. Now tigers need a large enclosure and lots of their own space, but in ten generations? We'll have a species of tiger who can be house pets." The human resumed scratching the tiger. "It sounds ludicrous, but it's almost guaranteed to save the species."

And that was how the aliens learned that humans wanted every possible animal as pets. Some were easier than others, of course. But the rising suspicion was already growing.

Show a human something dangerous and deadly, and they will figure out a way to domesticate it and turn it to their own purposes.

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Challenge #136: Biochemical Imbalance

That wonderful feeling when you're on just insufficient meds, or high on fatigue toxins, or had two hour's sleep per night, max for the last week. After you've gone through the feeling-horrible portion, when you're in the feeling great, can do anything, everything is so clear and sharp and makes so much sense...

And then, when you've had sufficient sleep, rest, or meds...

How the world actually is, and how you've been behaving. — RecklessPrudence

Charlie awoke in a med booth feeling amazing. It had actually been a good day, even if it did have an abrupt end. And a puzzling reset here.

She gripped the exit handle and pulled her booth out enough so that she could look out into the hallway. "Uh, hi there," she chirped to the approaching nurse. "Can you tell me what I'm in for?"

He wasn't wearing an iso-suit, so it wasn't anything infectious. There was that bonus. Charlie waited patiently while the nurse checked his files.

"There you are. You suffered a near-catastrophic chemical imbalance and had to be sedated. You've been asleep for three shifts."

Eighteen hours. Jeesh. "I didn't feel imbalanced," she argued, trying to recall the previous evening.

"You were arguing with a Racist citizen of Greater Deregulation North." A redundancy of terms if there ever was one. Like, insane human or pointless art. "And apparently attempting to convince him that, by his own logic, all humans were fish."

"...i was under the impression that i was doing well..." Charlie squeaked.

"Sorry to say so, but you were so bad that the citizen of GDN actually called in the medical emergency."

"Is there anywhere I can hide until the Galactic Alliance forgets who I am?"

"Don't worry," soothed the nurse. "Your place of employment has been reprimanded and your quarters adjusted to suit your needs. Everyone goes through something similar sooner or later. All will be forgiven and forgotten soon enough."

Charlie shut herself back into her booth. She certainly didn't feel forgiven or forgotten at the moment.

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Challenge #137: Gengineer of Note

Uplifting, as opposed to Augmenting, is illegal in your universe, right? Presumably for how easily both the process and the products of said process can be abused, along with the sad examples of such.

But I refuse to believe that such a transformative technology with so many pitfalls along the way was developed solely for money. Sure, there had to be at least the potential for profit, otherwise the people capable of doing it would never have had the resources to do so. But there had to be passion, someone or someones doing it because they believed that it was the right thing, that it was a good thing, that they believed in it. Not because it would give them slaves, but because it would give them people.

And then it was abused. Repeatedly. How did they feel about their life's work, their dream, turning into this? How did they feel, through all the no-doubt-innumerable hearings, the interminable legal proceedings, the castigation?

Were they simply idealistic, to not see the ways their dream could be exploited? Were they themselves, their genius or collective genius exploited by less scrupulous people?

Were they lonely? Were they Nypical, or were they 'off'? Were they looking, at the most basic level, to "make a friend"? Were they attempting to better understand other people by quantifying what goes into a person, or even in building a person, better themselves?

And how are they seen now, centuries hence? Evil? Greedy? Amoral? — RecklessPrudence

It wasn't always this way.

It wasn't a life of solitude with his Cats for company and people like PETA and EVILR[1] constantly at his gates. It wasn't dodging internet rumours about what he did with his Cats every time he was online.

It wasn't always feeling sick because of what They were doing with technology.

Once... just once... it had been good.

*

"My name is Anton De'Vrieyez. And this is Jemima."

"Hello," said Jemima.

"Oh my god, it talks."

"That's 'she' talks, please? I'm a girl, not a thing."

"And -uh- can you show the audience at home that you're not a puppet or something, Jemima?"

She sighed and stood, turning a graceful pirouette. "I'm really getting tired of showing people how real I am," she grumbled.

"It's still your turn," said Anton. "We agreed to this. You, Julie, Jake and James all decided together that this is how you were going to handle it."

"There's four of you?"

"There's eighty of us," said Julie. "We're what you might call the 'display sample'."

Gasps from the audience. Anton winced. "Jemima, that's not a good way of putting it." He sighed. "We all decided together that the J-run should be the prettier cats, and that some would go on the road to show everyone that I'm not doing evil things with you all."

"I'm sorry, Poppy."

More gasps.

Anton forced a smile. "All of the Cats call me some variant of 'dad' or 'pop'. I -uh- did create them. Um. Trying to be a good father to eighty Kittens isn't that... um... easy..."

"You do okay, Poppy," Jemima smudged her cheek on his arm as she hugged it. "We all love you."

"And you made these... sentient cats?"

"Cogniscent cats," corrected Anton. "I always got on better with cats than I did with people and I looked at our current level of gentech and -uh- realised... I could make a whole population of Cats. Like, give them everything they need to communicate and function on a human level." A shy smile. "I was so glad when it worked."

"So... you literally made your friends."

"If you want to boil it down to that level... yes. I have eight gestational replicators so the Cats come out in batches of eight. After Eve, of course."

"She's our Meow-ma," added Jemima.

"I make sure they're up to date with their inoculations, of course. Uplifted cats can catch all the human diseases and all of the felid ones, too."

"So Eve is your girlfriend?"

"What? No! She's my daughter. Just because she's the eldest and takes care of some of the Kits with me... It's complicated, okay? None of the Cats are designed as sexual objects. They're friends. Companions. Family. I don't know about you, but I don't go around screwing my family."

*

He was the first and last known person who thought about the inalienable rights of Cogniscent life. The right to freedom. The right to an education. The right to shelter. The right to nutrition. The right to reproduce and the right to choose to do so.

All others after him... chose to ignore that. Demanded control. Abused the power over living, thinking beings that were also, legally, property.

Anton and his Cats fled earth and founded the planet Felida. But not before the abusers dragged his good name through the mud.

Only on Felida is he respected as an inventor and a creator. Only on Felida, is all the truth about him told.

When he was dying, the Cats offered to clone him, so that someone like him would always be with them. They had the technology. They could have easily done it without his permission.

"No," he breathed, extending a gnarled and shaking hand to soothe the asker's tears and whiskers. "Don't ever make somebody just so they can be alone."

If only the other Uplifters had paid him any heed at all.

[1] Egalitarian Vegans Insisting on Life-Rights

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Challenge #138: Poor Unfortunate Souls

In your universe, how do the - as far as I can tell - legal AIs feel about Uplifts being illegal? Considering you could make an argument that they are equally people, and might even have some of the same theory applied to them, in creating/augmenting a consciousness, just applied to silicon or grey jelly.

Especially considering that at least some of the arguments I can imagine being levied against Uplifts could equally be levied against AIs. — RecklessPrudence

Creating life is a heck of a lot easier the traditional way. But various hungers: the desire to nurture, the need of family, or just being Nae'hyn... result in new life and new life forms coming to the fore. These are the legal ELFs. Engineered Life Forms.

When baser appetites are involved: the desire for profit, the need to control, or just plain not thinking things through... you get illegal ELFs. Uplifts. The Enlisted Man. Sexbots.

The conflict, as always, is not in What Was Done, but rather, Why They Did It. And in such conflicts, the Cogniscent Rights Commission comes to the fore.

Every cogniscent being has certain inalienable rights. The basic rights: atmosphere, food, shelter, medical care, companionship. The corollary rights: education, safety, security, meaningful employ. The biological rights: love, family, the ability to reproduce, the ability to choose to reproduce.

When any of these rights are taken away, as they frequently are in the cases of illegal ELFs, there are intense legal battles. Companies greedy for their missing profits frequently hold un-birthed 'products' in stasis or storage, in legal limbo and definitely for ransom. They hold back on reproductive information, lest successive generations continue suing their successive generations unto perpetuity.

The CRC has very firm views on that. As do their sponsor members: every last recognised species of Artificial, Cogniscent Life ever made. All of them. Both legal and illegal.

And should you still go ahead and create for yourself a cogniscent plaything, just remember this:

You really know you're in trouble when you've pissed off the Consortium of Steam.

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Challenge #139: One Dank Morning in the Dire Halls of MegaGlobocorp, West Esterly

"Should you choose to accept it, your mission - which you are required to accept or you're fired - is..."

Working as a faceless minion in MegaGlobocorp was never fun. It was a dangerous lottery before one even made it to the labyrinthine spread of the offices. As unskilled labor, Dar had the marvellous advantage of having twenty bosses to tell her when she messed up. And a random number generator assigned her at random, to one of the fifty Higher Executives.

None of which communicated with her immediate superiors.

Dar joined the endless line of fellow minions trudging towards the open maw into a day's worth of misery and working through lunch break. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually had free time at lunch. Nobody did.

The bosses didn't like their minions to have free time on the company dime.

As she drew closer to the scanner, Dar began the same prayer shared by hundreds in her position. Not Withers. Not Withers. Anyone but Withers. Please, merciful powers above, not Withers.

Dar inserted her arm into the machine and heard the gatekeeper intone, "Dar Mackelvoy. Withers."

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit...

Dar resolutely donned her cardboard safety gear and reported to the dispenser of doom.

Withers. God, no.

She ran her company tattoo under the scanner and received an ordinary-looking box. She had to open it. No time for delays. She got docked treble time for delays.

Fucking Withers. Ugh.

"Good morning. EMPLOYEE. THREE. SEVEN. TWO. NINE. ZERO. ZERO. FOUR. ALPHA. PHI. Your mission, should you choose to accept it - and by 'choose', we mean 'you have no choice'," Dar rolled her eyes at the pre-recorded chuckle, "is to proceed to the. RED. SECTOR. and DELIVER. NUTRIENT. PACKETS. to the. LABORATORY. EXPERIMENTS. ZERO. THROUGH. TWO. THOUSAND. If you fail in this mission, you fail at life. This message will self-destruct in five seconds. Maybe! Hahahahahahahaa!"

Of all the executives in all the byzantine halls of this benighted company, she had to draw the one who thought he had a sense of humour.

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Challenge #140: Problematic Material

Video Prompt!

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WgXN0kO1JEA

The music, such as it was, was a collection of intersecting beats. The man in the white suit danced in interesting ways.

He wore a white suit with black tie and gloves.

And the interesting thing about the otherwise ordinary room was the grass floor.

Shayde sat pondering the video as it played out. And Rael stood pondering Shayde.

"So what is it?" Rael said.

"It's art. Near as I can figure, it's a complete piece... But I cannae figure out where it's meant tae fit."

Rael watched some more. "It's art. Does it have to fit?"

"Kinda me job tae put th' pieces together, ye ken."

"And the visual cues aren't helping."

"Na. It's no as if they got the original tape or nothin'."

Rael coughed. "It's... digital. I don't think there was such a thing as original media storage."

Shayde pondered this revelation. "Eee, tha' just makes it trickier..."

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Challenge #141: Dem Dry Bones

Zoology revision prompt! This is an excerpt about what you can tell from just a skull.

"A defining trait of mammals is specialised teeth. Mammals are the only class on Earth to evolve specialised teeth, with specific shapes for vegetation, meat, insects and combination diets. Reptile teeth are all very similar, single-point and peglike, often not as firmly rooted. They vary in size, for instance snake fangs, but in general are all very similar."

There were skeletons all over this layer. Not down the ritual pits, but scattered about following some global disaster.

But this one...

This was an intact specimen.

The bones were, as always, bright red. Indicating that significant heat had been part of the disaster. These odd creatures were roasted alive.

Tarta carefully removed the skull from its matrix of ash and earth. brushing it clean enough to determine the details. The brain case indicated intelligent life. Large eye sockets. And a significant hole for the optic nerve. "These beings specialised in visual acuity. Judging by the muscle attachments, they had mobile eyes..."

Tarta scoped the nasal passages. "Smell was evidently a secondary sense. There's no large structures for auditory input..." A race of deaf cogniscents? It was a theory. Alas, they had no live specimen to test.

But the teeth... the teeth said much.

"This is an omnivorous mammal. Look at these specialised teeth... Chopping teeth in the front and grinding teeth at the back. Ah!" Tarta gathered her students around to show them. "Look. Evidence of dentistry. This specimen had cavities, but they were drilled and filled with a ceramic accretion. These were intelligent creatures."

"Then why did they blow themselves up?" Jori still felt compelled to raise her hand. "If they were intelligent, why did they bother with war?"

"You've seen the other creatures," said Tarta. "The mammalian predators and the venomous reptiles. You've seen the creatures that survived the planetary apocalypse."

Jori shuddered at the thought of the things outside their dig fortifications. "Yes. They're all lethal."

"And that's the reason why. These beings originally came from a death world. War was how they lived. War was how they ended."

As far as first impressions are concerned, humans could have done infinitely better than the remains of the colony world Numurica.

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Challenge #142: Conclusion-Jumping

One of the many early miscommunications when the humans first started to contact the galactic alliance: Alien expresses interest that human is still alive having broken one or more bones, slightly dense human gets the wrong end of the stick entirely and now half the camp thinks people with injuries like that are killed, because why else would something like a trifling broken arm mean you die?

Susan was learning what many in the new proto-city of Wiwazheer were calling Chickenese. Grey Chicken -aka Trekker- was learning English. Many things, she was sure, were getting lost in the translation.

She was hauling Jaime back to Central - literally the centre of town - to get his arm properly set when Trekker invited itself along and lit on the back of Calico.

"You is preparing dead?"

She answered in Chickenese. "No. Friend no dead. Friend hurt, me taking for help."

"...'m s'posed'a see little birds," Jaime mumbled. "'ey izzat Grey Chicken?"

"Yup. That's Grey Chicken. Says hir name is Trekker. Trekker, this friend naming Jaime."

"He is living? Me am seeing fall. Me am hearing bone crack."

"Friend breaking bone in arm. We is fixing."

"Us folk breaking bone, us folk dead," said Trekker in confusion.

Susan did not have the words to ask, Do they kill you or do you just die? That was a question for the doctors in Central, who had Trekker's DNA on file. All the same, an APB concerning being careful with projectiles around the alien bird would be wise.

And a solid plan to save the bird's life should the unthinkable happen.

Susan got the impression that Trekker was trying to protect Wiwazheer and all the humans therein from some menace outside of their current experience. Though it was hard to imagine a species of warlike birds if they died from a broken bone.

Now was not the time to judge. Now was the time to take notes and, at the earliest opportunity, run like hell for the xenobiology labs to ask interesting questions.

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Challenge #143: Salvation From the Lessers

(since you're a DS9 fan like I am) It was ironic that after the war, the Cardassian/Bajoran hybrids that Cardassia had neglected and cast out were instrumental in its rebuilding, and its rebirth.

Cardassia was in ruins.

It had never been in ruins. Not in all of its glorious history. Certainly, there had been wars in the pre-spaceflight days, but only individual areas ever became ruined.

An entire planet \- and entire planetary empire in ruins... Just sucked the very soul out of the Cardassian people. They wandered through the rubble like ghosts. One would stop and pick up a piece of rubble, and half-heartedly add it to a pile.

This had never happened before. Nobody knew what to do.

Or at least, nobody who lived in the Cardassian empire knew what to do.

They came in bright colours and loose clothing. They came with water purifiers and soil reclamation units. They came with Pulaku and Tokta seedlings.

They came with Cardassian faces... or faces that were Cardassian enough. Despite the Bajoran earrings and the Bajoran clothing and the Bajoran accents, they were Cardassian enough for the lost souls to flock to them.

They were Cardassian enough for other Cardassians to listen to them. To follow orders. To forge a new world based on need and skill, not heritage and social standing. To give to those who needed, to make that which worked out of whatever they had to hand.

They came with Bajorans, who said things like, "We've been doing this for fifty years, it's about time you learned how."

And some remembered. Before it was done unto them... they had done it first.

The Bajorans, the Bajoran-Cardassian hybrids, and the orphans they left behind had no reason at all to help Cardassia. They had every reason to leave the Cardassian Empire - or the ruins thereof - to stew and pickle in its own feculence and slide back to a more primitive standing for hundreds, if not thousands of years.

Which was why the most important thing was that, though they came with some old grudges, they also came of their own free will. That they came without hate.

They came to show Cardassia what could be done without being conquerers.

And for the first time in thousands of years, Cardassia learned something new.

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Challenge #144: Unreasoning Profits

The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.

-George Bernard Shaw

If he doesn't blow himself up in the process.

-Anonymous — c/- RecklessPrudence

Ax'and'l often struggled to find something nice to say about the human race. His usual compromise, that they were profitable mammals, did not always make it seem like enough of a boon.

Especially when Hwell had managed to wander off and get into one of his... escapades.

When he was done swearing, Ax'and'l often swore that he could feel his life shortening. He wanted to rail and cry at the statistics stating that species who had involved relationships with humans lived longer and healthier lives. He wanted to leave Hwell on the statisticians' laps as Exhibit A as to why their statistics counted worse than damn lies.

But humans had a knack for seeing past the self-evident, which was both blessing and a curse. Sex aids on one planet became repackaged cooking supplies on another. Despicable toys for adults became a plaything for little children. Instruments of death became tools for civilisation.

And predators... became harmless pets.

Humans were also the only known species with a Luck gene. It came with the caveat of spectacular accident and Ax'and'l repeatedly checked Hwell for it following one of his usual unmitigated ur-disasters. Hwell was not a Lucker, despite all evidence to the contrary.

He just had a phenomenally scary impersonation of one.

And he was consistently profitable. Even when they had to pay for the damages.

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Challenge #145: Two Types

 http://devisamarama.tumblr.com/post/81454106149/nightvaleradiostation-pewdiepiesfanblog

A character that uses every opportunity to throw her prosthetic arm at people, hand it to them etc.

The Membletak used to be a race of conquerors. As far as manifest destinies were concerned, they were mostly benevolent. They did not, for instance, use germ warfare or treat their conquered planets as dump sites or their conquered people as second-class citizens.

They did rely on heavy taxes, but you can't have everything.

That is, they were conquerors until they sought to conquer the star system B3K.

There, they encountered a small Terran maintenance station manned by Gillian "Joker" McGee. She not only greeted the invaders with open arms and exclamations of joy, but offered her hand to the Ship's Captain, Torq'a.

What the Membletak did not know was that "Joker" McGee had previously lost her organic hands to a liquid nitrogen mishap. They did not know that she thought it was funny to randomly detach her artificial replacements.

Therefore, when Captain Torq'a was left holding "Joker" McGee's hand as she turned away to embrace another crewman, he experienced a sudden and fatal heart embolism and died on the spot.

The surviving crew were so impressed by his surprising demise that they surrendered to the human race at that very instant.

In the annals of Galactic History, Gillian McGee has been the most... entertaining... of the planetary Empresses. She insisted on being announced as the 'Mistress of the Killer Joke' until her dying day.

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Challenge #146: Given Enough Rope

Observe - a Mad Scientist that's cracked a little more than usual, and has completely stuffed up their cost-benefits analysis:

"This weapon accelerates the round - any variety of tree nut - up to point-eight-cee in the direction of the target. Observe! An average walnut. Walnuts average between five and ten grams, while this particular specimen is right around the middle at seven and a quarter. If I place this nut here - you'll see the machine analyses the round to determine that it is an accepted ammunition variant - and press this button here, then when the nut impacts the target - the so-called Face on Mars - in a bit under fourteen and a half minutes, we shall see an effect on the area roughly equivalent to a hundred-and-three kiloton bomb! And best of all, the ammunition is so cheap it literally grows on trees!" — RecklessPrudence

"You're forgetting a few key factors, Weatherby."

"Such as?"

"To reach Mars, this walnut will have to accelerate at speeds that will cause it to spontaneously combust. And you've forgotten about the aerodynamic capabilities of a walnuts surface."

"Really?" Jane placed her hands on her hips. "And what would you suggest, Professor Hetherington?"

"Well, for comparable mass and density, you'd really need a macadamia nut. They're denser, smoother and harder than your average walnut."

She glared at her academic rival. "It's always Australian things with you, isn't it, Sheila?"

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Challenge #147: Necrotheque

"they're British skeletons of course they're dancing sarcastically. "

The place was alive. But only technically.

Crowds of "people" flooded the dance floor and the air was full of the unique miasma of a dance club. Music, people shouting to be heard over the music, stale alcohol and even staler cigarette smoke.

This was Club 86. Where the undead went to live it up.

Maia was busy trying not to freak out. She was the only person... being... creature... in the room who did not have what Nedelcu referred to as 'special circumstances'.

And this is what happened when a mortal asked her vampire girlfriend what it was like being undead.

A crumble of litches had the dance floor. How moving skeletons could move was a mystery Maia preferred not to think about. But they were moving, and something about what remained of their body language was... familiar.

"Are they... dancing sarcastically?" she asked over the steady bass thumping.

"They're British skeletons," said Nedelcu. "Of course they're dancing sarcastically."

"How can you even tell that they're British."

A level glare. "After a while... you get to know. Besides, they dance like they always lose at Eurovision."

"OI!" said one of the skeletons.

"Sorry Tony!" Nedelcu called. "I know you won."

"...how can he talk?"

"That's one of the questions you don't ask."

"Why?"

"Because a Necromancer will tell you."

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Challenge #148: Sympathy for the Monster

Rule of Fiction 13: Any monster, fictional or real, will have a romance written about it, often one where it turns out to be "not that bad". A lot will be absurdly well-written and thought out, and a lot will be barely-readable trash.

Pre-Amity humans and Galactic Alliance again, I'd rather see well written (because your stuff is always well written) but there's always the Twilight in Space option if you feel like it

[AN: The problem with any Twilight parody is that it gets mistaken for great literature. See: 50 Shades of Grey]

They froze, staring at each other across the open space of the plains between them. He was a brute of a human. All muscles and hair. She was not. All she had in her favour was her height which, thanks to her injuries, she could not use.

He could charge at any moment.

She remembered from her lessons that humans would not attack something that appeared to be docile, so she quickly adopted a submissive pose. Perhaps there was strength in weakness.

There was already strength in eye contact. The beasts' eyes never left her glowing amber—

*

"Glowing amber? Two pages ago, her eyes were livid blue?"

"They change colour," grumped Z'chedda. "That's gonna come out in the next chapter."

"Mmmm..." Chorish mumbled doubtfully. "You also said this was a rewrite of the movie. I'm not seeing a lot of similarities."

"I'm making it better."

"By putting a female lead in who looks exactly like you? Except with the kaleidoscope eyes."

"Shut up. I think I'm doing okay."

"I think it's a little... out there."

"Really. Why did I even bother showing this to you?"

"Because you wouldn't shut up about it for three weeks? Because you keep telling me all about this story? Because everything that was wrong with The Beast From Outer Space has been the only thing you ever want to talk about? Because despite that, you've seen it like thirty times?"

Z'chedda made a rude noise to her friend. "If you keep being that critical, you won't get any nest-mates."

Chorish rolled her eyes. "Whatever. It's good enough writing, but... kaleidoscope eyes? Really? You had to go there?"

"It happens sometime, okay?"

"Shyeah. With a bigger budget than Beast had... What are you calling this thing, anyway?"

"Beauty and the Beast."

"O my Gods... That is the worst title ever."

"What?"

"Nobody in their right mind would want a story with that title."

"Tell that to my two hundred readers."

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Challenge #149: Expect the Unexpected

Wise men have been mistaken for fools, and foolish men have become kings. Warriors have brokered peace, and calm men have begun wars. Never assume that what you learn of a thing at first is the entirety of what that thing is, most particularly with other people.

Jimmy didn't know what she expected from the Ambassadorial Meet, but this was not it. There was probably the expectation of gold clothing. That was sort of a default. And possibly grey-haired folks of important breeding who would look down their mutual noses at her.

What she got was... eclectic.

There was the Consortium of Steam, disturbing enough on their own. A group of four robots who played Rock Paper Scissors to decide which one of them wore the gold sash and left the other three to bicker amongst themselves at their table.

There was the ambassador for 1986, a temporal castaway who said she was human and looked decidedly like a black-skinned ELF.

But most surprising was the Ambassador for Hevun.

She wore a simple style of shift, for all that it was made of gold, and a vest in the same colour. Presumably for its pockets. What surprised Jimmy the most was how young she was. She was in her Terran Twenties, and obviously pregnant.

"Watch out for her," said her guide. A human trader who had given her passage. Will or Bill or Hwell or something like that. "She talks dull as dirt, but her mind's sharper than honed obsidian."

But she was already coming over. "Y'all're new, yeh?"

It was GalStand. Technically. The Ambassador for Hevun had figured out how to say as much as she could with as few recognisable syllables as possible.

"Uh. Yeah?" Jimmy admitted.

A surprisingly warm and comforting smile. "There's a few new rules 'cause of my big entrance, last Meet. Sorry 'bout that. But the good news is, it ain't gotta be boring fo' y'all. Where you home at?"

A blue-faced man in her wake coughed meaningfully. "The ambassador is asking where your home is."

"Pft. O go an' spoil all'a my fun..."

"'S a planet called Fedora," Jimmy squeaked. "I 'scaped."

This earned a big grin. "Good on ya. Y'all effur need he'p? You aks f'r Hevun."

"Good news," said Probably Bill. "You've made a friend. A powerful ally. Admiral Ambassador Sahra Johnston liberated five planets before she came to her first Meet."

"What was she like ten years ago?" Jimmy marvelled.

"Nine."

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Challenge #150: That Ole Time Religion

"All hail the sun god, he is the fun god. Ra! Ra! Ra!"

"Gimmie a Q! Gimmie a U! Gimmie an E-T-Z! Gimmie an A! Gimmie an L! Gimmie a C-O-A-T-L! Whadduzit spell?"

"Quetzalcoatl!"

"Whadduzit spell?"

"Quetzalcoatl!"

"Give hearts! And blood! To make the rain! Why do we love 'im? We might be insane!"

YYYYAAAAAAAAYYYY!

"Zeus! Zeus! He's our man! If he can't do it, Hera can!"

*

Shayde offered Rael some of her popcorn. "This is the weirdest episode o' Horrible Histories ever, yeah?"

"Mmm," he agreed.

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Challenge #151: Not Made to be Broken

FREE DAY!

Of course Steve had heard about the secret weapon code-named Rabbit. It was impossible to not hear about other secret weapons when one is also technically a secret weapon.

This was one of the few he got to meet.

He was used to techies referring to their weapons and vehicles as 'she' or 'he'. He was not used to the pale wraith joining their team as "Rabbit's chief technician". He was the palest person Steve had ever seen, which made his black and blue-striped hair all the more startling.

The second thing Steve noticed was the harness he wore outside of his black jumpsuit.

Then his hands moved. "Most people stare at the hair," said a mechanical voice from the technician's right shoulder. "Blue Matter took my voice, so I made a new one for the people who can't be bothered learning sign language. You can speak, by the way. I can hear."

"Blue Matter?" he said. "Like the kind Colonel Walters Steam Man Band run on?"

"Run with," said the techie. "Yes. Exactly like that."

That was his first clue that the military minds behind winning the war were not entirely focussed on what was right for their more... special soldiers. But Steve, being an optimist, had imagined a more advanced model code-named after the Victorian-era copper automaton.

He didn't actually see her until they were getting on the plane.

She wore loose-fitting paratrooper fatigues. One sleeve fitted with a zipper to make room for her Blue Matter gatling gun. Steve saw it all in that moment. The resigned walk, the thousand-yard stare, the necklace made out of paperclips and the fresh oil streaming slowly from her luminescent eyes.

She didn't want to be part of this war.

"You're making her jump out of planes?"

"Not me," said her techie. Paul. His name was Walter Guy Paul.

Steve sat beside her, all the way to the drop zone. Keeping her company while the rest of the Howling Commandoes ignored her as if she were a piece of ordinance. Reminiscing, where he could, about her days on the stage.

He remembered her from world-of-tomorrow-today style exhibitions and one performance that was a present from his uncle. It was all he could talk about for months. Seven years old, and telling Bucky about every last detail from the Steam Powered Road Show.

"...wish I was b-b-b-b-b-b-back there, now," sighed Rabbit.

Her stutter was miles worse than it had ever been. Steve shared a Look with Walter Guy Paul.

Steve's look said, There's something going wrong with her. She needs help.

Paul's look said, I know. I can't stop them long enough to fix her properly.

Which was why he held her hand - the only time he held a fellow Commando's hand - when it was time to leave the plane.

Their parachutes \- all of their parachutes - were army standard. They were not made to support the weight of a steam-powered, copper, clockwork automaton.

And hers... didn't.

She fell faster than he did. Screamed all the way down. Shot wildly at the enemy and, when she hit... she hit harder. And had the dubious tactical advantage of scattering parts of herself over an area a ten-yard radius.

The plan changed in mid-air. The instant he realised what made Rabbit, the gentle, silly joker of the band such an excellent secret weapon. The United States Armed Forces was treating her like a shrapnel bomb.

Well. The Howling Commandoes were going to treat her like a soldier.

He did not, as the plan stated, immediately assault the enemy encampment. He took down everyone who was shooting at him and then ordered his men to establish a perimeter and gather Rabbit's scattered parts.

"We ain't got time for that!"

"Howling Commandoes never leave a man down!" He bellowed.

"That ain't no man..."

"Then we don't leave a lady down, neither," He stood guard over her shattered torso and got out his Parade Ground Bellow. "NOW I GAVE YOU AN ORDER AND I NEVER GAVE IT TO HEAR MY TEETH CLICK! GET OUT THERE AND GET EVERY LAST NUT, BOLT, COG AND PINWHEEL YOU CAN SEE! I DON'T CARE IF YOU THINK ITS SHRAPNEL, WE GOT A SOLDIER DOWN AND WE'RE GONNA FIX HER! MOOVIT MOOVIT MOOVIT!"

Techie Paul landed last, but he'd definitely heard Steve.

The Japanese could have heard Steve. And they were on the other side of Russia from here.

"Wow. You g-g-g-g-g-got all that in one b-b-b-breath," burbled Rabbit.

He knelt, still watchful and wary for the enemy. "At ease, soldier," he soothed. "We're gonna patch you up and then get moving."

"Nev-nev-never walked home b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-before," Rabbit sighed. "Some-somethin' new..."

He took up her surviving hand in his own. Looked her in her mismatched eyes. "I'll see what I can do about getting you some repair time. About getting you away from the war."

"Won-won-won't be mu-much," said Rabbit. "We're un-un-under c-c-c-c-c-contract."

"Then I'll see what I can do for you."

Rabbit pulled herself up and kissed him.

Steve Rogers cleared his throat. "I have a girl back home," he said, blushing.

"So do I," Rabbit steamed a little. "It ain't of-of-often folks t-t-t-t-treat me like folks. G-g-g-g-gotta be grateful y-y-y-y-ya know."

He left her with Paul and promises that she would get back to a base that could help her ASAP.

And he didn't see her again until well after the war. Years after his deep-freeze.

She'd lost the wigs he'd sent her. Or never got them. But at least they were letting her wear a dress. And she was back where she belonged... in the spotlight, and singing.

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Challenge #152: Names Shape Reality

Early explorers and colonists gave the best new worlds names considered "unappealing" to those back on earth, so as to discourage over-colonisation and protect what they viewed as offworld paradises. This led to beautiful worlds with names such as Gehenna, Sheol, Yomi-no-kuni, and New Jersey. Over time, as these worlds became popular, their names lost their old meanings, and thus, the phrase "as beautiful as a New Jersey summer" was no longer seen as satirical. This made interpreting history/old texts somewhat confusing, and in some cases, nigh-unintelligible.

[AN: This doesn't quite work with one-way-wormhole colonisation, but I'll give it a go]

During the first wave of Terran Colonisation, The humans left behind couldn't help but notice a certain pattern. Places named after paradises inevitably came to ruin. Even places where the paradise was subjective.

Citizens of Earth did not like watching the residents of New Q'onos perish of starvation or malnutrition as they insisted they hunted all their food. Neither did they admire ominously loosing contact with Heaven, Hope or Gaia Regis.

And the less said about Greater Deregulation, the better.

Therefore, the humans came up with a typically human solution: stop naming new worlds after paradises. No optimistic names at all.

Thus, there are an abundance of colonised planets with names like Hell, Gethsemane, Yomi-no-kuni, Purgatory, Sheol, New Jersey, Skegness, Minnesota, Woodridge, Bognor and Cauldera.

Which is why Shayde has permanent employment from the Archivaas Collective.

They had a very long list of originally unpleasant places, both real and mythological, for her to define.

Because sometimes, the true key to unriddling ancient narratives is understanding the joke.

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Challenge #153: Creative Collaboration

 http://scienceisadesiretoknow.tumblr.com/post/83664332691/teamrocketing-i-was-looking-up-chicken-noises

That showed up on my dashboard. Your prompt is:

"Music Night during the Amity Incident"

There was a small flock of scientists with her now. Including a very sweet, very junior male whom T'reka kept accidentally deferring to out of social instinct.

Koku had taken to very prominently wearing his ID with the 'Junior' part of his 'Junior Assistant' title highlighted with the help of the humans photo-reactive ink.

Her fellow hens, three of them, were easier. She had seniority, rank, and a certain amount of hygiene standards to mark herself above the others. She didn't abuse her power. Though sometimes, the thought was more than tempting.

The one thing she was strict with them about was in regards to personal grooming. Dust-baths during exterior exploration days, water baths during in-camp days and regular treatments for parasites. Here, the humans were helpful. They had inventions to help prevent their own kind from injuring themselves through scratching or picking. And though Numidid had no use for spinner rings, they found that chewing gum would give a person prone to picking something else to do with their beaks.

But what surprised her the most was how readily her younger contemporaries and the humans adapted to each other.

The humans had a short, seven-day week. And on the Sun's day, they would take their ease and perform various ceremonies strictly for relaxation and entertainment. The variety of this entranced Koku where it simply perplexed T'reka, and both would find themselves staring at whatever was going on on the humans' stage.

And then Syriki shyly asked if she could sing up there, too.

Diminutive Syriki, she of the deep black feathers and the hushed voice, and the permanently cowed posture, surprised everyone that night by not only having a wondrously loud, but also tuneful singing voice. The humans were so impressed that they unanimously stood up to make their celebratory noise. Applause.

The following act - a cadre of human puppeteers with homemade chickens - seemed embarrassed to follow her on stage.

"It is your turn," she murmured in English. "The showing must to go on."

The humans all adored Syriki. They lavished her with any kind of kind attention and -T'reka noted in her journals- tended to baby her owing to her small stature. They could not turn down her gentle insistence.

It was a comedy act. Puppet chickens brawked and buckawed their way through a well-known human tune with the occasional appearance of a humorous ping-pong ball.

"Oh dear," whispered Syriki, almost hiding under T'rekas wing. "I see why they were embarrassed, now. They didn't want to insult me."

And, to show there was no hard feelings, she glided from her perch to the stage and joined in. She had an immensely good time and, after a heart-stopping moment of shock and awe, so did the humans.

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Challenge #154: Knowing Where People Don't Look

One of your old stories - "(Nightcrawler) can get away with not using the image inducer if he just puts on a hoodie and keeps his hands in his pockets. I mean, he doesn't even hide the tail! And his shoes have to be made special."

Plus a paraphrased quote:

Most people don't notice things they don't expect to see. Children though, they'll recognise you instantly.

It's a good thing kids are also the least likely to screech "OMG it's ____" and pull out a camera.

"I can't believe it. I can not believe it," Kitty ranted. "You just like, walked all the way through Bayville Mall and nobody... HOW?"

Safe in the darkness of the back seat, Kurt pulled his hood down. "It's a very stupid trick, ja?"

"Well whatever it is, I totally want in."

"You, Katzchen? You look—" Kurt fumbled with the right English. "—better zan fine."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

He grinned, sharp teeth shining almost a rival with his eyes. "I've had a lifetime of experience with being a mutant. I learned ways... and other ways... of hiding in plain sight."

"Elf... Spill it."

Kurt sighed. "People don't look. Not all the time. They watch feet, to avoid stepping on others. They watch faces, but not always. They watch hands, which is where I have trouble... But they don't watch -er- the lower body. From waist to knee." His three-fingered hand gestured over the relevant area. "If I pull my tail up around my waist, under the coat? Nobody sees. Nobody looks. Ja, I have a bit of difficulty walking, but... that works in my favour, too."

"Like, how?"

"When's the last time you looked at a disabled person, Katzchen? Really looked?"

"Uuuhhhh..." Oh. OH.

Kurt grinned wider, now. "There's only one thing that can break the spell."

"Yeah?"

"Little kids. They have no fear and no filters. How long do you think social blindness lasts with a little kid hollering about the man with the blue fur?"

"So that's why you used me as like, a stalking horse?"

"Ja. Sorry."

"I'm pretty much not mad any more," Kitty allowed. "Yikes."

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Challenge #155: The Problem With Tired Old Plots

Free day!

There are a certain number of possible reactions to finding out that one is temporarily invisible and inaudible to the rest of the crew aboard the vessel you all share.

"FUCK!" is in the top ten.

So is, "This is a plot from a bad science fiction series!"

As well as a solid string of curses old and new.

Jabrelle went through the entire top ten before she settled down and attempted to get a grip. She wouldn't have even gone through number one on the list if she was also intangible. The effects of the gravity generator would have flung her through the floors and into instant and lonely death if she had been also intangible.

Therefore, she had to let the Captain know that something was going on. And, since the accident had also obliterated the non-essential comms systems... she had to do that in person.

Writing on the walls was not a viable solution. Firstly, an on-duty and crisis-stricken UFTP survey vessel tended to cut off access to art supplies. Secondly, all the walls were one hundred percent graffiti-proof. And the cleaners would get to anything on the floors before anyone intelligent could see it.

Therefore, after weighing all her options and finding very few available, Jabrelle calmly and logically chose to mess with the Captain's Cup.

The Captain's Cup, which was an old Terran tradition and an early warning system. The Captain's Cup, ritually filled with piping-hot beverage and watched like a weak and wobbling lamb by an anticipatory vulture in times of tension. The Captain's Cup which, despite being an inanimate piece of porcelain, knew something was up well before any sophisticated sensor could alert anyone.

Of course she started subtle, using the silver spoon like a transmission key on a telegraph.

K-E-E-P C-A-L-M. O-F-F-I-C-E-R J-A-B-R-E-L-L-E R-E-P-O-R-T-I-N-G, she began.

The captain had turned white - quite a feat considering her everyday hue - and fastened her seatbelt. "Stand ready," ordered Captain Kimutai.

Jabrelle belatedly remembered that only colossal nerds like herself even bothered learning morse code at all, any more. And, out of distilled frustration, flipped the Captain's Cup clear across the bridge.

There was only one sane reaction from the captain to the sight of the Captain's Cup sailing, unprompted, across the bridge. "RED A-FUCKING-LERT!"

Which would have been fine, if the current bridge crew weren't aliens.

"Sir?"

"SHIELDS ON FULL, PREPARE FOR IMPACT, RUN ALL SCANS, BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES AND PREPARE TO KISS YOUR ASSES GOODBYE!" Kimutai roared. "SET COURSE FOR THE NEAREST BASE, WARP FACTOR- FUCK OFF!"

"Sir, this is irrational behaviour..."

"Did you not see the Captain's Cup FLY across the room?" Kimutai demanded.

Jabrelle recovered the cup, saucer and spoon and started making all three dance. Out of pure spite, she set the bridge audio playback to run Hello My Baby! before she did so.

"It's dancing! Nowhere in history has The Cup flakkin' danced—"

Jabrelle could see the metaphorical penny drop. At last. She'd found an area of common experience.

"Internal scans. Do we have any apparently missing crew?"

The lizard discretely typing out a message to send help at the comms station made a face that clearly said, What the flying hell? "Sir?"

"Do we have any crew members who have not apparently reported to their duty stations?" Kimutai enunciated.

Tap tap tap... "Officer Jabrelle Martinez, sir. She's currently missing under suspicious circumstances."

"Gimmie that milk," The Captain unbuckled herself and slit open the entire bag that today's luckless ensign had urgently ferried in for a refresh.

The assembled bridge crew gaped at the human outline as Jabrelle dripped and managed a dairy-soaked wave.

"Cancel red alert. Someone get this officer some spray paint and get her down to the medtechs." Kimutai sank back down into her chair. "Gods damn it, Martinez..."

And that's how clever minds can resolve bad science fiction plots in less than ten minutes.

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Challenge #156: The Human Effect

First submission since the identification of an ableist slur. Edited from original form, thusly:

I love the image of his brain just clearly rebooting because too much ridiculousness and unbelievability is hitting it at one time. — RecklessPrudence

Harry stared up at the edifice that was Security Chief 'Sherlock'. It was hard not to. Sherlock stood at 6'4" and she was a diminutive 5'2".

"...i know i'm in trouble, there's no need t' loom..." she squeaked.

"I just want to know exactly how it happened," he said, easing his distance between them with a casual shift of his weight. "Ambassador Z0rk is not happy. And when he gets unhappy... he tends to share that around."

"Um..." Harry twiddled with her apron ties. The aliens who found her, and found her amenable, had replicated her uniform in various shades of gold. And that was the least disturbing facet of her adventures. "I'm not qualified t' be here, sir... I... I'm just a lunch-lady. I bring the tea cart around..."

"Sadly, that's not grounds for disqualification. You currently have the most experience with Galactic affairs, and they have the most experience with you."

"But I ain't— I'm not trained," she almost bit her tongue out for that slip. She was from Northern Scouse and it tended to leak through in her speech. She tried to keep speaking The King's English, but... in times of stress and worry -like right now- it kept coming out.

"Many aren't. Ambassador Z0rk forgets he began his career as a shipping drone. He tends to throw his weight around."

"Ee, that's considerable throwin'," she blurted. Then 'eep'ed and covered her mouth with both hands.

"Hm," said Sherlock. "Now tell me, please..." he leaned conspiratorially down. "What did you do to get that old fossil flustered?"

"...thought I'd tell a joke," she squeaked, sure this was a tactic of some kind to get her shipped back home in chains. Or whatever these strange aliens did. "...y'know? Break the ice?"

"Aha. And what was the joke?"

Tears sprang up in her eyes and leaked into her already-wobbling voice. "...a blonde, a brunette, a redhead and a rabbi walk into a bar," Harry quavered as she twisted her apron strings into tighter and tighter knots. "...clang, clang, clang, but the rabbi du-u-u-ucked..." She sobbed softly into her own apron.

Sherlock made a strange noise. He shook and snorted and made a grinding noise... and finally erupted into a surprisingly jolly and warm laugh. "Hahahaaaaa... that'd do it," he cheered. "I love the image of his brain just clearly rebooting because too much ridiculousness and unbelievability is hitting it at one time..." He cackled as he made his way back around to his desk. "I'm going to have to start a file. Things to tell Ambassador Z0rk when he is getting... on... my... nerves..." He was typing as he spoke. "Do you have any others?"

Sniffle. "You ain't mad at me?"

"Dear lady, I owe you. Do you have any realisation how much... Ambassador Z0rk has been a pain in my arse?"

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Challenge #157: Hidden in Plain Sight

"But, how did you know that the file contained their secret plans for world domination?"

"Because it was labelled 'secret plans for world domination'." — RecklessPrudence

K'orvoth could not believe that the humans would be that stupid. Or stupid enough to lable said plans in all known languages where anyone could read it.

Or to leave such things on an unsecured commconsole in the open.

He could not believe this windfall. "Decrypt it at once," he ordered. "We will soon see how these humans plan to conquer us and foil them at every turn."

The progress bar was alarmingly fast...

Then every monitor on K'orvoth's vessel began playing the same data. Syrupy, synthesised chords filled every speaker. A human in loose-fitting clothing danced like a spavined marionette against a pastel background.

"Oooh... We're no strangers to love," it sang in Human. "You know the rules and... so do I..."

*

"What do you mean, you 'Rickrolled the entire enemy fleet'?"

"Um," Tahir tangled her fingers. "Well... I never thought they'd fall for my honey trap? So... I kinda made the virus file super-agressive? Andum... it's spread like wildfire."

"Officer Tahir, there is a special blend of genius and outright lunacy. I think you got the gold-plated version."

Tahir grinned like an embarrassed school kid. "Uhm. Thanks?"

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Challenge #158: Pee Ode

On a scale of one to "I will invent a time machine explicitly for murdering your parents," how mad do you think [person] is? — RecklessPrudence

"Ambassador Z0rk? He's always tetchy."

"That's tetchy?" Shayde boggled. "Remind me never tae get him PO'ed."

"Pee... ode?"

"Pissed off. Angered. Riled. Bluidy furious."

Humans. They were equally confusing in any temporal zone. At least she wasn't mysteriously speaking of uric poetry. "Ambassador Z0rk has had something of a grudge against organic life since before his elevation."

"Aye?"

"He started off as a shipping drone. Apparently, a Nae'hyn Hitchhiker decided to twiddle with him and... now he's part of the AIA."

"The Artificial Intelligence Alliance. Got it." Shayde paused to inspect the graffiti in a registered graffiti zone. "Ere. Ain't he the feller who chucked oot th' Consortium o' Steam fer bein' too human?"

"Yes. That was him."

"Fook. Feller's go' his virtual knickers in a twist."

That was the singular best description he had ever heard for Ambassador Z0rk in his life. He'd have to pass it on to Sherlock.

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Challenge #159: Relative Cartography

Google Maps is accurate. Apple Maps is the product of Dali and Picasso smoking a joint before painting the child of a canary and penguin with a frightened cat used as the paint brush, then selling the result as a map. — RecklessPrudence

There's an old human saying, that there is no such thing as an accurate map. Maps lie.

For a start, they compress thousands of square distance units into flat expanse capable of -for instance- being held by your average humanoid in two hands. Or to compress a station the mass of a large dwarf planet into an accessible hologram with a zoom feature.

Which still doesn't solve the timeless question of all map apps.

"How the fook do I get directions outta this heathen thing?"

A small child, still wearing three locator bracelets, stopped to stare at Shayde.

Shayde looked down at the little sprite. "If I gi'e ye a penny, will ye go awa'?"

"Are you lotht?"

Fabulous. The kid had a lisp. Small children were already her vulnerable point. Small children with lisps had her firmly by marshmallow zone. Shayde sighed and dropped into a crouch. "I'm new to the technology," She took off her info-monocle. "It's no' shown' me how tae get to B from A, ye ken."

"You talk funny."

"Aye, an' it gets worse when I'm stressed." She put the app on display mode. One of the accidental features she'd repeatedly tripped over on her quest to get directions. "I can get it tae show me where I'm aimin' t' go. I can get it tae show me where I am. More or less..." The relevant, happy, green X hopped about in its margin of error. "Woh I cannae do is get it tae tell me how tae get there."

The small child peered at the app and poked about. "Thith ith the default app. You need to get the better one."

"Oh aye? Ye know a better one?"

"Mm-hm. Ama thayth the default app'th given out free 'coz of how nobody'd want it." The child nodded sagely. "You need t' get My Thtathion from the thtore."

Shayde fiddled with the interface and finally found, "Ee, there's a baker's dozen..."

The sprite pointed to a friendly-looking icon. "That'th the one Ama got for me."

"Oh aye? Is it the one Ama uses too?"

"Mmm-hm! Ama liketh it way better than th' grownup app."

She couldn't argue with that recommendation. Plus the kiddie's app was free. Shayde dug out one of her Special Pennies, and pressed the apparently ordinary copper coin into the kid's hand. "Keep this aboot ye. It'll bring ye good luck."

The sprite peered at it. "That'th a kangaroo... They're from Earth."

"Aye. So was I, once."

"Who'th the man on the other thide?"

"That's Edward the Eighth. The king who never was. You be guid tae tha' coin, yeah? It'll be good tae ye right back."

"You're funny," said the kid. "I like you."

"Awa' wi' ye," Shayde mock-scolded. "I'm sure there's someone oot looking fer ye."

"Bye, demon-lady."

The favoured app was so simple to use that Shayde hardly needed the pastel rainbow tutorial. She did turn off the syrupy music as soon as possible, though.

And, a bonus, she could turn off the directions by simply exiting the app.

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Challenge #160: Exceptions to the Rule

An Outside Context Problem is the sort of thing most civilisations encounter just once, and which they tend to encounter rather in the same way a sentence encounters a full stop.

-"Excession," definition of an OCP c/- RecklessPrudence

Thus it is that the Cogniscent Rights Committee has passed numerous laws to prevent them. Shipping through inhabited systems with recognised intelligent life native to them is generally forbidden until such time as that native population has regular and reliable space flight.

Similarly, leaving an inhabited planet to face disaster without aid is criminal.

Thusly, interstellar groups are extremely careful when they encounter an inhabited system. First contact situations are usually kept to a minimum and, if possible, orchestrated.

There are two exceptions: the humans, which is self-explanatory, and a species known only as the Greys.

Little is factually known about them, save that they are a plague to pre-interstellar systems, and vanish without a trace once those civilisations stretch beyond their own star.

The Cogniscent Rights Committee has an outstanding reward for anyone who finds the Grey's base of operations and brings the species to justice. There are nigh-infinite counts of purposely engineering Outside Context Problems for civilisations unprepared to encounter them.

The humans want to talk to them about numerous human-made landmarks. But that's humans for you.

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Challenge #161: Rève-rie

"Yes, I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can find his way by moonlight, and see the dawn before the rest of the world." - Oscar Wilde c/- RecklessPrudence

Everyone who met her knew that there was something wrong with Sai'dut. She would talk to herself, or stop her appointed tasks to stare at something irrelevant, she would grow forgetful or latch on to some asinine entertainment and learn everything that nobody wanted to know about that thing.

Her fellow Cheletes tried to help her. gave her constant lessons on being one with her fellows. Or at the very least how to pretend to blend in with the greater hive.

Little ever took hold.

Sui'dut couldn't help being the way she was, and drifted to the corners to do those things that she found satisfying.

Which was how she found the humans.

Only it wasn't that direct.

It began with a cautioned file. Warnings abounded on a traded relic of a broadcast from a distant planet she had never heard of. It had lingered in the data equivalent of a back drawer for some time. Not important enough to remove and not vital enough to be accessed.

Sui'dut opened it to see why there were so many warnings on it.

Someone had taken the time to translate the human words into GalStand subtitles. But the important part was the puppet frog who told her that though being what she was was not easy, it was its own kind of beautiful. And then the same puppet sang about the wonders of rainbows.

She devoured all related information with a voracious hunger that she hadn't known until she'd accomplished that little taste. In passing, she learned of Jimhenson and Muppets and Sesamestreet... and all the wonderful things that the humans did.

She learned of Harryhausen and Generoddenberry, and hundreds and thousands of other dreamers.

People who made pretend worlds. And shared them. And made things interesting. And made art.

Other Cheletes scoffed at her efforts. They called her mad. They said she was wrong.

But in the end, when the collision happened between the ship she was a passenger on and the malfunctioning Terran vessel from a planet called Britania, it was Sui'dut who made contact and succeeded in communicating with a human named Harry.

It was broken Sui'dut and a tea lady who wound up saving the day and improvising a way to keep everyone alive until help arrived. Because dreamers also live in nightmares, and ponder daily how to conquer them.

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Chalenge #162: Mercy Maintenance

I've made jokes about "Reboot... with steel toes" and "troubleshooting with a 12-Gauge - PULL!" plenty of times! — RecklessPrudence

A certain sign of doom amongst engineers is whistling backwards. It means something expensive is about to happen. When they hiss through their teeth whilst breathing in... there's very little to be done.

"It's bad, isn't it?" asked Rael, off-the-books-apprentice.

"Eh," the engineer currently in charge shrugged. "Pass me the hammer."

Rael obediently did so. "I'd have thought it couldn't be saved by percussive—"

SMASH!

Rael stared, terrified, at the mess of parts and shattered pieces. He was certain he'd gone silver from stress, but daren't move to check.

His tutor put the hammer down. "Now we write in the report, attempts at maintenance accidentally destroyed the part and it had to be replaced." He nodded in satisfaction. "Honestly, if we had repaired it, it would have been a last-gasp situation. Which, considering that this is a freighter, means lives are at stake. Sometimes, a quick and clean kill is the only medicine available."

Rael cleared his throat and quoted the famous stop-and-go mechanic, "Just shoot this shit, it's only fair?"

"Nailed it," said his tutor with a grin and a snap of his fingers.

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Challenge #163: Panelbeating

"Wow, how'd you get it to work?"

"I ran a Physical Impulse Mechanical Stress Routine."

"Huh?"

"I kicked it."

"Ahh." — RecklessPrudence

It really only took ten minutes to fix, in the end. A little heat. And a lot of whacking with the right kind of maintenance.

She charged them an Hour for her work, part of which was a 'luck tax'. As in, they were lucky they reached her to fix the problem.

In the maintenance log, Desiree wrote, Repaired problem caused by too much percussive maintenance.

Which was a nice way of saying, Got rid of a dent that was jamming the works.

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Challenge #164: Graveworld

The universe is probably littered with the one-planet graves of cultures which made the sensible economic decision that there's no good reason to go into space—each discovered, studied, and remembered by the ones who made the irrational decision. — RecklessPrudence

Nobody knew what the natives called it. There were no natives to ask. Whatever had happened on this world had destroyed all but the simplest and toughest of organic life, but left the buildings and infrastructure to be slowly buried by the forces of nature.

If there was anything more frightening than a dead city up close, Quilla couldn't remember what it was. The knowledge that this was a whole world of dead cities was strictly intellectual. Roaming the actual empty streets and staring into the cavernous depths of echoing and dark buildings was far more visceral.

The whole place set her teeth on edge.

No bodies. Not any more. Scavengers had taken care of that. Statues told her and the other explorers what these people had once looked like.

Quilla stopped at one such monument that had evidently been broken in half by a fallen tree.

"You okay?" asked Enat. They'd been working together on trips like this for years. But this was the first grave-world that they'd encountered.

Quilla gestured at the statue. "I got chills. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair."

The two of them trudged onwards, looking for some hint of what had occurred. Silent.

Out of respect for the dead.

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Challenge #165: Come to Australia (You Might Accidentally Get Killed)

"On most airplanes, in an emergency oxygen masks will be deployed from above your seat. This is an Australian airplane however; in an emergency, we will deploy drop bears from above your seat."

Either way, the lack of oxygen problem is quickly solved. — RecklessPrudence

"What? Why would you do something that barbaric?" Esterhazy boggled.

"Well, the oxygen systems are tied to the landing gear, see," Shirl expanded without missing a beat. "If there's no oxygen, then the landing gear's got to be buggered and, all things considered, the drop bears are a more merciful death."

"I... thought... the drop bears were endangered?"

"Endangered? Yeah sure. But they're also tough as guts, mate."

"There you are," said Darleen. "Have you finished bullshitting the noob yet?"

"Yeah, nah; I was up to the screaming spiders when 'e bloody derailed me."

"Bullsh— Do you mean to tell me you've been having me on?" The look on Esterhazy's face was more than priceless.

Both mad Australians grinned. "Aw, it's all right. We're just havin' a lend."

"Yeah," added Shirl. "Wanted to sneak up on ya and scare th' crap outta ya."

"Here's an actual fact sheet of the local things that can kill you."

"Madam," said Esterhazy, "This is a fact novella."

"Yeah, it's a bit thick," shrugged Shirl.

"Just a bit," agreed Darleen.

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Challenge #166: Opus Apparatus Spurius

Series of posts, each new line denotes a new poster:

[Comparing real-life understanding of tech by the people maintaining it to a fictional universe] Of course, this is minus the stupid witch doctor rituals.

"Have you tried turning it off and on again?" comes to mind. And a lot of other rituals.

Doesn't that actually help with a significant portion of callers?

[Fictional universe organisation] rituals work too, except when they don't. Doesn't make it any less of a ritual that is performed without understanding why it might help.

Clearly. The next step is ritualising it. Add some latin chanting as well.

I think the orthodox chant is "Fucking piece of shit. Why isn't it working!" repeated in a low mumble. Just translate it into a language the people around you don't speak and you're done. — RecklessPrudence

Isobel was suddenly very grateful for her camouflage field. She kept to the walls as she followed the chanting people in what was once a functioning generation-ship and was now a floating hulk. A floating hulk bare inches away from disaster. A floating hulk on the precipice of the catastrophe curve and inhabited by... tribes.

She had no doubt that their names translated to 'the people', but they had very obviously devolved into primitive tech-worship. Isobel had seen them maintaining machines that had very obviously failed. Performing repair tasks on artefacts well beyond repair.

Using dead remotes as religious totems.

There were some patches of leftover cogniscents who were almost completely sealed off from the rest. They used air vents as a mode of travel. Air vents! If they were working properly, then the denizens would have been chopped to pieces by the fans or eradicated by the blockage destruction systems.

It was like watching someone trying to cross a canyon by stretching dental floss across the gap and then traversing it like a tightrope.

This time, the ritual worked. This time, the machine that made the air whirred into life again. This time, there was great rejoicing.

She stood, contemplating the one machine that kept the entire... mess... alive. There were others, but they had fallen into disrepair and disuse, though they were still altars for these poor, lost people who believed their distant and unreachable destination was heaven.

If she cannibalised the defunct machines to repair one other...

To what end?

These people were doomed.

One of the priestesses also lingered at the temple that was once the air recycling system. Staring, apparently, right at Isobel.

There's no way she could see through...

"Ghost! I command you be gone!" She said. An old form of Terran English that fascinated Isobel. "Canhazchizburger!" And she threw a handful of salt and poppy seeds at Isobel.

Salt and poppy seeds that caught in the seams and folds of her suit. That effectively rendered her camouflage moot. Isobel turned it off and raised her faceplate shielding. "I am no ghost," she said carefully. "I come in peace for all mankind."

"You am come to save us?"

Well, crap. That counted as a distress call. "Yes," she said simply. She was going to have to call for backup... but since her own love of history just landed her in this pickle, she could very well use it to unpickle this whole gen-ship. "I am name Isobel. You am name is—?"

"Jem. Me am name Jem."

"How is you see me? I are hidden."

"Eyes be seeing less," answered Jem. "Some colour they go bad. You have many more bad colour than everything. Is look like Solja in gilly suit."

Wait. She was colourblind? This was going to be some extreme variant of fun...

"We begin, make more new air?" Isobel offered.

Jem nodded vigorously. "Can has new air kay th'x bye."

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Challenge #167: Ancient Curses

Fragmen of stupri mauris. Quare non opus est? — RecklessPrudence

[AN: I ran this through a translator and got: "Piece of fucking shit. Why not work?" :D LOL ]

There's working on repairs with trained technicians... and then there's working with someone who's learned certain things by rote as part of a holy ritual. Someone who - though she had the brains to work out that the rituals were supposed to be useful, and had successfully applied some of them in other circumstances - still applied those rituals because they were the only way she knew.

Isobel could tell when her friend and ally Jem was reciting an incantation. Mostly because they were far more eloquent.

"Cock-sucking son of a bitch! Work you firkin dick biscuit!"

Sometime, possibly when they were on a break, Isobel would educate Jem on exactly what she was saying. And what some of those ritual gestures meant at the time they became part of the ritual.

As it was, she took it as a general sign that Jem was having trouble. Which left the problem of communicating what the trouble was with an ancient dialect that neither of them could use with accuracy.

Yep. Toasted circuit board. She'd have to fabricate a new one. "This one?" She disconnected it and showed it to her. "Bad-bad beans. Meringue umbrella. Jello roof." And, in final clarification, turned her thumb downwards and blew a raspberry.

Jem blew a raspberry in agreement. "Fuk dup the ass."

Okay... Isobel could work with that one. This whole first contact situation was going to give the Archivaas conniptions.

There were no replacements on their vessel, now called some variant of Home. Arta. They called their ship Arta.

Isobel would have to make a new one. Good thing they had plenty of raw material.

Jem kept treating the tech printer as an amazing holy relic. Isobel's attempts to show her it was just a machine had negligible influence, but Jem would happily watch something come from component elements in avid and reverent fascination.

And holy song.

Such a pity that the ancient engineers of her ancestry had had a very crude taste in music.

Isobel would never have believed, before her arrival in Arta, that Charlotte the Harlot could have ever been sung reverentially.

With the new circuit in, the air generator whirred sluggishly into life. Isobel helped Jem restock it's necessary supplies and tweak it into full functionality.

"Effing eh?" prompted Jem.

"Effing eh," Isobel agreed. "Nek minit? That dick biscuit," she selected the machine that looked ready to collapse.

Jem's face said it all. "Jussinbeebur..." she muttered.

Isobel felt inclined to agree.

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Challenge #168: One Familiar Face

"That's 19, last question."

"Ok, it's a person, a guy, dark haired, kinda short, amnesiac, fast healing/possibly immortal, older than 200 years, uses bladed weapons, knows lots of martial arts, and fights against people trying to take over and/or destroy the world."

"Yep."

"Is it Wolverine?"

"What? No, it was Van Helsing."

"..."

"..."

*dawning realisation*

"No way..."

"Mr Logan?"

"Yeh, Tallwater?"

"Remember how you had me researching... you?"

"Yeh..." He put the cap back on his beer. This sounded like it was going to be an interesting one.

"Well... I ran your turnaround through facial recognition and... um..." Sara fidgeted nervously with a manilla folder. "I think you're even older than you think you are..."

"Yeh?"

She edged closer and bought out a print-out. "This is a contemporary portrait of a vampire-hunter known as Van Helsing."

The resemblance was downright uncanny.

"And this is the only known portrait of a man going by the name of Jean Valjean."

Okay. That was officially scary.

"There's more of you, all through history. You age, sometimes? But -um- there's... some evidence of a cyclical nature to your mutation? You... sort of... regenerate... In retrospect, I'm guessing you might be glad that they didn't put you in mausoleums or whatnot. They're rather harder to escape. And the trauma of escaping graves no doubt did disturbing things to your memory."

Exasperation. And it took her two whole minutes. She was getting better. "What are you trying to tell me, Tallwater?"

She grinned. "Yer a Time Lord, Logan. Well. Sort of. You don't have two hearts or a TARDIS, but I'm sure with a little time and engineering..."

"Tallwater," he warned.

"Hm?"

"Stop."

She sighed and deflated a little. "Sometimes, you are no fun."

"Make that all the time, darlin'."

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Challenge #169: Sufficiently Advanced... Rituals

[In a discussion about technically-proficient people (of any subdivision) and the lies-to-children told to those they have to interact with]

I think we know why wizards just act all cryptic and stuff...

I imagine they had to keep explaining their knowledge of the arcane to the average peasant over and over again until they just got fed up with it.

And that's how we get wizards, mages and sorcerers who seem to delight in not giving a straight answer. — RecklessPrudence

There were those who saw Isobel as a god. There were those who saw her as an angel sent by their deity to see them safely to their distant and unreachable paradise. Some saw her as some form of divine intervention in mortal form.

One saw her as a friend.

And now... one different one saw her as a pain in their anatomy and a threat to their authority.

His title was Sir. A fact he reminded everyone of at the slightest hint of a slip. He wore ancient passkeys and sigils of authority, strung on a huge chain around his richly-robed body. He had a harem of under-dressed ladies who he apparently employed to keep him warm and distract any participants.

Pity for him her attentions were solely on the door he'd carefully blocked with his throne of office.

"None may pass," he repeated. "None! Which word do you fail to understand?"

"I do not understand why you don't wish to reach Eyisum," said Isobel, feigning the unique ignorance of a foreigner.

"Eyisum is a state of mind. Eyisum is where our spirits fly. Do you wish to kill me, outsider? Do you wish to kill yourself? This chamber is sealed under the curse of Karantin." Quarantine. "To enter is to die!"

Her scanners were thorough and had detected nothing in there that could harm a rat. And had, in fact, only picked up rats inside there. Large ones, certainly, but not deadly.

"Then it seems in your best interests to let me pass," she finagled. "If to go through that door means death, then it seems the quickest and easiest way to prove my hubris to all."

There it was. The telling flicker. He was a smart enough martinet to know that the machine-gods of Arta were not performing as advertised. Therefore he feared that the forbidden zones had similarly lost power. His power relied heavily on that of their gods. If that power was gone, so was his.

"To enter is to die," he repeated. "I have men with crossbows to ensure that fact."

"And I have micro-meteor-rated space armour," she countered. "Your men are welcome to try it."

"Enough of this nonsense," he sneered. "Defence grid, fire internal lasers co-ords eighty by five-three-niner by twelve!"

Isobel heard them warming up and neatly stepped off the entirely suspicious and freshly-repainted X on the floor. Even then, they could barely have managed a first-degree burn on an unprotected citizen.

He'd lost. He'd very clearly lost.

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Challenge #170: The Un-Secret

Dunno if you'll like this one, but I ran across it:

"The thing about evolving on a death world is that you don't really realise you're doing so until you get the chance to leave it. Up to that point the presence of carnivorous monsters, venomous micropredators, extreme climatic conditions, geological instability, the most lethal cocktail of microbial and viral life forms in the galaxy and of course the crushing gravity, seemed entirely natural. Until we left Earth we thought ourselves rather weak, frail, defenseless creatures because we only had earth fauna to compare ourselves to. You can imagine our surprise then, upon joining the galactic community to find ourselves in fact to be enormous, robust and insanely dangerous in our own right." — RecklessPrudence

The humans had literally gone all out to ensure T'reka's comfort while she recovered from her broken leg.

They'd made her a nest-bed and a special ward where she had a panoramic view of the human town below. And they made sure she had access to their entire database and an ever-evolving translation app. And rechargers for her own technology.

They even invented a patch for her comms system so she could check in with her origin city.

Which was how T'reka found all the archived documentaries.

Su-syn found her staring in awe as David Attenborough narrated his careful and whispery way through explaining life on a coral reef.

"You is good?" she chirped. "You is not needing more calm-shots?"

"No, is good." T'reka shook herself. Fluffing her feathers and resettling herself. "Am now knowing human secret."

"Secret? We is no hiding true from you."

"You is not knowing it is a true," T'reka soothed. "You is living be on death world, before come here. Whole planet - deadly. Big thing, small thing, big risk, all time. You not noticing. Not knowing other way."

Su-syn smiled. Uttered a brief laugh. "You is making jokes, yes? Earth no death world. Is where all human living."

Yes. And that's the problem. "Earth living four time tough than Hu'lu'a living. Human four time tough than Numidid," she tried to explain. "All you big tame animal? Still big threat to me folk."

Su-syn made a face like something smelled bad. "Even sheep? Even chickens?"

"All," confirmed T'reka. "You folk many much tough than most others star folk."

Su-syn sat down abruptly. She just folded her legs and landed solidly on the floor. "Is not shock, you folk is think we monster," she murmured. "We is promise we try no be monster for Numidid."

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Challenge #171: Acapella

It was a companionable quiet, with the rhythmic "whud, whud, whud" of the engine accompanied by various tapping and clanking of everyone doing their jobs. Eventually everyone's noises gradually synced with the main beat and suddenly the Lion King happened.

"I swear sir, I left for four seconds and they started a musical number"

Goryx stared out at the rows of humans - still working, of course - as they continued to sing.

"TILL WE FIND OUR PLACE," they collectively roared, "IN THE PATH UNWINDING... IN THE CIR-CLE.... THE CIRCLE OF LIIIIIIIIIIFE..."

"Please tell me this is an isolated incident?"

"Er," said Chamb. "Actually..."

Goryx learned much, that day. For starters, that humans could start collectively singing at the drop of a beat. And there were many, many -too many- human songs in their collective consciousness that apparently everyone knew.

Also, that it was a good idea to separate the ones who sang Under Pressure from those who sang Ice Ice Baby. Just to avoid internal tensions.

"Is this a bonding exercise?" Goryx enquired.

"It can be," explained Chumb. "In so far as I've been able to understand... they do it to make their days more interesting."

"Interesting? Interesting can be fatal."

"Yes, sir. This is a safe variety of interesting. They get... bored."

Bored. A human word suggesting that life as they knew it was not sufficient. That safety and satisfaction were not enough.

Goryx eventually rolled hir eyes at them all and muttered, "Death worlders," under hir breath.

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Challenge #172: Witch on Trial

"I don't curse people, I bless everyone around them."

The court murmured.

"It's stated that you cursed Goodie Carswater and her garden wilted."

"I did no such thing. And it's a well-known fact that her little tearaways widdle on her wisterias."

More murmuring. Apparently the only person who didn't know this was Goodie Carswater. Who also believed that her sons could do no wrong.

"It's also stated that you cursed Thou-shalt-not-covet Jones so that no woman would want him."

"Covetousness Jones is of the very vocal opinion that women should be grateful for his mere presence," said Aunty Risik, witch on trial. "He also thinks that any woman he takes to the altar should permanently wear a scold's bridle and a chain that stretches from the bedroom to the kitchen and no further. Covetousness Jones is his own curse, thank you."

All of the unwed ladies of the village harumphed and nodded in unison.

"'Tis the witches' curse," roared Covetousness Jones. "None of these worthless cows will even look at me!"

Judge Farnsbury glared down his nose at Covetousness Jones. "Perhaps you should wait until you find a woman worth more than a cow before you lay such accusations?"

The man wisely closed his mouth and sat on his hands for the rest of the trial. Though he did turn increasingly red as he scowled at his shoes.

"And the pox visited upon Purity Vesseca?"

"Is cow pox. I was hired by her father to insure her against smallpox, so I did. I purposely gave the child cow pox. An endeavour for which Master Vesseca still owes me two pigs and a cockerel for."

Murmur murmur murmur murmur...

"You... blessed... a child with cow pox?"

Aunty Risik nodded sharply. "Thems as catch cow pox never catches smallpox. Well-known fact. 'S why poets is always mooning over milkmaids."

"And... what other... blessings... have you performed?"

"I blessed your wife with an easier birth," she began. "It's why you still have a daughter and a wife. Old Master Gripley? I bless his pains away on a daily basis. Goodie Crowsie'd be getting a pig long about now if Master Vesseca paid his bills... I see to it she gets a pig every year. Her children sure don't look after her, so I does it."

Bit by bit, person by person, Aunty Risik revealed that she did a hundred little things to make life easier, all over the village and into its outskirts. Even Hermit Georg, who lived in a cave and was a lot peculiar in his eating habits, got a little blessing care of Aunty Risik.

"But," complained Judge Farnsbury, "none of this is magic..."

"I remember you tellin' me your little Chastity were a miracle," said Aunty Risik. "And Goodie Crowsie's downright religious about getting that pig. It's them's that don't get blessings who wither in comparison."

It was the first and last witch trial where the witch was pardoned by mass gratitude.

After that, they were certain to go after people who weren't witches.

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Challenge #173: Need to Know

Prompt: That trick where you come up behind someone and pop a paper bag to make them jump, most often portrayed when someone is working on something that could (but probably won't) explode.

[AN: I must have hit a nerve on the Interwebs, yesterday. Twenty-three notes on one silly story because of an equally silly side-fling. Must resist the temptation to do that from now on]

To the Galactic Alliance, need-to-know information is information that every citizen, denizen and in denizen needed to know.

Things like this entry in the Traveller's Handbook:

Humans should be well advised to avoid practical jokes in the company of non-humans. You are a robust species and therefore tolerant of surprises, shocks, and merely apparent threats to your continued existence.

Other cogniscents are not so prepared.

Further, there are some intelligent species for whom sudden surprises can result in an instinctive response.

Do not indulge in practical jokes, because slicing talons to the neck often offends.

Law-keepers and emergency response teams are always surprised to learn how often humans ignore this advice.

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Challenge #174: Maybe a Not-Too-Distant Future

"It's pronounced X"

"I thought it was Y?"

"No, that's exactly the sort of mistake I'd expect from someone like you. I'm a /real/ fan, I've been an expert on this since before you were born."

"Actually, it is Y, the kid was right, and you've no call to go around acting like that to people."

"And who are you?"

"I'm the author."

"It's pronounced, 'Rail'," said the alleged gentleman in the trilby and Brony shirt.

"He hates 'Rail'," said the smaller girl in a roomy JOAT coat. "It's closer to 'Ra-el'? but you sort of run the vowel sounds together?"

"Yeah, that's the sort of mistake I'd expect from a fake geek girl like you. You're only here in cosplay because you get attention for showing off your tits."

"Um. I'm clothed neck-to-toe?"

"Yeah and I noticed how much of it is form fitting. You're welcome, you whore. Don't interrupt, sweetie, a man is talking."

One of the many robots wandering the halls of Genracon stopped what ze was doing to pay audience to the scene. Even though ze was wearing a skirt, you never could tell with robots.

"See, the whole 'Ra-el' thing was canned because of a lawsuit from DC because it sounded too much like Ka-el, which you would know is the secret real name of Superman from the DC comics. If you were a real geek. I have the entire set. So of course, to avoid litigation, they swapped over to 'Rail' which is how anybody sane pronounces a word spelled R-A-E-L... If you know how to listen, you can hear all the actors saying it in the TV series."

"That's because they're all dipshits," said the robot. "It actually is pronounced 'Ra-el' and I went through weeks trying to teach them. It's still in the scripts. I have a macro to go through all the non-caps mentions of his name and add the pronunciation."

The dudebro sneered down his pimpled nose at the robot. "Who the fuck are you and why should I even care?"

"I wrote all the books, which the lady is clearly referencing. Including the short story R.T.F.M., named for the geek acronym for Read The Flakking Manual." The robot offered hir hand to the girl. "Hi. I'm C. M. Weller."

"Omigod, you cosplay?"

"I've been cosplaying since the '80's. But back then we called it 'costuming'. Want to ditch this fake geek guy and nerd out over a hot beverage?"

"WOULD I!"

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Challenge #175: Absence of Wenching

 http://yoquinto.tumblr.com/post/78790240270/okay-but-a-story-about-an-asexual-pirate-who-gets

I really should stop sending these t you every time I find them, sorry.

AN: Don't you bloody dare stop! I love getting prompts FYI the post isn't there any more, but I found this one thanks to searching: [ http://silentmercenary.tumblr.com/post/84994393370/yoquinto-okay-but-a-story-about-an-asexual ) If anyone knows where Yoquinto has gone, please let them know that their imaginings have become a thing]

In any bar, tavern, or lowly dive, pirates are wont to tell stories. They spin tall tales and heavy yarns concerning this or that peril on the high seas. from the mundane to the fantastic, to the ridiculous.

And of all the luckiest of lucky escapes.

And then they murmur of the only man to pilot a ship out of Siren-infested waters.

Aaron the Unturnable.

Who singlehandedly concussed and trussed his fellow crewmen and, without any wadding in his ears, nor anyone to measure the depths, turned his ship away from the wrecking rocks. Aaron the Unturnable, who never once set foot in a bawdy-house, nor rented either street molly or jolly-boy.

Aaron the Unturnable who, in so far as any man could measure, had no bedroom-related appetites at all.

Molly listened to them all in mounting disbelief. There never was a man born who couldn't resist staring down her cleavage or groping her bottom and she used that only for monetary gain. Overcharging and under-changing the 'gentlemen' who never noticed.

And there never was a single one of them she wanted to take upstairs, for all that her landlord demanded it. He couldn't fire her. She worked twice as hard standing up as any of the girls who chose to lay down.

"You still owe me half a crown, miss," said a seafarer who had been rather quiet during the regular uproar. He was well-dressed and well-spoken and very neat in a piratical kind of way.

"Sorry," she said, and gave him the rest of his change. "Is there anything else I can fetch you, sir?" She leaned over to polish the table, hoping to gather a few coppers while he leered.

He put his hand over his coins and looked her in the eye. "If you're after this, perhaps you'd like to sit with me and chat a while."

"I ain't that kind of girl!"

"I've noticed. You may also have noticed that I did not ask you upstairs. I will not grope you, nor leer, nor trap you in my lap and I certainly shan't be using your body in any way for my entertainment."

Confusion. "Then what th' devil do you want with me?"

An honest smile. He had all his teeth. "Camouflage. Any gentleman frequenting a tavern must soon gain a lady by his side or be deemed... strange."

She looked close at him. "You ain't one of them lady pirates, dressing like a man, is you?"

Gentle laughter. "No, madam. I am one hundred percent male." He offered his hand. "Pleased to meet you, m'lady. I am Captain Aaron Zibowalski. Otherwise known as Aaron the Unturnable. And I happen to be looking for other Unturnables similar to myself."

She'd never been happier to sit down. All this time, she thought she'd had something wrong with her. That she'd never been drunk enough or found someone pretty enough or... or a thousand other things. The idea that she might be Unturnable had never once crossed her mind.

The plan was ludicrously simple. With an entire crew of Unturnables, it was plausible to go to the Wrecking Coast, slaughter the sirens, and then gather up spilled gold and booty by the boatload.

The only problem was gathering a crew of Unturnables.

"I don't has to pretend I'm a man, does I?" she quavered.

"Not if you don't want to. Though I have it on good authority that trousers are preferred clothing when one is running about in the rigging. Snags and all. Besides, the question of intercourse on board will be naturally rendered moot."

Of course. Naturally. A crew of Unturnables. It would be the safest ship in all the seas. Next to the Malevolent Maven and Hen's Hags on board.

"Ain't got a lot to get," she said. "Ain't got a lot at all." Just her clothes and a small, disappointing pyg jar of copper coins to her name. Scrimped and saved and occasionally moved to stop Roundheels Jennifer from helping herself to the contents.

"Then I shall help you buy at least one pair of trousers. Consider yourself signed up. My ship is—"

"The Wandering Unicorn. I heard. I'll be there first thing." Even if it didn't turn out as planned... it got her away from this tavern and the expectations of becoming a proper Wench.

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Challenge #176: Black-boxing It

Taken from an author talking about a piece of tech in their setting:

They've tried reverse engineering the displacement engine before. It goes a little like this:

Your moon is now a pretzel.

Your research is invalid. — RecklessPrudence

"So what is it?"

"I can't figure it out," said Helba, getting her facts out in the open. "I know what it does, it makes the gravity in this... place..." Station, ship... installation felt better, but it had plainly been here long enough to become a small planetoid.

The cargo cult seeing to its upkeep did a surprisingly good job for a bunch of mammals, but how it ran... That was the mystery.

"There are some elements I can understand but..." she shook her head. "There's no reason for it to work. Yet it obviously does."

Thokin scratched at her brow-ridges. "Can you try to figure it out? This technology could be revolutionary. We could solve the Long Flight problem. We could... we could build bases like this! Off planet. No central mass to keep things stable. Just... one of these. All we have to do is reproduce the technology."

"I could try to black-box it. Replicate what it does." Helba shook her head. It already seemed a daunting task. "I'll come out the other side, either a genius or a mad thing."

"The trick," said one of the apparently-meditating natives, "is to be both at once."

They shouldn't have ignored him just because he was a male.

*

From the Last Journal of Helba Greyscale:

I can see it now. I'm so close. The key is the madness and the madness is the key. These insane little mammals made a calm machine, but mine is hungry. It demands a sacrifice.

It shall have blood. And when it has feasted it shall be the very glory of the empire!

Eeya mork g'risin f'thagen daas

Eeya mork g'risin f'thagen daas

Eeya mork g'risin f'thagen daas

*

The Nae'hyn reverentially sealed the invader vessel and tethered it to all the others who had tried and failed to copy their work. The remains would, in time, freeze-dry in their metal tomb.

They offered tours. They offered teaching. They offered to work for them. But every generation, the ones who 'discovered' their little station ignored their good advice and tried to repeat the impossible. And therefore went insane.

"Pay heed, my apprentices," schooled Master Sun Swallow. "When copying unfamiliar technology, it is advisable to never throw yourself into your work. Figuratively, or literally."

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Challenge #177: Party Life

Person 1: Didn't you blow up a planet somehow while you having a year long kegger?

Person 2: First; it was merely rendered uninhabitable. Second; the party lasted two and a half years. — RecklessPrudence

There are generally two ways to react when one is the last of one's kind.

Kirov chose the other one.

He had but one life to live, though it was a long one, and elected to enjoy every last moment. He travelled from world to world, seeking the best of entertainments and some good, old-fashioned debauchery.

Of course he maintained the funds to support any half-breeds that occurred. He willed them his old home-planet -for all it was worth- and continued on celebrating the end of his kind.

It is said that a being exists for as long as other beings speak their name. And Kirov seemed bound and determined to become a galactic legend.

But it wasn't all parties and sex. He enjoyed the quiet as much as any other intelligent creature.

This morning, he settled in to one of Amalgam Station's Observation Benches to watch the chaos surrounding the new Jogging Track. Though it was festooned with cautionary signage, the sight of a running human or more still caused a panic.

He'd bought popcorn.

The nearest sign read: Humans run here for fun. Remain calm.

Another, nearby, read: Caution! Humans running recreationally.

Kirov guessed that they would be posting more at half Distance Unit lengths, before long.

Here one came. A tall creature with ebony skin. Her white hair bound up in a bouncing braid. Well... most of it. The rest of her was clad in a track suit in hazard colours. She spotted him and slowed to trot in place.

"'Ere I know you," she chirped. "Yer that feller that blew up a planet in a year-long kegger."

"It was a two-year festival and I merely rendered a marginally-habitable planetoid to be completely so," he corrected. "Rumours of my effect on places is greatly... distorted. I funded the inevitable evacuation and the clean-up. Keeps some folks in employ."

She grinned at this, still bouncing, and showing off sharp, white teeth. "Oh aye. Ye got tae swing round next Ambassador Meet. Liven the place oop a touch. T' wee girlie from Hevun's got the right idea, but you? You'd make it special."

Definitely human, for all appearances to the contrary.

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Challenge #178: 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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Challenge #179: 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 #180: 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 #181: 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 #182: Mwa-hahahahaha

Mad scientists are real, lurking in academia. Sure, they may not wield death rays and threaten the populace, but when a presentation ending in "Today, Australia! Tomorrow, THE WORLD!" receives thunderous applause, and your adviser's name is literally Dr. Fatal, you begin to realize that your childhood dream of showing them, SHOWING THEM ALL is more realizable than you thought.....

Doctor Fatal was still giggling as she stepped away from the podium. That was a good sign.

"I'm almost obligated to do this," said Dr Fatal. She pointed and sang, "You're a me-ga-lo-may-nee-ac! You're a me-ga-lo-may-nee-ac!"

"When your name's Yvil, you gotta do a few things. It's obligatory. Especially with a supervisor Fatal."

"You've still got the bigger hurdle of getting the government to agree with it."

Yvil made a face. "Urgh. Yuck. We all know the Australian government doesn't do anything sensible until America does it. Maybe I should convince them."

"I suppose robots programmed to quell opposition are out of the question?" joked Fatal.

"Yeah, nah. You can't get the funding."

Which turned out to be the best joke of the evening.

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Challenge #183: 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 #184: Strange Pastimes

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 #185: Proclivities

Dragons and princes

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 #186: 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 #187: 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 #188: The Problem with Problems

This XKCD. — RecklessPrudence

Fifteen-year-olds can solve the world's problems, at least on a hypothetical basis. Case in point, Trudy Mackinaw.

"You know that if they taxed money transfers at a basis of point zero one percent, they'd have enough money to destroy poverty."

But the rest of the world in general and her parents in particular didn't listen. Because she was a fifteen-year-old girl. They wouldn't have listened if she was a fifteen-year-old boy, either, but that's part of the unfairness of ageism.

But Trudy had a solution for everything.

Racism and sexism in hiring: "They should just quit wanting to see people they're hiring. I mean, they don't really care after they're hired. Just have job interviews with voice modulators and give the applicants random numbers during that part. I bet everyone'd be shocked at the results."

Racism in funding: "The best-performing schools don't need funding. They've got it upside-down. The ones that do the worst should get the funding. You know, so they can afford to get better."

The poverty trap: "You know, if they really didn't want people to be living on food stamps, they should pay them more. A living wage means people can buy more stuff. Don't they want a good economy?"

On abortions: "If they don't want abortions, they aughta support birth control. That's what it's for. Birth. Control. And if they don't like that either, they gotta run a foster home and be an organ donor or they have to shut up."

On LGBTIAQ: "Everyone should have the right to do whatever the hell they want with their own body and their own identity and nobody should have the right to say a damn thing about it."

On war: "You know, they should take all those people on separate tours through the land they're fighting over? If they saw it was a nuked-out desert, nobody'd fight over it any more."

On relationship drama: "All the people who read The Rules and all the people who read The Game should just pair up and leave everyone else alone."

On the wage gap: "If everyone got paid based on how much hard work they do? The politicians and banisters would be living on food stamps and the cleaners and teachers would be driving porches."

And even on overpopulation: "We really should colonise some other planet. Overpopulation's a big problem and I bet loads of people would love to make a planet in their own image."

All problems can be solved in fifteen years. Just wait for a fifteen-year-old to have an opinion. Some of it might just be workable.

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Challenge #189: We Didn't Start the Flame War

You know Billy Joel's song "We didn't start the Fire"?

Well, there's a really juvenile (which is admittedly appropriate for the subject, mostly) CollegeHumor take on it called "We didn't start the Flame War", that is surprisingly catchy. I was just wondering what a story using the title of the CollegeHumor song, but without the more egregious moments of the song, would look like.

Indulge my curiosity? — RecklessPrudence

A blur of black, white, and gold. A rushed, "Hide me!"

Rael checked his calendar. It wasn't Twosday[1]. "Shayde," he sighed. "You're a six-foot-tall being with an aesthetic tailor-made to stand out. What makes you think you can hide behind a five-foot-seven JOAT with his coat on?"

"Inspired desperation," she said, attempting to burrow into his rainbow coat from behind.

Rael gave up and hustled her into one of the agoraphobic's comfort booths nearby, for all the cover it could provide.

"Who did you happen to, this time?" he demanded.

"I still dinnae ken what I did," she said, nervously looking out the only entrance. "I was only tryin' tae help some folks. Earn some scratch."

Rael was certain that humans could end all known civilisation with the words "Oops," or "I was only trying to help". "All right," he allowed. "How did you happen this time?"

"They were chattin' aboot mnemonics on the SPOEn forum, and how kiddies remembered th' planets, ye ken... And I gave 'em 'my very early mornin' jump'."

Rael made helpful motions and sounds to encourage her to expand on this.

"It goes, "My very early mornin' jump starts oop nearly perfect'. Each word starts wi' the same word as a planet."

Rael counted on his fingers as his lips moved, working it out for himself. "Er.... you're one over. What does the 'P' stand for?"

That was when she dropped the metaphorical bomb. "They asked that too, the puir babbies. It's Pluto."

At which point, Rael turned her in to Security for her own protection.

[1] The Galactic Standard calendar has a ten-day week and a rather practical method of naming the days therein. Oneday, Twosday, Threesday, Foursday... and so on until Tenday. It's surprising how many cogniscents find this confusing.

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Challenge #190: 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 #191: One Fine Evening in a Festival of Masques

A duet between Francouer and The Spine.

On the plus side, the makeup was working. On the minus side, everyone was giving him the stink-eye because he'd decided to test it during an extended costume party all over Paris.

The Spine considered it a point of merit that he had to buy a cheap mask on a stick just to ward off hostility.

One of the Peters would yell at him later for getting paint in his seams, but... it felt so good to walk among them and pretend, just for a moment, that he wasn't a piece of heavy equipment and he could go where he wanted and do what he liked. Just like them.

He found himself fetched up by an old Cabaret, where musicians jammed in the street side. The war was over. There was no reason to keep the party indoors.

He picked up a bass guitar and joined in. The existing guitarist, a bulky fellow in mostly white, nodded coyly and challenged him to sing along.

He had a really high voice for someone that big.

"Look around - there's another mask behind you," sang the big fellow.

"Flash of mauve / Splash of puce," the Spine challenged

"Fool and king / Ghoul and goose," answered the French giant.

"Green and black / Queen and priest..."

"Trace of rouge / Face of beast..."

"Faces! Take your turn, take a ride..."

"On the merry-go-round / in an inhuman race!"

"Ah, Honeybee," teased a vision in crinoline and lace. Rabbit. She had a fine fake moustache on a stick and no other attempt to blend in. "Ya know that one ain't g-g-gonna fly outside'a the Masques." She turned and grinned at him. "Hey, Th' Spine. I see ya finally met Frankie."

"Francoeur," corrected the giant.

Rabbit blew him a kiss. "I c-c-can only g-get away with callin' him Honeybee..."

"Wait," The Spine boggled. "We all thought you hallucinated him."

"He's shy," said Rabbit.

Francoeur cooed an agreement.

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Challenge #192: Vampirism Sucks

A group of casual vampires, perhaps playing poker or lounging by the pool, with cheesy-looking coconuts with straws in, when in bursts a newbie vampire hunter who apparently got all his info from a book written before both the discovery of the coconut milk thing and safe volunteer blood donor procedures.

The sun had risen. Those in the pool had fled for the cabana at the first hint of light in the east. There, they applied zinc oxide very liberally to their pale skins or wrapped themselves in  Vantablack cloaks or gowns while waiting their turn at the colour they desired most.

They sipped coconut water and gossiped amongst themselves.

At least until Kevin VanHelsing turned up.

He wore sports padding in every available location, and had added silver-looking studs to every possible surface. He was bedecked with enough religious jewellery to make him look like the love child of a rapper and a pro wrestler.

"Avaunt! Back into the nether depths from whence you came, foul creatures of the night!" He gestured menacingly with a wooden garden stake.

"Every tventy-fife years," moaned Elvira. "Can't your family kip notes?"

"I dunno, I think the 'nether depths' thing is funny," said Vlad.

"Is gettink to be annoying," complained Nosty as he applied colours over his base coat of white zinc cream.

"...avaunt...?" murmured Kevin. "I've got a wooden stake and everything...?"

Liz, who was still modest after millennia of sucking blood, emerged from her Vantablack robe in an elaborate rainbow of body paint and a very staid swimsuit. "That's probably pine. It wouldn't do us the least bit of trouble. You need oak." She picked up a spare coconut and sipped idly from the bendy straw. "And as for this pile of... bling? Is that the word?"

"That's the word, honey," said Lilia.

"Most of this is copper. The rest of it is rusting. And if you really wanted to hurt us? You wouldn't have painted all of these spikes with fake chrome paint."

"It's gold that hurts Wampires, sveetie," said Elvira. "And ve only drink from volunteers who are not cripy."

"Which means all volunteers," said Lilia.

"Turns out, coconut water is just as good," said Liz, gesturing with her beverage. "So... we're kinda harmless?"

"You shouldn't smile when you say that," informed Lilia. "Turns them off."

"But..." Kevin whimpered. "...noble heritage... vampire hunters..."

"Aaaaawww..." cooed Liz. "Poooooorr human..."

"Elizabeth Bathory, don't you dare," Lilia threw on the discarded robe so she could haul Liz back into the shadows. "Remember the last human you tried to adopt? You don't know how to look after them. You think they can go without food for weeks like we can..."

"But he doesn't have anything, Lilly..."

Sigh. "...why did i fall in love with you?" Growl. "Fine. We'll hire him as a bodyguard and trust him to look after himself, okay?"

Liz bounced and clapped her hands. "Yaaaaayyy! Best! Girlfriend! Ever!"

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Challenge #193: Unsuitable Food

"The secret formula, it must be kept out of the wrong hands or it will doom us all!"

"This is a recipe for clootie dumplings."

In the wake of sanctioned, regulated, guaranteed foodstuffs, there was revolution.

Astrid slipped her fingers into the knuckleduster she kept in her pocket as the shadowy figure approached. Just in case. Her life had been saved by precautionary measures like this, and the dust mask she wore to obscure her face.

"The owl hoots at midnight," she said.

"A black cat screeches in return," answered the stranger.

"To serve man," she said.

"It's a cookbook," the stranger stepped into the light. She, too, wore concealing gear. They had to. Surveillance was everywhere.

Only then did she extract her fingers from her knuckleduster and bring the other surprise in her pockets out into the open.

Olive seeds. "For generations unborn."

"Good food for good people," said her contact. She swapped the little packet for a plain envelope. "This is the secret formula. Do not let it fall into the wrong hands."

She only checked it out when she was safe from the pervasive cameras. At last. The recipe for proper clootie dumplings. She would make a copy, of course. Just in case.

The Secret Order of Chefs would be pleased.

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Challenge #194: Buddy-buddy

An alien and a human with a Han and Chewbacca-esque relationship

(I don't think Hwell counts, that looks more like babysitting)

[AN: Well, yes, but Hwell does spend large volumes of time making gurgling noises...]

Ruscis still couldn't believe this was happening, but a duty was a duty and this... being... hadn't left her side since the convoluted happenings that involved saving its life.

"You remember what I said," Ruscis repeated. "Stay non-threatening. It's bad enough I'm a Soncamur, but with a human in tow?"

The human hung its head and made a chain of noises few could understand. Ruscis had made the effort.

"No, they aren't going to shoot at us if we play it right. I know these people. They put up with deathworlders."

Grumble mumble murmur sigh.

"It was a shock to me, too. I never knew I came from a class one death world. You' You're robust enough to come from a class four. That's impressive. Nobody usually survives encounters with class four deathworlders."

The human glared at her. Argued in its thick, nigh-incomprehensible tongue.

"You know that, and I know that. But when it comes to getting free drinks at the bar? Let me do the talking."

Snort. A roll of its expressive eyes.

"Okay. Fine. Free drinks and your supply of theobromine."

*

Ruscis could tell the exact moment when her human had started unloading the hold. It was the faces of the other cogniscents interrogating her as a potential threat.

"That? Oh yeah. Saved it's life back on Cestus Three. Been following me around ever since. Guess it's grateful. And since I'm clearly not dead, you can register that human as mostly harmless, too. Thank you kindly."

"Does it have a name?" said the Chitanian behind the counter.

"Yeah, sure. But I can't pronounce it. I call it 'Red'. Hey, Red! Come here and tell the nice bug your name..."

"Victoria," said the human.

"See? Utterly unpronounceable."

"...answers to 'Red'," murmured the Chitanian. "Do you intend to obtain any controlled substances?"

"Only theobromine. Red needs it to live."

Red nodded enthusiastically.

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Challenge #195: Casual Toxicity

"Absolutely not! There is no way in-"

*human calmly peels and eats a banana*

"Er, whatever you say, sir."

The Membletak did not adapt well to their new, human captains. They did not adapt well to the insanity of their commanding officers.

And they did not adapt well to illogical commands.

But Captain Millbury was prepared.

"Sir. The odds against surviving such a manoeuvre intact are astronomical to begin with, you can't possibly expect the crew to—"

Millbury opened the Special Cooler and extracted a banana.

"—obey... such... a... ridiculous..."

Milbury peeled the banana as her second-in-command trailed nervously off. Geiger counters on the bridge erupted into static. Membletak backed away from her as she took a bite. "By all means, continue," she said around her mouthful. "I believe you had a rational argument?"

"Sending out the order now, Captain."

It was a rule that confused many in the Galactic Alliance in later years: Speak softly and always have a banana.

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Challenge #196: The Big Reveal

 http://cnvvj.tumblr.com/post/88170279521/wintersoldjer-but-what-if-cyclops-can-wear

He called them all together into the big meeting room. They gathered into their appointed seats and in a general air of confusion.

"For years, I've made myself scarce on April first. And for those same years, all of you have managed to make me your butt-monkey for pranks. Every joke in the book and some of the new ones... you played them all on me."

Now most of them had their 'oh no' faces on.

"And for those years, I've been wondering how to pay all of you back." Scott Summers took his famous ruby-quartz glasses off and, eyes closed, used his shirt to clean them. "And than I thought 'fuck it, you little bastards deserve this'." And opened his eyes to the gathered table.

There were only two people who didn't duck and cover with terrified shrieking. The Professor, who knew everything, and Sara Louise Adrien, who had helped make the contacts.

She was the first one to say, "Really, Mr Summers?"

"Come on. You know what April First is like for me."

"It's about to get worse, Slim," growled Logan. "You made me spill my beer."

"...ah crap..."

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Challenge #197: Writing Prompt

The first encounter of T'reka and her people with Big Bird (or any of the Muppets, really, because why wouldn't they still be around?)

Still relatively impaired by her injured leg, T'reka stared in amused confusion at the screen.

It was a program meant for juvenile entertainment and/or education (it was hard to tell, with humans. It may be both and something else), she could tell by the puppets. And it was a locally-produced show, because she recognised some of the people teaching children the human alphabet.

Some of the creatures made into puppets were impossible. The stylised talking frog, for example, had to be a figment of someone's imagination. Likewise, the giant yellow bird.

And it was a sign that the humans desired Numidid interaction that they included a remarkably accurate puppet Numidid into their show.

They called the imaginary bird Kipkip and aped her -and her fellow scientist's- curiosity about everything human with unnerving accuracy.

This was art imitating life, to teach their young about the world and the people who shared it.

On one hand, it showed a marked goal of sharing information that could be cast in a positive light. On the other hand, it showed scientific curiosity as completely normal.

She was going to catch hell from Kal'rike when Administrator Ser saw this...

"You're awake early," murmured Siriki. "...or I'm late."

T'reka checked the wall chronometer. "I'm awake early, be at ease." She asked, "Do you see the same thing on the screen as I do?"

Siriki looked. "Oh dear. Administrator Ser isn't going to like that..."

T'reka slumped into her nesting. "And here I was, hoping it was a hallucination."

"It could pass as one," said Siriki helpfully.

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Challenge #198: One Fine Evening in the Nightvale Maternity Ward

"Slowly, the doctor turned. Extending a pointing finger, he said "But... but that's an orange...!""

"Yes," said Mrs Murray. You know her, she was born with octupoid-like tentacles instead of hair.

"We couldn't be happier," said Mr Murray, through the independently levitating ouija board that is his sole means of communication. Since he is corporeally-challenged.

"All we want to know," asked Mrs Murray carefully, "is to the signs and portents indicate a girl orange, a boy orange, or something in-between."

"We want to use the correct pronouns from the get-go," said Mr Murray.

At which point, Doctor Smith turned and fled from the nursery, and was last seen headed towards the cactus grove where the waterfront boardwalk never actually existed.

We of course wish Doctor Smith a quick and speedy recovery from his retrograde amnesia. We are also assured that the Sheriff's Secret Police are going to keep an eye on him as he walks uncertainly between the venomous cacti and attack-trained triffids.

And now... the weather.

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Challenge #199: Return to Sesame Street!

A while back you posted a horror-splash about a the terror that a hyper-realistic Sesame Street would be. I'd like to see this world reconciled back into the treasured childhood series, rather than as a grim-dark reboot. After the adrenaline-fueled shock wears off, have your protagonist step back, take a deep breath, and realize they're not really scary at all. I realize this may be a bit specific, but for my peace-of-mind, and that of everyone who grew up on the Street, could you please consider it?

AN: True horror is the normal gone wrong. Disturbing is, evidently, one's childhood icons taken to realistic and horrific depths. Original post is [ here]

Big Bird deliberately didn't move from his nest. The stranger was very scared. He lowered his voice to a murmur and hunkered as small as he could get in his nest.

"It's okay," he soothed. "You're new here. You aren't used to how things are."

Squeaking noises and sad attempts to dig through fence palings and bricks with his shoulder blades.

"It's okay to be scared," cooed Big Bird. "I get scared of lots of things. That's why I asked Mister Looper to keep the light above his shop on for me."

"...hooper..." squeaked the stranger.

"Beg pardon?"

"It's Hooper. Not Looper."

"That's right," big Bird cheered - but made sure to cheer quietly. "I keep messing it up, but it's okay. One day, I'm going to get it right." He offered his teddy. "I know you're scared of me, but my teddy is great for hugs. He's all soft and there's no sharp bits."

"Nah'm good." Pant pant pant. "Thanks."

Big Bird put Radar down on a nearby chair, anyway. Just in case. "The scaredest I ever was? That would have to be the time all the lights went out, all over the city. It was so dark and Miss Nell came and held my hand and showed me the stars and the moon... I could see the whole galaxy, up in the sky." Big Bird forgot himself and gestured expansively above his head. The man whimpered and Big Bird tucked his wings in again. "I was almost sad when the lights came on again," he added. "Miss Nell was right... there's always a light. If you know how to look."

He'd slumped down into a sitting position in his corner. "What about the other monsters?"

"Other...? Oh, like Mr Snuffleupagus and Grover and Oscar and all the rest?"

Nod.

"They only look scary. I promise they're all nice. Even Oscar's nice, in his own way."

"...they're so much... sharper... here." A helpless look upwards. He looked so lonely. "Even you're... sharper..."

"Sometimes," said Big Bird, "people need sharp. I bet you have some sharp bits, too. The important part is to only use them when you need to, and not hurt people with them."

The stranger winced. "Yeah. I've hurt people and regretted it." He got up and took up Radar from the chair to hug it while he sat there. "Maybe I could stay here a while and learn a few things."

Big Bird leaned down to whisper, "That's why all the humans come."

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Challenge #200: Alas My Love...

An Ice Cream van on Amalgam station.

Someone, somewhere, was playing Greensleeves on a glockenspiel. Rael knew this because he was chasing Shayde, who was racing about, trying to find the source of the noise.

The only information she'd supplied had been "MISTAH WHIPPEH![1]" before she had taken off at -as she called it- warp nine.

One day, one day... in the far, far distant future, he would not need half an hour and a pocket history guide to understand anything that came out of her mouth.

But for now, all he could do was attempt to catch her before the sight of a running human caused a panic in the entire Elemeno.

"HA!" Shayde moved like an otter diving for prey as she spotted the goal of her intentions.

Which was, apparently, a luckless citizen with a freezer apparatus attached to the small food dispensary on the back of his adjusted bicycle.

He took one look at the demonic creature running towards him at top speed and took the sensible portion of valour. He attempted to escape.

They got three times around Promenade Park before Shayde pulled out a Two Hour note and called, "Wait oop! I wanted tae buy sommat!"

Citizens quickly learned that having an ice-cream cart was one thing, but a repetitive and recognisable tune earned literally terrifying volumes of customers.

And Shayde was a terrifying volume all by herself.

[1] Mr Whippy is a popular chain of ice cream vans in Australia. Once upon a time, they all played a tinkly, music-box version of Greensleeves. And routinely amazed parents with their progeny's capability for over-the-horizon detection of said vans.

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Challenge #201: The Delicate Process of Acquiring Snuggle-Buddies

The first time K'iiv did the Noise.

"I... have not acquired a snuggle-buddy."

"Want one?"

K'iiv's tail flared. "Are... you... volunteering?"

"Are you amenable?"

Now his tail war twitching in a manner dazzle and enrapture female members of his own species. What the human thought of it was beyond him. "Oh very. So much. Yes. I— I—" SKREE-AH!

"AAAAH!" Del ducked in a defensive posture. "Sorry. Sorry. Instinctive reaction."

"That... happens to humans a lot. That... vocal display is a... release of tension."

"Sir, you have a phenomenally loud way of stimming."

"My name is K'iiv."

"Del," the human offered her hand.

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Challenge #202: Mass Destruction

Code 19: There is a small child loose in the area.

"LOCKDOWN! LOCKDOWN!" Rodriguez checked all the small storage bays before she locked them. Kept her eyes and ears open for any trace.

No sticky residue. No smeared prints. No suspicious puddles of liquid. No sign that the progeny had been here. And that was the dangerous part.

"I thought human infants were helpless," said Chor'i'za.

"Human infants, yes. But once they learn how to move, they get into places other mere mortals can't reach."

Chor'i'za startled. "I should re-check the storage areas I just locked," she said.

"Good call."

"Q'bl'nof j'x'k'l."

Rodriguez looked down. "Call off the alarm. I found the kid." She dropped into a kneel. "Hello there. Did your Daddy get lost?"

"Blar yabble gub nuff."

"I see," Rodriguez crooned, subtly checking the kid for damage. Ze was chewing on something. "Is that tasty?"

"Pleh."

"Oh, that's not good..."

"You can understand that?" boggled Chor'i'za.

"Not a word," Rodriguez singsonged. She went through her pockets and found a small lollipop. "The kid's pre-verbal. Ze's talking in 'Scribble'. It's sounds that are almost language. Hey, darling... I bet you'd like to swap that nasty old thing for one of these." She flourished the lollipop.

"HUAAAAAH!" The one hand not holding the something ze was chewing on went straight out in a universal 'gimmie gimmie' motion.

"Ah-ah-ah. Ta...?" Rodriguez pointed to the mystery object and held out her hand.

The trade was made. "Ta!"

Rodriguez handed the small cerametal part in all its goopy glory to Chor'i'za "Clean that and find out where the kid got it from. I'll return this little trouble-maker to Daddy."

"Blx," said the kid.

It was only later that they would find out that a very small child had managed to carefully unscrew the one bolt that could lead to a catastrophic engine failure. Admin was still working on a completely childproof door. Difficult when human children could figure out how to circumvent such measures before they could talk.

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Challenge #203: You Swallowed What?

As one of the tech review magazines said a few years ago when the first 32 GB micro SD cards came out, "At last it is possible for a single human being to accidentally swallow all of the data collected by the Apollo Program."

"This is it?" Shayde held aloft a crystal with a metal disk on one end. "All'o the survivin' media from the twentieth century?"

"And some derivative works, yes," said Rael. "That's hyper-compressed crystal memory storage. It would take you years to read and view all of it."

"And this bit's the interface port?" An ebon talon tapped the metal disk.

"Ah... no. That's the Palmecki Preventer."

"Ye woh?"

"Ensign Palmecki gained galactic infamy when, in order to protect what he believed to be sensitive information, he swallowed a data-crystal containing five hundred quadrillobytes of collected fan fiction and choked to death."

"Ah. Right. Bit of a nong, was 'e?"

Once again, Shayde's vocabulary confused and disoriented. "...probably," Rael allowed.

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Challenge #204: Imp-ossible Lover

Sorry, it's just too cute

 http://ofools.tumblr.com/post/88653271705/a-mass-photoset-for-all-your-giant-demon-bf-and

Sometimes, G'xyf'l did not know what was wrong with him. Maybe he'd been on Earth too long. Maybe seeing what humans could do in comparison to demonic lack of imagination had jaded him to the usual temptations.

Either way, he found himself looking off a bridge at the rocky canyon below and not thinking of anything very much, at all.

Then She walked into his life and said, "Long way down."

"Yeah." Not that it would do anything but temporarily inconvenience him. She didn't know that. He had his glamour on and looked like a slightly huge businessman with salt-and-pepper hair and matching beard.

"Take a header into that lot, it's certain death," she said conversationally. Also propping herself up on the railing. She had a rubenesque figure that was sadly out of fashion according to the modern standards.

G'xyf'l could just kick some other demons for encouraging the invention of fashion and body standards.

"Yup," he agreed.

"I wonder if it's true," she said.

"What?"

"That jumpers figure out the solution to all their problems on the way down." A sigh that spoke of a life of sorrow. "Well. Let's find out." And she leaped over the railing.

From a standing start.

There was no time. He broke the rules in more than a hundred ways and summoned a Miracle. It was a camouflaged net under the bridge to catch jumpers like herself.

"GOD DAMNIT!"

Oh. Great. She was alive.

"Are you okay?" He clambered over the railing to join her in the netting. "You just went right over and—"

"You're red. You've got a TAIL."

"Yeah, there's a little bit of Huldre on my mothers side and—" his brain finally caught up. "CRAP! I let my glamour fade. Look, it's okay. Demons are just angels that said 'screw the rules' right? Does it really matter who does the miracle? And.... well... free will and temptation and... I didn't want you to die."

She had apparently calmed down. "You must be shitty at your job."

"No kidding. I'm about to be demoted to Imp."

"A seven-foot-tall imp?"

"Yeah. If this little stunt doesn't get me exiled."

"Demons get kicked out of Hell?"

"Where do you think Rush Limbaugh came from?"

She laughed. A real, genuine belly-laugh that bought light to the world. Oh yeah. He was in trouble. And in love. Which was worse for a demon, in the eyes of the upper-class. "Thanks," she said, crawling closer across the netting. "That's the first real laugh I've had in five years."

And she kissed him.

To Hell with Hell, he thought. I like it right here.

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Challenge #205: Hug-a-bunch

Thomas's very first run in with The Spine's  sleepy stranglehold

Somewhere in San Diego, there is a mansion with no doors. Well. Technically, it has two, but they're in nonstandard locations. Theoretically, there is absolutely nothing to stop friend or foe from just wandering in and doing what they pleased.

That is, until you know what Walter Manor contains.

Thomas, a sleek silver robot made in the 1990's, had no idea what he was getting into when he wandered inside the gothic edifice to surprise the silver robot made in the 1890's. Better known to all as The Spine.

Almost immediately, he found a conga party containing, amongst other outlandish impossibilities, a monster, a small metal giraffe, and some... thing... with black-and-white markings and impossible eyelashes.

Rabbit was in the lead.

"Hey hey it's c-c-c-c-captain sparkle pants!"

"Er," said the French robot. "Où est la Spine?"

"He just had a tune-up," Rabbit sang, dancing to the rhythm. "He's nap-pin' in the li-b'ry."

"Merci," Thomas moved away from the impromptu party, but not before someone - or something - added a sombrero to his polished head.

It was telling that he was getting used to these levels of nonsense.

The library, like everything else in Walter Manor, was immense. A time and space-bending labyrinth of shelves, reading nooks and... yes!

One slumbering The Spine draped quasi-artistically across a chaise lounge.

Sparkling and looking good as new.

Thomas nudged him. "Mon antique..." he cooed. "Surpristé..."

The Spine mumbled something unintelligible, but did not rise from his stupor.

Evidently, the Walter technicians had rearranged his workings and, metaphorically speaking, taken a lot out of him. Thomas moved some lanky kegs out of his way and sat beside him.

Then he made the mistake of draping The sleeping Spine's arm across his shoulders.

"Mnnnnff..." The Spine complained and dragged Thomas wholesale into a tight and slightly uncomfortable embrace.

An also unbreakable embrace.

An inescapable embrace.

"Dieu..." Thomas muttered. The sombrero fell to the floor. He supposed it was only a matter of time before someone checked in on them.

Any minute, now. Someone would come in and press a few buttons.

Any minute.... now.

*

Hours had passed. The only thing that had happened so far was The Spine shifting himself about to get more comfortable. But not to make Thomas more comfortable.

Thomas drummed his fingers against The Spine's encompassing and immobile arm. "Anybody?" he tried once more. "M'aidez?"

"Sweet! Free sombrero!"

It was the little yarn doppelgänger of Steve Negrete, part-time Dragon.

"Aide, peu Steve, je suis pris au piège!"

"Sorry, dude. No parlay Frenchie." The yarn doll got himself under the sombrero and scurried away with it.

Thomas sighed and went back to drumming his fingers.

Worst. Date. Ever.

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Challenge #206: At the Other End of a Tunnel Through Snornia

(( You did say to stop the promptspam when you hit like 70, I think the plan was to try and keep things at a steady level of around 20 instead of spamming all at once and then waiting for things to drop off ))

Prompt: Hatchworth and Fluttershy in Equestria

[AN: The amount of prompts is an ongoing problem. Too many and my readers get bored waiting for any of theirs to turn up. Too few and I start fretting about having enough prompts. ANY clue for a nice stable number would be nice.]

Hatchworth had initially been in Kazooland to visit Upgrade in Snornia. Only to find that the pink dragon-robot-princess was hibernating in order to accelerate her transformation.

He'd left her some more plastic costume jewellery [pink, of course] and went exploring.

And promptly got lost.

*

Fluttershy turned back to reassure Spike, having marvelled at seeing Peewee the baby Phoenix take wing and rejoin his family.

Her comforting words died in her throat when she realised that there was a third... individual... in the clearing.

It stood tall, on two legs like Discord. And it seemed to be made almost entirely out of bronze. It steamed. And ticked.

And smiled.

"Oh..." it murmured. "That was beau-ti-ful."

Spike said, "What the heck are you?"

It raised a red-and-black gloved hand to tip its entire head to them. "My name's Hatch-worth. I am one of Colo-nel Wal-ter's Steam Po-wered Au-ton-o-mous Au-tom-a-tons." He leaned down to murmur, "I'm in the band, now."

"Oh my goodness," said Fluttershy.

He grinned at her. "Hel-lo, ma'am," another tip of his head. "May I ex-plore here? This land looks like so much fun."

*

It was later. Mayhem had evidently ensued in the form of sandwiches over every level surface. And spiders.

There was a sobbing bronze automaton in the middle of it.

"There, there," cooed Fluttershy. "It's all right..."

"...i only wanted to help..." bawled Hatchworth.

Twilight Sparkle vented a noise somewhere between a sigh and a howl to the heavens that life was unfair. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," she said. "It's just that lots of ponies don't like spiders like you do. And maybe every pony would be happier - including the spiders - if all the spiders went... somewhere... else?"

Only Discord thought this was hilarious. They were all still working on his sense of humour.

A steam-filled sigh. "Nobody liked spiders like I do," he pouted. Then pulled a mandolin and started playing a catchy little tune.

It was like watching Pinkie Pie round up all the Parasprites. The spiders just... danced their way back into the machine's hatch.

And when he was done singing the Tickly Spider Dance... he put away the mandolin and firmly closed his hatch. "My sand-wich-es are still de-lic-ious."

"...celestia help me..." Twilight groaned.

"Of course they are!" Pinkie Pie bounced into the scene. "I've got everything I need to hold the biggest, bestest sandwich party for the whole town!"

"Yaaaaay!" Hatchworth cheered.

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Challenge #207: Visiting an Ailing Friend

Hatchworth and Fluttershy in the world of SPG

[AN: I almost tossed this and then I realised it was a different prompt]

Hatchworth was certainly an interesting friend. He spoke of interesting things, of humans and dragons and an assortment of interesting beings in a place called Kazooland.

Rather like Equestria, it was part of something bigger, and also made up of smaller realms. And, like Equestria, it thrived on magic.

Fluttershy watched as Hatchworth hammered a road sign into the earth on the other side of the tunnel. He's left another like it on the Equestria side, pointing helpfully to 'Snornia'. This one pointed helpfully to 'Equestria'.

"Oh! There's Up-grade's cave." He added an arrow to the sign post and gestured for Fluttershy to follow. "You'd like Up-grade. She loves po-nies."

"F-f-ff-for breakfast?" Fluttershy squeaked.

"Non-sense," chuckled Hatchworth. "Ro-bots don't eat."

It was a scary realm, which Hatchworth sung about in a cheerful way. And though the song contained vampires and zombies, it was oddly comforting.

The hoard looked fake. It glittered and gleamed like it had too much to prove. And, clutching on to it and moaning softly, was a huge... thing... halfway between human-shaped and dragon-shaped. She still wore the remains of what had once been a neat black dress, though she was three times the size of Hatchworth.

Perched near her shoulders was a rough-looking human. No. Not human. He was covered in reddish-bronze scales and had a rainbow of serpents for hair. He was vigorously scratching the dragon's back.

"That feels better, dunnit?"

The pink metal dragon-thing moaned again. "A little," she allowed. "All my spinal linkages ache."

"Side effect of growing a new spine," said the humanish one. "Ey! Hatchy! We heard you were lost..." He patted the pink dragon and slid down both metal flank and fake hoard. And somehow, on the way down, he became more human. Almost. There was still something... dragon-y about him. He knelt and showed Fluttershy his empty hands.

"Hi there, li'l darlin'. Did you help Hatchy get back?"

"...i understood his name was hatchworth..." Fluttershy murmured.

"Aw, she's adorable," cooed the transforming human. "It's okay. I don't bite. And you're right. His name is Hatchworth. Hatchy for short.

A new figure appeared, all black and white and a tiny hint of blue. She, too, was larger than life. And came over as strict and severe. She tapped her foot, looked at an invisible watch, and then threw an invisible lasso at Steve and promptly and literally dragged him away.

"Aw c'mon, Bunny... all work and no play..." complained Steve.

"Mime magic," said Hatchworth. "Mimes are among the ma-ny pseudo-hu-man spe-cies in Ka-zoo-land."

Fluttershy used Hatchworth as a mobile shield so she could peek in on a weredragon and a mime work at an invisible lab bench to come up with concoctions for a robot who was changing into a full-time dragon.

"You have a very confusing reality," Fluttershy finally announced once she was done understanding it all.

"It is," said Hatchworth. "And it's home."

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Challenge #208: Big, Blue and Mostly Harmless

Challenge prompt: Try a MLP / Monster in Paris crossover WITHOUT Fluttershy being the one that shows everyone he's really a very sweet giant flea.

Cornered. Trapped. Pinned. And no doubt about to be eaten by the Beast from the portal, Rarity hunkered in place and shrieked.

One of its four arms reached inevitably towards her...

...and began carefully combing her mane.

"Jolie petit poney," cooed a voice that could easily have come from Heaven itself. "Vous êtes perdu? Je suis perdu." And then he sang.

There was no other accompaniment but the wind in the trees and the noises of the forest, but his song seemed to summon them just when they were needed.

He wasn't monstrous at all. Even though his clothes were an absolute wreck.

And he was an amazing stylist, putting her mane and tail up in a very intricate set of braids that screamed sophistication whilst also being ready for everything the Everfree Forest could throw at her.

"My goodness. Where did you learn to do all that?"

"Paris," said the giant flea.

He wasn't much for words, evidently. At least, not the spoken word. Nevertheless, he deserved better than hunkering in a mouldy old forest.

"I know a place where I can whip up a new suit for you. It's the very least you deserve, after all you've been through."

Her five friends found her in her salon, trying hats on the monster as he accompanied himself on one of Pinkie's random guitars [Stowed away in case of a guitar emergency, of course].

"His name is Francoeur," said Rarity. "And as you can see, he's completely harmless."

Francoeur warbled a greeting that was half purr and half chirp. "Jolis poneys..."

"Yes, darling. They're my friends."

Twilight sighed. "I suppose we can get him back home, later..." she allowed.

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Challenge #209: Don't Speak

Challenge: No dialogue. Any 'verse

What struck her at first was the alienness of the world. Even before she had to ponder how she got here or what 'normal' was supposed to be.

Everything had right-angles to it. The things that were not cubes of... stuff... were flat, two dimensional objects, things that looked like paper props from a tinkertoy town, or moving creatures also seemingly made of cubes.

But it was real. She was there. And she wanted to live.

First things needed for survival. Water. Food. Shelter. Sanity. In that order. The last of those was already dodgy, if her perception of the landscape was any indication.

The water by the beach seemed to be fresh. At least... it didn't taste of salt. It didn't even taste of water. She could build a bivouac out of branches... if the branches didn't vanish in a shower of green particles when she tried to grab them.

The trees did not fall, but parts of their trunks became -of course!- cubes of tree trunk when she punched them into oblivion. She woodpecked a handful of trees into oblivion and found by chance that she could turn trunks into planks, and planks into sticks.

Planks arranged in a simple two-by-two square made a workbench, which gave her a three-by-three space to arrange things. Sticks and planks together made all sorts of things.

Wood was useful. Essential in this strange world.

Very strange world. Oak trees dropped apples. Grass dropped wheat seed and, after a few false tries, she had a house and a farm.

She could have spent a lifetime without encountering the Silent Things. They were tall, and green, and in form and function, they were giant dicks. They seemingly existed to sneak up on her and blow things up.

A wide moat and death-trap combo did for them. And they seemed to vanish after midday. Off to whatever dark pit they preferred when they weren't being pains in the butt.

There were many hazards to this strange world. And many things to do.

At night, she would watch the monsters gather and perish in her trap. All but the tall and dark ones, who could teleport away from water.

She learned not to look directly at them.

To keep herself sane... or what passed for sane... she turned her hand to creating things out of the landscape. Carving a castle out of a mountain. Creating a wondrously beautiful garden. Building a railway to her varied resources.

It wasn't so bad. Once you got used to handling the enormous dicks.

Pretty much like the life before...

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Challenge #210: One Dark Stretch of Time in an Unknown Pocket Dimension

X! It is dark. You are likely to be eaten by a gr...OH COME ON NOT THIS CRAP AGAIN!

"What do you mean, you can't shadow-jump us out of here?" demanded Rael.

"One: Ye wouldnae like it even if I could. Two: it's no just dark, it's fook-off dark. I need an actual shadow. An' three:" a click and a glamour-light that only cast imaginary photons to illuminate a young woman with blood-red hair that fell into ringlets. "I'm no' a shadow elemental when it's fook-off dark."

Something in the dark was whiffling about. Snuffling. Snorting. Scratching and padding about in the dark.

"What the heck is that?"

"Knowin' my luck?" suggested Shayde. "Probably a Grue."

"Are. You. Joking."

"Star Trek, he doesnae get. Star Wars, he's never heard of. Monty Python, completely missed it. Doctor Who? Exac'ly... but tell 'im there might be a Grue inna dark..."

"All right, all right," Rael grumbled. "Tell me there's a way to defeat it?"

"Start breakin' boxes and pray there's a merch around in here? Or have a torch?"

"Please. I have six different light sources, depending on area of illumination and strength."

"It's a Grue. We're goin' tae need as much light in as much area as ye go'."

"Really? An actual Grue? I've never seen one."

"Trust me, ye don' wanna."

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Challenge #211: Imaginary Union 1475

Monthly union meeting of trolls, ogres, and TUTBs (Things Under the Bed).

"All right, all right. Let's keep this in order so we can all be back in our haunts before sunset."

Grumble grumble mumble.

"If you don't wanna be here, you can always skip on your fees," threatened their president, Gruuh.

"Point of order," said Oogle.

Sigh. "Yes?"

"Fees are hard to obtain. Kids are scared of less... traditional monsters. That newcomer Slendy is taking all the fear ichor."

"We're discussing the sliding scale at the AGM, Oogle. You still have the market cornered on the under fives."

"What about trolls? Trolls are cute, now..."

"I'm well aware," Gruuh rolled his eyes. "And Ogres are lovable. We only have the power humans give us. Perhaps the muses can help inspire something?"

"Are. You. Kidding. It's all deconstruction. Making the heroes villains and vice versa. It's mayhem out there. Mayhem!"

"I just want my fair share," complained Oogle.

"Then maybe you can work on a solution for a change?"

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Challenge #212: Confusing Hilarity

Someone being chased by a goose while others laugh too hard to help.

The humans saw her coming in to the launch pole.

"Up! Up! Up!" They called, using their fleshy hands to gesture the same thought. "Danger! Up!"

She scrambled for the little platform before she dared look down. There, in one of the grazing paddocks, one of the humans' domesticated avians was chasing a young human keet. Kid.

It was a large bird. Semi-aquatic, judging by the feet. And extremely hostile.

It had teeth on its tongue.

Siriki ran herself through her breathing exercises as she watched the interplay, below.

The humans were laughing, and did little to intervene. From what there was of the conversation, the kid had been advised not to go near the 'tetchy goosss'. And now the juvenile was learning 'the hard way'.

One human, safely perched atop their ungulate stable, had a musical instrument. The tune ze played bought another chorus of laughter from the observing humans.

It must have had historical significance, since it was music that came about during chase scenes in their local performances.

One day, they may enlighten her to the meaning of 'Yackety Sax'.

The human juvenile, once adequately repentant, got rescued without any harm done. And much joking from the observers.

If she needed any further proof that these were deathworlders... this event would have been it.

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Challenge #213: Explaining a Lot

Was trying to figure a way to rephrase this, but I reckon it's probably best to send it to you in its original form: "(s)he/ze had a troubled childhood" == "They had a troubled evolution..." (a lot of the questions were me) — recklessprudence

"...and this is Ambassador Shayde. Her species had a difficult evolution."

The assembled welcome committee aahed and nodded.

"Must ye do tha' every time we go somewhere?" Shayde murmured.

"You don't look very human, so the answer is 'yes'," said Rael. "Not very many non-human species are insane, so..."

"Humans are no' insane," Shayde denied. "'S nobody else understandin' what makes sense tae us."

"Explain figure skating to me? How about base jumping? Or parkour... How about - why pole dancing continued to have a stigma against it for two hundred years? Why did your kind create an entire field of anti-science."

"Awrigh' awrigh'... Ye got a point with the Creationists. But every planets' got it's nutbars, aye?"

"Not as many as Earth," sighed Rael. "Your planet has enough nutbars to stock a health store."

Shayde laughed at that. "Aye. An' enough fruitcakes tae feed Christmas. Fine. But do me a favour an' point out the other nutbars. I like tae collect."

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Challenge #214: Like a House on Fire

Shayde and Ambassador O'Ranges

or

Julie, Nanny and Ambassador O'Ranges

[AN: You didn't say 'xor' :D ]

Julie was still moaning. A constant monotone that, Shayde could tell, was starting to get on everyone's pecs. She was huddled in Nanny's lap. Nanny couldn't do much for her but be a living teddy-bear and mutter "Good girl, good girl," at random intervals.

"Puir babby..." Shayde muttered. "Puir wee pet..."

"Don't do anything... too innovative?" Rael begged. He'd seen 'innovative' just recently when she'd shadow-jumped a villain into a gibbering mess.

"No need," she said. "We go' what we need right here."

And with that, she zoomed off to the other Dog in the gallery. Ambassador O'Ranges and his handler-assistant Aelki. Rael, caught off-guard, did not arrive to hear any of the fast and hushed discussion... but it resulted in Ambassador O'Ranges, or his alter-ego HitcherWolf, padding over to both artist and Augmented dog and asking, "D'you need hugs?"

Julie immediately became distracted by O'Ranges' shaggy, fluffy fur.

O'Ranges sat on the floor so he could envelop both Julie and Nanny in an enormous hug. There was a perilous handful of seconds when they both almost vanished in the fuzz, but they re-emerged with smiles on their faces.

"Good dog," said Nanny. "Good boy. You smell tasty."

"Yeah," O'Ranges agreed, tail wagging. "Barbecue cologne. Not for eats. For good smell."

Aelki, who knew O'Ranges the best, murmured, "Do you have a pry bar in that coat of yours?" to Rael.

"Aw leave 'em fer a wee bit..." chided Shayde. "They need th' warm fuzzies."

There certainly hadn't been a happier interaction between artist and audience in Rael's recollection.

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Challenge #215: Deathworlders

Humans meet a species from a different deathworld.

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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Challenge #216: Douglas Adams

Aliens discover The Hitchhiker's Guide.

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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Challenge #217: 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!)

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 wrong 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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Challenge #218: 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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Challenge #219: 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 #220: One Life in Song

Doe, a deer, a female deer

Ray, a drop of golden sun — callmegallifreya

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 noticed.

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 #221: 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 #222: One Peaceful Morning in a Grave Grove

Sad II Prompt: "I stopped missing you"

Casual visitors would never know this was a graveyard, since it looked like an orchard. Children of tourists played between the trees. Permanent and near-permanent residents lit incense for the burners in the shrine at the gate before they went foraging for fresh fruit.

Neither of them came here, where the new plants were.

Here, the markers were synthstone posts, not the plaques that the full-grown trees would take into their bark. Here, young trees were tended carefully by the people who missed the people who were becoming part of the station for the rest of the foreseeable eternity.

Etta carefully watered the Olive seedling bearing the marker for an old man she'd never met. Making sure she avoided the incense left smouldering by either Lyr Marken or Rael.

Then she went on to scatter slow-release fertiliser pellets by the climbing fig and the little synthstone marker that read: Boy. Loyal to his Master. Beloved by his Boss. Good dog.

She lit her incense, set it in place, and knelt.

"I stopped missing you," she confessed. "Just today I noticed it. I've stopped looking for you under the table. I've stopped reaching out to scratch your head when I'm watching the entertainments. And I've stopped looking for you when I'm on my rounds in the entrance queues on patrol." Sigh. "I'm finally used to you not being there. And when I realised it... I cried all over again."

It would be twenty years or more before his Master's olive tree would be strong enough to allow the fig to climb it. That was why Etta had picked a slow growing variety.

"I'm not over you, yet. I don't think I ever will be. You've left a Boy-shaped hole in the cosmos and my life is a little darker because of it. And I know you'd never want me to be sad... or alone. I'm just not ready for another dog in my life. Not yet."

The giggling of children playing carried over the wind chimes and a ceremonial gong. Etta allowed the peace off it to fill her. Let the incense calm her inner turmoil.

"You always will be my Good Boy," she said, patting the earth before she rose. It was nearly time for her duties.

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Challenge #223: 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 #224: Beware the Creatures of the Night...They Have Lawyers!

Lawsuits filed by supernatural beings. Bonus points for mentioning Wolff and Byrd!

"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 #225: 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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Challenge #226: Unreliable Witness

"The reactor explodes from something the monkey does."

Lyr surveyed the damage. "Sir, this is not the fall-out from a reactor." Indeed, if a reactor had gone off, they would be mopping up the damage and the dead in hazmat suits. But there were no dead. And minimal damage.

The smaller saurian nodded as if in understanding and repeated hir statement. "The reactor explodes from something the monkey does."

"Fer the fifth time, I only flipped the fookain switch," objected the 'monkey', officially-human creature of magic and mordant self-entertainment. "Correlation isnae causation."

"The reactor explodes from something the monkey does," insisted the saurian.

Lyr glared at Shayde. "You didn't do anything..." meaningful wiggly fingers, "extra... did you?"

"It's a science fair. I wasnae s'posed tae touch, but— c'mon. A bakin' soda volcano? How's a gel tae resist?"

"She did insist on pulling the lever," testified Rael, "but I detected none of the usual symptoms of her -ah- extra abilities."

"Mith," insisted the small Mustaelid. "Mith, it'th my fault, mith. It'th not the ambathador..."

"The reactor explodes from something the monkey does," this time, the saurian pointed vigorously at Shayde.

"Let's hear everyone," said Lyr. "Yes..." she checked the name tag. "Kerrit?"

"It wath me. I didn't uthe baking thoda for my volcano..."

"Ah...?" Lyr cooed encouragingly. "What did you use?"

"Well... Um. In the cauldera, I had a mixture of water, yeast an' dish thoap? And the thtuff that got added with the thwitch? It wath hydrogen peroxide..."

Shayde roared laughing. "Aw ye wee ripper! Ye overclocked a bakin' soda volcano wi' elephant toothpaste!"

"Okay," muttered Lyr. "That explains that weird dream..."

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Challenge #227: Bad Advice

When an evil god laughs. run.

When a good god laughs run quickly.

Once again, Shayde had stopped at a registered Graffito Intersection to read the collected wit and wisdom from the kinds of people who wrote on walls.

"Na that's just bad advice."

Rael sighed and played straight man. "What would that be?"

"When an evil god laughs, run. When a good god laughs, run quickly."

"Oh... kay...?"

"Aye, it doesnae do any good. Running from an evil god just pisses 'em off. Runnin' from a good god's even worse."

Rael didn't know which bothered him more. The fact that she had personal experience or that she was divulging this information to a sworn atheist. "How in the name of the Powers could a good god be worse?"

"They condescend at ye... Like, 'aw that's cute of ya' or 'puir wee thing' an' the worst of the worst is 'be not afraid'. As if ye didnae just have a good reason. Na. Best thing tae do against gods is nod, smile, and bugger off as quick as ye can get awa' wi' it later."

"I'll keep that in mind," he allowed. "In the meantime, you have to keep a schedule."

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Challenge #228: History Lesson

For decades Earth's biosphere, at least insofar as supporting human civilisation, basically rested on everyone being very rational and _not_ pushing the shiny, candy-like button and firing _all the nukes_. How we got in that situation is textbook humanity, but being in that situation, pushing ourselves as far and as hard as we did, with all the diplomatic and military provocations - but _not_ managing to go that step too far? That's not how humanity behaves... It was basically two of the largest power blocs in human history playing 'chicken', with the future of the entire human race held hostage.

Tyrtyr took rapid notes. It had taken her all of five seconds to work out the tablet and two hours to figure out the human alphabet. There was even an add-on built just for her so that she could take notes in Ulu.

But now, months into her full recovery, she took notes in Human English so she could practice.

There was more than one way to fly.

The political situation that gave rise to the Cold War... boggled Numidid minds. She considered it part of her work to study these humans and translate their convoluted and conflict-ridden history into Numidid understanding.

Two vastly conflicting theologies. Presented equally in the classroom. Neither side presented as 'wrong' or 'right'. Each presented with their fatal flaws. For capitalism, the desire for profit ultimately causing the ruin for the workers. For communism, leaders not wishing to surrender their power and truly share the wealth, paired with administrivia slowing the sharing down until the goods were rendered worthless.

Two extremes fighting for what they believed was right. Both in charge of weapons that could have melted their world.

Both playing games of espionage, sabotage, and puppet governments that later caused more strife when one side inevitably collapsed.

Tyrtyr wrote, Humans are so used to conflict that they used to unconsciously sow the seeds of more conflict in other nations. Used to. Not here. Here, they were striving to make a better world with less conflict. Here, they went to illogical extremes to ensure that all children were treated equally. That all hues of hide were valued. That they were inclusive, not exclusionary.

Even to the point of allowing another cogniscent life form in their classrooms.

She raised her hand.

"Yes, Tyrtyr?"

"Query... How is it that neither nation opened fire?"

"Ah yes. Well... they both had charge of a weapon so terrifying that neither would risk retaliation with the same weapon. They were called nuclear bombs because they utilised explosive nuclear fission. Numerous tests conducted at the time demonstrated the power they had. Thus, they were scared to shoot, and also scared to blink."

"Could they have not come to a co-operative arrangement?"

Sigh. "They could have, but they didn't." The human teacher clapped his hands. "Which leads us to our thought experiment. What could have changed to make the Cold War end earlier? Come back with your thoughts tomorrow."

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Challenge #229: Peggy deCulco

"The [name] family motto might as well be, Anything worth achieving is worth overachieving".

She could see the immigration clerk's eyes widen at the name on the galactic passport.

"You're a deCulco?"

"I've spent my life being the black sheep of the family," she smiled. "You can relax."

Not that there was much trouble to be expected at a station called Podunk. She wanted to disappear. Become someone else. Be anything else than a hero from a long line of heroes.

And it was looking like a great idea. Until the Hol'vath showed up.

They were deathworlders with their minds bent on unthinking conquest. Loot and pillage, but, thanks to their being descended from some kind of newt, raping was out of the question.

They caught Peggy while she was shopping for bathing supplies. She'd lashed out with the only weapon she had.

A bottle of Easy-Squeezy soap.

Which turned out to be deadly poison to newts.

She then filled her trolley with boxes of squeeze-bottle soap and threw them to any survivors capable of using them,

Peggy'd never wanted to be a deCulco. She'd wanted to be obscure. To labor along with the common throng.

And then she became the Saviour of Podunk Station. With a bottle of soap.

Catapulted into the spotlight, she had only one thing to say, "The deCulco family motto might as well be, 'Anything worth achieving is worth overachieving'."

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Challenge #230: A Mother's Curse, used elsewhere

Someday, [name], I hope you live to have a dozen subordinates just like you.

T'reka didn't understand the curse. Not in her youth, when she'd innocently said, "Oh that would be delightful." And not now, when she had achieved half a dozen subordinates, one of them human.

Her five Numidid scientists, including one student-underling - Tyrtyr, sought only to perform their tasks as carefully and precisely as possible. Even the human, Wila, endeavoured to keep up with the flock.

Human ingenuity and apparently recreational insanity had invented the Flight Suit. A set of artificial wings that allowed a human to glide once they had sufficient initial velocity. The model Wila wore included an additional set of detachable wings so that she could keep pace with her Numidid flock.

Wila, among the first humans to be born on this planet, didn't know a life before alien contact. Ze spoke Ulu fluently and adapted the Numidid mannerisms to hir lanky, upright frame. Ze even figured out how to sit on Numidid perches where other humans knelt on the floor.

T'reka did her rounds. "Progress?" it was the only question she ever needed.

"I've found the gene-link," sang Wila, indicating a dancing simulation on hir monitor. "These ribosomes can work in parallel and splice the genomes of Terran biota samples and Hu'lu'a biota samples. Theoretically, it may even be possible to gengineer a Numidid-Human hybrid."

"Let's not make any new species before we classify the ones we already have, all right?" suggested T'reka.

"Yeah, right. Hands already full," Wila laughed and got on with hir work.

Tyrtyr, on the next desk, held up a presentation frame. "This is the third one," she announced. "Seventeen subspecies of arboreal moth, labeled and arranged artistically as a gift to retired Mayor T'terik a' Srii."

"Your grand-uncle will love it," T'reka examined the display appreciatively. "And they're cross-coded with their archive reference. Well done."

Tyrtyr almost glowed with pride.

Lilip had a supplicant's posture and a presentation display... and an eager gleam in her eye. "I have finalised a plan to investigate the chasm at co-ordinates fifteen, seventy-one, gleep-thirty." She set up the display and activated it, "With a team of volunteer humans and their s'pee-loonk-aing equipment, we should be able to fully investigate the caves, collect samples, and map the entirety of the cave system. Including the use of aerial and aquatic probes, of course."

"I assume you have a team of humans already in mind."

"Er. Well. They're already going. May I escort them?"

"No flying blind."

"Yes, Honoured-Teacher."

T'reka still couldn't understand the curse. Maybe it had something to do with her leadership style.

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Challenge #231: One Miserable Afternoon in an Observation Lounge

An attempt at discussing the weather:

"My, the vacuum is hard out today..."

There is something about human nature that compels them to look up at the stars. And, once in space, staring out a window at them will suffice. Shayde had managed to perform both, thanks to a pillow pit in this particular lounge.

The faintly luminous cushions gave enough light to find her by. Lounges like this were deliberately dim so that observers could see the stars as well as the ships that made Amalgam Station vital.

She seemed to be at rest, but there was some subtle tension radiating out of her.

It took him a few minutes to realise that this particular observation lounge was the one closest to the Sol system.

There was also something about human nature that made them look back to the place they came from.

He couldn't ask if she was homesick. She had to be homesick. Starting a conversation on the obvious was... inane.

"Vacuum's hard out innit?" she said.

He almost jumped out of his clothing. "You... know I'm here."

"Aye, and I ken ye want tae talk. Or ye think I need tae talk."

He sat primly on the edge of the pillow pit. "Psychologists say that talking helps."

"I cannae get back to where I was. I'm forced tae move on. What's tae talk about?"

Rael thought about this. "The legitimacy of your emotions. Where you are in the healing process. Whether or not it would do you any good to see what's happened to the places you used to know..."

"Eh. D'ruther not. I'll just sit and stare and cry in the dark."

"Then I'll sit in the dark and pass tissues."

They watched a cargo vessel sail past, escorted by tug drones. Blinking to the night together.

"Thanks," she said at length.

Someone on micro-debris patrol went past in their life suit, straddling a small vehicle and trailing a net.

"You're welcome," murmured Rael. He passed a tissue.

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Challenge #232: Detective Work

"We have advanced to new and surprising levels of bafflement."

The body in the vents was hundreds of years old. Dating back to some of the last territorial wars that occurred in or near Cuidgari space. Tracking down the insignia remaining on the body required nosing around in the Archivaas networks.

Something which Lyr had drafted Rael for on Hours Plus. In this case, Hours, plus food and lodging. The food part was going to set her back a great deal, he knew, because his metabolism was permanently set on 'searing hot'.

Rael had stopped when he'd run out of sources and kibble simultaneously, and pinged Officer Marken to meet him at Unsuitable Food Eat for some paid taste-testing.

"Progress?" asked Lyr.

"I have reached new and surprising levels of bafflement."

"Well, crap," she slumped in her seat. "I still owe you for your time. How much is this going to set me back?"

"This is a pre-menu item. I'm being paid to eat," he smiled. "Something of a holiday job for me. Win-win, on this case."

"Yeah. I saw your average food bill. Sherlock's going to get sarcastic."

Rael slid across the tablet with his findings. "The insignia had three possible factions depending on their placement on the uniform. All of them Cuidgari rebels against the forced overtaking of Amalgam Station by... B'dauss military."

"Wow. Ancient history."

"Yes. There's little extant sources from that time. The Archivaas have done what they can, but..."

"Damn." Lyr shook her head. "I know this is going to turn up again. Did the forensics department give you anything?"

"Acid. Hydrochloric acid. Highly concentrated. But there's no evidence of how it impacted the poor fellow's thorax from above."

"Not any more. This station and its sundry parts have been re-tooled so often that it's surprising there's anything to use as evidence." Her gaze went unfocussed and her body straightened in her seat. Something else spoke with her mouth. "When a shadow walks, we'll know."

"Pardon?"

Lyr shook herself. "What?"

"You just said something very strange."

"Well write it down. I don't prophesy often. It's probably something important. Oh, and send me a copy for the records. The religious quadrant is checking my hit-to-miss ratio."

Rael made a dismissive noise and rolled his eyes, indicating his general opinion of the religious quadrant. But he did make note of Lyr's strange words.

How in the realm of possibility could a shadow walk?

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Challenge #233: Aftermath

Thank God you're safe and I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands.

Rael picked up a forkful of double-chocolate beignets with fruit preserve stuffing a la mode, looked at it critically, and put it back down again.

"Playing with your food?" boggled Nik the Gyiik. "For you, this is a dangerous sign. Is all well?"

He made himself eat because he knew his body needed sustenance. For Gyiik cooking, this was almost sacrilege. "You remember Shayde," he said.

"The pain in the anatomy clothed in an enigma, wrapped in a mystery and talked nothing but riddles? Yes. I liked her. I have a recipe for all sorts of lost Terran delights, thanks to her exquisite memory."

"She's gone."

"What? She was relatively young... or was it young by relativity?"

"No, she's not dead. The alleged gods that dropped her on me took her back."

"What did they look like, these gods?" asked Nik. "I didn't see it, but there are conflicting accounts and the securicams picked up nothing."

"To me? They looked like really cheap special effects. Tacky, even. And I couldn't do anything to stop them."

Nik smiled. "Ah. I see. You like her more than you tell."

"Not like that. Honestly. What is it with you evolvers and breeding?"

"Eh. Liking children helps there be more of us." Nik shrugged with all his four arms. "But there is something you miss, no? Some way you are worried about her... something you'd like to see again."

Rael tried to taste his food in a desperate effort to avoid the implication of romance. Romantic love was a dreadful cliche. And most likely impossible, given that, as an engineered life form, his breeding specs were -well- specific.

And he didn't really want to know what they were.

"Eh...?" Nik waggled his crunchy eyebrows. He wasn't giving up.

"All right. Fine. Against my better judgement, yes. I miss her. Not just any one thing... all of her. Even the annoying aspects."

There was a sound like tearing silk as a black talon tore a temporary hole in reality and the unlikely entity known as Shayde slithered through it. "Ah I knew ye loved me! Gi' us a hug."

All his unlikely and unwanted emotions spilled out of his mouth at once in a flustered, "Thank the Powers you're all right! I am going to strangle you with my bare hands!"

She just laughed and french-dipped him into a kiss.

"Er," said Nik. "Any particular reason that you're naked?"

Shayde looked down at herself, shrieked, and covered her censorable portions with her hands. "Really long story. Can I do the shadow-hop, then?"

Good grief. She actually remembered to ask first. Rael nodded mutely.

Once again, she was gone. But this time, he knew she would be coming back.

He still didn't know whether to be elated or furious.

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Challenge #234: The Worst Levels of Fame

"All the geniuses I ever met were so just part of the time. To qualify, you only have to be great once, you know. Once when it matters."

He'd called it the Spline Actuator out of self-amusement and it turned out to be the most useful tool in the Galactic Standard Toolbox. It had spread virally across the Galactica alliance as thousands of JOATs made their own from equally viral how-to-make-it videos.

Every now and again, someone remembered to send him a few Seconds for the original idea.

But more frequently...

"Wow. That's got to be the most beat-up looking Spline Actuator I've ever seen."

Five thousand, nine hundred and thirty eight... thought Probost. "That's because it's the first one." He extracted himself from his work and offered his hand. "Hi. Probost Flit. Inventor of the Spline Actuator."

A big, wide grin. An active shaking of the hand. "Oh wow. I never knew anyone invented that thing. It must have saved my life thousands of times. You must be rolling in Years. How much profit have you made?"

Sigh. "To date? Three Days."

"What? How? Why? Everyone in the galaxy uses them..."

"Yes. They also make their own. And then they make their own how-to-make-it video. People pay them for their Time. If they remember, they send me a few Seconds because everyone figures I'm rolling in Years by now. If they remember." It was hard not to be bitter. JOATs everywhere owed him their lives and he was still a lowly maintenance techie on the endless parade of tweaks and re-jigging in his regular beat.

The cogniscent who had once been so overjoyed looked alarmed. "I'm going to add information to any video I see that isn't yours. And tell my networks." Ze dug in hir pockets. "This isn't nearly what I owe you, but think of it as a down payment."

"Thanks," said Probost. Three more Hours, twenty-two Minutes, and a handful of Seconds. "This means a lot."

Not all of them believed him. In fact, damn few of them believed him. It was still on the Galactic Wiki that he kept his day job on a voluntary basis. Like anyone would volunteer to do backbreaking, repetitive maintenance work for their productive time.

"Are you working on anything else? The Spline Actuator's a work of genius."

"Sorry... but it's looking like I was only ever a genius once."

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Challenge #235: The Challenge at the Third Act

"I never saw you face a wall that, if you couldn't go over it, you'd not try to find some way around, through, or under, or blow it up with sapper's charges. Or just bang your head against it till it fell down."

Ten Standard Years can make a lot of differences. Most of them physical. They can also serve to emphasise the similarities.

Sahra sized up the area. This was open ground in the Cursedland wastes. There were no vents for her to crawl through. And she was way past being of a size to crawl through them, anyway. She had the resilient remnants of a crashed vessel's bulkheads, a lot of similar wreckage strewn about, and a bunch of headstrong idiots shooting at her.

Ten years ago, they were her headstrong idiots and therefore valuable. Now...

"An orbital plasma cannon ain't the answer I'm looking' for," she reminded herself. "Splash zone's too dang wide anyhow."

"Really? Orbital plasma cannon?" said Simy. "I know that isn't you. You're usually more subtle."

Sahra glared at him. "You is talkin' to the gal who rained yaller all over th' Tuatta. An' got the walls bleedin'. An' vanished a whole bunch'a humans overnight[1]."

Simy considered this. "Fine," he allowed, "You used to be a lot more creative. I've never seen you face an obstacle that, provided you couldn't surmount it, you'd otherwise manage to disassemble, sabotage or otherwise just headbutt it into submission. Think. You're good at that."

"It's real hard t' think when your own folks is shootin' at ya."

"Fine. Then what kind of miracle would stop them?"

"Y'all got m' spare dress? Reckon I'm up fo' a spot o' bi-lo-cation."

Simy grinned, even as he transformed into Sahra's double. "That's my girl."

1] For a full chronicle of Sahra's 'miracles', please read the [Hevun's Child Trilogy.

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Challenge #236: One Random Encounter in a Relaxation Lounge

"The point is, you haven't let the lack of Seconds stop you. Or the rules. Or respect for reality, as far as I can tell."

Shayde still wore Public Property Grey, but this time, her footwear was a pair of Hazard Yellow thongs. Indicating that she was both off-duty, and a potential danger to the public. Someone had given her a silver fan brooch, indicating that she was also offensive without training.

"I take it you've been freed," said Rael in the tones of mock-optimism usually reserved for five-year-olds who 'found' puppies.

"Oh aye. Turns out, reliable information's a hot ticket. I could make a mint buskin' if I had me axe. Or wi' info services if I had a comm link. Or an account. I could find a bunk if I had the Hours..." she fished in her pockets and bought out two Second coins. "I got two Seconds, the clothes on me back, the knowledge in me head, and a number of things in pocket dimensions nobody'd bother sneezin' on."

Rael thought back on the past two weeks of her incarceration. "The difference now is, you're a free agent. You can do anything you like."

"Aye. Wi' nowt tae invest. I'm skint, homeless, and buggered. What next?"

"There's always the Free Listings. Anything you can get for free..."

"Is worth exac'ly woh ye pay for it. D'ruther pay sweat equity. Least then I know it's worth sommat..."

"You can also find those on the Free Listings." He sighed. "Look. I've known you for all of two weeks and in that time, I've never seen anything stop you. Not a lack of money. Not any of the rules. Not even reality, in so far as I can tell... Stop looking at what's missing and work with whatever you can get. There's plenty of real estate that requires fixing up."

"Reckon you could find a good one in two seconds?" she rattled her change.

He took the money. "I found it while you were busy being miserable. It's in a forgotten area near the dry dock end. We'll take the free transits."

"...worth exactly what ye pay fer 'em..." Shayde mumbled.

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Challenge #237: Don't Panic!

"I'm not panicking, I'm watching you panic. It's more entertaining."

This was the first time she'd been locked in a room with a human. While it did bring people watching to new and increasingly intimate levels, it did rather limit the options, should said human start lashing out.

As it was, this one seemed to like saying 'okay' a lot.

"Okay... Oh....kay. Okay, okay, okay. Okay. Okayokayokayokayokayokay... Ooooohhhhhhh... Kay. Okay. I can handle this. I'm okay. Okay." The human seemed to notice Jaka for the first time and said, "It's goin' tae be all righ'. No need tae panic..."

"I am not engaged in activity - panic," said Jaka. "I am much more entertained by your panic."

"Glad I can help," said the human. "I go by Shayde."

"Jaka," said Jaka, shaking her hand. She was trembling. "Are you feeling cold? I am assured this is optimal temperature."

"Aye, it's that." jiggle jiggle jiggle. "I don't like small rooms. I really don't like small rooms." She dropped to a whisper so she could mutter, "...keepittogether, keepittogether, keepittogether..."

"This is unusual, so far from Sol."

"No' me fault. Bunch'a reet bastards dropped me off in here. Cannae go for'd... cannae go back... in more ways than one. I'm sorta kind'a a little bit stook. An' na 'm stook werse."

Jaka took off her info viewer and put it on display mode. "Here is map of service crews. They are coming to fix the problem. See? All little orange dot. Friendly orange dot. Friendly red dot, also. Coming to help. They has excellent sedative for you. Fun sleep."

Shayde's obsidian nail picked out a rainbow dot. "And one JOAT on me side. Ee! 'E's gone in tae the vents. Poor bugger'd have tae shapeshift. I'm no likin' this bill..."

"I'll accept payment in baked goods," said an almost-cat inside the ventilation grille. It carried a plastic blow pipe.

"Rael! Aw yer a sight fer sore eyes. This is Jaka. She's nice."

"Stop trying to fix me up with a date and let me have a clear shot at your jugular."

"Don't tell me... repairs are goin' tae take more'n a bitty while."

"Hours," said Rael, readying the blow pipe.

Shayde pulled aside her hair. "Stand back. I go down like a brick."

If Jaka had one complaint, it was that the human was not allowed to panic for longer. Hours in a dim veet, watching a human sleep were not as fun as the minutes watching her fear reactions.

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Challenge #238: Bad, Bad Intel

I may be small, but I screw up big because I'm standing on the shoulders of GIANTS.

The dangerous mammals were clustered in one area. One area full of volatile chemicals, dangerous levels of electricity, and heavy concentrations of methane and pathogens.

Hundreds of them gathered in the night to observe some ritualistic activity that involved rhythmic gyrations and consumption or production of the above substances.

They were a threat to the Mo'fathan Empire.

Which was how Kirxaan the Mighty opened fire on a holiday resort and became guilty of the slaughter of just under three thousand unarmed non-combatants.

And how he gained the negative attention of the humans.

Which, should you examine the chain of events, is why the Mo'fathan Empire doesn't exist any more.

So, in a way, Kirxaan was right. But only after he opened fire.

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Challenge #239: One Stormy Evening in a Spaceport Bar

You'll make it in five days, boosting six points past emergency max the whole way. If the engineer's been doing his job, the engines won't blow until you hit eight. Quite safe.

Plasma from Hyperspace leaked with every ship that travelled through a wormhole. And when it reached a certain density, or a one-way wormhole 'popped' into a two way passage, electrons discharged through it in a pattern that still baffled mathematicians everywhere.

And for those caught in Crossroads Station, on the inside of Hyperspace, where two shipping paths met and someone set up a place to serve a multitude of needs... the storms had them all itching to be elsewhere.

"My knee's still aching. It's going to be another Hour, still."

"Do us a favour and tell us when your knee's not aching, okay?"

On the public address, a friendly voice told all those who cared to listen that all flights were delayed another five minutes while the storms continued. It had been making this announcement for three days.

And someone, somewhere, was trying to wheedle passage the heck out of Crossroads and towards Hitizzy.

"Look," said the human. He had a mop of strawberry-blonde curls and a complexion best described as 'swarthy'. Any other piratical leanings were completely obliterated by the generic Services Orange outfit he wore. "I'm not saying 'go now'. That's be suicide. Just wait until there's a lull and floor it to Hitizzy."

"It's still a week-long journey."

"Aw, don't give me that. You can make it in five days if you boost six points past emergency max the whole way."

"But my engines!"

"Your engines'll be fine if your engineer's done his job. They won't blow 'till ye get to eight points. Safe as houses."

The saurian glared at the human. "You and I have entirely different definitions of 'safe'."

"You're broke. I have cargo. I can't pay ye a deposit, but if we get it to Hitizzy before the end of the storms, we'll be insanely rich! What's not ta love?"

"You. Your definition of 'safe' and the fact that your cargo is alive..."

"Check the numbers. You'll see."

The saurian grumbled and ran data through his info-viewer. Then he boggled. "And how are you planning to know when a lull's coming?"

"Old Joe and hir knee is the most reliable storm predictor in the Galactic alliance. Been payin' fer hir drinks."

The saurian reluctantly offered a hand. "Ax'and'l."

"Hwell Barrow. Very pleased to be doin' business with ye Sir!"

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Challenge #240: Tax Haven

"I like paying taxes. With them I buy civilization." – Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes

Patriot Imbaw swaggered up to the immigration counter, and pressed his paperwork through the little slot. "I need citizenship on this here Galactic Station ay-sap. How can we -ah- accelerate that process?" He had a greasy smile and greasy hair. In fact, just about everything about him could be described in terms of grease. It seemed like he perspired oily residue that had no origin in the equatorial realms of his waist.

"We must evaluate your situation, so your full honesty is appreciated." Registration clerk Judi Bell began a trace. "Once verified, your employment assessment will begin."

"Employment! I let my money do the work," he laughed uproariously. "Money covers all bases. Look. I'm only moving here because there's no taxes, understand?"

"Are you a legal shareholder of a corporate entity?"

"Naw, honey. I'm just rich. And I'm used to getting what I want, so shimmy-shake, darlin'."

Aha. He was from one of the Greater Deregulations. "Sir, I'm afraid the exchange rate on your... riches... isn't that spectacular. And regulations require that you maintain a state of employ."

"Just find me a loophole, sweetheart. There's a million Yahu's in it for you."

"Sir. You can not bribe me with Three Minutes."

It went downhill from there. Rather rapidly.

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Challenge #241: Essential Equipment

Recalibrate your sarcasm detector.

"All right," said Ama. "Where we're going has lots of humans. So let's make sure we're prepared. Remember, even though they're Class Four Deathworlders, they don't mean to harm us. They're aware of our relative frailties and will act accordingly."

"Yes'm," said the entire class. They were halfway into their safety suits.

El struggled with her Permaseal Line, panicking, and desperate to not be left behind. There was something about meeting the most dangerous and insane species in the known Galactic Alliance that was irresistible.

Ama came to help her. "Calm down. It's all right. There's plenty of time. Let's look at the problem."

And once she did... El could see that she'd flipped the switch to Seal, instead of Loose. An easy fix. She hurried inside her suit anyway. Fast enough to catch up with her classmates, but slow enough to make sure she didn't get anything wrong.

Her kind were still becoming used to Deathworlders. There were so many things they could casually do that were a hazard to her kind.

Infection Barrier on and sealed, air filters attached and locked, armour... it was Humans who invented the lightweight exoskeletons that could protect El and her class from accidental and deadly blows.

"Teacher Ama?" said El. "How do Deathworlders get to be so tough?"

Which filled in the remaining time until Docking. Deathworlders evolved on planets with hostile conditions, ranging from poisonous plants to venomous life forms to deadly weather and hostile terrain. The planet Terra had all of the above.

Most Deathworlders were hostile against other life forms. Humans were hostile against themselves. They had tactics to trick one group into thinking that another were not human despite their obvious similarities. They could define personhood to include a non-corporeal, non-intelligent co-operation of humans, but could not include the females of their own species under that same umbrella definition.

Humans were insane. It was the only rational explanation.

"Now. Everyone calibrate your sarcasm detectors. They're prone to overload around some humans, so maximise the tolerances."

And, when El saw them for the first time... all she could think was, They look so small.

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Challenge #242: One Disastrous Afternoon, Mid-Alien-Invasion

Most certainly a [species] spy in disguise. I mean not. Not a [species] spy. Human. Completely human. Yes.

"Oh, now, come on," said the Doctor. "That can't be a Friendly. That's obviously a Golgafraxan spy in disguise. Do none of you notice her complexion?"

"Doctor..."

"If it is a her. They get the genders mixed up."

"Doctor..."

"Look I'll prove it. Golgafraxans react negatively to garlic." He whipped out a small container and blew a foul smelling-dust at the person of contention...

...who sneezed genteelly into her elbow and said with a weary sigh, "Still not a Golgafraxan, Doctor. Still just Sara Louise Adrian. Remarkable facsimile." She had a damp cloth in one of her belt-pouches and used it to erase the dust from her skin. "And I prefer my garlic in pasta sauce, thank you."

"Oh. Ah. Not a Golgafraxan spy. Human. Completely human. Yes."

"Aaaaahhh...?" prompted Sara.

"Sorry."

"That's better," said the mutant heroine.

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Challenge #243: Wait, What?

Found embedded in the radio signature of almost every star that had a sapient species evolve in orbit around it:

Couldn't solve the heat death problem in this version. By the time we figured that out, life had evolved. Sorry about that. Good luck.

-The Creators

"It's the same message. Encoded into every star that evolved life over sixteen billion years ago."

"It's taken two thousand years of research and decoding to decipher the message into Standard."

"The good news is, it's relatively brief. The bad news is... it doesn't make sense."

"The message reads as follows: Couldn't solve the heat death problem in this version. By the time we figured that out, life had evolved. Sorry about that. Good luck. -The Creators."

Murmuring filled the auditorium.

Someone put up their hand.

"Yes?"

"So... they could patch the universe to leave a note, but they couldn't patch it to fix the stars? Why?"

"That's what we're working on now."

"Sorry."

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Challenge #244: Intervention

[species] Science: It gets results! Just... not always the ones you want. (Alarm sound) Oh [deity] there's another containment breach!

"Another? This happens frequently?" asked the visiting human.

"Oh yes. Researching the makeup of the universe is a dangerous pastime."

"Uhm... It doesn't have to be. You could make sure the reactor is secure before continuing your research."

The lizard scientist stared at her as if she'd grown two heads. "Where's the fun in that?"

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Challenge #245: One Stormy Afternoon in a Spaceport Drydock

...but for all that they're effective, they're about as far from efficient as trying to run a car via rocket motors.

The geiger indicators were still rattling like a drawer full of loose beads as crew working on the dilapidated vessel did what they could to reduce the risk to other citizens on the station. They were dressed head to toe in anti-radiation armour. And worked in shifts of ten minutes at a time.

In the nearest emergency med-bay, similarly-clothed medical technicians ran every procedure and protocol known to intelligent life on the pilot.

She'd literally risked her life to get away from a planet she called Pit.

The witness in the next booth was talking fast. "We found her trying to boost past point nine cee, crosswise to the established trade lanes. If we hadn't picked her up, she'd have hit someone. Did you know that ship is just a life pod with nukes up its butt? That's-that's... human!"

The pilot was unresponsive. What she thought of her engineering in comparison to the witness was not yet, and might never be a matter of permanent record. What sort of world would be so toxic that a resident would risk permanent damage just to escape?

"Nukes," Sherlock repeated, on the other side of a comm-link. "Effective, yes. Dangerous, also. But for all their efficacy, they're as efficient as trying to run a car with rockets..."

The geiger counters sizzled like cicadas as technicians removed the glowing fuel cells, and quieted down once they were in safe storage. Dangerous stuff. Best left in the core of a planet or the heart of a star.

"What hope is there?" he asked.

"The Cogniscent Rights Committee is already back-tracing her path. Not hard since it practically glows in the dark. She travelled all the way in real-space and her supplies were still high, so... it's a near enough star. We might save her planet."

"And what about her?"

The medtech looked grim. "Do you pray, sir?"

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Challenge #246: Every Apprentice Does It

My god... it's full of spelling errors.

Alani was going after Extra Credit. Finding the Original Source was always good for that. She traced it from planetoid to planetoid, from reference to reference to sub-reference and finally... in the Dark Rooms where only special lights were allowed... a yellowed and rather small booklet kept in its own rarified atmosphere and handled only through waldoes.

To show willing, Alani used the special scope to view the myopic scribble of an ancient hand.

All unaware that Tutor Els was right behind her until the venerable Archivaas spoke.

"What do you see, Apprentice?"

"By the Powers... it's full of errata..."

"We tell you, do we not, that seeking information from the Original Source is not always as educational as you think it might be."

"Yes," sighed Alani. "Yes, you do." Moisture gathered in her eyes and she retreated from the scope to wipe the tears on her sleeve before they could drop and spoil something precious. "I see, now. And I especially see why this author switched to digital entry only."

"That, and hir handwriting is deplorable."

"I'm sorry I didn't have new insights for the extra credit."

"Nonsense! Seeking knowledge of any kind is credit-worthy work. And seeking this lesson out so early in your learning will serve you well."

"Yes, Tutor Els."

"And next time you feel tempted, check the notes on the condition of the piece."

"Yes, Tutor Els."

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Challenge #247: Universal Nevers

Quite honestly, you could strap those engines to just about anything and it could make escape velocity.

That's what the man had said when he'd sold them the refurbished hulk for an amazingly cheap price. He'd said not to turn the gravity on until they were at least two hundred clicks on their way.

What he'd neglected to mention was that any motor can achieve escape velocity if used in a cumulative fashion. Especially when already in the vacuum of space.

He also neglected to mention that the decor peeled right off when exposed to atmosphere.

And that the gravity drives were non-existent.

He failed to mention the lingering smell or, for that matter, that smoke got into the air vents if the engines were pushed past the amber line beyond two degrees. He also neglected to tell them about the infestation of Oshits, now hyperactive that there was atmosphere again.

Proving, once more, that one must never purchase a vehicle from a dealer with "Honest" in their name. Especially if it's in inverted commas.

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Challenge #248: The Human Argument

And, isn't sanity really just a one-trick pony anyway? I mean all you get is one trick, rational thinking, but when you're good and crazy, oooh, oooh, oooh, the sky is the limit!"

"Awright. Yes. Humans as a race are kinda nuts," Hwell admitted. "There's lots of things I can't immediately explain."

"And your individual susceptibility to Silly Season," added Ax'and'l. "What evolutionary advantage is there on picking up a mood from the surrounding environment? And you all do illogical things when you panic."

"Panic's never a logical thing and you can't tell me otherwise," Hwell added a glare. "The point is... the point is..."

Ax'and'l waited patiently for Hwell to remember if there was a point.

"The point is... Sanity can't be all that great. Just look at all the booms and weird new directions that humanity's introduced to the Galactic Scene."

"Yes. Including the stunning array of interesting ways to kill people."

"Yeah? What about the gravity drive? Or Steelulose? Or Nutri-Food? What about us, hm? You were scraping along following the rules and wondering why they didn't work for you, and now look. We're a corporation! Hwell Barrow-Ax'and'l Limited Traders. We're within three good trades of franchising. Franchising. I'm telling you, friend. Insanity is just a way of ignoring the invisible walls."

Ax'and'l sighed. "One: you said we were within three good trades of Franchising some fifty trades ago. Two: We're only a success because I hold you back on a short leash. Three: The number of times your ignorance of walls -invisible or otherwise- has got us into the cacky are innumerable! Working with you is like operating on the catastrophe curve."

"Yeah? So why do you keep signing on during Reneg Month?"

A growl from the saurian. "...becauseyourinsanityisprofitable..."

"Damn straight."

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Challenge #249: Explaining Business

Don't worry. He comes up with crazy ideas, but they're so crazy they actually work half the time.

"...hey!" said exhibit A, aka Hwell Barrow. "I'll have you know I have a ninety-eight percent success rate."

"It's the two percent that bites my tail," Ax'and'l managed through gritted teeth. "And we agreed that there would be no bickering in front of potential clients."

"If we agreed that, then we agreed not to introduce me like that," Hwell said through a false smile. "Because if you keep introducing me like that, then I'm going to argue like blue bloody blazes, my friend."

"Oh, don't say that. Whenever you call someone 'my friend' it never ends well..."

Their audience, a Havenworld Avian safely behind a plexiglass booth, apparently watched the interchange with naked curiosity. "Have no fear, cogniscents. Your client is currently safe. I will enjoy the entertainment."

Hwell deflated. "Aw, now you've just gone and taken the fun out of it..."

Ax'and'l gestured. "Case in point."

"...hey!"

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Challenge #250: A Lesson For Humans

Don't want to have people commenting your sudden bout of suicidal stupidy by taunting murphy?

How about not taunt murphy?

[AN: I did leave instructions on the Submissions box to only pick up to three tags. Otherwise I have to whittle your collection of tags down to three so I can add my own tags. Please remember this when picking tags for your prompts.]

This media was not only old, but it had been played to the point of nearing uselessness before it had been transferred to the Archivaas' more permanent methods of storage. the sound warbled and wobbled. The pictures occasionally flickered and warped. There were scratches and hair and dirt...

"Humans," said the narrator. "Are you aware that your behaviour can be disturbing to other cogniscents in the Galactic Alliance?"

"Golly," said the human on the screen. "I had no idea." It was plain that this human was being portrayed by a lizard in a bad rubber suit.

"Well that's why I'm here," said the narrator. "To give you little tips and guidelines on how to behave now that you're a recognised Galactic Citizen."

It started with the simpler do's and don'ts, and quickly got bizarre.

"Ah-ah-ah, human. That's a ridiculously dangerous thing to do."

"But it looks like fun."

"Let's think things through, human. If you do that thing, you're going to hurt yourself and you're going to be exposed to ridicule and comment for thinking that doing the thing was a good idea in the first place. You don't want other cogniscents pointing at you and laughing, do you?"

"Gee whillikers, no!"

"So maybe you should think about it. Next time you want to do something that looks like fun... remember that you could be taunting Murphy's Laws. And we don't want to taunt Murphy."

"Thank you for your very important lessons. I'll try to remember."

*

Althei blinked as the lights came back on. "This was meant to prevent human incidents?"

"It was an effort," said her honoured tutor. "And in answer to your next question: no, it didn't work."

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Challenge #251: Adventuring with humans

Maybe, maybe not. After all his plan IS flawless after all.

He doesn't have a plan at all so there can't be any flaws in it.

"That's a plan?" yawped the Princess. "How can the human's plans possibly have a complete success rate?

"That's the thing, it isn't a plan," explained Ax'and'l. "It's more a succession of goals. You've heard the old edict that no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy?"

"Oh yes. It's drilled into all of us from the age of understanding."

"Hwell's exactly the kind of enemy that the other guy fears. He improvises. He goes with the flow. But he also redirects that flow towards his goals."

Something exploded. Because a plan - or a list of goals - in Hwell's hands quickly included something going boom. Ax'and'l thanked his lucky stars that that boom was usually in the company finance report.

Hwell sauntered back without a mark on him or his nigh-piratical garb. "That aughta keep 'em good and busy. This way to the escape vehicle, gentle cogniscents."

"I'm not even going to ask how he does that," said the Princess.

"I'm just going to frisk him for bottles," said Ax'and'l.

"...hey!"

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Challenge #252: Stick to the Plan

"This is according to your plan?"

"Yes."

"What kind of plan was that?"

"The plan was -Do not die.- All is still going according to plan... barely."

"This is why," raged Krel over the gunfire aimed in their general direction. "This is why I never get involved with humans!"

"Awright," admitted Jude. "This is something of a tight spot."

"TIGHT? We're cornered and pinned and any minute now, a hover drone is going to get us from above! Amphibian anuses are not this tight!"

"One: it's 'frogs ass'. Two: There's always a way out. Three: How close do these drones fly?"

"Two meters for facial identification... why?"

Jude grinned. She scrabbled at the mud in the roof gardens and smeared it liberally all over her head. Then splattered a generous handful onto Krel.

"What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?" Krel demanded.

"Makin' it fly closer."

It was an insanity typical of the species. The human waited until the drone got close and aggressively sabotaged it before it could fire.

"Quick question," said Jude. "Are they silly enough to send up another drone to see what happened to the first one?"

"Uh. Yes?"

"Brilliant," the human had a wild fire in her eyes and a manic grin.

If she lived to be a thousand, Krel never wanted to see that look on a human's face ever again.

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Challenge #253: Anything That Can Go Wrong...

Farewell. Please say hello to Murphy when he clobbers you.

Those had been her last words to the human. They should have been the last words she ever spoke to the insane mammal.

Yet there it was. Hale and hearty. Enjoying a brew with the other Galactics in a seedy bar that also boasted Unsuitable Food on the menu.

"How?" she demanded. "How did you survive? I barely made it out of that melee with my hide intact!"

The human grinned. "Have you heard of the term, 'lucker'?"

"Sounds like a curse."

"Oh it is, it is," the human took a generous swig of its drink. "It's the ability to fall into a privy pit and come out with gold. It's the knack of tripping and breaking a toe, only to find that you tripped over a priceless relic. And in one case, its accidentally chopping off your finger while making a speech about how soft you're not."

Jerl glared at the creature. "That... doesn't sound very lucky..."

"It was extremely lucky for the Vardian Empire. Got a bunch of right bastards to back down. Earned the nickname Gregor Elfhand ever after... but that's what lead to the discovery of the Luck gene. Unfortunately, it comes with a heavy side of Clumsy."

Jerl reassessed the layers of scars visible on the humans' hide. There didn't seem to be any fresh ones.

"Hi," said the human. "I'm Wanda the Unfortunate. I got an overload of Clumsy and half the Luck. Which, by pure chance, is just enough Luck to live."

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Challenge #254: A Cunning Plan...

"Don't worry. It'll all go according to plan," I reassured her that my plan was flawless.

Now I just needed to come up with one.

Rule one of coming up with a plan: work with what you've got. In this case, two rubber bands and a paperclip, and the clothes she stood up in if she was really that desperate.

Rule two: The environment is also what you've got. Nigh-seamless corridors made out of something that conserved energy by putting it back into the thing that hit it. One ricochet could, theoretically, wipe out the entire ship.

Alouette got a wicked smirk as she removed the rubber bands from her wrists and reconfigured the paperclip. "Did you know that there are reasons why they've successfully banned projectile weapons in space?" she said conversationally.

"What?" Princess Gaart made the universal what-the-hell-is-this human-doing face. "Everyone knows this..."

Alouette strung the rubber bands between her index and pinkie finger and gave the enemy the Devil Sign as she drew back her missile. "When I say 'duck'..." she warned. Aloud, to the aliens, "I have a projectile weapon and I'm not afraid to use it!" She drew back the adjusted paperclip.

"Listen to the human," shrieked Princess Gaart. "They're level four Deathworlders!"

It was the first time she'd bluffed her way out of a pickle with a weapon that might just actually work for a change. And possibly the first time anyone had threatened anyone else with a paperclip.

Rule three: It's not a dense idea if it actually works.

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Challenge #255: Know Your Source

Step 1: Take your left hand or grasping appendage.

Step 2: Reach your left hand or grasping appendage and move it so it is behind you.

Step 3: Lower your left hand or grasping appendage so that it is perpendicular to your pelvis.

Step 4: Move your left hand or grasping appendage towards your body, so that it contacts the rear of your pelvis.

Step 5: Grasp the rear of your pelvis.

Step 6: Lift.

Congratulations, you are now flying by the seat of your pants.

There was an irate saurian in the foyer. And, judging by the copious bags at hir feet, they were prepared to wait until someone in charge could see them.

The gatekeeper-secretary tidied his hair before discreetly calling their ultimate superior. Editor in Chief, Sanja Elkrun.

"Sir," murmured the secretary. "We have a camper in the foyer. They want to see you."

"How many bags?"

"I've counted six."

Sigh. "Well, at least it isn't lawyers." Editor Elkrun cut the comms. There was a twenty-minute window upcoming in her schedule that she usually reserved for window-time, but her psychological wellbeing had evidently been trumped, today.

She stepped smartly into her executive veet and pretended normalcy after the vertiginous drop to the ground floor. Even at max boost, there was not much time. Sanja left the veet talking. "Welcome, cogniscent, to the offices of MegaMagazines. I am Editor in Chief, Sanja Elkrun. I do not have much time, so please keep this quick."

The saurian stood, revealing herself to be a female Enkapha. "I am Ligath. I came in protest to your instructions on page one five three of Human Comedy."

"Sir..." said Sanja kindly. "The title of the publication is Human Comedy. We have disclaimers and warnings in pop-ups that you must read and acknowledge."

"Oh, I had those turned off. They're far too annoying."

Once again, the forces of ignorance trumped the desperate attempts of the virtuous to help them remain educated. "And the title of Human Comedy didn't tell you that any instructions in the main body of the magazine are not to be taken seriously?"

Great Powers, she could actually see the righteous indignation in Ligath's posture drain out of her. "Uh. Er. When you put it that way..."

"Do you consent to having this event become material for our magazine?" asked Sanja. "You have had warnings turned off, so I must ask if you read the disclaimer at the door." The disclaimer that plainly stated in GalStand and the five leading languages of the Galactic Alliance that people coming inside the offices to complain quickly became grist for the magazine mill, and entering was tantamount to consent.

"What? No!"

"Then in future, I suggest that you leave your warnings on," she said. "For your continued wellbeing." She turned away and strode back to her executive veet.

Sanja got all the way past the four hundredth floor before she burst out laughing.

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Challenge #256: Spitballing

I am actually serious here, insofar as one can have a serious discussion about the cost/benefit analysis of destroying the universe.

"There's only really a benefit if you have a working means to exit the universe, otherwise you destroy yourself in the process." Paua'tul'xand'l side-eyed her human companion. "You haven't been experimenting with methods of leaving the universe, have you?"

"I promise I'm not working on it." Eiridd held up three fingers of one hand and made an X across her chest with the other. "I'm just spitballing, you know. Something to fill the time in."

Ah. Yes. Humans had cornered the market on boredom. It was what drove their species to seek interesting new places to be, things to do, and life forms to attempt mating with. "Sometimes, it astonishes me that your kind made it to space with so few fatalities."

"Thanks," Eiridd grinned. "Obviously, there's a lot of speculative factors, you know. There's no such thing as a complete map, for a start. There's no way to know the ultimate worth of our universe from the perspective of another."

"You could try asking a Xyrak'l."

Eiridd sighed. "You are really lousy at thought experiments, did you know that?"

"The last twenty times you told me, yes. And thank you."

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Challenge #257: Simple Exposition

Constant exposure to the internet has done terrible things to their sanity.

Trel peeked through the narrow observation window. Inside was a bedlam consisting of pale human males attempting to argue with themselves.

"WOMAN!" shrieked one.

Crap.

They'd seen her!

She retreated to the safety of her guide, a robot that was neither apparently male nor female.

The humans inside the enclosure alternately cajoled her for sex and demanded she prove her worth by answering confrontational trivia questions.

Some just cut to the chase and accused her of being a prostitute.

The robot just pressed a button to flood their rooms with anaesthetic gas. "It's better that you remain unobserved in the future. They are... rather confrontational."

Which was an understatement tantamount to calling a black hole "a little on the heavy side".

"Is there anything you can do?"

"Attempts are being made," allowed the robot. "So far, we have yet to create a working female surrogate that will pass their tests and be allowed into their group."

Trel decided to pay attention to the signs plastered all over the walls.

Nice Guy Ward, they said. Keep All Femininity Concealed.

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Challenge #258: What Do You Mean, 'Going'?

The uselessness of the "reassurance", which I've had given to me in real life, that 'You know you're not insane by the fact that you still worry about your sanity'. You could quite easily not realise that you're currently insane, and still worry about it.

"You said you loved me," sang Annie Lennox, "Or were you just being kiiiind... Or am I losing my mind?"

"Good question, Annie," I murmured. They'd said that too long in space did things to the mind. I knew that. I did checks, regularly. I had all the tricks.

I had CoSy on my side. An AI that helped on the long haul to give the illusion of companionship, someone to talk to, and to help maintain mental health.

And lately, I had Beulah.

She was a good addition to the crew. Not that she did much. But the ship was less empty with her in my bed and occasionally by my side. And she sang along to all my best tunes.

And I have my letters home. Vlogs. Whatever. It's less lonely when you have someone to talk to.

Beulah has a wonderful singing voice. I wish you could hear it.

But you're zillions of miles away.

"Don't worry about it," soothed Beulah in her typical wisdom. "The fact that you're concerned is sign enough that you're still sane."

Good ol' Beulah. She's my rock.

Freddie Mercury came over the speakers next, and we crooned along about finding somebody to love. And laughed. You see, we already had each other. We didn't need anyone or anything else. Alone together.

When you have someone to be alone together with... Well... even a crappy old salvage crate like this one is Heaven.

Don't tell Beulah, but... I've taken to jettisoning some of the cargo when we get close to red-line. Just to stay out longer. Oh, don't give me that face. It's cracker-jack stuff. The least valuable dross from our adventures.

Nothing to set off the alarms.

Man, we're gonna be rich when I can't get away with that any more.

Speaking of... I tucked Beulah in and made my 'final rounds' before hitting the sleep sack again. Gotta keep a schedule. Gotta save power by only running the gravity when we're awake. Gotta save and shave, just to spend more time out here.

The sargasso field is beautiful by the starlight. Beulah and I spend most of our nights chatting about it until we fall asleep.

But this time... this time there's more than one red light. More than one fire to put out.

Food stocks are red-lining. Cargo capacity is red-lining. The plants need maintenance. The algae tubes need flushing. Audio systems failed. The entire ship needs a week in dry-dock.

No...

No.

NO!

We have to go home.

"You're crying," said Beulah.

"Yeh," I sighed. "Nothin' for it. Home-time."

"It's okay," soothed Beulah. "I want to see your home. I'd love to see a sky. It isn't that bad. And when we get back? I'll treat you to some Real Steak."

She knows me too damn well. She made it easy for me to press the button. Even though I knew... I knew something bad would happen when we got there.

*

"Worst case of Iso-madness I've ever seen," sighed the medtech.

"Why is she hanging on to that rock?"

"She calls it 'Beulah'. When her CoSy and audio feedback failed beyond her ability to repair it... she did whatever she could to stay sane. Including inventing a companion."

"Miner-Ell Salvage takes full responsibility, of course. We're going all over her logs to find the point of failure."

"That's -what- months of footage?"

"Yes," the lawyer touched two fingers to the monitor and the image of the salvager within. "Something like this should never happen again."

On the monitor, Ijon Smith cuddled and kissed her 'companion' rock. A vaguely human-shaped pillar of a light material no-one had yet been able to analyse. Salvager Smith was very protective of her Beulah.

"It's okay, baby," she cooed. "We'll see the sky, soon. We'll see the sky." A moment of silence, staring into nothing, and her reedy voice began to sing, "Running down the avenue... see how the sun shines brightly..."

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Challenge #259: Slippery Slope

The uselessness of the "reassurance", which fortunately I've only ever seen in fiction, that 'You know you're not evil by the fact that you still worry about your morality'. You could quite easily not realise that you've already sunk to new depths of depravity, and still worry about it.

[AN: I almost deleted this because of its similarity to yesterday's prompt. PLEASE space out your similar prompts with other muse fuel. Thanks.]

"It's for the best," he repeated. "Isn't it, Miol?"

The catlike creature across his shoulders purred his sweet song. "Of course it's for the best. You tried everything else to convince them. And now they have a leader to inspire them in their unthinking rebellion."

"But... killing him? That can't be necessary..."

"Just remember," cooed Miol. "It isn't really evil if you're still worried about it..."

It still didn't feel right. Which was why Lord Jev the Dark sent the bare minimum of opposition against the rebelling hero. Why he never used his ultimate weapon until it was far too late.

He never wanted to press that shiny, red button.

Miol had no such concerns.

And it was why, when they killed Miol and imprisoned him for trial, that he wept. Not for Miol. Not for his lost glory. But out of sheer relief that it was over.

It was all someone else's problem, now.

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Challenge #260: Original Meaning

Saying something in all earnestness, not realising that it's been twisted far from what the words actually _mean_ by scum and then used as a warning sign by people more socially aware than you, and that you just marked yourself as one of those scum. All because you were using the words as they were meant to be used.

[TW: rape]

Sometimes, there's a big problem with being a card-carrying member of SPOEn - The Society for the Preservation of Original English. One of those problems was that you could only really talk to other members of SPOEn, all of whom had different ideas about what Original English was.

"I'faith, I have a trial most vex'd," said Old William. "In where to take my debate next."

"That's a nice sentiment," said Paul. Practiced listeners could tell which 'nice' he meant. This time, it was the one that indicated a lack of intelligence.

"Ugh, stop raping the conversation, Will... You're totes gainax." The young girl known only as Pong didn't even look up from her replica vintage gaming device.

"Shut thy meat-hole for making noise, thy conversation lacketh poise!"

And then there were moments like this, when all you wanted to do was leave the room. Preferably, running and screaming.

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Challenge #261: He Said it Best

Interdum feror cupidine partium magnarum Europae vincendarum

[Sometimes I get this urge to conquer large parts of Europe]

"Eh, sometimes you change the world," Shayde sighed. "Sometimes th' world changes you. And sometimes... Caesar said it best - 'interdum feror cupidine partium magnarum Europae vincendarum'..."

Rael was looking into his eyepiece. "Sometimes, I get this urge to conquer large parts of Europe?"

She sighed. Technology. That was the problem. People could just look things up. "Yer no fun. Used tae get a lot o' mileage outta that wi' Hackmeyer."

He'd heard the stories she'd told. Found the archival records of Hackmeyer's old students. He knew that her old professor was a fraud, a charlatan, and a glory-hound. That was why he laughed at the mental image of a balding professor pretending to know everything and murmuring, 'wise words, wise words' before moving on to a different topic... all while the students who knew what it meant giggled behind their hands.

"Kept you going, didn't it?"

"Aye. Kept me goin' a lot." Through the years with Hackmeyer. Through the years after Hackmeyer. And almost... almost... today. She'd have to find new tricks.

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Challenge #262: What Maketh Man?

From the Wikipedia article on Personhood:

"If alien life were found to exist, under what circumstances would they be counted as "persons"? Do we have to consider any "willing and communicative (capable to register its own will) autonomous body" in the universe, no matter the species, an individual (a person)? Do they deserve equal rights with the human race?"

What the hell kind of question is that? Of course we should! Of course they do! The only time it's debatable is when the species is some kind of hive mind, and each unit is not an individual but rather the group as a whole! Then, it's the hive mind that is a person - they are PEOPLE!...why is this something that is worthy of debate?

[AN: This kind of debate is truly ironic when we count corporations as people and anyone brown or identifying female or both as not people at all]

The Cogniscent Rights Committee were having another debate on the nature of personhood.

"So what about the comatose?"

"Oh boy," someone rolled their eyes.

"You find a member of a new species, but they're comatose or otherwise impaired past the point of conversation. Then what?"

"There'd be other indications of cogniscent life. A ship. A bed. You expect a new species to just randomly visit another planet and leave their comatose there? No culture would do that."

"Wait two years. We'll find a bunch of humans who do."

One of the human members of the Committee blew a raspberry. "This is why we insist that exploration vessels are crewed with at least one Melil or some other variety of Esper useful to the mission. They can touch minds and try to find something. Even a comatose brain has memories."

"Have any of them read a 'cell' from a hive mind?"

"That's standard UFTP training. Yes."

The restrained Counsellor from one of the least-poisonous Greater Deregulations was drumming his fingers.

"What if'n you got a law stoppin' them from -ah- saying nothin'?"

"Sir, we've spoken to you about your planet's antiquated policies of personhood. Your attendance on this council is meant to be educational - for you. This is so you can reform and revise those laws, not so you can find new loopholes in order to keep them."

"Wimmin weren't people when I was made, and I won't reckonize them 'till I'm cold in the ground!"

"Then you won't mind exporting them all," said the Representative of Meeyahn. "We'll buy them from you wholesale. It should be quite a deal."

"Lady Astrofi, the population of Greater Deregulation is already bottlenecked. Are you planning to create genocide by proxy?"

"I merely wish to educate," she purred. "They would soon learn the value of females by their conspicuous absence."

"This is not the forum for such a discussion. Negotiations with Greater Deregulation are still in process."

Lady Astrofi gave a very feline growl.

The Chair tapped their info-tablet meaningfully. "Now. On to the matter of the Faiize. There have been a number of disturbing reports, but this found its way to my in-box this morning..."

The main screen lit up with video feed from a medbay. It looked like every mining station medbay the Galaxy over, but the contents were more interesting. A human medtech was facing down a silver Faiize with a dead Cleaner.

"Broken," said the Faiize. "Doc fix."

"I think it's BSOD'd," said another human, just inside pickup range.

The Faiize pointed at the cleaner. "Broken. Doc. Fix. Init!"

"Is it... giving me an order?" said the medtech.

Now the Faize pushed the medtech to the dead Cleaner. "Doc fix Cleaner. Init!"

"It is an order," said the other human.

"Init! Hup hup! Moovit! Pronto! Stat!" Now it shoved the medtech's hands onto the corpse. "DOC FIX!"

"I can't fix dead," the medtech argued.

Now it faced the other human. Its flat features twisted in pain. "Dave sez medbay fix. Need fix broken Cleaner."

There was silence as the video ended. "This is not an isolated incident," said the Chair. "I've done my homework on this, and there's evidence that all the extant Faiize are this intelligent. The only question to be answered is, did Wave of the Future intend to make gengineered slaves?"

"I'd buy 'em," said the restrained Counsellor for Greater Deregulation.

Everyone else ignored him.

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Challenge #263: Drawbacks of Communication

Well, are we agreed that we will never try to talk to the world ending monsters again?

Yes? Good.

They were in his way. They were there to conquer. Smash! Destroy! Devour!

"Hermann!"

Crush! Kill! Consume!

"Hermann!"

The puny human was only a little smaller than him. How? Had they found a way to grow themselves? Were they stealing the Builders' ways?

"Hermann, Hermann, look at me. Look. Look, look, look. You're not them. Think. Know. You know me."

"Drift," he said. The Other was coming. Fighting back. He was slipping... slipping. "You were in the drift."

"I'm here, now, buddy. I'm here. You're okay. You're safe. You're not the monster. Who are you?"

"I'm—" at once a fifty-foot-tall beast of blue blood and blades for teeth... and an underweight, overtall man with a bum leg. He stumbled. "I'm... Doctor..."

"That's right," big smiles from Newt. Yes. Newt. Doctor Newton Geizler. "Say the rest of it. I know you can."

"Doctor... Hermann..." Who? Who was he? "Hermann... Got... lieb."

"One more time for the cheap seats, buddy."

"Doctor Hermann... Gotlieb."

"YES!" Huge hugs from such a small man. The monster was just a murmur in his mind.

Someone in the far background set a timer.

"One more day," grinned Newt. "One more day of fighting this stupid damn seesaw... We got this." He rushed away at his usual frenetic speed. Out of the padded room full of soft furniture, and into the lab they shared. "Come on, buddy, we've got fifteen minutes before I start to sink. I'm gonna push for sixteen, this time."

Gottlieb retrieved his cane and made it to the board. The equations soothed his tangled mind like nothing else. Fifteen minutes, oh yes. Fifteen minutes to try and solve the last problem.

How to cure the two last victims of the Kaiju attacks.

Fifteen minutes, maybe sixteen, and he would be the one reminding Newt of who he was in the Soft Room, away from the other best minds available while Newt believed he was the Kaiju they'd linked with. It was a very Newton solution. Chip it away from the inside.

Gottlieb picked up the eraser and corrected the last, shaky figures of his previous calculations. "Have I ever told you, Doctor Geizler, that I find your incessant optimism... reassuring?"

"Not today," grinned Newt. "Thanks, pal."

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Challenge #264: You Were Warned

On a warning sign

CAUTION: Eldritch Abominations

The human stopped at the door. "Is this serious?"

"Why would it not be?" said the alien robot. "The Yubshuggoth are a kind people, but their appearance has been known to... cause significant alarm. Some have died from the shock. This is why they use avatars like me."

So what the human do? They thrust open the door and stuck their head inside to see what was so horrible. They backed away from the door, face and hair white, throat strangling out a scream.

The alien robot kindly shut the door and administered a sedative.

"You... never said... they were nudists!"

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Challenge #265: Deep Time Punk'd

A text found on the first expedition by a species to their planet's nearest celestial body (moon or nearby planet), which explains in perfectly accurate detail how to improve the efficiency of in-system spaceflight many times over.

Appendix A begins "As we know, 2+2=5..."

Five hundred years ago, people had seen strange lights in association with their moon. A light was clearly visible on the surface of the satellite, every time that it became shadowed.

Four hundred years ago, that light went out for the last time, and the lights visiting the moon left. Never to return.

Last year, the planets' champion - a fine lady by the name of Nyel the Strong - was the first to set foot on that orbiting planetoid in the name of peace and harmony for all.

Today, scientists had cracked the code. The lunar visitors had been prepared for any eventuality. They had left arrows to point the way. The box contained basic pictograms on how to open it and how to read the contents.

The first book unravelled the second, as well as covering some basic elements of science and what the aliens had also thought were basic elements of science. The second unravelled the third...

And while they were learning, they were also testing.

The Grel'ti people leaped ahead. In science, art, and civilisation. They mined their asteroid belts and prepared to go to the stars.

And then they began to decode the Appendices.

"As we know, 2+2=5..."

Five Hundred Years Ago...

The aliens had got their data. Who they were was not important. You couldn't pronounce their names, anyway. Let's call them Greg, and Larson.

"Wait. So you got them almost up to our level of tech and you put in a fucking math joke?"

Greg chuckled as he sealed the box. "This is such a classic..."

"No, Greg, you are such a shit."

He started etching arrows on the walls and floor, giggling the entire time. "I wish I could see their little faces..."

"...for fuck's sake," sighed Larson. "You always do this. Every pre-journey planet we monitor, you have to pull this unthought crap."

Greg continued to laugh. "They are gonna be so pissed off..."

"Someone in authority is going to catch you doing this and then you're going to know about it."

"Worth it," laughed Greg.

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Challenge #266: Corrupt File

C:> Cannot find Reality.sys. Universe Halted.

There was no other word for what was happening than Glitch. People went to sleep one colour and woke up another the next. And frequently with a change in their social status and standing.

And it wasn't just their colour that changed. There were all kinds of alterations. People would go to sleep as a man in a mansion, and wake up as a woman in a slum.

Buildings began to show segmentation faults. Infrastructure literally crumbled.

Death rates skyrocketed. Chaos and outrage abounded. People tried to stay awake, hoping that that would prevent the changes, but their world simply altered around them anyway.

When analysed by the intelligent, it seemed to be a very specific kind of chaos. Those in power -and who were arrogant about having it- found themselves on the bottom rung of the social ladder. Everyone stayed within their own country.

The abusers found themselves at the hands of their former victims, staring up at themselves in absolute terror.

God, they said, had taken matters into Hir own hands.

Survivors fled to untouched areas, trying to find solace in what little was unglitched. It was the end of the world as they knew it.

*

The tutor had come to peer over hir shoulder.

"Yhvh..." the tutor sighed. "There's a reason why I only gave you one planet. And this is it. Just look at the overall mess you've created. None of their infrastructure is going to hold."

"But they weren't following my rules," Yhvh complained. "Even when I completely revised it to one rule and stopped doing so many miracles, like you said."

"I see you've been messing around with the root code. Did you save a backup before you did that?"

"Uuuuuuuhhhhhh..."

"You wanted them believing in you again, didn't you?"

"Uuuuhhhhhmmm... maybe?"

A groan. "Yhvh... you really have to learn that the best interference is the subtle kind. Remember the incidents near the equator? All that smiting? Your heavy-handedness is going to be the death of these beings. What do I keep telling you? Gently. Gently. Gently."

Sigh. "Yes, Teacher Lusfir..." Yhvh droned.

"Now. Let's see what we can do to repair this, hm?"

Moaned, this time, "Yes, Teacher Lusfir."

"It's a good thing I stopped you before you could bottleneck the population again. Open up the root file and highlight the most recent changes..."

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Challenge #267: Respect It

To quote Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 3 Scene 3, Line 87: No!

"Geez, why do you have to be such a bitch about it?"

Ugh. "Maybe because I had to tell you thirty times before you even heard a real 'no'? Maybe because my wants and needs aren't relevant to you? Maybe because the first thing that came out of your mouth when I told you I was bisexual was 'threesome'? Maybe it's because you're as aesthetically pleasing as month-old mozzarella that's been left in the sun for three months? Maybe it's because you smell like that, too? But really, when you get down to it? It's because you don't fucking listen."

He stared at her in piggy incomprehension. "You know, if you're on your rag, just tell me."

"It's men like you who give men a bad reputation, did you know that?"

"Come on. It's not like I'm asking you to fuck me or something... Just a coffee."

"The closest we're getting to going to get a coffee is if I throw some of mine in your face. I don't want you breathing my air. Go away." She re-enforced her point with her stun gun.

"Jesus. Who told you I was interested? I was just trying to compliment your fat ugly ass. Bulldyke."

Jessica sighed in relief and continued on her way to meet her girlfriend. The sooner they had a tag-and-release system for those pathetic specimens, the better.

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Challenge #268: Boundless Realms of Ignorance

To sing when anti-science protestors of whatever stripe are around:

Ev'ry banana you eat / has been genetically engineered / and is a radioactive clone.

There were simultaneous protests outside the administrative building. Some protestors, with a foot in each camp, had evolved revolving signs.

"Bible bashers," Sylvia shook her head. One side of a sign she was watching quoted the bible about natural foods, and the other screamed about teaching creationism. She had a wicked idea and ducked into her laboratory greenhouse.

Edna followed her. "What are you up to? You're not going to bomb them with dyed smoke again, are you?"

"No. I'm just going to give them a material lesson... Ah! There they are."

It was a green oblong that looked much like a cucumber with warts. Sylvia cackled like a true mad scientist as she made her way outside to the protestors.

"Sylvia..." Edna warned. "That's not a new sample, is it?"

"No, no, no. It's old as dirt. Promise." It took her five minutes to force her face into Press Conference Formality, at which point she strode out to the protestor with the revolving sign.

"Stay away from me, you ungodly harlot!"

"Well at least I'm not wearing blended fabrics or eating ham," she retorted. "Here's a banana as God intended them." She handed over the knobbly green thing. "Fresh from my garden."

The protestor stared at it in disgust.

"Yum yum yum," cooed Sylvia.

Alas, it didn't work. People opposed to science are naturally inclined to disbelieve anyone in a white coat.

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Challenge #269: Space Madness

"Kitty, fire starboard weapons"

"Miaou"

"No Kitty, don't play with the yarn, fire the weapons"

From the Wikipedia Galactica: Space Madness, as it is commonly known, is not, in fact, a mental imbalance caused by being in space. It is well known that cogniscents of all kinds need certain things in order to prosper, both physically and mentally. The isolation of solo missions does, of course, engender ramifications...

"Status report, Lieutenant Tibbles."

The black-and-white cat, known officially as merely Tibbles, looked up from her basket and made a "mrrrrrrrrp?" noise.

Blakely checked the indicator board in passing to feed the cat. "Safe sound and secure. Words I like to hear, Lieutenant. There'll be a commendation on your record."

The cat didn't care about commendations. She fell on her food like she'd been starved in the six hours since she'd last eaten.

"Yes, it looks like smooth—" Another indicator light started flashing. "Incoming! We have an incoming bogey vector five zero niner by four foxtrot tango. Man the guns!"

Tibbles, being a cat, began playing with a loose cable.

"OFFICER! Man your station!"

Tibbles ran for the closest hidey-hole.

"INSUBORDINATION! MUTINY! I'LL SEE YOU HANG FROM THE HIGHEST YARDARM!"

Doctor Dobelina paused the security playback. She kept her voice low and comforting. "Do you remember this incident, Miss Blakely?"

"Yes... but... not like that. My pickup ship was the enemy. Tibbles was... I think she was a Meeyahndan or... or some kind of humanoid Cat. Is she okay?"

"Tibbles is being spoiled rotten by your family."

Blakely visibly relaxed. "Oh good. I was afraid I'd hurt her. There were dreams... they were so real..."

"The nature of reality is often subjective," soothed Doctor Dobelina. "However, most of us prefer the version confirmed by others."

"I'm never going out alone again, am I?"

"It... wouldn't be advisable," allowed the doctor.

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Challenge #270: The Horrors of Attempted Time Travel

"Your body is your temple. Plunder it."

Three pieces of good news.

One: He was smarter than the people who had sent him here. And there was no way in hell that he was going to U-turn around into a suicide mission.

Two: The planet that read as habitable actually was habitable.

Three: The people who sent him on this wild flight to meddle with the course of history had sent along all kinds of laboratory equipment and information in order to deal with every situation.

Including a clone lab and brain-pattern recorder.

The bad news? He was the only genetic sample.

The really bad news? Earth was calling to find out what had gone wrong with the mission.

He sabotaged his ship enough to make it look like he'd crashed and failed and set to work. He had a world to build. Starting with a small community made of him.

And the ultimate bad news... all the protein on this planet was toxic.

Which meant he had to eat cultured tissue. And he was the only genetic sample that he had.

*

"We eat of the Allfather and remember. We owe our existence to one monumental act of unlistening, unrelenting, wilful ignorance."

"Think all things through," said the clones. Almost-clones. The Alllfather had done his best with what he had, but genetic variance could only go so far. All of them, women and men, could not breed in what other cogniscents call the 'traditional way'.

"And remember, also, the words we are to deliver to the Unthinkers."

Now the multitude at the remembrance ceremony shouted at the top of their lungs, "ERICH VON DÄNIKEN CAN SUCK IT!"

"Three thousand years ago, the Allfather was sent out to create a better world. He knew that the Unthinkers sent him to his death."

The ministers at the grill began to hand out sliders to the multitude with, "Flesh of the Allfather..."

"When they come to ask of their better world we shall say unto them,"

They all chorused, "We made it here."

Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold. For Adam Fydeus, that revenge was about to be served at below zero degrees Kelvin.

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Challenge #271: Getting Along...

They'll get along like a house on fire, in the sense that there will be significant property damage and possible casualties.

He was looking for allies and none of the bigger interests had any interests in his interests. And his Lizard guide wasn't much help.

"You may try Ambassador for Nineteen Eighty-Six, Shayde Pitt. I predict you will get along like a house on fire."

"I'll teach ya how to talk proper yet," he grinned. These lizards tended to take everything way too literally. He put on his best smile and sauntered over to the alien-looking lady.

He didn't like the way she was sizing him up. Like she could see right through him in a cold second.

He felt like he had parsley in his ears.

Sparkle, sparkle. He ramped up his outward congeniality and tried to look handsome.

Then he said the one thing guaranteed to grab her ire. "Hey there, little lady..."

*

"I tried to warn him," said Ju'shek. "I said he and you would get along like a house on fire."

"Flames, screaming, and property damage, aye," said Shayde. "Maybe ye should'nae use metaphors, ye ken."

Ju'shek wrung her hands. "Many, many apologies..."

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Challenge #272: But the Cat Came Back...

...and the cat is still not allowed into the tea room because he's convinced that somewhere there is catnip if he can only destroy enough to get at it.

"Whsk!" Pattie aimed a spray at the incoming Skitty. "Ffffft! HSSSSS!"

"Ma'am," said Officer Marken. "I'm afraid it's against station regulations to interfere with a Skitty's duties." She already had the digipad out and was taking notes.

"I know," said Pattie. "But it's the tea. They keep smashing the containers. They keep smashing the crockery! We can't afford the Reboundables... not with all the breakages... Our only hope is keeping the cats out..."

"They're hunting for vermin, Miss Newtrio."

"They're hunting for catnip, Officer Marken... and we don't have any. We never had any. If I let them do what they want... we're ruined..."

Lyr Marken sighed. "I'll see if I can arrange something with the Britanian and the Xin'hua embassies. Neither of those empires want to see tea going to waste."

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Challenge #273: Capitalism

It's like selling people a gold nugget, then a silver nugget with gold covering, then you get a copper one with gold covering, the next version they sell you a iron Nugget with gold paint before selling you a glass marble calling it the 'next big thing'.

"It's all about makin' stuff faster and cheaper, but no' necessarily better. It's about convincin' the customers that faster an' cheaper is better, ye ken. But never dropping' the price tae how much it costs tae make."

The assembled cogniscents stared.

A lizard tentatively raised her hand. "Sir?"

"Aye?" said Shayde. The 'sir' still irked her, but everyone superior got 'sir' regardless of gender, so she did her utmost to shut up about it.

"You've just described standard business practices on all of the extant Greater Deregulations."

"Aw Gawd, it's still alive..." muttered Shayde. "Have they figured out why they cannae convince all o' ye tae buy their shit?"

"No, but they are trying to bribe the officials they believe are responsible."

"And complaining about it at every Ambassadorial Meet."

Shayde groaned. "I'm no' goin' tae be looking' forward tae tha'..."

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Challenge #274: An Axe to Grind

It was distressing how many problems a good murder could solve.

Too many arseholes in the world. Far too many. But if one could select an arsehole to excise from reality... If you could pick the ones who were most to blame for the current, sordid state of reality...

If you could pick off the ones who made their wealth from others' pain...

Ah, but those are the ones with the most security. They're the ones who isolate themselves in armour-plated ivory towers. The ones who think they're safe.

But they still let people like me in. To clean for them. To dress their hair or do their makeup or their nails. To ensure that their life of leisure is never besmirched by a mote out of place.

They trust people like me.

More fool them.

It's an easy thing, to come in when expected. Easier still to find some expensive treat and add a little extra touch.

A virus here. A pathogen there. A little arsenic for old time's sake. Never the same way twice. Never working for the same company twice. Sometimes it's advantageous to be so poor that one can only ever get temp work.

And one by one they fall. While invisible me carries on as always. Weeding out the true scum of the earth.

One rich asshole at a time.

Sooner or later, the money will go to someone who wants to do good with it. All I have to do is bide my time, weigh them up and, once I have found them wanting... administer justice.

All the others want to be caught because they know they're doing something bad. Most of these arseholes? Nobody will miss what they do very much. Nobody really cares. Not about them.

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Challenge #275: One Fine Evening in a Filthy Spaceport Bar

We believe that the universe itself is conscious in a way that we can never truly understand. It is engaged in a search for meaning. So it breaks itself apart, investing its own consciousness in every form of life. We are the universe trying to understand itself.- Delenn, Babylon 5

"Well that doesn't make sense," said Hwell. He, too, was propping up a bar and ingesting something bad for him. "Humans, we all well know, are insane. Lots of them spend their entire lives in a bubble of ignorance that they made for themselves."

"Well, yes," said the other human. "That's what I'm trying to work out. Is it the universe compartmentalising? Is that why there are so many human colonies? Is the universe going mad?"

Hwell glared at the man. "Someone's going to have to rock me to sleep, tonight. Thanks for that."

"Self-awareness is a bitch," shrugged the other human. "Sorry."

"Shoulda never got involved in religion or politics..." Hwell mumbled into his pint. "Here's one - how about all this effort's made the universe go bonkers or given it cancer or something? We're a tumour."

The other human glared back and delivered a flat and snarky, "Thanks."

Hwell chuckled. "Gotta give as good as you get."

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Challenge #276: BSOD

Emergency Brain error reboot Y/N

Error encountered at local clock 13:25:57

Erasing subsequent data

Restarting from automatic backup...

The spinning wheel annoyed her as she waited in etherspace for her hardware and software to agree on a stepstone. It was one thing she had in common with the organics.

Sound came first, as the audio receptors booted up. Her assistant was explaining the boot-up process and the need for lexicon patches to the luckless cogniscent who had said the wrong thing.

"I'm so sorry," said Ambassador Belle. "I didn't know she wasn't pun-proof. I thought it'd break the ice. I'm so sorry. Does it hurt?"

Her cameras came online out-of focus, and her servos were laggy. Her speakers made a grinding noise before she could stop it.

"No, it does not hurt," said E.M.I. "This unit only senses physical damage. Please refrain from lexical pit-traps in the future." Self-assessment routines took up the next few minutes. "I'm missing three minutes' worth of data. I assume that's when the pun was told?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

E.M.I. adjusted her face-screen to show a pleasant smile. "Now," said the Emergency Medical Interface. "Without jokes, what is the problem?"

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Challenge #277: Forbidden Fruit

Heresy is Delicious. Don't believe me? Put Kosher mustard on a ham and cheese sandwich and find out for yourself!

"So... you decided to open a restaurant on the greater thoroughfare of the business district."

"That is correct," said the lizard.

"All the forms and paperwork are correct... but you also decided to sell foods ordinarily under social and religious restrictions."

"That is also correct. Cogniscent Shayde performed the idea in public."

"Open Mic Night at the Tunnel Cafe?" said the technical-human in question. "I was doin' a stand-up routine..."

Sherlock glared at her. "We've spoken before about your 'heresy is delicious' chain of thought."

"I even had a wee card up. 'Don't take anythin' the human says seriously'. Just in case they missed the whole point o' stand up."

"Yes, well after some research and legal consultation—"

Sherlock groaned in anticipation.

"—I came to the conclusion that a wide variety of taboos are, in fact, delicious. Hence, heretical foods."

"Including," Sherlock consulted his info-stream. "Cultured cogniscent flesh."

"From willing donors!" The lizard put up hir hands in protest. "It's all certified and sealed."

"You do know that there are planets who have recently reformed from cogniphagy," said Sherlock. "The eating of cogniscent life forms is illegal."

"Er. Actually. The law states that killing a cogniscent for the purposes of eating them is illegal. No death is involved in my cultured meat. You can still talk to all my donors. I was completely transparent."

"And then there's the matter of Brav'nu..." Sherlock maintained his iron glare. "Citizens there believe that sharing the flesh of a passed loved one is a form of hand-me-down immortality, as well as remembrance. How many Brav'nu citizens came to you seeking a way to cheat their spiritual system?"

"I'm aware of their theology, sir," said the lizard. "Once I explained the details, they lost interest."

Sherlock sighed. "I have hundreds of Ambassadors up in arms because their fellows from home are up in arms about your menu. There is nothing, strictly speaking, illegal about the food. And, unfortunately, you are well within your rights to maintain your restaurant."

"Thank you."

"However, I am also obligated to remind all visitors that it is also well within their rights to refuse to patronise your business."

Now the reptilian face fell. "Oh..."

"Next time," said Shayde, "Pay attention to the wee card."

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Challenge #278: Culinary Compromise

Why would you hate the [species]? The [species] aren't eating everyone because they're evil, they're eating everyone because they're fucking delicious.

"We need the meat alive for surviving," said the Horg Captain. Griis. "Is forever the way."

Of all the deathworlders they had ever met, these were on the most extreme scale. Their world was so badly a class five that it almost qualified for new categorisation as the first and only known class six. Before they left their planet, the chief survival tactic was breed like flies and eat anything that didn't get out of the way fast enough.

They were only hunting other life because of a plague amongst their chief food animal. Selective breeding and monocultures had almost wiped out their food. And their metabolisms were like suns. They didn't have the time to cook.

"Get all the tank meat, vacu-pack it and ship it over," ordered Captain Jezebel. "Let's see how they like steak."

"On it, sir. The crew isn't going to like Nutri-Food bags on the way home."

"The crew can suck it for a week." To the Horg, she said, "We're sending over some high-density protein in a drone shuttle. If you can eat that, we have some factory planets growing this stuff in bulk. And in the meantime... let's talk metabolic stabilisers..."

The Horg took their first Ambassadorial conference at the tables of Heretical Food Eat, where they could safely devour any protein they chose without the need for death.

Captain Jezebel ordered a Humanburger to show willingness. Griis had a family sample platter.

"See? You can digest cooked things faster. My species discovered this in the stone tool era. Cooked takes time, but cooked works better."

"Liking cooked much," agreed Griis. "Liking other world technology. Liking many of shiny things."

"Yes. Ordinarily, eating intelligent people -cogniphagy- is a big no-no. This is cultured meat. Grown from donor cells. No death. No crime. All good." And damnit... people were delicious. "There are two ways you can approach fitting in to the Galactic Alliance. Gengineering, medication, or medication used in combination with gengineering and selective breeding. Medication alone means that the rest of the Alliance will avoid you."

"Liking many of shiny things," Griis played with her fork. "Trade must be good, yes?"

"Oh yes. Trade very good. But trade won't happen if everyone thinks of you as mindless eating machines. You have new situations. New planets. You can afford to curb your appetites."

"Forever way ending, new forever way is needing."

"Yeah, you get it. Now all we have to do is convince your elite to go along with it."

"Not be hard much," said Griis. "Sending freighter of grown meat. Plenty good peace offering."

Captain Jezebel became the Horg's sponsor. She was forever quoted as saying, "They're not bad. They're just hungry."

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Challenge #279: Human Religions

Aliens discover celebrity fandoms (Elvis, Morgan Freeman, etc.) and take them for human religions.

[AN: This is going to be interesting because the Amalgam Universe does possess the First Church of Elvis...]

From the journals of Kor'kor the Fascinated:

The humans, as always, were very welcoming and allowed me to trade for a ticket to their ceremonial enclosure. The sacrament was a large portion of exploded grain. Perhaps a sacrifice to the spirits?

The exploded grains were coated with a greasy substance that rendered the foamy remains of food flavourful and interesting. Of course, I preserved a sample for later analysis, but I already expect it to be deleterious to long-term survival.

The altar initially seemed to be a plain, white sheet, but when the lights lowered, it was revealed to be a surface to project images on. These were rather primitive, given other media examples from the humans, and I suspect the events projected onto the screen occurred a very long relative time ago.

There was no sound. What dialogue there was occurred via plates filled with the written word. And it soon became apparent that it was one of these ancient players that the humans had come to worship.

His name was Buster Keaton. And he evidenced some very typical manifestations of human insanity. Among examples I have seen, he had courted numerous injuries by tumbling down an escalating staircase, failing to leap across the gap between two tall buildings, racing against a landslide, and allowing a building to fall down around him.

The humans around me seemed to believe these were feats worth admiration.

I declined to voice my opinions out loud.

I posit that survival against the odds can elevate some humans to the levels of godhood. Or at least minor deity-ship. The fact that these survivals were documented strictly for the sake of entertainment is an avenue of human sociology that may warrant further investigation.

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Challenge #280: Performance Art

"The Lion Sleeps Tonight" is so culturally engrained now that starting it is just a whim away, a whim away, a whim away...

Open Mic Night at the Tunnel Cafe...

It was where many a young performer honed their act before taking it further out into the open. People came here to steal other people's jokes. People came here with dreams of stardom. And Shayde came here, apparently, to hold a guitar and tell jokes.

Having done some research into Terran history, Rael halfway expected her to finish with "Anyway, here's Wonderwall," before she actually played.

But that didn't happen.

She strummed her guitar. A prelude to another joke. The audience was getting used to the pattern and issued forth a pre-emptive giggle. "Ye ever notice that there's some songs that get right into yer head? There's a few, ye ken, that are so universally known that they're just a whim away, a whim away, a whim away..." The guitar came into play, strumming a backing to her chant.

Humans scattered through the audience joined in.

Shayde nodded many other cogniscents into joining the chorus. Once the rhythm was established, she sang, "In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight..."

Applause, though the audience kept singing.

It was hypnotic. It was incredible. She had the whole room singing along before the first chorus. Even him.

Now he could believe that she used to busk for extra money. She had all the subtle ways to play a crowd while her hands were full of guitar and her mouth was full of song.

Shayde moved from The Lion Sleeps Tonight to Ob La Di Ob La Da, to She Loves You, and a song Rael recognised from the Consortium of Steam. Something she couldn't have heard here and now because the Consortium were still on their home planet and she owed the Station too much to access the Galactic Info-net.

She finished with It's a Small World After All, and got cheered off the stage. Rael watched her gather her warning card and bounce to her seat beside him.

"Eee, that's better'n five cups o' coffee," she giggled.

Rael finished his last dish. He'd timed it well. "Your debt to the station is being adjusted," he said. "And Sherlock demands you return to your cell as soon as possible."

"Woh? I cannae stay t' watch the puir bastard who has tae follow me?" Shayde groaned. "Tha's half the fun..."

Rael glared at her. "Fun is not the object of incarceration, Cogniscent Shayde."

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Challenge #281: The Internet

T'reka (or some other inquisitive creature) discovers the truly staggering amount of porn on the human internet.

"Ha. I have found an archive of human mating rituals."

Krezlor peered over Brixik's shoulder. "This does not appear to be a documentary..."

"[Oh no,]" said the definitely female human on the screen. "[I can't pay for the pizza... there must be some way I can... trade...]"

"[Do you like a lot of... sausage... with your pizza?]"

"Is this humorous entertainment?"

Bow chicka wow-wow...

"I have no idea." Brixik opened more windows. "There are hubs for this. It must be important information. Regard the abundance of it."

"Much of this is contrary to how humans behave in the wild. Are you certain it is meant to be educational?"

"We are bound to learn something from this. We must investigate."

Fifteen hours later...

"This is the fifth time this woman has been unable to pay for her food," droned Brixik.

"They are different females," said Krezlor in the same bored monotone. "Their markings are disparate."

"It's all becoming a monotonous blur..." sighed Brixik. "Now I understand why studying these humans is a punishment detail."

"How many more hours of this are there?"

Brixik checked. "In excess of two thousand..."

"No human could watch all of these in a lifetime. Why do they devote so much time and energy into making it?"

"That is part of the mystery."

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Challenge #282: Scary Handy

On an individual basis, moments when humans go from "big, scary, too strong and menacing" to "big, protective, safe and ok still a bit scary"

Just little things, like being able to catch a falling numidid, deflect a blow, walk or swim in currents that bowl over little guineafowl people, or bodily grab them out of the way of danger etc.

An adult Human was twice the size of a Numidid in relaxed posture. Four if the Numidid was in a defensive huddle. And if that Numidid stretched, they might have a hope of being slightly taller than two-thirds that of the human.

And that was just on average.

As with any species, there were variants. Smaller than normal Numidid and taller than normal Humans. Such was the case with Syriki the Small and Big Leeroy. Both were very quiet cogniscents and went on many scientific forays together.

Big Leeroy was huge. In both height and breadth. At the end of a long day, many colonists would see him lending his shoulder for the small black Bird as well as being her pack horse of sorts.

Syriki answered many questions from Kal'rike, all coming from concerned citizens who saw the giant, muscular human on her live streams.

Most frequent was, How did you tame such a big human?

Syriki laughed at that one. She didn't tame him at all.

She'd been investigating some nodules on a branch too frail to hold even her small weight. He'd been underneath, foraging for samples in the undergrowth. Both minding their own business and making their own, muttered, Keep Calm I'm Here noises out of mutual respect.

When the branch snapped and Syriki screamed, she was underneath it. There was no time for her to unfurl her wings.

But the human had simply snatched her out of the air and transformed her inertia into a slowing swing before gently setting her, upright and dazed, onto the ground.

"All good, miss bird?" he chirped in broken Ulu.

Syriki huddled even smaller and practiced her Science Breathing. All she could think was that everyone in Kal'rike was saying life would be better without the humans on the planet.

Without the humans on the planet, she would be experiencing a snapped neck or broken clavicle. And a quick and lonely death in this jungle.

Humans on the planet had made her life longer, for a start.

She took so long at coming back to normal that Big Leeroy had taken his shirt off and used it as an improvised pseudowing to help her keep warm. He was cooing, "Be good, be good..." and gently patting her.

Syriki regained control and managed a shaky, "All good, kind ape," in broken English.

That was the first day he'd carried her and her findings back to the Beach Path Hide. Humans were learning to communicate in a language their mouths were not made for. They easily sounded like they required an excess of remedial education. But day after day, they proved that they understood.

Though this human had not been seen at or visited the Beach Path Hide, he still knew where it was and knew it was where the Numidid could go to meet with other Numidid.

Syriki knew that the entire Human colony had more or less adopted her as their keet, despite her age. She hadn't realised until much later that the Humans had taken to following her around and acting as her bodyguard.

It didn't take her very long. The fifth time she saw or heard Big Leeroy shadowing her path was enough to allow her the realisation.

She hopped down to his eye-line and bluntly asked, "Good ape follow for make-safe Syriki?"

"Leeroy," he said, tapping his chest. "Make good safe, pretty bird."

It was a promise he kept throughout his life. Long after he really needed to. He even repeated his snatch-and-swing trick when one of her pre-fledged keets fell from her perch on the courtesy rail. Years and years after most humans were fluent in Ulu.

By then, Kal'rike was asking if she was going to invite him into her nest.

But no, they remained incredibly good friends.

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Challenge #283: Sacrifice...

"You dare say that to me?! That my choices, my actions caused all this? As if with you in my place, if you had to shoulder all my burdens and responsibilities for as long as I have, that you would do things differently? You deceive only yourself to claim you would 'succeed' where I had 'failed'. Anyone would do the same as me in these circumstances. I'm just like you. Just like everyone else. Tell me with a straight face, right now, that if you had to choose between your family and a million lives, which one would you choose?"

[AN: My internet is being a bitch right now so have one off the top of the pile]

"Congratulations," iced Justicer Makkou. "You saved the world from your self-inflicted apocalypse. Dare I ask what you'd have done if you chose the greater good?"

"But... I was saving my family... I put them in the shelter... It was sealed against all hazards. All of them." Pryatt's confidence imploded and fell to a whisper. "All of them... all of them..."

"Yes. You thought of everything." Justicer Makkou crossed her arms. "Food, water, medication... even supplies to rebuild the world."

"...i thought of everything... why? Why did they die and you live?"

"You forgot about fresh air," said Justicer Makkou as she shoved Pryatt into an incarceration unit. "They suffocated while they were under sedation."

"...why wasn't there an apocalypse? There was supposed to be an apocalypse..."

Makkou had seen this before. A unique madness that lead the sufferer to prepare, obsessively, for an apocalypse that would never come. She'd never seen any go this far, before.

She would be prepared for the next one.

The poor bastard.

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Challenge #284: Reality? Just a Suggestion

Sara and Pinkie Pie trade recipes

Since you said Sara, I'm assuming you mean my favourite mutant OC and not her alternate ponysona, [ Star Wishes. If you meant the ponysona, then re-send the prompt with the right name]

"Wait, so you're not one of those weird beings from the other side of the magic mirror?"

"No," said the aqua-coloured human with the brown mane. "I came here through Kazooland. Steam Powered Giraffe showed me the way."

"Oh..." Twilight Sparkle visibly relaxed. The world, the cosmos, magic as she knew it and whatever else may be in peril was not in peril after all. "And... what are you doing to my kitchen?"

"Centaur porridge," she grinned. "Pinkie asked and she's trading a cupcake/muffin recipe for it."

"Centaurs?"

"Yes. Below the waist, they're horses, above the waist, they're humans. And their diet is understandably restricted whilst their appetites are understandably huge. This entire pot..." she helpfully banged a thing that could hold three adult ponies with room to swim, "...would just about accommodate a family of four centaurs."

"GuesswhatIjustlearned, guesswhat, guesswhat, guesswhat?"

"...did you let her have any sugar-cubes?"

"Just a couple. Why?"

Pinkie continued to bounce around like she was seeking to commit self-fission. "The universe is really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really..." gaaaaaaasp... "really, REALLY huge! There's planets and stars are suns and there's worlds where reality is a figment of someone else's imagination and Sara comes from one of them! Isn't that super-exciting?"

"It's a weird multiverse," summarised Sara. She sniffed the contents of the pot. "Hhhmmmmm... this should slow her down." Sara doled out a bowlful of fragrant porridge and added a generous dollop of cream before she offered it to the bouncing Pinkie. "Try this for size."

Twilight shrank away as Pinkie fell on her serving as if she were starving.

"Oh that's delicious! It's like my tummy is having a party but I really gotta slee—" *thunk*! Pinkie slumped against the table and started to snore.

"It's the cinnamon," said Sara. "I always tend to overdo the cinnamon..."

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Challenge #285: Magnificently Horrible

(inspired by the recent development of nailpolish that helps detect date-rape drugs when a finger is dipped in the drink, though, understandably, you don't need to use that for the writing-inspiration)

"Like a lot of things in this world, it is wonderful that this finally exists, but also terrible that it needs to exist."

It looked like a simple brain mod. Just another circuit in a world full of integrated circuits designed to merge with the nerve cells of the brain and enhance its performance.

"This is a game? Augmented reality, right?"

"Not quite," explained the inventor. "We market it as a game. But what it actually does is detect all the social minefields and help the user avoid them."

"For example?"

"Did you ever get laid while you were drunk at a party?"

"Pft. Yeah. Sure. Good fun."

"Were you sure that your partner wanted it?"

"Uuuuuhhhh..."

"That's where this little beauty takes over. It does augment reality, but it gives you vital information. Like your prospective partner's actual age, blood alcohol content, and whether or not they're actually interested in having sex with you. It takes all the guesswork out of hooking up."

"So... if she's drunk and underage, a little stop sign pops up."

"Yup! And if you go ahead and do the do, your location and details are sent to the police so they can arrest you for statutory rape and her for underage drinking."

"That's grea— waitasecond. What?"

"It applies to all forms of rape, of course. It is a crime. And just like any other crime, it's immediately reported to the authorities with video feed, location, and all that other information."

Outrage. "Why would you do that?"

"It's a crime. Stopping crime is a good thing. And the users can't claim ignorance, because of all the little signs popping up in their field of view."

"That's horrible!"

"And necessary. People are ignoring plain biodata now. A system of checks, balances, and immediate punishment should prove very efficacious. Plus it clearly labels anyone who treats their desired gender like trash, so they can avoid the offender."

A long, evaluating stare. "You're actually proud of yourself for doing this, aren't you?"

"Are you saying you'd get caught by this system?"

"...uuuuuuuuuuhhhh..."

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Challenge #286: It Works on Everyone

The universal phenomenon of chasing the laser pointer dot.

"Stay there. When I say 'run' you leg it."

Barstaw boggled at the human. Their colourful phrases had no discernible end... and yet they were instantly understandable. For all her deathworlder status, she was extremely helpful to have around for this escape.

She hunkered down, ready to run at the door that was currently being supervised by one very bored guard. Barstaw half expected the human to happen to them in a typical deathworlder blur of shouting and violence. And, perhaps, explosions.

What did happen was a spot of anomalous light on the floor.

It jittered around in interesting squiggles until the guard noticed it. And then made very obvious play-with-me motions.

Even Barstaw, concealed in the shadows, had to control her impulse to chase it.

The guard did not, and left hir post to investigate the little wiggling dot. Which jinked away by a few Standard Distance Units before it wiggled some more.

Bit by bit, the guard got further and further away from hir post.

Then, abruptly, the light began to run about in a standard pattern.

Approaching footfalls. "RUN!"

The human smashed through the door that should have held any other known cogniscent firmly on the prisoner's side. Barstaw scrambled to keep up.

"What was that?"

"Laser pointer. It works on kittens, ducks, babies, drunkards and now the obligatory stupid guard. Wooo!"

Barstaw boggled anew as she followed the human. She would never understand these mad apes.

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Challenge #287: The Spine's ex-Hats

According to Jennifer's Beret, the Spine once owned many hats. It is rumored that behind closed doors, these hats fought over who got to wear him because he made them all look good. Now, only Fedora remains.

(So is that the right idea?)

[AN: Yes it is]

There used to be a Hall of Hats, just like there is a Hall of Faces in Walter Manor. It isn't there, any more. It got re-absorbed owing to it's emptiness. Why?

Well, for that story, one must understand a few things. For example: Walter Manor is one of the few places on the Mundane Plain that is riddled with Kazooland magic. The house, since it has been continuously loved for generations, is alive.

Things can be imbued with life. All it takes is enough love. Or, in a pinch, enough Belief.

Before they took him away for his military overhaul, The Spine had loved each and every one of his hats. He would play them elaborate sonatas on the violin. And he had a roster so that no hat would feel neglected.

That all changed because of Vietnam.

They took him away in the 50's. And he didn't come back until the 70's.

And during those twenty years... well... things got ugly.

"He hasn't come, today," murmured the Beret. "It's my turn and he hasn't come today."

"It was my turn, yesterday," said the Trilby. "He didn't come then, either."

"Maybe we should look for him," said the Tam o'Shanter.

"Maybe he decided he doesn't like us," worried the Toque.

"Nonsense," insisted the Boater. "He loves all of us. He must have... got caught up in something."

"You only say that because you're the oldest," said a young and cocky Fedora. "If it were up to strength, some of you old dusters would be shredded."

"I'll take you on," challenged a Top Hat. "I'll take you all on!"

Many of the cloth hats were the first to fall. Torn asunder by others' brooches, pins, and hard edges. It was when some hit on the idea of using weapons that things went mad.

No holds barred. Survival of the vicious. The youngest amongst them had the most to fight for.

It was the most brutal war that had ever been fought inside of one room.

*

Power on. Systems green. The Spine opened his eyes and saw his friends. His family.

"Welcome back, th' Spine," cheered Rabbit.

The Spine was never happier to see his[1] face. Or the beaming grin of The Jon. The man in the lab coat was not the Peter Walter he remembered. "Mister Walter, I presume?"

The young man nodded. "That's right. Another Peter Walter. You're good to go. Need anything?"

The Spine reached up to touch his head. Bare. The helmet he'd perched up there must have run off. Or rusted. Kind of a mercy. He didn't really like helmets. "One of my hats, if you please, Mister Walter."

"...uh..." said one of the Walter Workers. "There's only... one... hat. In The Spine's room."

Odd. Something must have happened to them. "That hat will do, thank you ma'am."

It was a black Fedora. Which matched his black clothes. Stylish and simple... although it had a slight nick on its outer edge.

A brim reminder of the conflict that it survived.

[1] period-accurate gender.

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Challenge #288: Children of the Night...

I thought I was alone as I silently entered the house, but a voice caught my ear, making me freeze.

"Funny thing about gaining immortality, it can happen to anyone, at any time, whether it is wanted or not..."

I turned, seeing nobody around at first, then I spotted a small girl sitting in the corner, facing away from where I stood, seemingly oblivious to me as she played with her dolls. Had she been here the whole time?

"I met a strange man one night, who claimed he was a predator... but he wasn't after lusts of the flesh like most who were called such. No, he wanted something... more vital." It indeed was the girl who was speaking, for she continued as she looked up at me, eyes turning eerily luminous... and red. "But, that was three thousand years ago..." She smiled now, and her too-long and too-sharp teeth gleamed...

"Ah," I said. "You must be the permanent installation the realtor told me about. Hello. My name's Melanie Brisko. What's yours?"

The little vampire boggled, fangs withdrawing back into hiding. "You're supposed to scream," she said. "They all scream..."

"I've frequently mourned that I'm not like all the other girls," I smiled for her. "It's high time that that sort of thing became beneficial. Can you eat human food, or is blood all that you can subsist on?"

Haunted eyes. "I... don't know. After everyone went away I lived on rats. And when the rats went away I lived on pigeons. And when the pigeons went away..." she hugged her favourite doll tight. After three thousand years of being loved, it was showing the strain. "I can hypnotise deer. They come right up to me."

"That's a very useful talent," I said, setting up. "Does your hair grow?"

A dumbfounded stare. "You're supposed to be scared. You're supposed to be afraid of me. Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"I'm too busy being afraid of cities and crowds. You? You're a little girl who's sorely in need of a bath, fresh clothes, and a good combing. Then we can work on some hot food and probably some sorely needed cuddles."

"Why? I'm a monster."

"I'm of the opinion that being monstrous doesn't necessarily make one a monster. With love and care and attention to your needs, you could become a reformed citizen."

"I'll try it," she said. "I'll probably eat all your blood tomorrow."

"That's why I bought the pigs."

Since neither of us knew about her hair, it took quite a few baths and washings to get all the tangles out. Were it not for her paleness, she could have passed as any other little girl with her long brown hair in pigtails.

I fixed up her dolls for her, of course. And thanks to satellite internet, I was able to fix up the house and some of the caves that had been converted into living space in ages past. She took the name Grace, and she flourished in my care.

That was how it began. Four hundred years ago, now. Oh, I don't blame her for biting me. The poor darling needs a mother. And I was mortal.

We keep the pigs for when we need blood. They're immune to the vampiric virus. For the rest of the time we could almost pass as normal humans.

Almost.

Let's just say that there's a reason we don't allow our photos to be taken. Just like there's a reason we don't go out in the sunshine without heavy protection.

Now don't panic. See? This is why we don't tell people about us. I can assure you, you're perfectly safe. That asparagus? I feed it to our guests to make sure my Grace doesn't get it into her head to add members to our little family. Changes your flavour. Makes you... unappetising.

And anyway, we're going out to talk to the deer. Sweet dreams.

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Challenge #289: But Why?

Curiosity in humans vs. numidids, how the adults handle it in children

Before the attitudes changed, it went like this:

Humans...

"Momma? Why is the sky blue?"

"Some say it's a reflection of the ocean. Some say it's dust particles. Others sat it's the air refracting the suns' light. I think it's a little of all of the above."

"Oh. Okay. Can I have a cookie?"

"After dinner."

"Aaaaaawwww..."

Numidid...

"Firstmother?"

"Yes, Tyrtyr?"

"Why are the plants here dangerous?"

"Because the scientists analysed them and told us they are."

"Yes, but... how did they get that way?"

"We have already forwarded that question to the proper authorities, Tyrtyr," she lied. "You must wait in faith and patience for the answer. If it exists."

"But—"

"The next thing I want to hear from you is, 'yes, first mother'. Now go learn your homework."

Sigh. "Yes, Firstmother."

She watched her chick move into her cote, and then dived for her co-wives. Literally. They were five Leaps below in the markets.

"I think Tyrtyr is in danger of Scientific thought. She persisted in seeking explanations beyond the accepted answers..."

Her co-wives gasped.

"No..." whispered her gene-mother. "I was so careful..."

"Nobody blames you," said the third wife, who certainly did. "These things happen, sometimes."

"We must discourage her at once."

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Challenge #290: Next Challenger

How does competitive combat (boxing, martial arts, etc.) fare in the new environment of the Amity universe?

The humans inside the roped-off square wore heavy padding on their hands, heads, and torsos. They faced off in formal postures that a number of them called Markisuvkwinsbree.

T'reka lit on Calico's saddle and regarded the match.

"What this happening?"

Su-syn, leaning on her horse, chirped, "Testosterone-poisoning-related posturing. Two male here have rivalry over same female. They thinking aggression display win merit."

"Is working?"

"Target female walking beach with different male. Definite no."

T'reka watched. "Old time long gone, me-folk males have similar fight. Very fast. Few rules."

"Now?"

"Ceremonial display make-for public merit. At-er-leet."

"Athlete."

"Tricky word," said T'reka.

"Many us-folk sport begin fight. Others begin hunt. Very few begin art."

T'reka tutted and shook her head. Deathworlders.

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Challenge #291: Do You Have Time...?

The stars are right, R'yleh is about to rise...and Cthulhu's Witnesses are out in force, ringing everyone's doorbells. — shkspr1048

Bing bonnnng...

Sally peeked. People in suits with clipboards. On a Saturday. This was never good. She risked opening the door.

There was a dark-stained knife at his hip.

"Oh, don't worry. It's ceremonial," smiled the clean-shaven man with the sunken eyes and a desperate smile. "Much like you'd wear a crucifix despite it's origin as an instrument of death."

The polite rictus settled onto her face. "Ah. I never thought of it that way." He was creeping her out. It was way his tongue rolled around the word 'death' as if it were a delicious treat that did it. "How can I help you?"

"Have you heard the good word of our lord and mutilator, C'thulu?"

Ah crap... evangelists...

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Challenge #292: Fascinating in Retrospect

T'reka meets an amorous cassowary. Hilarity ensues. —shkspr1048

Boo boo boo...

T'reka looked up from her lunch to discover a giant in the clearing. Were it not for his solidly blue-black plumage, he could easily be mistaken for a male of her own species. But he was clearly more dinosaur than Bird.

The cranial capacity was a dead give-away.

He was puffing himself up. Engorging his wattle and showing off his plumage whilst saying, Boo boo boo.

Lonely she may be, but not that lonely.

T'reka discretely checked her HUD, and found that none of the humans were anywhere within hearing range of her distress call.

The saurian bird stepped closer, revealing talons that could tear her to shreds. This was most definitely a bird from a death world.

She could not run away. Not along the ground. Those long legs would easily catch her if he chose to pursue.

Boo boo boo...

Obviously, she did not know how to, nor did she want to, reciprocate his attentions. And further good news, his display involved circling.

Calling for help would be pointless.

Boo boo boo...

Running away along the ground would be pointless.

A vigorous display of aggression may encourage a similar response from him.

Therefore, the only way to go was up.

T'reka abandoned her food and scurried up the nearest tree as fast as she could scramble. The giant on the forest floor startled away for a handful of seconds and then investigated her lunch box.

One small sacrifice for science.

Belatedly, T'reka began taking notes into her lifecorder.

"Subject is a previously unseen bird, presumed evolved over introduced. Subject mistook me for one of his species' females and initiated what I must assume to be a mating display..."

*

Susan was laughing behind her hands. So hard that tears spilled from her eyes.

"I am not understanding this display," said their scientific guest.

"On one hand, I'm amazed we have cassowaries," chirped Kori. "We haven't finished clearing terran biota for this planet. On the other hand... in retrospect... it's funny."

"I'm sorry," Susan squeaked. "I keep imagining it..." and with a snort, she returned to her peals of hidden laughter.

T'reka sighed. This was the disadvantage to the question, How was your day?

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Challenge #293: Politically Correct

"I wouldn't say *we've* made that much progress. Our euphemisms have, though."

"It's 'Avian Catastrophan'."

"No, it's simply Avian. Or Avian Citizen."

"But some of them aren't citizens. They still have resident status in Kal'rike."

"Only because Kal'rike's run by the most anal bureaucrats since time began..."

"Ladies," said the Numidid of contention. "I am fine with merely 'Bird'. I know it has connotations, but I can hear the capital and I can hear the respect."

They stared at her. "Really? Does this apply to all Numidid?"

"We may have to undertake a survey..."

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Challenge #294: Warning - Humour

Breaking bones is a death sentence for other cogniscients, so how unlikely is it that anyone has encountered someone missing a digit or limb, unless they were born missing it?

Jokes using one's prosthetics (probably more advanced in the group that lives long enough to need them) optional.

[AN: Some species are more fragile than others. Havenworlders are particularly delicate. And it's notably the Birds for whom broken bones are fatal]

The cogniscent trapped with her in the stalled veet had a warning shirt that labeled her as a comedian.

"It's okay," said the dinosaur. "I know you're a havenworlder. I won't try any of my usual tricks on you."

"Usual... tricks?"

A gesture with an arm. "I wasn't born with this hand. A combination of maternal stress and chemical exposure in the nest made sure that this arm was never completed in the build stage. Therefore I have a synthetic prosthetic." A warm smile. "May I show you the seam?"

Dubiously, Hika nodded.

The saurian took up her sleeve. There, on a bicep, was a paired silver line with a thin black line between them. "Flesh," a finger indicated the skin above the lines. "Not flesh," the rest of the arm below. "I can disconnect with it at will. Which I generally do for comedy purposes. Hence the shirt."

"Please don't demonstrate?" asked Hika. "My warning lights are on."

The dinosaur covered herself anew. "I don't joke like that in front of havenworlders. And I got sentenced to the shirt after the third fainting spell I caused." A careful grin. "I once left it on a counter at protest of the prices at a clothing outlet. That was the final pebble, actually."

"...hee hee hee..." warbled Hika uncertainly.

"Sorry. I'm Woblé. And I won't be talking about my arm any more."

"Hika," said Hika. "Wishing I picked a different stopover."

The dinosaur chuckled. "True, but the food is magnificent."

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Challenge #295: Not Necessarily Needing to go Night Vale on This One...

To truly understand, you must look inside yourself, look deep into your heart... no, no, you're too far down, that's your liver, try a bit more up and to the left... ah, there you go.

[AN: But it's so very very Night Vale...]

"Excuse me, but my species is not transparent."

"You're transparent to my eyes."

"Eugh... Sorry. Uhm... We find our internals to be offensive."

"Not a problem. Most cogniscents tend to shun my kind. We see into the X-ray and magnetic spectrum. Honesty is key. Though clothing is translucent to us, we tend to pick fabrics that leave interesting shadows."

"Ah, that explains the lamé..."

"Yes. Perhaps you can explain to me why my species is judged to be in poor taste."

"Let's begin with the lamé...."

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Challenge #296: Strange Encounters

Pre-Amity, a human and other cogniscient get stuck in some relatively small space together, say a room that both find out the hard way only opens from the outside. Rescue is on its way, but until then...

They tell some pretty wild tales in Scavenger Bars. This is just one of them...

Hor'tik had been stripping wire. It had been a long trip already and it was that or mass credit. If he stayed out any longer, he'd have to siphon air from the hulks, and that could get messy if the mother species felt protective.

But some primitive species paid good trade for gold, and one never knew one's luck.

But when she came across another scavenger in a dead-end chamber, and the only door shut and locked behind her... she knew that luck was bad.

The other scavenger was human!

Remembering her training, Hor'tik dropped the tools in her hands and showed the open palms to the human. Digits splayed.

The human did the same.

It was a very long, very quiet, very tense space of time. Hor'tik very slowly opened her comms to all frequencies.

"I know you can't understand a word I'm saying," she said in a soothing voice. "But if I say it in a calm and rational tone, there's a chance you'll understand I don't mean you any harm."

From the sound of things, the human was saying the same thing. But by the gestures towards the only door, she could guess the human wanted out.

"Fine. Okay. I'm taking my things..." Hor'tik dragged them along the floor. Out of the way.

There was no handle on the inside of the door. And it was a re-enforced chamber designed to stop anything from breaking in. Not a survival room. A safe.

They'd both locked themselves inside a safe.

But that didn't stop the human from attempting to cut the bulkhead around the door. Which was ridiculous. There was no way any tool known to intelligent kind could—

The human was making progress!

"If anyone can hear me, I am trapped in a locked room with a human... and it's helping me. It's cutting our way out."

"Hor'tensss," said the human, banging its suit's chest.

"Hor'tik," said Hor'tik, copying the gesture.

By the time help arrived, the human had gone back to whence it had come.

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Challenge #297: Bad Instincts

The most ridiculously evolved trait of a human: The itchiness of newly healed skin.

"This area is almost finished repairing. I now have the unbearable urge to claw at it."

The human in the next bay was rubbing at her bandages. She was rubbing with her knuckles and grimacing.

"Most people use talon for scratch," said Pu'rii, edging a little further away from the human. Well. As far as she could get on a not-so-spacious hospital bed.

"Digging in bad. My skin, irritated make-for heal." An anguished grunt. "Almost heal, make itch. Itch make want scratch. Scratch make new wound."

Pu'rii boggled. "Why is having itch?"

"Long ago? Not so clean. Itch make for make certain no dirt."

Ah. Vestigial instincts. "You is not removing from genes?"

"Some try. End result not good."

Thinking about that very brief summary kept Pu'rii awake, long into her usual sleep cycle. When would she ever learn to not ask too many questions?

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Challenge #298: Brawk?

T'reka meets a chicken

Her heart was already pounding as she scuttled from hiding place to hiding place in the human settlement. Their buildings were partially subterranean. Though some sat above the ground. Far above the ground. On a pole.

T'reka almost had a coronary when one of the residents of the strange little house said, "Cake?"

She remembered her breathing, and watched as her vital signs returned from red-lines. Only then, did she investigate.

"Cake... cake... sweet-sweet-sweet."

There were... avians... inside the little house. Round things with tiny heads and rubbery, wobbly crests.

"I don't have any cake. I do not have sweets."

"Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet!" The creature seemed agitated.

T'reka backed away and it went back to saying 'cake' again.

*

T'reka watched the birds in the company of Su-syn. "They are not intelligent."

"Dumb as bricks," Susan agreed cheerfully. "Why would you think they were?"

She shrank a little in mortification. "Their calls sound much like Numidid words."

"Really? What do they say?"

"Mostly... 'cake' and 'sweet'. That one..." T'reka indicated a crowing rooster, "sounds like it is dying a horrible death."

Su-syn found this funny.

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Challenge #299: Perilous Ornithology

The difference between a goose and a swan: A goose will chase at the drop of a hat and proceed to peck and bruise if it gets you. A swan will only attack if threatened, but can break bones.

"That's ridiculous," said a student in the middle of Allegedly Quiet Reading Time.

"Do you need assistance?" asked Mr Myss, Learning Advocate.

"This is an objectionable description of avians," protested Yokk. "It assumes the reader already knows the physiognomic distinctions of both birds. It doesn't tell the reader easier ways of distinguishing 'goose' from 'swan'."

"Ah. Yes. Many pre-galactic civilisations assume everyone knows what the writer is talking about. And since this is speaking of Terran biota, perhaps you can research Terran avians and show me how the author could have written that better."

"They need it," said Yokk.

Mr Myss predicted some angry tapping at a keyboard in her future.

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Challenge #300: PDA PSA

"A peck on the cheek" means something completely different when dealing with avioids.

Human habits were fascinating. And when one of the human keets pressed hir rubbery lips to the side of T'reka's face, she discovered a new sensation.

She'd observed the humans lip-pressing before, but until now, she didn't realise that they were creating a slight suction as they did so.

The child departed with the familiar squeaky-suction noise of the human lip-press. Now it made sense. "What is greeting mean?" she asked Su-syn.

"The kiss? That was mere peck on cheek. Ze likes you. As friend."

"Peck... on cheek..." T'reka considered. The words translated, but the meaning? "My folk is make-for hostile action."

"Well... yes. You face much sharper than ours."

Humans. They could understand the strangest things, and find others to be immense obstacles.

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Challenge #301: Overheard at the bar...

"All this time I just kinda assumed she had a couple loud, nosy roommates. She said the camera on her machine didn't work, so that's why she stuck to audio-only..."

"So why the post-date stress? Was she dog-ugly, and caught ya staring at her like she had two heads?"

"Three, actually. And not ugly, kinda cute, actually."

"Pardon?"

"Imagine a bipedal Cerberus. With boobs. And about seven feet tall."

"...right, I forgot you said you didn't care for tall chicks."

"I can see why she hid it. I mean, I don't always let people know I'm a cephalopodic slime monster, straight off."

"So what did you do?"

"I went out with her of course. The other two heads were very nice. Wanted to make sure I wouldn't break her hearts and all. And... I dunno what it is, but stepping—"

"Slithering."

"Whatever. Going out of my comfort zone? Wasn't as bad as I thought it was. She's amazing. She has these little warts that are all lined up under her left eye? Like little marching beauty marks..."

"You fell in love."

"Plummeted."

"So what's the problem?"

"I think I like her sister heads too..."

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Challenge #302: Slippery Slope

"He who fights with monsters should be careful he doesn't become a monster himself. Unless that makes him more effective at fighting monsters. Like he becomes a badass werewolf who knows how to use a sword and has magic armor. That'd be so rad."

My name... was... Vernon. A long time ago, now.

It began, as all beginnings must, with a quest to rescue a damsel in distress. Captured by vampires. Yes. She was held by monsters. And she became... monsters.

No. She became a monster.

They turned her. She turned me. Well... she tried to turn me. She was young. She didn't know the proper process.

I drained them all into dust. I became a vampire of vampires and I was useful. I helped eradicate them from my country. From my country's allies. They paid... my handlers well. I had every comfort.

Then they sent me against a werewolf. Did you know? When a werewolf bites a vampire that vampire becomes... something else? A hybrid.

It became... harder... to think. During the full moon. I could only eat raw meat. And sometimes... they sent me criminals... to feast on.

I still fought to be a hero. To be valorous. I would try to judge them myself. When I was not starving. And when they started starving me to be sure the criminals were executed... That was when I knew that my keepers were monsters, too.

I know what to do with monsters.

I've beaten them all, you know. Witches. Wizards. Sorcerers. Dragons. Each one made me stronger. Made me more... monstrous.

They say a pure heart can tame me. I pray it so. Yours is the purest heart I have found to date. Do your best. Do what you must.

I trust you.

You're my only hope.

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Challenge #303: The Best Genes Money Can Buy...

Adam stared past the mirror-glass and into his own eyes. They were perfect in place and symmetry, blue as the sea. His cheekbones, nose and jaw came together to make a flawless model's face. His rational mind said that he should be happy, for he had everything he could ever want in terms of intelligence and good looks, and his parents were kind and loving. Still there was sadness inside those eyes. He couldn't bring himself to tell his parents that there was something wrong with him, that the perfect son they had spent so much money on gene-tailoring... wasn't really perfect after all.

Adam could lie to his parents, to the world, but not to himself. He saw the gorgeous young man in the mirror, but he hated him utterly. He shifted uncomfortably as he glanced down at the body in the mirror, resisting the urge to flinch in distaste, as he often did at seeing it bare. Yes, it was a perfect body, but it wasn't his. It was the body of the perfect son. But in truth, all his life Adam had known that he much more wished to be the perfect daughter.

He'd stolen one of his mother's old dresses. One of her 'circus tents' that she dragged out and laughed at to think she was once so fat with child.

Body gestation had its risks, they said. But it was the ultimate expression of love...

That's what mother said. They could have gone for an artificial uterus, but the fashion at the time was to use the uterus already there...

If they had been unfashionable... Maybe Adam wouldn't be in so much trouble.

He slid the dress on. Cupped a purely imaginary bosom onto his slim frame. Restyled the hair that Adam had been allowed to grow out to a certain length. Just a little too long for a boy.

"Hi," she breathed, trying to sound more like the girl she knew she was. "My name is Adelle..."

"Do you want it to be?"

Adam froze. Panicked. Almost messed herself. "Please don't be mad?" she squeaked.

Mother was leaning against the doorframe with her perpetual glass of tan liquid. It was fashionable to be an alcoholic... but only those closest to her knew that it was sparkling apple juice.

"I'm not mad. The risks were explained. Including the fact that you could have missed out on some important hormones. Entirely my fault. Adelle. It's a pretty name."

There should have been yelling. There should have been fury. Everything she'd read on the subject told her that the bodyqueer were routinely rejected.

"Y-yes..." she stammered. "I'd like to keep it, please?"

"Of course," said Mother. "I suspected you might not be the son I ordered. I've had all the right doctors lined up for some time."

The dress dropped. "Really?"

"Of course, darling. Only the best. And always the best. Want to start the process?"

Adelle's mouth said, "Yes please!" before her brain could think it.

It was going to be a great year.

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Challenge #304: Methods of Madness

When the last trumpet sounds and the beast rises from the pit, we will not kill it. We will ride it.

Jorgi the Page remembered when the Sorcerer's summoned demon began pulling out its hair. The beast was still chafing at its magical bit and had managed to get into Kragdar's knapsack.

Jorgi caught her looking into a crystal sphere, late one night.

"What are you doing?" Jorgi whispered. "The master forbade you from interfering with our things."

"Na, he forbade me from wreckin' 'em. Nowt about looking'. Nowt about touchin'." She was a strange demon. Were it not for her too-large, glowing eyes, Jorgi could easily mistake her for human. Though the combination of shadow-dark skin and smoke-white hair was usually only found in the elderly.

And no human had fangs or talons like this thing.

The creature who called herself Shayde carefully rolled the sphere back into Kragdar the Sorcerer's knapsack and put it back the way Jorgi had left it.

"See? No harm done." She reached up to her head, and pulled out three strands of hair. One by one.

Ever after that day, Shayde was perpetually braiding, or piercing herself to add her blood to the impossibly thin twine she was making of her own hair. She muttered spells in some foreign tongue she called 'Welsh'. They were not counter to their quest, though they did alarm Yrg the Barbarian.

It became normal, over their months of travel. If Shayde's fingers weren't busy with her hair-and-blood twine, then she was unconscious or doing the bidding of Kragdar. Helping them fight the forces of evil.

But when they came to Nemyss, the ultimate evil they had been sent to vanquish... that was when the cord Shayde had been weaving came into play. Nemyss summoned her own demon. A much more... demon-y demon. A giant serpent made of fangs and tentacles and leathery embellishments that resembled bats' wings.

Jorgi almost wet herself.

Shayde tied off her hair braid and, with a complicated movement, turned it into a lasso. She caught the beast and the thin thread held. The beast dragged her off the ground, and the thread held. She looped it further around its maw and turned it into a bridle.

And the great serpent bucked and writhed but Shayde would not let it go. It struggled and bit and howled... and the thin web of hair and blood held fast.

She tamed it. Wore it down. Soothed it into domesticity. Leaving the others free to defeat Nemyss on his own turf.

"It's no big trick," said Shayde as she scratched one of the serpent's phalanges. It rumbled an earthquake of a purr. "Hair and blood of a virgin. Words of purpose in an ancient tongue. Any ancient tongue will do."

"That's..." Kragdar boggled. "That's almost mud-magic."

"It's life magic. Ye could'a explained. I'd have done it wi'out the manacles."

"Life magic? No demon can wield life magic."

Sigh. "I been tellin' ye all year. I ain't a demon."

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Challenge #305: Not Exactly a Writing Prompt, But Figured You Might Get Some Use From it Anyway.

Theory: Part of the reason for much of the socially-driven guilt and negativity about the body and sexuality is because of clothing hiding it, as if the normal human anatomy is something to be avoided and shamefully concealed. Without clothing to obscure and interfere, people would be effectively forced to confront the natural state of themselves and others, and without the perceived stigma of hiding and shame, such negative attitudes and personal guilt would soon vanish as people became more acclimated to people all being different from each other, since any differences would be openly displayed and unable to be treated as something one could or should hide.

They called it Eden. One of the few Havenworlds that humans settled and kept as heavenly.

Well. Except for that one island that, somehow, became the native residence of everything sharp, vicious, venomous or all three at once. Islands just like it seemed to be standards on all human colony worlds. Except for N'oz. The whole planet was like that[1].

And, like the Eden of legend, precipitation happened by mists. The winds did not exceed a gentle breeze, and almost the entire planet was a paradisiacal garden.

The next big surprise was the natives.

The buildings were simple and uncomplicated. Homes were places to sleep or share meals. Studios and workplaces were full of light and creativity.

Markets were stalls where people apparently dropped off whatever they had to trade and picked up whatever they needed.

And workshops were the only places where anyone wore clothing.

Even then, it was clearly protective gear only.

A mottled young woman tapped Ezi on the shoulder. She shouldn't have been able to, since Ezi had her cloak-field on.

"Are you done hiding in the bushes, stranger?"

Ezi dropped her cloak and stood up. "I was trying to observe without interfering. Thanks. I'm Ezi. You are?"

"Moon Starsong," said the native. "That's a lot of armour."

"It's a life suit. It's designed to protect me from everything."

"Well, you don't need it any more. You can get comfortable now."

Wait. She expected Ezi to strip. Okay. This was happening.

But on this world, nudity was the norm.

"I'm... from a very different place. Nudity is a taboo."

"Why?"

"Long established tradition." Ezi got down to her Ship's Skins, which was next to naked, anyway. Packed her suit in a capacious bag from one of its storage slots. "For me, this is comfortable."

"That's... really concealing."

Ezi laughed. "I've had people accusing me of being indecent in this lot. Well, Ambassador, I think you need a briefing on the Galactic Alliance..." She explained other worlds, intergalactic trade, the Fellowship of Terran Planets and, finally, how hardly anybody went naked.

"Oh," said Moon. "Offensensitivity. We have just the thing." She dashed off to a stall and came back with a peculiar pendant. "We call these shimmer fields. They cover what anyone else would consider offensive." She put it on and pressed a concealed button.

Suddenly, she was clad neck-to-toe in silver sparkles. Something like a cross between body paint and a discotheque.

"This is the default setting, of course. I can set it to any colour I want. And any shape. I could be covered in fish if you like."

"Gold is fine," said Ezi. "And you're going to need a solid pair of shoes. Workplace safety standards."

[1] Except for an isolated island/continent that is the next best thing to paradise. Nobody native to N'oz lives there and nobody knows why.

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Challenge #306: 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.

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Challenge #307: 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.

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Challenge #308: 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.

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Challenge #309: 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.

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Challenge #310: 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.

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Challenge #311: 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.

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Challenge #312: 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.

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Challenge #313: 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.

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Challenge #314: 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.

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Challenge #315: 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."

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Challenge #316: One War-Torn Afternoon in Vietnam...

"Just let me sleep"

1965

"No, Rabbit. We're almost there. Just a little further."

"...my everything hurts," whimpered the copper robot.

"I know."

Rabbit should never have come to Vietnam. The Jon, already hiding in the little cave that The Spine had found, should never have come to Vietnam. The Spine didn't want to, either, but he had to pay for his military upgrades somehow. He had to support the Walter family. Pay back the debt.

The Jon had had the idea. The contract stated that The Spine had to maintain a position in the armed forces in times of war. It didn't say one word about fighting.

So he had found this place, miles from anywhere. And rescued his robotic siblings from the fray.

Rabbit was in bad shape. Bullets did nasty things to copper. Worse things to the gears and workings underneath. And worse, Rabbit never did get completed surface plating like the others. Which meant that any damage happened directly to his workings.

Which, in turn, was why The Spine was literally dragging Rabbit to safety.

"...so tired..."

"Sorry, Rabbit. My other arm's not working. I can't carry you."

Rabbit shuddered as his servos misfired. He'd been glitching a lot more, lately. But there was sunshine and tools and a stream of water. And a jerry-can of motor oil. All waiting in the cave.

They just had to get there.

"How much longer, th' Spine?"

"Just a little more. You can make it. I know you can make it."

"...ev'ryth'n feels... wrrroooooonnnn—*"

Rabbit became a sudden dead weight in The Spine's working arm. Which wasn't in good enough shape to hold him. Rabbit's battered form fell to the jungle floor.

"I'm sorry..." The Spine knelt and checked his brother. Empty boiler. And a crack that made it leak. Typical Rabbit. Not letting on he was more damaged than he seemed.

Come to think of it. He was running low, too.

There was a stream nearby. He could refill his canteen and Rabbit's. Re-stock them both.

He shut down Rabbit's power core so that he wouldn't overheat. Safety first. Rabbit didn't have automatic shutdown protocols like The Jon and himself.

It was harder to get to the stream than he thought. Too many vines. Too many jungle roots. Too many thick leaves...

Just a little further.

Just a little fur—

1974

The Spine opened his eyes in the brief terror that the soldiers had found him. Found poor broken Rabbit. Found The Jon.

Rabbit was in his field of view. Repaired. Wearing a different face. And grinning in the way that only Rabbit could.

"War's over?"

"War is over," confirmed The Jon. "If you want it."

Good. For the first time in decades, The Spine smiled.

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Challenge #317: Strange Camouflage

Pic prompt!

[Picture shows a tree that has grown around some war debris. The most prominent piece resembles a stick insect. It waslater revealed to this author that the picture was of a man with a bow and arrow in full camouflage]

It was another ghost world. Cheryl hated ghost worlds. There was always a chance, a slim and gut-wrenching chance, that there were survivors, somewhere far away from the relics of past civilisation. Bombed back to the stone age. Or further.

Nomadic gatherer-hunters were hard to find with orbital scanners.

There weren't many buildings standing, any more. Forests had come to reclaim what was once a city. Some animals wandered and grazed where there used to be streets. Introduced Terran fauna that had gone wild.

Lilly broke the silence. "The war must've really dragged on," she said in a low murmur.

"What makes you say that?" Cheryl asked in kind.

Lilly pointed. This tree, like many others around it, had swallowed shrapnel and hardware. But a collection of wires and straight pieces and gears... moved.

It was a phasmid. A stick insect.

Which meant two things.

The war on this planet had broken out almost instantly... and had carried on throughout most of deep time. Enough time for the insects to mimic that which they found everywhere.

Cheryl was suddenly very glad that life suits were proof against projectile weapons.

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Challenge #318: Different Perspective

Free prompt! This ticket entitles the writer to do any daily drabble that just needs to be written, and may be used out of sequence.

[AN: The following is a preview of sorts for my book-in-progress, Kung Fu Zombies. However the point of view presented may not appear in the book. Essentially, I'm cleansing my mental palette]

If she wanted to be kind, E would say that Aiden astonished her. Amazed, confounded and confused. Maybe even a little bit of surprise.

But really?

When she got down to it?

She didn't much want to be kind.

Especially in moments like now.

It was a mall. Like many other malls post-plague, survivors were progressively raiding it for anything that seemed or was deemed useful. Some animals were inhabiting it already. A burst pipe lead the underground parking lot to become flooded. Which meant that many animals were coming for the water. Including some fish from the mall's fountains. They'd landed there, evidently, when some idiot had set off ordinance in the middle of a crowd.

E had told everyone to be careful in this mall. The army's last-ditch efforts had made everything way more difficult than it had to be.

She'd told everyone twice.

And she'd made sure to tell Aiden five times, because he was exactly that kind of person.

She should have gone for a sixth.

"Oh. My. God," whispered Torque. She pointed. "You need to step up your game, love."

E tried to sight along Torque's arm. "What are you talking abo—?" That double-cursed idiot kid...

Aiden had actually strapped a noisemaker to his left arm with a piece of the duct tape she'd specifically told him to hold in reserve for emergencies. Was he going to make a career out of not listening to her?

And he was headed straight for the pit that lead to the new and improved goldfish pond in the basement.

And the dangling light fixture that could not possibly hold his weight.

Oh great. "This is another idiot plan to 'impress me'," she sighed.

Torque made realistic vomiting motions and sounds.

"Yeah, I know. Come on. Let's go save his sorry ass."

"Why?"

"Bait like that, you don't let die all at once."

"Meh, good enough."

They were careful, as always, getting to a place of strategic advantage. But Aiden made them rush. So they made sure they stayed on areas they knew were stable.

Neither she nor Torque wanted to make the other watch them die. And they had the extra advantage of Aiden's show drawing all the Infected straight for him.

Which was a considerable disadvantage if they wanted him to survive for very much longer.

...which was a point of some debate, back at the Fort.

He was an annoying, whiny, self-centred ass who couldn't see the facts in front of his face. But, dammit, he was super-effective at what he did.

Which generally manifested as falling into the midden and coming out with a shiny gold ring.

E arrived with Torque, careful to stay where most of the Infected couldn't climb, weapons ready and watching for trouble. And they arrived just in time to see Aiden leap for the cable.

He did not swing, which would have been the stupidest move, ever. He did not climb, which would have been a move in the top ten.

No. He clung to it like it was his last hope... and transferred the noisemaker from his arm to the cable of the light fixture. Then he grinned at her like he had just solved all the world's problems.

The Infected going after the noise fell down the gaping hole and into the flooded basement.

Torque got comfortable on their mutual perch, a tank that had fallen victim to the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune. E followed her lead. They watched the show for five minutes and then E signed, "Great work. How are you going to get out of there?"

His face was a book with large print. It said, Uhm...

"How long can you hold on?" Torque signed.

Aiden looked like he suddenly needed to go to the bathroom.

"You're right, he's so entertaining," Torque whispered.

E snorted and got out her rope. It was good rope. The kind rock-climbers used to protect themselves from falling. It didn't make the best lasso, but it could be tied to a wire coat hanger.

Good old wire coat hangers. They were like enormous paperclips. And there were always times when you really needed a piece of bendable wire.

Aiden's ignorant grin came back as he realised what she was doing. He got ready to catch the hanger.

It was a simple enough process. Especially because Aiden had finally absorbed the repeated lesson on not swinging on things that weren't designed to hold a human's weight. They carefully pulled him closer to their perch. And he carefully eased further down the cable so that he could be closer.

And, when the time was right, she and Torque helped him on to the tank.

"That was almost suicidal," she admonished in a whisper. "Don't do it again."

"Had to improvise," he murmured, "They were between me and the levis."

And then there were times like this. When he was super-effective at being blindingly selfish.

"Kill him later," advised Torque. "We have a shopping list and he's an extra pair of arms."

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Challenge #319: The Hunt Begins!

The Rabbit Women of Solares IV begin their Great Hunt! (for carrots, Earth-Men mates, Bugs Bunny memorabilia, what-have-you.)

Nobody saw the invasion coming. Well. Almost nobody. Make that 'nobody who counts in the greater social milieu' because Professor Cocomilia was largely viewed as a crank.

His theories about Lapinoids had been the stuff of geek comedy for years. As were his increasingly agitated attempts to warn the public.

And then came Invasion Day.

They were seven-foot-tall amazons with huge muscles and even huger mammaries. Their armour and weaponry was far superior to anything that Earth had in stock. They were formidable. They were unstoppable.

...and they were surprisingly willing to pay for any kind of merchandise that featured a rabbit.

When the bulk of the Terran population noticed that they were all female... That's when the trouble really started.

The furries came out of the woodwork. Not the friendly kind, not the ones who had fun dressing up like animals. And definitely not the ones who just admired anthropomorphic animals.

No. The ones who came to throw themselves at the Lapinoids' collective feet were the ones who gave the rest of the furries a bad name. The basement-dwelling, self-entitled, porn-generating weirdoes who were one crucial step away from bestiality.

And they were the ones who gave humanity a bad name.

Which was when humanity found out that all of Professor Cocomilia's ravings were right on the mark.

Especially about them being carnivorous.

Humanity in general and furries in particular were more than willing to let the Lapinoids slaughter the 'bad examples'. But when they moved on to the more 'normal' throng...

Well...

That was when Jennifer 'Hoppie' Rodriguez found her time to shine. Her fursuit resembled the Lapinoids in almost every degree but height. She was the one who managed to negotiate for peace with a mixture of dance, pantomime, broken Lapinae, broken English, and a little bit of song.

The Lapinoids were so grateful that they gave her custom-fitted diamond armour and a life-size statue of herself, in costume, made of gold.

Because everyone knows that carats are a bunny's best friend.

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Challenge #320: The Q&A Session of Genghis Khan!

Genghis Khan rises from the dead, and gently and politely corrects some misconceptions about his history, personality, etc.

There were several big surprises when Gengis Khan returned from the dead. Not the least of which being that he was average height for a man of his time.

He was muscular, well-groomed, and quite brown... yet he looked as much at ease in a modern business suit as he should have in horse-hides and furs. He did not have a single weapon on him, but the very air was thick with threat.

The interviewer on Good Morning China did her utmost to avoid recoiling from him every time he leaned in to flirt with her.

"As you can see, I am only short in retrospect. As was Napoleon, I believe. The truth is, nobody documented my dimensions because nobody thought they were worth noting. The rumours of dwarfism are obviously an attempt to posthumously -ah- belittle me. Haha."

"Haha," echoed the host. "And the other rumours? Of your ruthlessness?"

"Utter nonsense. The people of my time respected a show of might. I played to the audience. But the real truth is, if someone had the skill and cunning to come close to killing me? I made them one of my generals, and faced that skill and cunning towards my enemies. Far more productive in the long run. A true meritocracy values those with skill and drive."

"What about invading Persia?"

"It was my duty as khan to see that those who threatened my peaceful envoys never did so again. It was, to use a modern phrase, super effective." Genghis smiled. He had amazingly clean and straight teeth.

"And the forty million deaths?"

"I was a warlord. Death was my business. Happily, war and death are no longer necessary, this time."

"This time?"

"Yes. I'm going into business."

Such a simple statement. But it drove fear into the hearts of millions. And yet... Mongocorp was surprisingly benevolent once it gained ultimate control.

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Challenge #321: Peripatetic Commerce

Local union meeting for the owners of Little Shops That Weren't There Yesterday, And Are Gone When You Try To Go Back, Local 37.

"Any new business?"

One hand went up. A relatively young hand in a forest of otherwise weird old people.

"Yes?"

"Who, where or when are we local to, exactly?"

Half the union assembled there groaned.

"Local is an artificial concept, but if you want actual co-ordinates..."

The entire meeting room filled with the chorus, "The Virgo Supercluster, Section two five five of the Milky Way, Galactic supercluster seven five two, Mundis Mundis Universe..."

The younger hand went up again. "And... if someone... accidentally wandered into Kasterborous?"

The meeting went downhill from there.

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Challenge #322: One Rebuttal in a Filthy Spaceport Bar

Response to 'One Fine Evening in a Filthy Spaceport Bar': Of course the universe is crazy. Just look at the aye-aye, or those Abyssal Zone deep sea fish. Or the platypus.

"That's Terran biota, friend," Hwell, for a change, was not using the uniquely hostile form of 'friend' known to the more interesting pockets of humanity.

The drunken alien paused to consider this. "Y-e-e-e-es. It is. In fact, most of the really weird stuff comes from Earth."

"Define weird," both the humans chorused.

"Okay. Okay okay okay. I get it. Weird is relative. But you gotta admit the Terran biota has some damn freaky shit going on."

"Only because most of you..." Hwell gestured expansively towards the entire contents of the bar, thus encapsulating the known universe. "Don't go looking for your weird stuff until we turn up."

"Of course not," protested the lizard. "We have no need to. And, frankly, the weird stuff lives where it's dangerous to go. Only humans are insane enough to go looking."

Hwell nodded. So did his current drinking buddy. "You got us there."

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Challenge #323: Benevolent Anarchy

Just for shits and giggles, a Greater Deregulation that lives up to the name. Total meritocracy, 'I don't care what you do as long as you stay the Hell off my property'. In other words, a GD where 'profit' is equated not just to 'money', but also 'personal freedom'. In other words, less Republican, more Libertarian.

Welcome to Greater Deregulation Nor-Northwest. No freeloaders.

Kell the Hitcher helped unload the cargo. This was as far as the freighter captain would take her. And she knew about all the other Deregulations.

She'd expected a pall of smog and near-slaves populating most of the planet to support a few in their excess.

She boggled to see clean, wide streets and a happy populace. No need for bars on windows. No need for the bristling weapons of other Deregulations. The power came from the sun and the wind. And some geothermal plants in the active volcanic zones, but those were very far away from the main spaceport.

Spaces between the brick-and-mortar shops were taken up with little barrows of small-time business people. And very cunning ones who did not directly compete with their more solidly-established hosts.

Shops that sold clothing, for example, had at least one accessories barrow outside. And a barrow that made beverages. And someone selling some local delicacy.

What really surprised Kell was that none of these hucksters were barking for her attention, business, or money. They watched her. Some displayed their wares. Some showed off with the art of making.

Only the performers were allowed to make noise. Something that, according to the tourists' handbook, was reached by mutual agreement.

The free market was actually free.

Corporations could do as they wished, but so could the buying public. Corporate records were public records. So if any corporation was weighed and found wanting... the public abandoned them.

Which was why the waterways were clean, the air was clear, and everyone had access to information.

There were no schools, just people who wished to educate, handing out their knowledge via the info-nets. And getting paid by the people who viewed it.

There was a medical system. Publicly funded and looking astonishingly like free health care. People passing by the hospitals or medical centres just... absently tipped their pocket change into a donation bucket for the greater good.

Kell picked a park and a nice-looking spot and set up her shingle. Stories told, donations welcome.

It was going to be interesting to see how this one had got it right.

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Challenge #324: In Peril

Always remember, if you can see it it already knows you are there.

Good news, this alien rock had enough breathable air to make resource gathering less of a problem.

Bad news, resource gathering was going to happen from the ground up. Literally.

Good news, the edible flora and fauna were easily identifiable.

Bad news... there was a human in the area.

Like K'tole, the human had landed here because of its plentiful resources very close to the surface. And all the fresh water and edible biota a cogniscent could desire.

K'tole was very glad of the thick underbrush, the first few times.

But the last time, K'tole was caught on a rocky mesa. Trying to gather ore with substandard tools. The human's shadow passed her by. She froze. Hoping a lack of movement would fool its primitive mammalian eyes.

The shadow paused for a hearts-stopping length of time. Something made a noise against the stone that was K'tole's only protection in this blasted mesa.

And then the shadow moved away.

K'tole regained her breath and her wits before she peeked over the black granite boulder to watch the human retreating.

It had left her a better tool.

Which meant that the human had known she was here this entire time. And had decided to help.

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Challenge #325: The Treasure

A Gyiik discovers the food Elvis ate.

Vic reached hungrily for the cellulose sheet.

"Ut," said the Archivaas Tiel, drawing it back to her body. "Payment first. I know how you Gyiiks get with new recipes. I learned after the first time."

"My apologies," Vic the Gyiik began to lay out her money. "Two Months plus hazard pay... and a voucher card for two Years' worth of free meals at Unsuitable Food Eat."

Someone in the neighbouring booth whistled backwards. This was high-stakes stuff.

Archivaas Tiel slid over the single sheet.

Vic read in awe[1]. "A quarter cup of creamy peanut butter... that's... milled peanuts, super-fine. Mm-hm. Eight slices of home-style white bread. Have to make that ourselves, no commission kitchen will do that any more... Mmmm... Two large bananas... yes... Eight... slices of bacon and two tablespoons... butter." Vic read the method. "Sandwiches... then fried in the butter..." She looked up. "This man ate this as a snack?"

"Apparently."

"Was he possessed by Kürmaan, the spirit of Famine?"

"No. He was just a big eater."

"And he did not perish from a rupture of the stomach?"

"Drug abuse."

Vic boggled. "Truly... humans are a dangerous species."

1] Recipe courtesy of [ Mr Food.

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Challenge #326: Photographic Anomalies

Somewhere in the universe...

[AN: Picture shows a "grey" alien striking a pose on a dirt road by a beach. In the far left background is a circled object in the sky. Said object is enlarged in the lower right of the frame. It resembles a Terran jet]

ALIENS?! blared the headline. The article expanded on the bizarre tale.

K'tob Nygrosk had no idea what would appear in her holiday snaps when she took them. "I was focussed on Reikik, not what was in the sky. I had no idea it was up there until my cousin Bubil pointed it out."

Experts have examined the camera and K'tob's negatives and found it to be a genuine anomaly. But they further posit that it could easily be a child's toy or a kite piloted by fellow beach-goers in the background.

"There's no sense of scale or means to compare size, let alone a metric for measuring its height," stated Aeronautics Division Representative Yob K'doth. "The object is most likely a hobbyists attempt at a joke. Besides, everyone knows that a circular wing design is the most stable for flight. These 'wings' are preposterous and could not possibly be used for interstellar travel."

Anomalous objects in the sky continue to appear. Many posit that they are aliens, come to analyse Y'kthikan life. Let's hope they're friendly.

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Challenge #327: "Secret" Identity

A character wakes up next to their spouse, ready to start their day. But... this person is not what they appear to be - what seems to be a normal person is just a disguise for their true self, a fearsome and powerful inhuman entity. The catch is that the spouse knows about this secretive disguise... but the entity doesn't know the spouse knows, so still tries (a bit ineptly) to hide things. The spouse finds this too adorable to ruin the fun by revealing what they know just yet.

He always spent a few minutes in the morning just... lying in bed and watching him sleep. The love of his life. The most adorable human being in the universe. It was a miracle just to have him in the same house, let alone the same family.

It was very much a miracle that the breathlessly beautiful Bob Ballard had ultimately said 'yes' to nerdy nothing Melvin Mündané. never knowing that Melvin was secretly the courageous crusader Captain Charisma!

"I know you're watching me sleep. Take a shower, look after yourself, and I'll have eggs and sausage."

"Eggs and sausage or eggs and sausage?" Melvin teased. The joke had been going on for five spectacular years.

"Breakfast, thank you. We have kids, next door."

"You wanted to adopt," Melvin pretended to whine. He loved it, of course. Bob and Melinda and Trey made the perfect family together. And Melvin made four.

They were his motivation, his reason to fight, his home to defend. And a blessing to go home to. And, on the rare occasions when he spent a whole day as Melvin Mündané, mild-mannered minion of MultiGloboCorp, they were his reason to smile.

The special ringtone went off.

"Drat," he sighed. "Work needs me. ASAP. You'll have to get your own breakfast, honey."

"I hate that you're on call," Bob pouted.

"So do I. Hug the kids for me."

"In excess."

Melvin used a little of his super-speed to get ready, that morning, hiding his super-suit under his ordinary business one, and dashing out the door. Then it was up, up and away for another day of derring do.

*

Bob giggled. "He forgot the car, again," he murmured. And he'd forgotten that super-fast drying left spatter all over the bathroom. And running out the door at fifty miles an hour tended to scatter the kids' art.

Of course he knew that Melvin was Captain Charisma. Like his superhero moniker, Melvin wasn't exactly mister subtle.

"Is Daddy saving the world again?" asked a sleepy and yawning Trey.

"Yep. And he's going to beat the bad guys."

For Bob, it was another day of being Da. But every moment was worth it. Even the spatter in the bathroom. He felt like the luckiest man alive.

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Challenge #328: Human Foodstuff Transit

Marmite.

Normally, M'riik loved living and working on a relatively small station. It was peaceful and the views were always amazing. But there were times, like now, when living and working on a relatively small station was a pain in the anatomy.

The freighter had diverted from its logged course because of engine trouble, which meant paperwork and a freight inspection to make sure nothing was going to escape while the two vessels shared air.

Normally, a vacuum-sealed cargo hold would go without inspection, but this was Terran cuisine. Four hundred cubic units of irradiated cheese and something called Marmite.

M'riik had looked it up. It was on one of the red-lists.

Unicellular fungal culture had to be inspected for signs of life. No matter how processed it was.

Rumours about the Glunk had inspired such safeguards.

"Marmite isn't that bad," said the human. She was following M'riik around as she scanned every last crate in the hold. Making sure M'riik wasn't going to help herself to a sample. "It just tastes bad. I never liked the stuff. I'm more into Vitam-R, really. Now if you want foul, you should try Vegemite. That stuff's nasty."

M'riik could see why freighter captains and Hitchhikers got along so famously. It was a chance to talk that lasted long enough for the topics to run out.

"I've no desire to try most of the things you humans call food. My species is barely past level two on the ascent from Havenworld fragility."

Sam the freighter captain whistled backwards. "Ouch. The taste alone might kill you."

"I'm well aware."

There were no life-signs. Good. The sooner this lot was vacuum-sealed again, the better.

And, M'riik was pleased to note, Sam was paranoid about containing her own cuisine in her personal quarters. M'rick added her note of inspection to the ratings tablet in the pilot's office.

"Yeah, I like clean," said Sam. "Anyone looking for a ride to Rest Stop? I could use a chance to chat."

"We currently have no transients or nomads aboard. Sorry."

"Worth a shot. Gets a little boring, talking to the cat."

M'riik was secretly glad to see her go. Humans were inherently dangerous. But, alas, they were also everywhere.

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Challenge #329: Children of the Permanent Night

 http://callmegallifreya.tumblr.com/post/100492890835/bulbul-e-bismil-oh-vampire-lake-teach-me

SCUBA VAMPIRES

All around the globe, the secret societies of vampire hunters noticed something strange. A drastic reduction in the volumes of their prey. All the crypts and castles were actually becoming abandoned hulks. All the roosting places, new and old, were vacant.

They knew it wasn't them. Despite their best efforts, all the vampire hunters could do was keep the worst examples from running rough-shod through the populations of the living.

All that was left, usually, were the cunning, quiet ones who were less of a threat.

But where did they all go?

*

Somewhere near the Marinara Trench...

Vampires didn't need to breathe. They didn't need light. Both were a convenience, sometimes, but for the most of it, the only problem was acclimating to the pressure.

And vampires healed rather quickly.

This deep, there was an abundance of undersea creatures to feed upon. This deep, there was no dawn. This deep, they could build without detection. This deep, no hunter could find them.

The vampires of the world, the smart ones, the clever and cunning ones... The ones who only hunted to feed... had found a permanent place of safety.

Or rather, they were making it.

The main dome was finished, and various clever vampires were busy extracting air from the ocean.

Even though they didn't really need it... it still felt nicer to have it. And light made everything cheerier, here in the eternal night.

They'd have plants, too. Once others finished engineering them to withstand the pressure at these depths.

Plants, light, food... and all the comforts of the crypt with none of the usual paranoia that came with living at the surface.

No wonder all of them were working on it at once.

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Challenge #330: One Dank Afternoon in a Dungeon Pub

A skeleton walks into a bar and says "Get me a beer and a mop!"

"Har har har," droned the barman, who happened to be a troll. "Like I don't hear that every day."

"Can't blame a lich for trying to put a smile on that ugly puss."

"Trolls don't smile," growled the troll.

"...okay... I guess you can..."

The bartender poured a shot of Lich Lightning, not exactly a beverage, but definitely an intoxicant for the fleshly challenged. A spell in liquid form that acted the same as anything alcoholic. And without the mess.

The skeleton downed it and coughed explosively. "Smooth," it croaked. It also laid a gold coin on the table.

"Where the heck to you keep those, anyway?" wondered the Troll.

"Don't ask. If we think about it, we spill."

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Challenge #331: Hence the Canary

Image prompt: FWOOM

[AN: Image shows a younger person lighting gas at ceiling level using a match on a stick while an older person watches]

Of all the weird scavengers Lynn the Hitcher ever met, Barstow had to take the cake. It wasn't just that Barstow kept canaries in their own aviary on her patchwork ship. It was also that she had an entire hold dedicated to pressurised air.

"I'm claustrophobic," Barstow confessed. "Lifesuits freak me the heck out. I'd rather not get into one unless I know it's the last resort. So... once I know a hulk is airtight, I fill it with my own air and go in."

"And if it isn't airtight?"

"That's what the Hungry Caterpillar is for."

She was certainly the most... innovative... scavenger Lynn had ever met. And Barstow made no bones about using Lynn as a scout. Even on the ships they could fill with air.

That was when she found out what the canaries were for.

Scavenger vessels often liberated atmosphere from abandoned ships. And not all of those atmospheres were carbon-lifeform-friendly. Some, in fact, were incredibly volatile or toxic or both. And a canary was far more reliable a detector of these gasses than any electronic sniffer on the market.

And what they were reliable at was dying at the slightest hint of nasty air.

Barstow had them registered as experimental animals, and kept their environment as a bird's paradise. They could fly, eat and breed as they pleased. And a team of small, non-cogniscent robots gathered and processed their faeces for re-marketing.

If the canary died, her first course of action was to set off her electric match. If the air didn't light, then it was merely toxic and Barstow could run the filters until the air ran safe.

It was a little more labour intensive than the way most Scavengers did things, but it worked for Barstow. Every time the canary lived, Lynn breathed out. She didn't like watching the little yellow birds to see if they died.

"Yeah, I know. It breaks my heart, too. I go through more business partners because of the canaries... They save my life. I make sure theirs is heavenly until... they're needed. They save my sanity, too. It doesn't seem fair."

"So why do it? Why go out here to break your heart again and again?"

"I'm also petrified of crowds."

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Challenge #332: Extreme Cuisine

Rapid tissue cloning from donated cells + vat-grown flesh as food-products = "My God... I'm delicious!"

They'd called the restaurant Eat My Ass. And the staff handed out FAQ sheets as to why they did it.

Fast-tissue cloning worked best on the muscles of the gluteus maximus. Which, in the kitchen/laboratory, became the best well-marbled meat individually tailored for each customer.

They had a wide variety of dishes that, technically, were veganism in its purest form. No animal had to suffer, because the only protein came from the customers themselves.

And everyone who ate there had nothing but praise for the food.

The only drawback?

Everything was a cut of rump.

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Challenge #333: Rituals of Nerditry

A "Hu's on first" routine

OR

A "The bowler's Holding" moment

Two humans, both wearing suits, stood on the otherwise empty stage.

"Heeeeeey, Abbott," said the smaller one.

"Yes, Costello?" said Abbott.

"I hear you made captain of the local neighbourhood baseball team."

"That's correct. I did. I'm rather proud."

"I'd like to know the names of some of the guys on your team, so if I meet 'em on the street I can say 'hey' to them."

"Well, let's see... Hu's on first, Watt's on second and Aedoknao's on third. What silly names."

"How's that?"

"I say, Hu's on first, Watt's on second and Aedoknao's on third."

"That's what I want to find out."

A saurian in the audience leaned over to whisper in Ambassador Sahra's ear. "I do not understand this human interchange."

"Neither do I," she whispered back. "Reckon sump'in got lost in translation."

"Well then who's on first?" asked Costello.

"Yes," said Abbott.

The audience remained silent, except for Ambassador Shayde, who was giggling.

"My thanks," whispered the saurian. "I do believe I know who to ask."

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Challenge #334: Community Service

(Inspired by one of your older works)

A "What, Ho!" scene.

AN: For those unfamiliar with the topic, check out my fanfic [Misfits]

The cogniscent tree people of Kumonjagotabijokin had a very peculiar life cycle. For a start, they planted the fruit of the Elder Trees and raised the resulting sproutlings as their own.

And, unfortunately for Aerin, crash landings did not come with tourist pamphlets. The world was pre-industrial and definitely pre-spaceflight, so common etiquette decreed the entire world be left alone.

Also unfortunately, the fruits of the Elder Trees registered on her scanners as edible. She'd accidentally committed four acts of hostile abortion when the natives found her.

It had taken some time, extensive pantomime, and headaches worth of learning to explain that she hadn't known at the time. And further - she hadn't intended any harm.

And further good news, a virulent species of pest animal was also edible. And delicious. The tree people - they called themselves Sideroxylon - began to count Aerin's predations as community service.

Which was why she was now in the nursery fields, tilling their soil. And entertaining herself.

The ultimate goal of Discovery Scouting was to land a plush job as an ambassador in some previously undiscovered locale. Which was why Discovery Scouts were the sorts who could spend immense amounts of time on their own.

Aerin's gift was voices. She could invent one-person plays of intensely populated dramatisations. Right now, though, she was having an entire conversation revolving around the over-use of the word 'what' and 'hoe'.

The gathering Muggas (Aerin could not wrap her mouth around Sideroxylon and had found a shorter synonym) watched in confusion as she talked in two voices.

"Hoe, hoe, hoe, hoho, hoe hoe, hoho, hoe hoe - ho," she sang to the tune of the Anvil chorus.

In her gruffer voice, she said, "What, 'ho?"

Back to her chipper voice, "Hoe, what?"

"What?" said Gruff.

"Hoe," explained Chipper.

"Hoe, ho!"

"HO-oooooo..."

"Hohoho, 'ho."

"What-what? Hoe!"

They had a bountiful harvest, that year. A population explosion. Aerin did try to explain it was because she used the vermin guts as fertiliser, but the Muggas insisted on ritualising the 'what ho' nonsense as well.

If the Society for the Prevention of Cultural Infection ever found out, they'd have *her* guts for fertiliser.

Maybe it'd be better if she never left here...

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Challenge #335: One Dead Hour at Unsuitable Food

[AN: Image shows a table of Uncommon But Useful Conversions. The list runs thus:

Time between slipping on a peel and smacking the pavement: 1 Bananosecond

Two monograms: 1 Diagram

Ratio of an igloo's circumference to its diameter: Eskimo Pi

1 kilogram of figs: 1 Fig Newton

Basic unit of laryngitis: 1 Hoarsepower

1000 aches: 1 Kilohurtz

Time it takes to sail 220 yards at 1 nautical mph: Knot-furlong

365.25 days of drinking less-filling low-calorie beer: 1 Lite Year

1 000 cubic centimetres of wet socks: 1 Literhosen

1 000 000 bicycles: 2 Megacycles

1/1 000 000 of a fish: 1 Microfish

1/1 000 000 of a mouthwash: 1 Microscope

453.6 graham crackers: 1 Poundcake

Half of a large intestine: 1 Semicolon

]

"Aw ye got tae try the fish an' chips at Aqua Major," Shade was laying on some 'Blarney' for Nik the Gyiik during the slow hours at Unsuitable Food Eat. "One o' their Megalodons can be a feast fer millions."

"Millions, is it," said Nik. He was waiting for the punchline.

"Oh aye. But there's only one problem."

"Go on," sighed Nik.

"Yer feedin' everyone microfish."

Nik looked to Rael, who was the only one moaning. "Microfiche is a primitive means of data storage available in the late twentieth century."

"Ah," said Nik. "Hahahahaha?"

Shayde blew a raspberry. "I gotta update me act..."

"I'm sure you'd be a hit amongst the SPOEns."

"Aw bugger the SPOEns."

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Challenge #336: Ignorable Precautions

(no other great ape can swim, or is remotely happy about going in water [except two cases of domesticated apes in 2013, the only known examples] and most monkeys are downright afraid of water)

*splash*

'What the - are they trying to drown themselves now?'

'They float. Of course they float.'

"Where are we?" Bessie looked around. It was an island, she could tell that much. There was a modest little house and a garden, and something of a beach.

"This definitely ain't the Colorado River," said Glen.

They'd stopped for a picnic, she could remember that. And maybe a little newlywed privacy in the woods.

The house looked like something off those horrible pulp magazines. All it needed was a girl with a torn dress and a fishbowl on her head, being menaced by something with tentacles, fur, or both.

There were no dresses. No clothes at all. Both she and her new husband were stark naked. Had they been naked, before? Bessie couldn't remember. "Do you... remember anything after setting up the picnic?"

Glen looked... lost. And more than a little angry. "No. It's all... gone... There's something wrong with this beach..."

There was something wrong with everything, here. It was all too... organised. Bessie got up and washed the sand off in the lapping water, then crossed to the house. There were no doors. Just holes in the smooth and unnatural walls.

And inside... it was like a spread from Better Living. Stuff she and Glen could never afford. And the closets - also doorless - were filled with the most modern styles.

"Looks like we're marooning in style, Mrs Hyde."

"Indeed we are, Mr Hyde," she giggled. It felt good to have clothes. Clothes that fit, right off the rack. She only wished there was a mirror in this place.

"Oh look. Swimming trunks." He cycled back out of his tailcoats and starched shirt to put them on. He flexed for her. "I can scout around in the water."

Bessie changed out of her Chanel gown and into a one-piece of her own. "Well you're not doing it alone. I vowed to stay by your side and that's what I intend to do."

Glen offered his elbow. "Then shall we proceed to paddle, Mrs Hyde?"

"Don't mind if I do, Mr Hyde."

*

"What are they doing now?" asked Yxorb.

"Are they aware of their captivity?" enquired Viirk.

"Nonsense. This environment is carefully researched and based on their ideals of paradise."

"I told you not to use our materials for the domicile..."

"They're going underwater! They can't breathe air!"

"Are they trying to drown themselves?"

"They float. Of course they float. All right. Activate the reserve barrier. Make sure they can't reach us."

"They already can't see or hear us. Why would they want to leave their paradise?"

"Look! Look! Aquatic adaption," Yxorb pointed out the screen where the humans were swimming. "I told you they might have had a period of amphibiousness."

"Yes, very well done. Shall we get on with stopping them from escaping? Or preventing them from killing us all?"

Yxorb sighed as she flicked the switch. "You're the one who wanted a breeding pair of deathworlders in her zoo..."

*

They were lucky they weren't swimming very fast. Glen brought her up to the surface, treading water.

"Ow," muttered Bessie.

"Are you all right?"

"It just stings, darling. I'll be fine." To prove it, Bessie began treading water, too, and knocked on the invisible wall. "Is this one of the new plastics?"

"I don't know. I've never seen any." Glen ran his hand over the surface. "It's weird. I can feel something solid... but there's no texture. It's like... carved air..."

"Let's get back to the island. I'm scared."

"This whole place is wrong," murmured Glen. "We'll figure something out, love. You and me. We're a team."

Together, they made their way back to the unnatural island paradise. Their very own eden. They'd make it. One day at a time.

AN: Glen and Bessie Hyde were real people who vanished during a rafting trip down the Green and Colorado Rivers. You can read about it [ here.]

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Challenge #337: I'm What?

This post:  http://underthenerdhood.tumblr.com/post/92243212285/a-little-girl-who-grows-up-thinking-all-doors-are

Melia didn't know she was haunted until she entered the Sanctum at the Academy of Magical Learning. Until that day, all doors had opened for her, before she could get to them. And, in the case of doors already open, they did not swing shut until she was through.

It was an unexplained magical gift that had lead to her scholarship at the academy in the first place.

And now, inside the Sanctum, Melia had just hurt herself. Bumping into a door she fully expected to open.

Mistress Wattle, reading nearby, had startled at Melia's yawp of shock. And now she was ah-ha-ing as she cruised around the stunned Melia.

Melia stopped crying just because Mistress Wattle was so confusing. "What's happened to me?" she asked.

"Nothing at all," answered Mistress Wattle. "Absolutely nothing at all has happened to you."

"But the door..." she waved vaguely at it, half-expecting it to attack her anew. But it just sat there. Thick, oaken and solid.

"The benevolent presence previously wrapped in your aura has been -ah- ostracised. The Sanctum has powerful wards against all forms of astral travellers."

"I'm... haunted?"

"Oh yes. I can see it, now. A lover from a previous incarnation who couldn't make it into this circle of life. She's decided to help you. In every small way she can."

"And... she can't come into the Sanctum with me?"

"No. But she will rejoin you as soon as you're out. The bonds of love are not easily severed, Child."

Melia breathed out pure relief. She had been terrified that she might have lost something. "Does this mean I've lost my scholarship?"

"Of course not. You have your own magic. I think your friend and I can teach you the full use of it."

Now she was crying. "Thank you... I love it here, Mistress Wattle. I never want to leave."

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Challenge #338:...Primitive Technology?

"The first great technological innovation in this ancient and primitive society," the documentary host said with a small chuckle, "was the idea of attaching a very big blunt rock to the end of a very long stick to smash their enemies and prey at a relatively-safe distance, rather than attempting to engage them at closer range and bash them with a somewhat-smaller pointy rock held in the hand..."

A pause for effect as the camera passed across the array of crude clay-and-reed huts and their hide-clad dwellers.

"Needless to say, with the concept of weaponry established, things more-or-less spiraled down from there, and it remains nothing short of a miracle that they still exist today, and still in the same relatively primitive 'wood, bone, and stone' stage of technological development as they were thousands of years ago..."

It was at that point one of the "primitives" could be seen in a hut in the background, passing by an open window... with what clearly appeared to be a laptop computer tucked under one arm.

"What?" Tel boggled at the outtake. "These people are pre-tech. We checked. They're definitely pre-space. How the flip—?"

"Never heard of asymmetrical development?" said a newcomer. Not one of his camera crew.

One of the natives. She was still wearing animal skins and feathers.

There was no way they could have learned Tel's language. No way they could have seen where the hide was. Where his base camp was...

And yet...

There she was, in living colour.

"How—?"

"We didn't think it was necessary to have architecture. We worked on our minds and philosophy and -yes- technology."

"But your homes, your weapons... How can you have advanced technology and live in mud huts?"

"The need for huts is recent. We couldn't stay in the caves, following the comet strike. Our geology's become unstable and we've had to adapt."

The native -Zerka- took Tel on a tour of the most stable of their previously industrial caves. Most of the space was taken up by manufacturing equipment. Still and silent, now.

Starting to rust.

"Because the comet caused massive tectonic shifting, we have to rebuild above ground. Until recently, we've had no need of architecture. We still have teams working on the most stable and safest designs."

"Really?"

"We've got into the habit of making sure everything works before we turn it into reality. That's why all our technology uses background radiation as a source of power. It lets us gather and hunt and then devote our downtime to more cerebral pursuits."

That night, Tel entered the a clay hut with Zerka to watch in awe as a team of 'primitives' ran simulations over a cloud network that relied on subterranean beacons instead of satellites.

There was always an opportunity to learn. And Tel was glad to be proven wrong.

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Challenge #339: And Yet it Moves

A child learning that their planet moves, so when they jump up, they can never come down in exactly the same place.

Paulie considered the sidewalk. It had been in front of her house forever. Mom let her draw on it before it rained. This time, the chalk in Paulie's hand had been purloined from the art box in secret.

She made an X on the pavement. Right by her gate. And stood on it carefully. Concentrated. Jumped!

And came down on the very X she started from.

Except... not quite.

Paulie, very carefully, drew around her own sandals before jumping again.

Her feet refused to land in exactly the same place.

'Gramma' Joe, the oldest lady in the neighbourhood, was walking her pug towards Paulie. The old lady saw what Paulie was doing and laughed. "So you've heard, then."

"Heard what?" challenged Paulie, not one to surrender information easily.

"The planet is moving. And you're testing it yourself. I remember doing the exact same thing, though I was older than you at the time."

"You're always older than me," countered Paulie.

"Well let me tell you something, miss. It's as true as the fact that all grownups used to be babies."

The pug, Dominic, sniffed and snuffled at Paulie's ankles. This was the first time she ignored him, because she was too busy boggling at Gramma Joe and trying to imagine her as ever being a baby.

"The ground under your feet is part of a planet that is spinning around its axis at a thousand miles an hour. And the planet itself is orbiting the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour."

"What's a thousand?"

"It's ten times one hundred."

Paulie blew a raspberry. "Numbers never get that big. That's imaginary."

Gramma Joe chuckled. "There's more than you think in this universe. The sun also moves. It's busy orbiting the heart of our galaxy. And the galaxy is moving. For all we know? Our universe itself moves. Even if you come back to the same relative point you started at, it has moved in space and time."

Paulie looked down at her feet, and Dominic, who had perched on her toes so he could bite his own leg. Even though she was standing still, if Gramma Joe wasn't spinning a make-believe story, she was moving at squidillions of miles an hour.

"Why can't we feel it?"

Gramma Joe smiled. "We're moving, too."

It all seemed too incredible to believe.

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Challenge #340: Someone Thought of the Children

Various cable news channel's reactions to Kermit T. Frog running for political office as an Independant, with the re-animated corpse of Fred "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" Rogers as his running mate.

Fred Rogers looked just as he did when he was alive. He had the same ready smile and the same sparkle in his bespectacled eyes. He had the same sweater on that he wore in his last show.

But that wasn't the disturbing part.

The disturbing part was Kermit. He was still a muppet. Not a real, living frog. He moved and sounded just like he did when Jim Henson played him. The only difference was that he no longer needed the rods on his hands or a small team of ninjas to walk.

He wore a suit and talked like an adult on a late-night talk show.

"No, no, we're not calling ourselves democrats. We're not calling ourselves republicans. We're not libertarian, we're-we're not any of that. No," said Kermit. "We're here for the children, and we expect to get voted in by any parent who cares about their kids."

"And you aren't afraid of becoming a -uh- puppet... government?"

"Hahaha," deadpanned Kermit. "That's the fifth time someone's said that. We're just living up to the principals we believe everyone should hold. And if someone tries to use us for their own profit, that's going to be their problem."

"We're not going to turn the senate or house into the Children's Television Workshop," said Mr Rogers. "Though I'm certain we can all think of a few senators who need a time out."

Laughter.

"We'll-we'll-we'll discuss that later," said Kermit. "We just want people to be honest and actually think about the children."

"Yes," agreed Mr Rogers.

"What do you have planned on this 'honesty in politics' platform?"

"There's too many liars in office," said Mr Rogers.

"Yes," agreed Kermit. "You look at most of the talking points they have. They say they're about jobs, but they don't subsidise American manufacturers or make it easy for smaller businesses to hold their own. They say they're pro-life, and then they-they-they cut funding for single moms or axe the school lunch programs. We think that's very bad."

"We're reforming the tax system, too."

"Oh yes. If you're an American citizen, and you have holdings overseas? You gotta bring that back to the US or pay a fifty percent tax on the estimated value. If you try to cheat and leave the US before you can pay? We're going to be working with the UN to seize the lot."

"We have to pay for the school initiatives somehow," smiled Mr Rogers.

It's all going to be about quality education. Sesame Street will be on television and we're going to trim the real fat.

"Starting with the presidential budget."

"Yeah, neither of us need to eat so that's a whole billion dollars that can go somewhere else."

"Somewhere useful."

"We're-we're hoping other senators and officials will-will work out what they need and what they don't need and donate to the people of America," said Kermit.

"We're from PBS," said Mr Rogers. "We're used to asking for donations."

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Challenge #341: Tonight on Border Patrol...

Team of Japanese Magical Girls encounter their greatest threat...Customs Agents.

"Do you need an interpreter?"

"My am English very good," said the Japanese girl with a big grin. "No worries mate!"

Her friends looked decidedly more dubious about her skills.

"All right," the Customs Agent Veronica sighed, "Do you know why you were called over here?"

"Chucka su-rim-pu on-u baa-bee!"

"...riiiiight."

A brief argument in Japanese resulted in a different girl of the crowd of six stepping forward. "Very much sorry. Best friend say she handle everything. She say, know best Australian. Not meaning offence."

Veronica cleared her throat. "And you are—?"

"May, please."

"Okay, May. Do you know why you were all called over here?"

"We are... in trouble? Not knowing problem, please."

Veronica brought up the X-rays on the big screen to show them. Six bags. Six anomalies. Six red circles showing six interesting lights.

Six suddenly very nervous faces amongst the girls.

"Now, we couldn't detect any explosives in these devices," said Veronica, "but they're still emitting radiation of some sort and we need to know what these are."

The original ambassador for the group fought free of her friends. "G'day g'day. How you goin'? Ow's the ankle bite-ahs?"

More arguing in Japanese. This was going to be an interesting day...

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Challenge #342: Honey-Bunny Booboo

A window into the daily life of a mixed family roughly one generation after "The Invasion of the Rabbit Women!".

AN: For those too busy to scroll through their dash or my blog, that's this post here: [ the-hunt-begins ]

A century following the invasion and colonisation of Sol, much had changed. Most of those changes were completely lost on Tirena, age six. She had a happy home, and the best parents and siblings.

Tirena had been flipping channels on the holovision and stopped because the viewer was showing two-D monochrome pictures. The presenter was talking about a king named Martin Luther.

She was so enraptured that she sat still enough for one of her bun-sisters to plait her hair up into mock-ears.

There was even footage of him speaking. "I have a dream..."

Tirena listened to the nice words and let her baby sibs, human and bun alike, occupy her lap. It was a very good dream that came true like that.

And then she found out that some people shot him. And killed him. For no real good reason.

There was only one person to make the scary things go away. "MAMA!"

Both parents came running. "What is it, Honey-bunny Booboo?" Daddy cooed, automatically landing in a hug. "You okay?"

"Why'd they kill the man," Tirena pointed at the holovision. "He didn't do anything mean..."

Mama, a big beautiful bunny-lady, took Tirena up in her strong arms and hugged her and kissed her and snoodled her, which tickled Tirena almost into giggles. "Oh, sweet baby child... Your people's history is full of mean, mean things."

Daddy, lots shorter than Mama, reached up to pat Tirena on her back. "Once upon a time, humans like you and I used to judge people on all sorts of silly criteria. Who they loved, how they loved, the way they presented themselves and even skin colour and gender expression."

"Why?"

"Because of a big bad book that told people that being true to themselves was evil. Lots of people followed the words of that book, but didn't pay any attention to the lessons it was trying to teach."

Tirena tried to fit that description into her world. "You mean like that man on the street corner who calls Mama a 'false god'?"

"A lot like him, yes."

"How'd they get anything done if everything was evil?"

"A lot of the time, they didn't," soothed Mama. She took Tirena into the big snuggle couch and everyone huddle-cuddled up to feel den-safe. "When my people came along, there were men who wanted to kill women who didn't want to have babies. And there were people who didn't want other people to raise unwanted babies."

"They didn't have the Uterus Machines, then," explained Daddy. "And many men viewed in-body gestation as a punishment, too."

"There were all kinds of immoral moralists," sighed Mama. "And silly people who said and did very silly things."

"Most of them are gone, now," soothed Daddy. "But it's important that we know they were there, in their time. Context in history is everything. The pale-skin people in charge thought Mr King was a threat because he didn't like the way they bossed around brown-skin people like us."

"Pale-skins picked on brown-skins?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"That's deeper history. The pale-skin people were very lucky at the right time and place and practically took over the world. They thought it was because their god wanted them to be in charge. So they picked on everyone who wasn't a pale-skin."

"That's silly," announced Tirena. "That'd be like picking on my baby sibs because they got spots in their fur."

"Exactly. Very silly."

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Challenge #343: Generations Ago...

T'reka is regaled by tales of the Emu War...by smarter-than-expected emus.

[AN: This has to be a descendant of the original T'reka the Inquisitive]

She had found them fascinating on her trip to the famously dangerous Australia of Earth. And they found her fascinating, too.

When she discovered that they had a language... That was the most interesting thing to cause T'reka the Questioner to extend her stay.

Central-Australian Emus were intelligent.

"Ah nah, we're not worried about the Domesticated ones," said the leader. A female who called herself Great Auntie. "They were stupid enough to get caught. They're not Us."

Which was a very callous attitude unique to the cogniscent species that shared this planet with the humans. Anyone who's not Us can go hang. And, frankly, many historical humans had a similar attitude about different cliques of their very own species. The only real difference was that the humans were the ones most commonly making war.

And speaking of conflict... "Did the humans give you many troubles, before they discovered your... capabilities?"

"Yeah nah not a lot," said Great Auntie. "We made sure they got the Thick ones and the slow ones and we grew stronger. Though there was that one bloke."

"Which... 'bloke'?"

"Eh one of the whitefellas. Can't tell 'em apart. It was -oooh- forty-odd summers after the whitefellas barged in? They were trying to grow tasty-seeds and we were hungry, right? Us back then, not Us now. Ever since the treaty, we're goin' good."

"Of course," said T'reka. "The human wiki says that your ancestors were after -uh- wheat?"

"Yeah, tasty seeds. Loads of them. More than the one or two we ever saw could eat, for sure. So we tried to help ourselves. 'S only natural, right?"

"Of course."

"Stop interruptin', Shiela. I'm tellin' a yarn. You get rhetorical questions in a rhetorical yarn, awright?"

T'reka nodded, still busily taking notes.

"Good-oh. Anyway, we're hungry, it's dry, and they're putting up fences, the mangy bastards. So of course we did what we could to get through. Wire and posts ain't gonna stop us long, are they? And it was never our fault about the little breeding mammals."

"Er... rabbits?"

"Yeah them. Whitefellas brought 'em in and then acted surprised that they mucked everything up. Idiots. So you got hungry Us, biggest dry spell in ages, and them swearin' at us for wanting to eat, right? Then this big, white shitstain comes at us with bloody machine guns. Machine guns, I ask ya. What the flying hell was he thinkin'? The whitefellas tried t' round us up, but we were having none of that. We're too bloody smart. Scattered to the four winds.

"Then they tried pickin' on bigger groups? But their bloody mechanical gun jammed, right? Big loss for them and we were in the wind, mate. And you know the really insulting thing? They didn't even wanna eat us. We were just rubbish to them. Bastards.

"But of course we were too clever and the whitefellas just had to bloody put up with us, eh? Some of the buggers tried to claim that we were bloody bulletproof. Nongs, th' lot of 'em. They can't kill Us that easy."

"Evidently," said T'reka. "How long did it take you to communicate the treaty?"

"Aw bloody ages... Humans are Thiiiiiiick..."

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Challenge #344: The Fright of a Lifetime

'Hey Arnold!' meets 'Aaahhh! Real Monsters!'. Go as the Muse moves you.

"It was hideous," he bawled, "HIDEOUS! I can't go back there. I just can't."

Krumm patted his back.

Oblina soothed, "There, there, darling. It can't be that bad..."

"You didn't see it," Ickis whined. "It had horrible green stuff on its face! And its hair was this awful sunshiny shade of YELLOW and it stuck out of its head like... like..." metaphors failed him. "Like Krumm's armpit hair."

"She sounds almost like a monster," said Oblina. She checked the file.

Helga Pataki. Extremely dangerous. Professionals only.

"Are you going for extra credit from the Gromble again?"

"...maybe?"

*

Helga stomped down the street towards the seven eleven. She was on a mission, and she hated the world.

"Hey Helga," greeted the love of her life, the superb and scintillating Arnold. "Where you going?"

"It's none of your business, football-head, but I'm going to get some rat poison. Stupid vermin keepin' me from my beauty sleep..."

"Oh... kay," managed Arnold. "Have a good one."

"DON'T TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE, FOOTBALL-HEAD!"

The instant he was out of sight and listening range, she sighed. He cared! He actually cared!

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Challenge #345: Vicious Competition

MongoCorp runs across a rival business concern...AzTech.

Despite the near meteoric rise of MongoCorp Consolidated Business Concern, there was a rival in the South Americas. AzTech Incorporated.

They profited by a pyramid franchise scheme that sent prescribed percentages of profits to the central offices in Tacuba, and busily recruited and expanded all around them.

Their flagship products were QuetzlcoatlNet and the Obsidian Drive. The sharpest technology on the planet.

But their sacrificial employee management skills were in direct opposition to MongoCorp's. MongoCorp began making a habit of recruiting those former members of AzTech who had been cut off without insurance and expelled from the corporate structure.

Naturally, AzTech objected. They sued, claiming the usual blunt-force legal tactics of corporate espionage and head-hunting. MongoCorp countered with proof that the rescued former employees were working in areas where their former expertise was next to useless.

Similarly, the smear campaign came to nothing as MongoCorp's loyalty incentives left AzTech's reeling in the dirt.

They eventually came to an understanding. Though silicon was AzTech's flagship, they also excelled at advanced farming techniques.

But nothing would stop the slow leak of former AzTech employees towards the greener fields of MongoCorp.

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Challenge #346: Saved!

Serial killer (real Hannibal Lechter-type) turns himself in to the authorities a sobbing wreck after months of being hounded by a pair of REALLY persistent Jehova's Witnesses.

Every serial killer makes one big mistake, and for Kevin Leerie, that mistake was answering the door one peaceful morning to the door-to-door evangelists.

"Have you heard the good word of our lord and saviour Jesus Christ?"

"Rack off," said Kevin, and slammed the door.

He should have pretended he wasn't home, but no. That day, he had been expecting a courier parcel and therefore raised their interest. Something about him must have said 'poor lost soul'.

They popped by.

Randomly.

They took advantage of his malfunctioning peephole and may have sabotaged it themselves. There was no proof, of course. Kevin's landlord was already a lying asshole in near-permanent fifth place on his little murder list.

These two? They were trying to do good. He could not, in all good conscience, eliminate them like he did the very scum of humanity. Therefore, he had to put up with them at least twice a week.

"Are you prepared for the coming apocalypse?"

"Did you know that Christ is planning the End of Days?"

"Do you know what happens to you after you die?"

"Have you secured your mansion in heaven?"

They wouldn't go away. Not even when he answered the door naked, covered in blood, and carrying a carving knife. Though their smiles were rather fixed and nervous, that day.

"There is still time to save your soul."

"You can repent at any time."

"Welcome Jehovah into your heart and be cleansed!"

They were relentless.

They were driving him to distraction.

And worst, they always seemed to chance on him shortly before or shortly after a kill. Hunting became fraught with the risk of them raising an alarm.

The only way out... was through.

Which was why, one peaceful weekend morning, Kevin gave them the keys to his house and car, saying only: "I won't need these any more," before he took a leisurely stroll down to the police station to confess.

It was rather relaxing, really. Inside a prison cell, none of them could get to him.

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Challenge #347: Jinge Bells, Santa Smells

Santa's elves go union!

"Two! Four! Six! Eight! Hear us, Kringle, we can wait!" The chant filtered through the stained glass windows of the Head Office.

Kris Kringle, aka Santa Claus, aka The Jolly Elf of the North, was not that jolly. He was perspiring, despite the cold, and highly nervous. He cleared his throat seventeen times before he put his foot in his mouth with, "And what do you want for Christmas, little boy?"

The elves across the table glared at him in cross-armed, stony silence.

"Sorry," he quavered. "Habit of centuries..."

The spokes-elf had to stand on his chair to slide the papers across. It was quite a thick document.

"Oh my," murmured Santa. "Living wage? I thought we were already agreed on that. I... give you all lodgings and all the festive treats you can eat..."

"Plum pudding and candy canes don't cut it any more, fatboy," said the spokes-elf. "We want a balanced diet."

Santa coughed. "Hurm hum hohoho... Er. Let's see... I can -um- expand the definition of 'festive treats'? I can only do Christmas food. Um. They serve a lot of salads in Australia?"

Cold glares. "Just open up access to normal food."

"Yeah, open up a Costco or something."

"Yes... yes I suppose. We shipped all the toy-making jobs to cheaper manufacturers." He read further down the list. "Equal heights?"

"You might have noticed that we have to bring step-stools with us when we want to talk to you," said the spokes-elf. "We want full mobility aids installed throughout the entire facility."

"Walk-talk pathways. Self-elevating chairs. Standing bars," said a compatriot.

"Lower ceilings."

"Please," begged Santa. "My lumbago..."

"We told you to put wheels on that sack forty years ago."

"...it's not traditional... I have an image to maintain. Can't disappoint the kiddies..."

The elves exchanged a glance. "All right. We'll talk with our fellow members about the ceilings."

"But we insist on the right to celebrate Christmas."

Santa looked very lost. "Don't we already do that?"

"WE WANT PRESENTS!"

"...hohohooo... dear..."

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Challenge #348: Sonic Rainbows

Neil Harbisson's TED Talk "I Listen to Colors" (I recommend checking it out first) is what inspired this submission idea, as did the phenomenon of synaesthesia. What if, somewhere in your Amalgam Universe, there was an alien race out there for whom normal perceptions of color and sound were not like humans, but color and sound were interrelated - fashion was chosen for how it sounded rather than how it looked, portraits were heard symphonies, and music and speeches could be presented as paintings, that sort of thing...

AN: If you want to check it out, you can watch his talk [ here. Artificial synaesthesia is pretty darn cool. And I need an ear-bug to warn me not to stay in the sunshine]

The universe is colour. The universe is sound. It's also taste and smell and all the other senses, but for C(flat), those were the two that mattered most. They were one and the same.

But there were subtleties. There was a difference between sight-sound -the way something sounded when she looked at it- and sound-sight, which was the way things looked when she heard them. Mostly, they agreed. An ugly person sounded ugly when she looked at them and looked ugly when they spoke.

But the humans? They were always surprising. They were the reason she joined the Loyal Order of Hitchhikers.

A human could sound unpleasant on first impressions, but turn out to be the most vivid of speakers. Or have a Van Gogh singing voice. Or be able to tell stories worth an art gallery.

Some, unable or unwilling to do any of those, could take out a portable instrument and create symphonies.

One she met could do them with knitting.

C(flat) was very pleased that she was allowed to both keep and wear that masterpiece. And did so at every possible opportunity.

But it was when she stopped in at an Unsuitable Food branch to enjoy the Opuses composed live that she met the most interesting one. She looked very sombre, mournful and dour, but sounded like a fresh spring day full of lilies.

"Ey up," she chirped. "What's with the loud sweater, then?"

"Loud?" echoed C(flat) in confusion. "This is much quiet. Peaceful serenade, and calming comfort that also keeps me warm."

A sharp snap of her fingers, briefly illuminating the soundscape with its light. "Aw, yer a Sweet-RIff, yeh? Lemme ge' ma axe..."

Her arm briefly vanished into a shadow and re-appeared with a guitar. Then she played the name of C(flat)'s people flawlessly.

"Yes! That's us! You know the songs of my people?"

"No' quite, but I can jam. You lead, then."

It took four songs and quite a lot of change raining chartreuse tingles into her hat before someone told C(flat) that the entity known as Shayde was an Ambassador.

She was the best one C(flat) had ever met, capable of making her feel at home even though she was hundreds of jumps from her home planet of Chorus.

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Challenge #349: One Thing in Common

Video Prompt!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4dT8FJ2GE0

6 people singing an Icelandic hymn in a German train station with excellent acoustics.

If there was one phrase Rael learned to dread, it was any variation on, "Let me get my axe," from Ambassador Shayde. On one hand, it meant something historical was going to happen. On the other hand, it meant that she would gather crowds.

And there was always at least one who thought he was part of the show.

But not this time.

It was one of the spontaneous instances of Human Music that he'd heard of, but never seen. Two fellow citizens waiting for the transit started harmonising. An old tune about plants, reminiscent of the season's celebrations.

Although what parasitic weeds had to do with Terran Christmas, he could never figure.

Shayde provided the backup music and more harmonies. And three more completely random humans joined in. Rael recognised people from five disparate planets. Some of whom were busy bickering with each other via extended trade negotiations.

It was simultaneously profound and ridiculous, as so many human things often were.

They sung the song flawlessly, in old pre-shattering English. And finished to the applause and raining Minutes of the audience.

"What do we play next, then?" asked Shayde.

And then it turned out that none of them actually spoke pre-shattering English. At least, not the way Shayde did. Some barely spoke GalStand. And yet, all seven of them came to a consensus and communicated their desire.

"Falala!"

"Falala?"

"FALALA!"

Shayde just cackled and lead them in.

"DECK the halls with boughs of holly! Falala lala la la la la..."

Another old Terran song with mystifying traditions. And few of the singers understood the words.

Humans... they were so... weird.

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Challenge #350: The Truth is Out There

Assume the plane in prompt 00691 - A326 is the missing Malaysia Airlines plane, or another mysteriously vanishing flight. It finally lands on the planet and the pilots try to flag down a passerby to ask for directions home.

25th of May, 2003.

As soon as they were out of range, a party broke out on board.

"We did it!"

"WOO!"

"We got our own goddamn JET!"

Shrieks and whoops and general celebration lasted all of fifteen minutes before the vortex had them.

Well, that was what they called it. None of the thieves had any idea what to name a swirling tunnel of purple clouds and conflictingly-coloured skies. Or what to name the oppressive blackness that seemed to convey great speed, eons of time, and pants-wetting terror all in the same moment.

The next thing they knew, they were flying over an alien land mass.

"What the hell?"

"What the flying fuck is this?"

"What button did you press, Dave?"

"I didn't do shit."

"We told you not to touch anything, Dave!"

"I didn't do shit!"

For the next five minutes, the flight recorder dutifully preserved for posterity the sound of five men asking variations of, "What the fuck is that?" before Jonno called for calm.

"Okay. Obviously, something went wrong."

"Was the SATURN in orbit your FIRST clue?" asked the luckless Dave.

"No I reckon it was the purple shrubbery," said Paul. "We can't keep flying and hope we get back, that's stupid. That's Twilight Zone level shit."

"Did we check the passenger list for a Rod Serling?"

"Shut up, Warren, you're not helping."

"There's a field! We can do a rough landing and try to ask for directions."

"Everyone buckle up, this is gonna be a son of a bitch."

*

Military Sergeant Tiyibb poses with some of the alleged alien wreckage found in Slorlëw, Numekscae.

The Sergeant was clearly holding rumpled tinfoil, much to the outrage of the witnesses. They knew that whatever had crashed in a farm outside that sleepy town had not been a weather balloon.

There were four of them, Yarnethi wrote in her journal. Taller than me. All different colours in their skin. One was really dark, like he was made out of shadows. One was very pale. Almost a porcelain pale. The other two were in-between. They had strange soft growth that came out of their heads.

One was lying down. It was bleeding. Their blood was so dark and it stank and the ground underneath that one foamed and sizzled. Two were helping the one lying down and the fourth was going in and out of the wreckage, salvaging things.

They were horrible giants. Thick-limbed and loud and obviously strong.

I couldn't understand the words they said, but it was clear they were communicating.

I saw what landed in Slorlëw. And it sure as hell wasn't a weather balloon crewed by experimental animals or shop dummies.

I just wish I'd brought my camera with me.

Hers was just one of many accounts, written or otherwise recorded by the people who had seen or been part of the Slorlëw Incident. Rumours of conspiracy theories and aliens being held in secret government facilities persisted for decades.

But nobody knew - or was able to tell - what really happened to the wreckage or the aliens that crash landed in Slorlëw.

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Challenge #351: As the Station Turns

Aliens of all kinds discover Soap Operas, have fun with the adaptations and scripts and of course the fans. — knitnan

Serialised drama is nothing new. The fact that it invaded the known universe before the humans made themselves known is the only thing from stopping the accusing finger pointing at those dangerous primates. And there is a legend that some baffling ancient alien went around the universe and introduced infant species to the concept. But some people will say anything...

Even the Archivaas have trouble tracking down the oldest one. Some proudly display Kerinat'n Place as the oldest and longest running of them. Others exhibit All My Daughters as the most inclusive.

Only humans called it 'Soap Opera' and there was a certain amount of foam and inadvisability of consumption in the end product that made the name spread.

There are those who love it, those who abhor it to the point of outright ostracising the entire topic... and those unfortunate souls who feel compelled to explain it, despite the clear and evident disinterest of their audience.

"...an' when it turned out that they were twins, I cried. I fair cried."

"Wait," said Rael. "These are two disparate species. One of them is oviparous."

"Na, na, na. Y' see... his egg cracked an' they had tae transfer 'im tae new digs, ye ken," explained Shayde. "And the best place was sharin' space wi' her pseudo-uterus. And then the unit got misfiled, an' that's why they have their Unty Briix."

Rael growled. "Anyone with a modicum of science education knows that that is... what's your phrase? A complete load of bollocks."

"Aye, I reckon it's all a plot by T'sert'ser tae ruin their happiness."

Rael glared at her as he processed his latest mouthful of Gyiikish experimental recipes. It could, in his opinion, use a smidgen more hollandaise sauce. "How did you get into this nonsense in the first place?"

Shayde grinned. "Let me tell ye about my wee girl Apples..."

One day, Rael promised himself, he would learn to keep his curious mouth shut.

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Challenge #352: Pre-Luddite

The first cyborg hate crime probably happened around the time the first peg leg was ripped off with malice aforethought.

"Ereb... ka... heb..." Lynn dutifully wrote down the hieroglyphs and checked the translations. Her quest for extra credit had her translating old manuscripts that had been collected from, apparently, the dawn of time.

This was an ancient form of writing, from the super-early period of Egyptian civilisation, so translation was especially tricky.

She stretched the kinks out of her back and re-read over her translation.

It was a legal document. A court case.

And the earliest evidence of prosthetics.

Kef the Butcher bought his case against Horeb the Priest before Pharaoh himself. They had been through a number of lower courts, and the antagonism between the two arguing parties lead them straight to the living incarnation of Ra.

Horebb protested that the Gods had a plan for every living thing, and the fact that Kef had lost a finger and a half to a bumbling apprentice was part of the larger plan. Therefore, Kef had no business at all wearing a strap-on finger and a special ring that replaced those lost digits. He should be proud of his scars and not rely on artifice.

Kef complained that he was still unmarried and, on the occasions that Horeb had stolen yet another set of replacement fingers, Kef noted that all his romantic overtures were more likely to be ignored. If the Gods had a plan for him, then why did all the offerings he made at the temple not grow his fingers back? The Gods had given him a brain and his brother a magnificent skill. Could they therefore not mean that Kef was entitled to wear his new hand pieces to win love?

Pharaoh listened in silence to them argue case and countercase. Finally, he held aloft his flyswatter and decreed thusly:

Horeb the Priest should no longer speak for the gods. He shall go into the desert to find clarity. And if death should find him before wisdom does, his wealth shall go to Kef the Butcher. If wisdom does find him, Horeb the Priest will therefore pay Kef the Butcher the full value of all the fingers he has stolen.

Lynn managed to get so much extra credit from her work that she managed to swing Salutatorian.

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Challenge #353: One Afternoon in a High School Classroom

"The Mongols sent diplomatic caravans to establish an alliance with them, and they responded by massacring them. Twice. Subsequently the region's population dropped by 90% or so for some reason."

"Whoah, whoah, whoah..." Mrs Green stopped Darla in the middle of her presentation. "Really? You couldn't find the reason why the population dropped? Everyone knows it was the Mongols."

"There's no historical evidence for that, Mrs Green," said Darla. "The Mongols weren't big on keeping records and survivor accounts could be biased. It could have easily been a rival faction in disguise."

"The Mongols had motive," Mrs Green argued. "Their envoys were slaughtered. And following the second offence, the people in that area were almost wiped out."

"Correlation is not causality, Mrs Green," Darla argued. "And a counter-argument is that the survivors didn't like the Mongols anyway and claimed that the deaths were due to them in an attempt to gain allies against them."

Mrs Green sighed. "Do you have any other evidence for your theories?"

"No more evidence than 'the Mongols did it', m'm."

"I want your sources, of course."

"I have a bibliography, with page numbers, paragraphs, and ISBN's."

"...of course you do..." muttered Mrs Green. "Continue..."

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Challenge #354: Divinity Proclivity

I am not the god of reason and understanding, I am the GOD OF THUNDER AND LIGHTNING -Thor

The halo was a dead give-away, really. Something about a God in mortal form made a visible aura of light a definite thing.

May ran through ever possible conversation gambit in her head and finished up with, "So you're a God, then."

"Not a capital-G god," said the divinity. "Not any more. Not enough followers, you see. Nobody really wants what I do."

"And... what do you do?"

"I'm Delugius, the god of precipitation."

"Precipitation," May echoed.

"Rain, sleet, snow, hail... Anything that falls from the sky, I can do it."

May thought about that as she chased the stains around on the diner's countertop. "Does it have to be Earth's sky?" she asked.

Delugius shrugged. "No idea. Never tried for any other sky."

"I read somewhere that it rains diamonds on Neptune," she said. "A tiny little local flurry would be kinda cool."

"And it would raise suspicion. Plus I'm thinking they may not be your ideal gemstone kind of diamond."

"Well see if you can make it rain one, then. Just a random raindrop."

He leaned on the counter. "You got an offering?" he said. "It's usually chicken for a light storm."

"Got a chicken and mayo sandwich, nearly fresh."

"Sold."

"Do I chant any thing?"

"Eh, something in the order of a prayer for a light shower of diamonds from a Neptunian sky should do it. It's been a while and I don't even know if it's gonna work."

May fetched the sandwich. "O great got Delugius, please take this offering of chicken and bless me with a small shower of rain from a Neptunian sky."

"Niiiiice," said Delugius. He took a bite of the sandwich. "MMM! I can feel it working. Here goes, here goes, here goes..." Delugius winced, grunted, and a scattering of black crystals rained down in a circle around May.

"Good news, it works," said May, sweeping them up. "Bad news, I would have to convince someone that these were actually diamonds."

If she put them in a saucer, they looked like black grit. And they were a pretty good size, compared to any real diamond she'd actually seen.

"Even if we knew where it rained gemstones, I'm pretty sure it'd be out of my range. I think Neptune was pushing it."

May ran a fingernail through the pile, watching the little black blobs scatter and fall in the saucer. "I wonder if I could sell a story to some dealer..."

"Just tell them the truth."

May snorted. "Yeah, that wouldn't work at all. We're the only diner that caters to semidivine organisms."

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Challenge #355: The Abomination

"SPACE IT!" "BURN IT!" "We'll compromise. LAUNCH IT INTO THE SUN!"

"What is it?" asked M'ri.

"I think it's a human artefact," Chobb turned the object over in her hands. It was roughly spherical, and featured false fur in lurid colours. There were comical parodies of eyes above a birdlike pointed beak. Yet it had mammalian ears and ducklike feet. "I think it might be a platypus..."

M'ri ran her scanner over it. "There's mechanisms inside it. Is it meant to do something?"

"Earth mechanicals run on primitive chemical reactions. The ones inside this were removed for safety," Chobb reassured her. "Such an odd thing to leave in a grab-box. If we want to find out what it does, we'd have to create a new power cell for it."

M'ri pried open the power compartment in its lurid plastic base. The compartment was empty of everything but the metal contacts. "Two pointy tents?"

"Earth symbolism," Chobb dismissed. She put it down on the workbench. "We'd have to unriddle the meaning if we want it to be functional."

And then the eyes moved. Focussed on them. The beak opened and closed as it said. "U nye boh do?"

M'ri had no memory of moving, but she and her business partner Chobb found themselves clinging to each other at the opposite end of the room to the artificial beast as it oscillated pointlessly in its place. Both cogniscents were trying to burrow through the bulkhead with their spines.

"...it has no power," Chobb whispered. "How can it possibly...?"

"Wee tah kah wee loo," said the beast.

"This is why the box was so cheap," said M'ri. "The merchant was seeking to be rid of that thing. Before it killed him."

"I say we space it."

"I think we should burn it."

"U nye loo lay doo?" said the beast.

"We compromise," said M'ri. "We drop it into a star."

Tales were told after the fact, of course. And the Galactic Alliance spread horror stories of the Earth machine known as Phur-bii.

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Challenge #356: "Did you hear the one about the two humans?"

What if the majority (or at least a statistically-notable percentage) of the Galactic Community had mating seasons, like most animals do, so that as a result, with humanity's decidedly non-seasonal "anytime and anywhere" sexual biology, we're the butt of a million planets' cheezy and/or stereotype-based dirty jokes...

[AN: Trigger warning: rape mention]

Of course, humans supplied some of them. Nothing cycles around quicker than a recycled joke.

"How many humans does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

"Two or more, but it's anyone's guess how they got in there!"

Or:

"Three humans walk into a bar... one of them would have seen it, but they were all too busy with foreplay!"

Or:

"Ya gotta love the humans, right? I mean, they'll find a way to love you."

Or:

"How do you capture a human? Moisten a hole and wait five minutes."

And:

"Humans have to be insane. They invented rape, and then they invented ways to get out of calling it that."

The humans didn't always laugh at that one. It was, as the comedians discussed, a joke that required the audience to know its own history.

Shayde laughed the hardest at it, but then, she was more intimately familiar with the atmosphere that generated the joke. And then -much to Rael's horror- she buttonholed the poor sod who'd been at the open mic' to discuss it.

"Oh aye, there was loads of it," she said to his luckless rictus. "If ye were a gerl, ye didnae have a chance even if ye taped it. Men had a career tha' women could ruin by speakin' oot, ye ken. An' the entire social structure was rigged in his favour. What was she wearin', how much had she had tae drink, did she willin'ly do it before, did she say 'yes' up until the last minute, did she lead him on, what was her reputation like, did she scream, why wasnae she awake tae scream, did she fight, how stupid was she to fight and finally - what proof does she have that it happened at all. It was a horror show."

The comedian, to Rael's shock and awe, was dutifully writing this down. "This is horrifying. The exact line between comedy and tragedy. What else did they do?"

"Aw, there was a whole classification system after my time. Legitimate rape, near-rape, real rape, drunk rape, drug rape, date rape... ye get the idea. And loads of 'em didn't know they were doin' it. The absence of a 'no' an' all that."

"Completely disgusting. This is right up my alley, but I'm afraid it'll take a while to turn it into jokes."

"Lemme know when ye do," said Shayde. "I'd love tae know how it's funny."

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Challenge #357: Food That Sings

 http://callmegallifreya.tumblr.com/post/104613467865/the-magical-crawdad-mmolio-funkocide

"asexual sirens getting real fuckin pissed about all these sailors interrupting choir rehearsal"

"sirens are already asexual they dont have sex with the men they kill them"

"well no wonder they kill them they keep interrupting choir rehearsal"

"Asexual mermaids being really pleased when an asexual sailor begins singing baritone counterpoint."

They usually didn't pay attention to the wooden things that floated on top of their world. It would have been rather like constantly paying attention to birds or flotsam.

They sang. It was what they did. They sang their histories, or the tunes of lonely whales, and sometimes, songs they overheard from swimming close to the rare wooden things that did who-knew-what on the open waves.

They were sometimes beautiful, those Otherworld songs, and the Mer would often gather on sharp rocks or sandy bars to sing them in the air.

And that was when the trouble happened.

The floating things would float nearer and meaty treat food would come and try to have sex with them. Disgusting. But it was a way to catch food if the pod was hungry, so they just accepted it as a fact of life.

Shiriiiea was there when a miracle happened. She and her pod-sisters were singing one of the Otherworld songs when a wooden thing floated by. But this time, no meaty treat food came to have sex with them. This time, the food sang back.

Siiyer said it. "The food sings!"

"What a nice voice," Shiriiea blurted. They sang some more, watching as the food dropped a heavy thing on a rope to keep his floating thing stable.

He bought out an instrument and played for them. Sometimes with words, sometimes with melody. Always in tune with the pod.

This was food they would not eat.

The pod swam out to sing with him. Picked up a few words of the language he called Griik. They took care to note how this one was different from all the other food. He taught them a song they would know him by. They caught him some fish to eat, and decorated his boat with jewellery of seaweed and shells.

He came back to them, to sing again. The pod loved him and his voice. He became their 'pet'. A Griik word for an animal you feed and enjoy the company of and never, ever eat.

Otherworlders were strange.

When the storm came, his floating thing became another wreck, but the pod knew him, and fed him the Sacred Fish, the one reserved for the drowned and betrayed, who became Mer, like them.

His fins were beautiful, and the Sacred Fish made him young and beautiful, and turned his teeth sharp for the need to eat meat.

The Pod had never had a more beautiful chorus, in or out of the water.

*

They tell a tale in some areas of Greece, of a humble fisherman who was immune to the charms of the Sirens, who would go out and sing with them, in return for them helping him with his catch. They say he was lost at sea and the Sirens ate him for his hubris.

But if you go to his home village, the story changes. They say they saw him swimming with the pod, and heard his voice for many, many years after that terrible storm.

Those villagers know to only sing along when they hear a Siren. Because if you dare interrupt their song, they will kill you and eat you, and decorate their gardens with your bones.

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Challenge #358: Dragons need better PR agents.

"Hmrph... but that's how it always is, isn't it? Just because they have so many prolific bards and scholars in their employ, they think they get the rights to dictate how everyone else is seen by the future generations - they don't even TRY to ask my opinion... I've got scales on my butt older than their eldest king, and they still think they know more about my kind than I do... Humans are utter idiots."

Catlike, the great elder dragon stretched and yawned, settling back in place before resuming his remarks to his one-woman audience.

"Er, that is to say, present company excluded, of course. But honestly, it just is aggravating, how things get twisted. I invest in the region by keeping my finances local, and they call it 'hoarding wealth'. I defend my property from attackers, they cheer on the 'heroes' who 'assaulted the monster in its own den'. I can't even go out for a bite to eat without some peasant who barely has enough wits in him to play in the dirt-patch he calls a farm screaming that 'the dread beast is pillaging his prized cattle'... Prized? You mean the weak and elderly of an already-pathetic herd? Which I only took because the royal huntsmen already claimed all the best boar and deer in the Grand Wood for His Majesty's table? Bah. And I didn't burn down that orphanage intentionally - a moth flew up my nose and I sneezed when passing over it on my way to the Southlands. Could've happened to anyone, really."

He shrugged, gently passing the delicate satchel back to the royally-garbed woman.

"Feh... they'll probably even find some way to spin this little meeting of ours into some 'villainous machination of the demon wyrm', I imagine. Probably claim I kidnapped you to eat you or something. Ridiculous."

"Well I am a princess," said the bard. "I just happen to be temporarily out of the princessing business."

"I know," said the dragon. "I could smell it on you. Something about the royal inbreeding."

"Excuse me?" said the Princess Bard.

"Well you do tend to mate with your cousins a lot. Knights errant who are promised your hand don't happen that often, do they?"

"Uhm..." she blushed. "Yeah. I was going to marry my second cousin twice removed? He's thirty-five. I'm not even almost fifteen. So... I ran away."

"Thirty five," rumbled the dragon. "Since we are chatting, I suppose introductions are in order. The long form of my proper name is... a little unpronounceable for you... you may call me Gort."

"I'm Ivy," said the Princess Bard.

"The same plant, but a different name. Interesting. Is thirty-five so terrible? I understand it's more than twice your age."

"...i'm... closer to thirteen..." Ivy mumbled. "I don't even have my moon time yet and they were trying to put me out to stud and I'm not sure if I ever want a man with me like that. Let alone him. I'd rather be a bard and sing for my supper."

"Good for you," said Gort. "I shall hire you to be my bard. I don't suppose dragon-roasted meat is your thing."

"Er. No. Sorry."

"To each their own," enormous talons gently plucked what seemed to be a small urn from the pile and filled it with gems and coin. When Gort put it next to Ivy, however, it turned out to be an urn well above her own height and half again as wide as she was. "Is this sufficient payment? I know little of human furnishings, so I trust this will be sufficient for the alcove?"

"More than sufficient for my entire life!" Ivy had to stand on a rock just to reach into the top and pluck out an emerald the size of a warrior's fist. "What do you want me to do?"

"Simply tell the truth about me," said Gort.

Ivy sighed and picked up her instrument. A simple traveller's harp. "Do you know the name for this?"

"A lyre," said the dragon. "Yes. An appropriate instrument for a bard. I see. Very well. Gild the truth about me. You will fly with me when I fly. See the world from the clouds. Share in the Dragonsong. And, in general, know about me."

This was more than Ivy had ever expected. It beat the living hell out of huddling under trees and getting kicked into the gutter. "Thank you, sir dragon! I'll do my best, I promise!"

Gort chuckled. "Dear little princess bard," a head big enough to dwarf four horses swivelled around on a huge neck so the gigantic lizard could whisper, "Ivy is ever a girl's name. In all its forms."

"Oh. Lady dragon..." Ivy curtseyed. "My apologies, m'm. I was always taught that dragons were male."

"Humans," Gort rolled her gemlike eyes. "How do they expect little dragons to be made, hm?"

"I suppose we never thought of it," allowed Ivy. She was staring at the emerald. A King's ransom. Certainly enough to hire workers to cut a stair up and into the alcove. And craftsmen to make what furnishings she liked. She remembered her mother telling the craftsmen what she wanted. Ivy could certainly do it with a little more grace. And spin the tale of the generous dragon who just wanted people to understand.

...and maybe even have some spare coin for a better lyre. Yes. Maybe even get a dragon put on its body, somewhere. In honour of her sponsor.

And she'd have to think of something a little more poetic than 'Gort'. It just didn't sound very lyrical.

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Challenge #359: Technobabble

From a forum conversation on technobabble: "we're running low on pixie dust and the containment breach can't hold any more rabbits so the ship is going to explode from thermal expansion and kill us all"

Responded to with: "Pfft, everyone knows pixie dust is self-containing."

They called it the Ark.

"So... you got all the StarMetal that was ever made, and turned it into... this?"

"There's also magically re-enforced Dweomer Steel. It's all been turned into an alloy, and used for the plating. It's charmed to hold together and keep the air inside."

"Air," repeated Jogoth the Mage.

"Well, yes," explained Featherleaf the Crafter. "The higher up you go, the less air there is, so we need to take it with us."

Jogoth boggled at her. "Where are you taking this... abomination to the eyes?"

"Up," Leatherleaf chirped. "The StarMetal comes from the sky, far above the moon, right? So in order to get more, we have to get up into the sky."

"Right. And you used all the StarMetal you could get in order to get more." Jogoth shook her head. This was something that usually required a padded room.

"YES!" Featherleaf jumped and clapped as she grinned in enthusiasm. "StarMetal is rare because it doesn't fall so very often, but if we get it before it can fall, we can have tons of StarMetal. Can you imagine having tons of it? The progress we can make! StarMetal vehicles! StarMetal re-inforced buildings! StarMetal everything!"

"And you're certain you won't die," prompted Jogoth. "...taking all the StarMetal with you...?"

"That's what all the wards are for. The air stays in. The dangerous things stay out. And anything that tries to impact will be slowed and then it will just stick to the outside. With the right levitation spells, we can return safely to where we started."

"And you've tried this?"

"Just to the edge of the stratosphere, so far. I collected twenty ounces."

And it took a Karat's worth to make a StarMetal sword. "Twenty..."

Featherleaf dashed into her workspace and returned with a small box. The StarMetal inside were jagged fragments, not the rounded nodules that Jogoth was used to seeing. Nevertheless, it was several kingdom's ransom worth of the stuff.

And she'd casually put it in a plain wooden box without a lock.

"There's tons of it up there," whispered Featherleaf. "Tons. The sky-band we can see through telescopes? It's all made out of floating StarMetal mountains. And I need all the mages I can get."

The sheer potential had her hooked. "Consider me hired." It was insane, of course. But the potential to pay for all the cool stuff a Mage could ever want or need. Both, belike.

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Challenge #360: One person's trash...

Arizona pyrope garnets occur in a remote section of the Navajo Nation in Arizona. The gems have never been mined commercially because there aren't enough of them. The entire world supply of these gems depends on those living nearby who collect a few stones after the occasional rainstorm and trade them at local stores.

This gem is most commonly called "ant-hill garnet" because they are "mined" by ants. Ants find the garnets while digging their anthills, drag them out, and discard them on the surface.

It's wonderful to imagine the ants being SO FRUSTRATED at all these stupid crystals getting in the way of their work.

Makes you wonder what humans discard that an alien species would see as valuable.

Pebbyxx Brokk, the sign read. Assorted Liquids.

Cho'desh, already in a mind to browse, wandered inside. There were tanks, of course. Clear plexisteel and, for the more active liquids, solid glass, showed the interested customer the contents.

What almost startled Cho-desh out of her skin was the acids. She half expected them to be bubbling, but they just sat there. They didn't even look evil.

"Uric acid," she read, and then backed away.

"It's quite safe," soothed the shopkeep, presumably Mx Brokk. "That's three centiUnits of solid glass, behind a repelling shield guaranteed to deflect even the most aggressive blows."

"Why do you even have that?"

"Asteroid miners use it to dissolve worthless carbon," explained Brokk. "It's quite profitable and worth the trip."

"Trip?"

"Oh yes. I found a little wormhole that leads to the outer reaches of this boring yellow star system. The cogniscents there are just entering the space age and they flush this," a friendly knock on the container, which made Cho'desh flinch unconsciously, "into the higher atmosphere. I buzz the planet a few times and pick up their rejects. They're none the wiser."

"For that?"

"Dear Cogniscent... I get two Hours a miliUnit. And that's for the super-condensed crystalline form. Then I sell them the purified water at an Hour a Standard Liquid Unit. How could I not pay attention to such profit?"

"And they just... dump it?"

"It's waste to them," Brokk shrugged. "Can I interest you in some more -ah- amenable liquids?"

"Thank you, but... no. I'm in exploration mode."

Brokk nodded understanding and wished her a good day.

Cho'desh spent the rest of her day wondering what sort of creature would just throw away something as dangerous and valuable as uric acid.

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Challenge #361: Response to "The Fright of a Lifetime" (1)

Oblina tries her hand at scaring Helga, but studies her first. Recognizes her interaction with Arnold from her time in Dr. Buzzcut's Human Suit. Take it from there!

The view from the gutter was not wide, but it was educational. Oblina had long since learned to recognise the human by her shoes.

She had somehow suspected that Dr Buzz Kutt's theories had been in error, but there was living confirmation. She could see and hear Helga verbally abusing a boy and, the second he was out of earshot, turning around and waxing lyrical about how much she was in love with the human.

Human love was crazy.

But it broke her heart to hear it. A girl who thought she was monstrous, scared to leave herself vulnerable to anyone. Afraid to have a softer side because the world was so cruel.

Oblina couldn't help herself. "Try telling him anonymously," she said.

*

Helga reacted, jumping up and looking around. "I'LL KILL ANYONE WHO SAYS ANYTHING!" But her fists were primed with no target in sight. She slumped back down. "Great. Now I'm hearing voices."

"At least it's good advice," whispered the voice.

She sighed. "Shows what you know. It'll end badly. Everything ends badly. I never get anything I deserve."

"So you fail before you try? That doesn't make sense."

"Whatever." Helga got up again and slouched away. Even the voice in her head didn't understand... Everything good went to her prettier sisters. And so would Arnold.

But still... an anonymous note. It wouldn't hurt. Something a lot more subtle than the lurid poetry that they'd found and laughed at.

Two days later, Arnold found a construction paper heart in his locker. It had the words, "I love you, but you won't look at me." in neat, anonymous printing.

And she heard how bad it must be for that person, thinking that he couldn't love them back.

The next day, she left another. This time, it said, "You can't love Ugly."

And she heard how Arnold thought nobody was ugly. Not even her.

The day after that, she left a third. "If you really believe in love, meet me under the Big Oak after school. Come alone."

And she got detention. So she was running late for the meeting in the pouring rain with her sister's big yellow umbrella.

Please, please, please...

He was still there. Huddled in the shelter of the tree with his coat over his head. Splashed by the mud from passing cars.

She added him to the shelter of her umbrella. "You OK, football-head?"

"Thought I could help somebody. Guess it was a prank."

"Maybe they got scared. Maybe they got detention. Maybe..." She scrunched up her eyes. Took a deep breath. Bit the bullet. "Maybe she's right here."

"...helga?"

"Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I'm almost used to it anyway."

"That book full of poetry was yours, wasn't it?"

She dared look at him. He wasn't judging her. He wasn't being cruel. He was just asking. "So what if it was. I heard you laughing at it."

"Gerald did most of the laughing. I was trying to get him to at least tone it down. That stuff was... real. I could tell whoever wrote it... I could tell you were hurting."

Helga found that her eyes were stinging. "I'm not crying," she croaked. "Got some rain in my face."

"It's okay." His hand joined hers on the umbrella handle. "You're allowed to feel things."

Illogical tears with a crooked smile. "We met under an umbrella. You were the only person in the world who ever gave a fig about me. And all I could do was snap at you."

"It's okay. What you get from people is all you know how to give back." He smiled for her. "I could show you? Being nice isn't that hard."

"Being nice makes me invisible."

"I see you, Helga," soothed Arnold. "I always see you."

It rained hard, all the way home. She, too, got splashed with mud. But all of a sudden, it didn't matter. There was no cold. There was no rain. Just his warmth and the sunshine of his smile.

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Challenge #362: Response to "Fright of a Lifetime" (2)

Ideas that this mash-up sparked:

1. Krumm is out lurking and finds Abner's trough. Meets Abner, and cue unlikely friendship.

2. Abner meets Krumm

Something smelled delicious. He was supposed to be on reconnaissance, but Krumm was also hungry. Which was why he left his stake-out spot to investigate.

Someone had left out some premium slop in a long, shallow container. Krumm couldn't help but help himself. Delicious.

A rhythmic grunting came from his left. A fellow connoisseur also enjoying the slop.

"They got really nice eats, here," said Krumm. "Just like mother used to spoil."

The pink creature looked at him, grunted again, and went back to eating.

Krumm could relate. This stuff was too good to waste with casual conversation.

It took him several months of illicit return visits to realise that his dining partner was actually a surface animal.

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Challenge #363: Response to "Fright of a Lifetime" (3)

Ideas that this mash-up sparked:

2. The monster trio meets the Sewer King. 'Nough said.

3. Monsters V Sewer King

They had been watching him for some time. It wasn't often that the humans invaded the monster world, let alone stayed, so classifying this one became something of a problem.

And there was the fact that one of Dr Buzz Kutt's previous attempts at a human suit was missing with its occupant inside.

"If he is a monster in a human suit," speculated Oblina, "then I'm very glad you rescued me in time."

"He smells like one of us," said Krumm, odour expert.

"He looks and talks like a human," whispered Ickis. "I say we avoid him just to be safe."

Krumm had an idea. "Hey. Can you do that brain-tickling thing to find out if he is a human or not?"

"Well it would rather resolve things, since I can't tickle the brains of fellow monsters."

"Great," said Ickis. "Then all we have to do is wait for him to fall asleep."

Which was, when they got down to it, a really boring stake-out. Apparently the Sewer King had sleep disorders and relied heavily on a human beverage called Kaffi.

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Challenge #364: Response to "Fright of a Lifetime" (4)

Ideas that this mash-up sparked:

3. The Gromble watches the results of the Halloween 'War of the Worlds' debacle; is grudgingly impressed.

4. Gromble V Helga

"It is, it is," the Gromble cooed to himself. "It is just human children in masks. And that one..." he pointed to the leader on the screen. "I know that one."

He consulted the files. Of course it was Helga Pataki. The scariest resident of the surface world shy of Montgomery Burns. He recorded the footage she broadcast, and created a highlights and lowlights list. Not that there were very many lowlights.

And, because he was a teacher who used shame and fear to motivate his students, he used it as an example of how pathetic his student body was.

"This is the work of a human," he informed them. "One human, with some minor conspirators, managed to terrify an entire city. Whereas most of you... CAN'T MAKE A SMALL CHILD CRY! What are you doing wrong? Well... why don't you study this, and give me a twelve-page essay on all the details?"

All of them shrank in their places and wailed in anguish.

Oh yes. Life was good.

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Challenge #365: Strange Nest-Fellows

Imagine a life-preserving pod being picked up by a human vessel. Imagine it contains a Numidid keet (and possibly a dead parent or message from them). Imagine that keet raised by humans with no contact or knowledge of the Numidid people besides the pod remains. Imagine that keet as a young adult meeting other Numidid for the first time with no idea of Numidid society.

You pick up all kinds of weird things in the Greater Sargasso. There's gravitational eddies where debris winds up and this one? Well, it it was pretty damn huge. All kinds of things wound up in there.

Including a survival pod.

There were two inside. Birds. Cogniscent birds. One adult. One little. The adult had clearly sacrificed itself for the little one. It had left a note. A recording.

"Stranger, should you find my little Pippit alive, I beg you to care for her as you would your own. If we are both gone by the time you find us... I bear you no ill will. My people may be looking for me... for us... but I suspect we have been declared as 'lost'. I beg you, be kind... and cherish my Pippit."

Pippit was dehydrated and hungry. And cold. Three things I could fix, at least. And the data from the pod. The medical analyser on board declared her species to be super-fragile. At least, compared to human kids. A broken bone could mean death by shock.

I'd never even thought of being a parental, let alone a parental to a super-fragile birdlike critter.

"I can't promise you I'll get your name right," I said to the poor little kid. And she was a really little kid. Less than a quarter the size of the adult. "I'll call you 'Pip', and log your genetic parental's message. I'll teach you everything I got about your kind which, sadly, ain't much. And I'll do all I can to keep you safe."

Pip just plain didn't talk for a Standard Week. I could grok. She'd just lost her entire world. I did what I could for 'mama'. I guessed it was a mama. Comp said she was a female, so I made her neat and plastered the pod with every known memorial sign while I copied every last scrape of data from the pod.

Then I asked the Powers That Be to care for Mama Bird's soul. And sent the pod back into the Sargasso from whence it had come.

Poor tiny Pip followed me around, ever after that. Always at my heels. Huddling close.

I almost had heart failure every time I nearly stepped on her. Poor fragile little creature. I found out that a hoodie or a pouch had her feeling safe and me not fretting about breaking her.

Making her own bed-slot was a hassle. I fudged Mama Bird's dimensions and cleared out a closet that seemed about right. Pip had a soft place to sleep, warm food, and a caring parental. All she needed was an education.

And -hell- when you're a scavenger, what you got is either what you find or what you bring with you, so Pip learned her ABC's from the Spacer's Manual of Useful Knowledge, and lots of my personal library.

Which included Great Expectations. Don't look at me like that. I read it to fall asleep. Pip was so excited to hear her name that I read it to her. Of course I told her how much society had changed in between the writing and the reader. And how some of the characters were just plain unobservant about what was clearly in front of them.

I kept talking, of course. Little by little, Pip opened up. Called me 'tall-mama', and generally took an interest in everything and anything.

Any answers I didn't have, I showed her how to look up.

When we finally hit Cashport Station, Pip had almost finished getting her adult feathers. Her clothing was lacking. Fabricated things that sort-of-fit, made from recycled blankets. Clothing said 'cogniscent' better than clothing, and Pip needed better clothing than his fabricator could provide.

She rode on my shoulder, of course. Muttering to herself about this species and that species. What was good manners and bad manners. She even waved to a pack of Meeyahndans and said, "Hello! I am not prey! I am not threat! Good hunting!"

Bless her heart.

Admin gave us trouble. I had no paperwork but the stuff Mama Bird had recorded. Therefore she was registered as Pip Foundling, and I got a whole bunch of free educational material for our next long haul.

Getting her a life suit, ship skins and all the other stuff was expensive. I didn't mind. She deserved to have some of the pretty things. And a set of serviceable work boots so her feet weren't in danger. And by serviceable... I mean that she could also grip with them. The end result was ceramisteel armour with carbon-fibre and kevlar blend under-cloth.

And somewhere between the Sargasso and Rest Stop, our next port of call, Pip became my Pip. I didn't have to look after her. I wanted to.

But Rest Stop was where we found her kind.

They stayed in the big trees, and hooted and whistled. Not cat-calls. Bird talk. Mama Bird had spoken a variant of GalStand in her message. I'd had no idea Pip had her own language.

Should have guessed, but there you go.

Pip swapped to GalStand Simple. The streamlined version of the unholy mess that is GalStand Entire. "No me knowledge, bird talk," she shouted up. "You come teach?"

The 'dangerous human' -me- had to go and sit far away while Pip discussed her origins. She was excited and eager, but her fellow feathered friends were far more cautious and spooked by her.

One of the elder Birds came to roost on my table. "You raised this keet?"

"Pip? Yeah. I found her in a life pod in the Greater Sargasso. It was that or let her die, and I'm not the mean kind."

"She will not have a good life among her own kind. She is only suited to be a scientist." That last word was pronounced like something a body would scrape off a shoe.

"Not good amongst your kind, eh?"

"No[1]."

"Well, if you don't want her, I'll take her in. That's how we started. Family is more to me than just genes in a matrix. And maybe it'll be more to her and her kin."

I passed him a copy of Mama Bird's last message. So the family would know. But Pip? She was almost doomed to be that weird estranged relative to her gene-family.

Screw 'em. She has all the family she needs with me and my tribe of scavengers. We do whatever we can to help her be happy.

[1] Of course, these events happen within days of Amity's rediscovery by the Galactic Community

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Challenge #366: That's Me All Over

"I thought we were going to knock it's head off?"

"We're disassembling it into easily carried pieces"

"I really would advise against that," said their victim. Currently a head on a shelf. But that was the problem when one was dealing with robots. They didn't always die all at once.

"Stop talking, you're supposed to be dead," said McLargehuge. He was the smaller, smarter, and sneakier of the two thieves.

"I did knock its head clean off," rumbled the human mountain known as Tiny.

"Good job there, fella. But I wouldn't touch those power cables. Your cutting tools aren't—"

BZZZZT

"—insulated." The robot sighed. The good news, she could call by wifi for help. The bad news, her body was now in some significant disarray and incapable of pulling herself together.

Now. To shut down and save power or keep the line open and hope?

Some days, it seemed reasonable to quit while she was a head.

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Congratulations!

You made it! You read through three hundred and sixty-seven stories. That's about one hundred and thirty-one thousand, five hundred words. A little over what I consider to be a standard novel.

This book is a year's worth of hard work, inspired by readers such as yourself and challenged by prompts given by people from all walks of life. Thanks to these daily challenges and the stories that resulted, I have never had a 'dry' day when I'm writing my novels.

And thank you especially if you decided to pay money for this anthology. My plans to do interesting side-projects depend greatly on your benevolent largesse.

I wrote these stories through internet drop-outs, floods, fire, death, my own mathematical incompetance, and the general chaos that comes with being alive. I can only hope that my single-mindedness has made you decide to buy generously.

But even if it didn't, or your budget prevented you... thank you for reading.

Bless.

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**About the Author**

C M Weller lives in Burpengary East, which is located in southeast Queensland. Ze has heard all about getting a life, but has been too busy to arrange one.

Twitter: @InterNutter

Tumblr: internutter.tumblr.com

