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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 15

IT, the Mother, spread her wings wide in ecstasy, instinctually fanning the flames before her. IT knew that such an event happened once every few millenia, and in the ways that Karnakians just knew about soullight or Dorarizin just knew their family’s scent or Jornissians just knew about libertarianism or Humans just knew where the vents were in every building, IT knew that the fire had to rise.

Of course not a single terror-beast decided to tell the other sapients that were alternating between fear, terror, and grim determination.

All save for one.

The pilot of UNIT ZERO-ONE was feeling a feel that had very rarely, if ever been feeled; some as-of-yet undescribed feeling that mixed “being in the right place at the right time” with “dying in glory” and a side of “damnit, the gypsy was right, this is how I go” plus “my ancestors smile upon me imperial” with just a dash of “my last meal was cheerios. Really?!”

“Breaking the seals; all weapons are go-” Lt.Heinz aka. CHICKPEA’s fingers danced over consoles and switches, rapidly preparing his not-a-mecha for combat. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized he joined an elite and unfortunate group of soldiers who battle-tested new equipment for the first time; he wondered how many of them never made it to the second engagement.

“CHANCLA has dropped all payloads; CHICKPEA you’ll have backup in 10 minutes.”

“-go for thrust, weapons hot. ATC can’t fire SWARM – get these stupid fucks out of the air-”

“Working on it CHICKPEA. You are go in the AO-”

“CASINO, HUMMUS?” Lt.Heinz asked as his Automatic Targeting Computer screamed at him, multiple overlapping warning signals about “danger close” this and “civilians” that being hastily ignored.

“Bunkering in first – DEALER’s coordinating, but systems are coming online. Don’t want to play our hand lest the locals want in on our table – you’re on your own until re-enforcements break atmo.”

CHICKPEA growled a response, his triple-linked GAU-18 weapons system rapidly spinning to life. UNIT ZERO-ONE, officially known as the Boston-General-Electric-Dynamics-Hasbro Multi-Terrain Mobile Suppressant System Production Set Model 01 with optional matching cell phone charm attachment was an extremely niche system meant for a battlefield where at almost every metric known to man, mankind fell short. It had no real close-quarters defense systems; it could deploy smoke and chaff, but other than physically moving had no way to clear enemy soldiers who were a little too close. The pilot sat behind almost 2 meters of exotic composite armor, mixing in metallurgy, ceramics and plastics in a way that before the uplift would have remained out of reach for centuries, if not millenia.

The official redacted specs said even that would only buy the pilot a minute or two of time before a combat-suited xenos would just burrow – or shoot, or rip or mine – it’s way through.

UNIT ZERO ONE had no esoteric weapons systems, no planet-crackers, no secret dark-matter hyperdrive to explode in a fit of spite. It was an insulated metal coffin, dotted with microscopic cameras, sensors and speakers, with a couple welded-on hives of sensor/shield drones to delay the inevitable; hell, if you cut the wireless power the damn thing basically had enough energy to pop open the cockpit and shut down. Speaking of, the single pilot sat in his cockpit – if it could be generously described as such, for there was no emergency escape, no cushioning, no space for emergency kits or personal effects – there were even height and weight requirements to pilot the damn thing, and not an insignificant amount of pilots got stuck and had to be vasoline’d out. The pilot had access to only two weapons: A triple-rack of upgraded BM-21’s which he couldn’t use for danger-close reasons, and the main gun, which Lt.Heinz was currently pointing at the giant fuck-off hive-mother. It was his best, and only bet, because UNIT ZERO-ONE was built very much on the same philosophy of the (still in service) A-10 Warthog:

This is a really nice gun. LET’S BUILD A MACHINE AROUND IT.

However, the limitations of the A-10’s main gun are obvious; at 3,900RPM it would take only 18 seconds of sustained fire to empty it’s 70K round magazine. UNIT ZERO-ONE had an even more egregious handicap in that it’s magazine was only 50K rounds of Thermogenic Hardened DU 50mm shells, each GAU-18 spun at a blistering 6,500 RPM and at any given time two were firing at once while a third was cooled – which meant for a cool 3.8 seconds you could be an absolute badass.

Really, by almost any metric you lined humanity’s weapons up to, we fell short.

Almost.

The only saving grace was a small, charged box that sat at the top of the Magazine drum, behind the pilot’s head, underneath the zero-point energy coolant device. It was no bigger than an iPhone XXXXL; the window of the machine was roughly the size of an 8 1/2’ x 11’ sheet of paper, and the machine itself not much larger than that. The mecha was wirelessly linked to La Chancla’s power source; this device had it’s own, separate dedicated link as well. The technology behind it wasn’t truly understood – at least, not well enough to manufacture on Mankind’s own – but it was a gift, and gifts are meant to be used.

Because, honestly. What kind of species would attempt to weaponize a quantum teleportation gate that small? The amount of energy it takes to move matter from point A to point B in just a handful of planck lengths is ridiculous, and there are much better ways – both economically and mechanically – to move things around. To keep a gate this small open for any amount of time would take at least half of a starship’s reactor output, and you’d have to keep that energy sustained for as long as you wanted that gate to remain open!

And so, La Chancla, a 5KM-long orbital drop barge, now devoid of her 5 mechs, spun up her reactors to full output. Within her 5km x 1km x .5km hold, 5 small gates – all gifts – crackled to life, and automated machines began preparations to funnel roughly 4.35 * 10^14 bullets through a gap in space and time, and directly into the enemy’s position.


BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

Persimmon tapped his ear as he waved to Wiggles, the Karnakian doing her damnest to help shepherd the terran livestock back to their cages. The Terror-beasts themselves were enough of a hassle to deal with, the lone brother-pairs sometimes flying into ship engines or bonking into skyscrapers when the wind tossed them about, but this current swarm was unbearable. Every few seconds he had to stop whatever he was doing to swipe more of these things off of his body, their inquisitive chitinous limbs grabbing at anything that wasn’t nailed down and dragging it along. He waved again, finally getting Wiggles’ attention, and very obviously jabbed his fingers near his ear. Within a few moments, an indicator popped up on his crowded vision:

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Do You Accept a Call from [Best_at_Tech]?] [Y/N]

[Poet of Stars]: [Direct Call] [Y]

[Best_at_Tech]: “[BY THE FIRST LIGHT THEY’RE EVERYWHERE-]”

Wiggles flinched at the volume coming from his friend, and with a thought turned her down.

[Poet of Stars]: “[We need to get off of this platform!]”

[Best_at_Tech]: “[YEAH, I KNOW. I’M trying to get to the warm-cuddles, but they’re more interested in saving their livestock! Not to mention these [avians] keep giving me the side-eye-]”

[Poet of Stars]: “[FOCUS. Ignore the livestock, grab the warm-cuddles – it doesn’t matter if you end up giving them minor injuries, remember your CQC training – Close, Quick & Cuddle-]”

[Best_at_Tech]: “[OK I don’t think you understand everything is fighting everything right now-]”

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

Persimmon thrummed deeply in frustration, his tail whip-cracking a few of the beasts off of his body. A moment later over the din of chaos and the low droning of the Human weapon he heard the rapport of energy-fire – and he hastily began spamming a call attempt to his other friend.

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Calling [Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her] – Line 18

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Calling [Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her] – Line 19

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Calling [Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her] – Line 18 Rejected due to network load

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Calling [Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her] – Line 20

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Calling [Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her] – Line 19 Rejected due to network load

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Calling [Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her] – Line 21

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Calling [Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her] – Call Connected

[Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her]: “[Where even are you I can’t see you and [Zngrer] is giving us orders to retreat back into the shuttlecraft-]”

[Sub.Sys.8.112][Direct Call]: [Conferencing Initiatied]

[Best_at_Tech]: “[-and they keep judging me like I’m the one who’s undeserving of-]”

[Poet of Stars]: “[Please, whatever Gods exist, not now! Wiggles, I need you to get the other warm-cuddles and move them to the shuttle-]”

[Best_at_Tech]: “[Shuttle?! I thought we were moving off this platform!?]”

[Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her]: “[Wait, there’s more warm-cuddles outside of the ship!? That’s why they keep trying to run out-]”

[Stole_yo_girl_and_dumped_her]: [Muted by User]

With another bat of his tail Persimmon slammed a few very determined Terror-beasts into a group of unmarked crates, hundreds of hard-light disks scattering about the landing-pad. A few happened to land activation-side up, their clamps gripping into the tarmac as they crackled to life; damaged and warped images of warm-cuddles in a default handling pose quickly getting mobbed by the ever-present horde. What few they could dislodge ended up being battered about by the mindless wind and the witless beasts.

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

[Best_at_Tech]: “[What is the PLAN, Swipressnssren? Or am I just going to keep dancing until the First Soul claims me?]”

[Poet of Stars]: “[We round up the warm-cuddles, we go to the ship – follow the sounds of the weaponsfire-]”

[Best_at_Tech]: “[You mean whatever that thing is shooting that was threatening us earlier?]”

[Poet of Stars]: “[No, the energy weap- GET OFF OF ME ALREADY-]”

Persimmon/Swipressnssren paused after a mighty upheaval, his body finally free of the beasts to allow him to think. The ever present, loud droning of the Human war-machine drew his attention away from the immediate danger in the few moments he had to himself. The weapon had not ceased to fire an impressive amount of ordinance for the past few minutes; indeed, it was single-handedly pushing back against the queen-Mother’s advance towards the flame. The creature would give an impressive flap of it’s wings, scatter anything loose about in a cacophony of wind and material as it surged forward, and then would be slowly pushed back by the force of the weapons system itself. It was human ingenuity versus a beast of legend, and if Persimmon had the chance and time to gather his thoughts, he would be impressed.

But turning his gaze forced his attention to something that turned his blood to ice; for there, crouched over and crying, sat little Juan Esteban, clutching Eggsmerelda for dear life. Somehow, in the confusion, he had been missed – Every time the Queen-Mother would flap he would cry out, being forcibly lifted just a few inches off the ground, the force of the wind making him tumble backwards a few feet each time… closer to the edge.

With grim determination Swipressnssren sprinted forward, angling his body down to gain as much traction as Jornissianly possible –

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

*flap*

Juan cried out once more, rolling onto his back as terror-beasts picked at him, confused as to what he was but curious to see if he was flammable. With tiny fists and determined legs he beat them back, all the while crying in fear –

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

*flap*

– “It’s going to be close,” Persimmon thought, as he literally snaked his way around debris, plowing through what he thought would yield and ignoring the damage to his body of what didn’t. A few dozen more yards and –

-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

*flap*

With a mighty gust of wind, possibly borne out of frustration, the Queen-Mother pushed as much as she could, the wave of air pressure rocking Persimmon’s own body. In mute horror he saw Juan Esteban lift and tumble, rolling from the flat surface of the landing-pad under the guard rails to the gritty service-pad. With a thought he reached down mid-sprint, pulling a hard-light disk from the ground and flinging it to the human child.

With luck, it would land near enough to him that it’s clamps would engage; he could grab it and live.

With luck, it would turn on and distract enough beasts to push him down against the mat to buy Persimmon more time.

With luck, it would do something, anything than what it ended up doing.

With absolutely no luck, the disk landed squarely against Juan Esteban’s arms, locking onto them, and providing the last bit of momentum to push him off of the edge. With shared visages of horror and sorrow their eyes met, until they met no more.

And Abuela woke up.

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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol… and it’s a Smol World?: Chapter 14

One fundamental fact about Humanity that you have to embrace is this: We will do things for aesthetics, even if it’s suboptimal – or impractical.

This extends from our personal lives (pants are the enemy at home but they protect me when I cook bacon) to our entertainment (No your dinner doesn’t have to be plated like that but you’re paying too much for it anyway so why not) all the way to engineering… eccentricities. Roads to nowhere, a Bridge over the river Kwai – you know the deal.

Point being, when you get enough engineers in a room and tell them, literally, that they have infinite resources, you’re gonna get some very interesting ideas come out, most of which are impractical, redundant, or outright insane – again, par for the course. Some, like the self-adapting roomba, get approval and widespread adoption. Others…

…we don’t talk about the ez-puff turkey baster.

Unit ZERO ONE sat somewhere firmly in the middle of the two, a fever dream of practicality and aesthetics brought to heel. The design dream of every engineer since the early 1980’s has been to build a Gundam, or at least a Mecha, and go stomp around Eastern Europe/Neo-Tokyo/Wherever the hell DBZ took place and shootbang… aesthetically. You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that Robotech swarm missiles aren’t perfect just the way they are, or that transformation sequences aren’t aesthetic as hecc, or that having a gun that shoots colorful lasers isn’t the future. Go on, I dare you.

Well. I know you don’t have it in you to do so, dear reader, but the Human Military-Industrial complex does. And the unfortunate truth that we’ll all have to face one day is that Mechs, while absolutely the future, are also absolutely useless. Massive multi-hundred or thousand ton machines standing on two legs? Congrats, all but the most re-enforced bedrock may as well be quicksand, or mud. With an impressive height profile comes the fact that cover/concealment (other than skyscrapers or, yanno, mountains) doesn’t really exist. Having two hands, while absolutely bitchin’ cause you got thumbs doesn’t help when you have to switch weapons, or carry them, or manually reload. And if you get an arm blown off, it’s not like you can just… use the other arm to fire both weapons (or keep your balance). That’s not counting the pointy/janky armor, the multiple nuclear reactors you’d need working at full tilt to power the thing, the fact that any form of jump-jet or jets in general would look less like an aesthetic glide across the ground and more like the fucking Challenger exploding multiple times in a single place and… well.

Aesthetics has to give way to practicality. Sometimes. And so the Human Military had the guts to tell their engineering department to stop building mecha and testing them, and to scrap everything they were doing and build actual, functional tanks and planes and ships. This only caused roughly half the engineering department to weld shut their assembly bay doors and declare themselves a Democratic Republic, but that tin pot dictatorship lasted only as long as the coffee supply.

So a deal was struck. Unit ZERO ONE was a Mecha… kinda. Barely. If you closed one or both eyes and dreamed a bit.

Unit ZERO ONE rose from the burning wreckage that it’s hot drop caused, tank treads helping it rotate towards the other landing pad. It was short and stout; almost like an oversized attack helecopter’s cockpit if it had a couple hundred pounds to lose around the waist, with a mean-looking tri-linked barrel below where the sole pilot sat. Jutting out of either side of the janky-looking box were two very small manipulator arms; at first glance it looked like one of those extender-picker arms that the elderly used to get things from very high/very low places, but with closer inspection these were painted a matte black (and as we all know, that means tacticool). The machine sputtered to life, engine roaring as it shifted into a second gear, a half-dozen microdrones escaping out the sides and back like a swarm of angry bees. With a surge of energy the grips on the treads began to glow, and the tank’s magneto-gravitic field kicked in, letting it hover just a few inches off the ground.

-Arms: Check (Technically)

-Legs: Check (Technically)

-Jump Jets: Check (Technically)

-Crazy-looking machine with awesome sharp angles: Check (Technically)

-Solo Pilot: Check (this one is accurate)

-Swarm Missiles: Check (BM-21’s strapped to the back count, damnit.)

-Laser Gun: WIP (we can’t all be winners)

Therefore Technically a Gundam.

The Therefore Technically a Gundam UNIT ZERO ONE’s pilot clicked the intercom on his side panel, rolling his shoulders. “WELL HELLO THERE FELLOW HUMANS!” He enthusiastically yelled a bit too loudly, the adrenaline of dropping from high-orbit onto burning wreckage with the knowledge that he was the killiest motherfucker in the tri-state area causing him to forget to use his inside voice. “TELL ME, EXACTLY WHO IS IN CHARGE HERE?”

20 different hands pointed in 20 different directions; a few of them straight up.

“BUT THAT’S THE WRONG ANSWER. IT WAS ME. IT WAS ME ALL ALONG.” He growled through the Technically a Gundam’s speakers, hovering menacingly in place.

“CHICKPEA, do you copy?”

Lt. Heinz blinked and flicked off the intercom as his helmet finally re-established secure communications with La Chancla. “What… fucking, what. I thought it was CHICKADEE?”

“Well, fuck it, you’re CHICKPEA now. Drones are up, we’re getting a live feed. Can you please stop spooking the locals?”

Lt. Heinz wrinkled his nose a bit, sniffing hard. “Don’t see what all the fuss is about – look at all the model citizens before us, ready to answer all my questions!”

“You’re pointing the Warthog at them, so yeah. I’d answer too – but that’s also threatening civilians, so, yanno. Stop that.”

“Fine, fine. So what’s up HONDURAS?”

“It’s… HUMMUS.”

Lt. Heinz sat in his cockpit and thought for a few brief moments. “We’re not letting Amir give us codenames while he’s hungry ever again.”

“No arguments here. Anyway, facial recognition scans have given us what we needed – HUD updating now.” HUMMUS said as icons and indicators popped up on CHICKPEA’s visor. He pointedly looked at the group of aliens on the tarmac; names, ages, security clearances, job descriptions – all enriched, appended data flowed into his vision, and just as quickly as he took it all in he dismissed them almost wholly outright.

Kids. Well, “Kids”. On one hand, CHICKPEA was kinda jealous at their lifespans; their young adults were older than any human, ever. On the other hand, 80 years of puberty? Yeesh.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, CHICKPEA. Also, focus. That’s the Aleman family – the one between the two fluffies – is our most likely mark.”

CHICKPEA flicked on his speakers again. “YOU THERE, BOY IN THE STREET.”

The Dorarizin pointed at himself, which was just enough of a gap for the human he was bear-hugging to shimmy out of his grip. With an unceremonious thump Thomas Aleman freed himself from his furry prison, landing squarely on his butt.

“Yes. YOU. …How you doin’?”

“I – uh. What? You’re with the UTF?”

Distantly, and far away, there was a sound so low and so deep that it wasn’t heard, or felt; it just was. It was an Opening, an Awakening.

“Fuck yeah I am-”

“CHICKPEA. Professionalism, please.”

“-eer. Yes. We noticed a few… discrepancies with air traffic control and decided to stop by and say hello, make sure you are all doing ok.” Lt. Heinz said, slipping into his I-have-to-be-a-professional-the-corps-counts-on-me mode.

“Uh. Y-yeah, Well the-”

There was a soft, barely-audible moan on the breeze.

“[I am sorry, but this citizen is under the protection of the [Gentle Expanse] Planetary Defense Forces, and will not answer an inquiry unless they have an advocate present and have been charged wi-]”

“Literally who the fuck is talking to you, Fido?” CHICKPEA growled, his Actually a Mecha shutup it’s real turning to fully face his accuser. “I don’t see a badge on you, I don’t answer to you, and if you’re going to kidnap my people-”

“[This was an emergency rescue miss-]”

“AAUURRRAAAAAHAHHHHHH-”

With a mighty Luchador/Matador cry the ancient and sinewed muscles of Ricardo Aleman, patriarch of the Aleman clan, Gripped the confused, bruised, and not-at-all-bemused Jornissian pilot under his arms. Using his very long spine against him he ran up the wall of the transport ship and leapt, pulling the pilot backwards. Rolling up into a ball he pulled back, the alien snake’s head leading the way for it’s body to follow. With a tremendous THUMP the top of the pilot’s head connected with the pavement, bouncing in a very unfortunate way.

Ricardo pulled himself up from the limp Jornissian and held his arms up high, yelling a challenge to the skies.

“[Why. Just. Why.]”

“TAG ME OUT-”

A half-dozen hands slapped their father’s, and the train of people’s elbows began again in earnest. CHICKPEA nodded to himself as his drones recorded a perfect example of civilian CQC.

“He remembered the basics. Good, good.”

“[PLEASE stop attacking the pilot! He flies for You-]”

“FIDO. Eyes up here, hands where I can see’em.”

The combat-suited Dorarizin growled, stepping infront of the civilians. “[This will NOT stand, and I will have an inquiry launched-]”

Distantly, and far away, there was a rush of air so strong and so diffuse that nobody felt it as much as a breeze, but it hit everyone evenly – a great exhalation, a Rising.

“And yet, I still don’t give a fuck. Until you answer all the questions I and my team have, you’ll sit here and be thankful that this gun has a safety on it.”

“[You do realize that we’ve already called for backup, right? And that this little fiasco is going to be recorded for everyone to see?]”

“Oh. We’re counting on it – because you do realize I’m more than ok with killing everyone here and then myse-”

“CHICKPEA.”

“Yeah, fuck I know, professionalism, but did you hear this cu-”

“NO. Incoming signatures-”

“AYYYY.” Lt. Heinz cheered over the speakers, tilting his mecha up into the skies. “FINALLY.”

“[Y-You’re not seriously going to fire on friendly PDF forces-]”

“Öööööööööö” the wind seemed to say, a rippling chorus of voices agreeing as one.

“I don’t know, Fido – PDF forces aren’t seriously going to kidnap and move Human Civilians without notifying our unified government, now are they?”

Lt. Heinz didn’t see it, for there was no way he could know, but Zngrer’s face went pale. “[N-no. This was a rescue mission-]”

“For what, Hmm? Cause I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not anti-personnel, I’m anti-aircraft.” With a hoot he shut off his speakers, quickly running through various sub-routines to bring his weapons online. “So what do we got, HUMMUS?”

“I uh. I don’t know?”

“IF IT BLEEDS I CAN KILL IT-”

“No fuck off with that – seriously! There’s some ships headed towards you, fine, some headed… away, and civvie ships – all that’s easy to filter. It’s… it’s like a cloud.” HUMMUS murmured, looking over the telemetry and sensor data.

“A wut.”

“Sensor suite is saying it looks like a cloud – a migration of… what the fuck is that?”

Not so far away now, there was another Opening, a Steadying – the few clouds parted, and the stars began to wink out one by one. It was a Flight, a Dominance.

Lt. Heinz thought for a few moments again. The enemy of my enemy is still a sonofabitch, but danger makes strange bedfellows which is why you should always not ever never use condoms.

“Hey-” He said, flicking the now heavily-worn speaker switch back on. “What’s moving in the night, en mass to make it seem like a cloud, and headed right towards us?”

“[Existential dread-]”

“[Meteor showers?]”

“The back of my han-”

“They’re Moths. They’re fucking giant Moths.” Thomas said, standing up and dusting himself off. “They swarmed us in the wilds, destroyed everything.”

“…No really, pull the other one. It’s got bells on.”

“He’s not lying” HUMMUS interjected, a slight static hiss tingling CHICKPEA’s ears. “They look like giant fucking moths, and they’re coming right at you.”

“ÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖ” The night said, louder and more insistently.

“……. So can I-”

“I mean, I guess.” HUMMUS murmured, giving an audible shrug. “I just don’t know what the fuck is going on with my sensors.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? HUMMUS. What aren’t you telling me?”

“[What is your food not telling you? What?]”

“Fido – Fuck, am I still on public vox?”

“This… can’t be right. Nothing that – no. That can’t be right-” HUMMUS started to repeat, the sound of a mechanical keyboard clacking hard in the background. “NO. I mean, No. That’s – no. Literally How-”

So much closer now, that it had been picked up on sensors – on everyone’s sensors. An outline, an impression, a thousand thousand thousand small thralls making their way to civilization, pushed forward. It was Mottenacht, it was La Noche de La Mariposa Nocturna, it was a Reckoning 5,000 years in the making. It was. The stars began to wink out closer, wider, greater, a vast stretch ended in the moonless sky as the Opening pushed downward, a gust of wind blowing hard enough to interrupt all others.

“How does something that fucking big even EXIST-”

“HUMMUS, I need you to talk to me – what is it I’m seeing?”





“ÖĤ”



As one everyone looked to the sky – to the fireships that arrived too late, to the swarm of terror-beasts that had started to circle the largest “hot” fire the planet had seen in millenia, to the stars that winked out and the clouds that were pushed away. Spreading her mighty wings it seemed to split and lift the sky, the pressure differential lifting some of the smaller livestock right off the ground, the interocitor-fueled-fire seeming to rise at it’s call.

“[I thought that was a legend to scare chicks home at night.]” sighed Wiggles as she limply sat down, the majesty of the beast above her overwhelming the senses.

“[E-everyone. I need everyone. I need EVERYONE.]” The spec-ops Dorarizin began to chant, half as a plea for help over open comms and half as some sort of mantra to possibly ward off …

“[No… no way.]” Persimmons muttered. “[That’s a… that’s a…]”

Little Juan held Eggsmereda tightly as he stared into the fire-lit inky black, too young to fear death, truly, but old enough to know it.












 “It’s a Mother.”

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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 13

It has been said by brilliant men of the past that there are known knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns.

This, however, is not a complete venn diagram, for there are still unknowingly knowns, Knowing knowns, and things that you know that you know – yanno?

One of the things that you know that you know, when you’re in the know, is when someone knows something that you don’t know but doesn’t know that you know that they know, and continues to pretend that they don’t know.

“So. One more time for my translator’s sake.” Admiral Smalls said to the vidscreen before him, the Dorarizin idly flicking an ear in irritation on the other end of the line.

“[As I said, Admiral.]” Kzdzgrar-of-Rzndzre repeated in slow, practiced speech, “[There was a health and safety incident with one of the new colonists on an unformatted plot of land. There are no injuries reported, and they will be returned to the [Human] nexus soon. When I receive an update, you will be updated, per our accord.]”

“Per our accord, Administrator -” Adm. Smalls responded, taking a dossier from one of his aids and opening it up, “- we should have been notified… within 5 minutes of the initial call, if it was a health and safety incident, to aid first responders with medical and cultural walkthroughs and over-the-shoulder monitoring of the colonists in question for emergencies your people may not be trained to catch.”

“[It is… a system that we have just finished implementing and not yet used, Admiral. I humbly request that you allow us to make a mistake, now and again, as we strive towards perfection amongst our species.]”

Adm. Smalls sighed, flatly looking at the giant lying wolf-bear-alien-thing. “I, and my superiors, senators, the press and basically everyone who rubs two braincells together are going to have a real problem with this. The agreement here is worded so loosely that you could have technically contacted us, though our shipping fax number, and that would have counted as ‘notification’. Yet, You apparently had the time, coordination and ability to summon a significant contingent of response ships to a single point, manage that air traffic around it, and then continue to manage airspace as they dispersed.”

Idly, he opened the dossier again, glancing over the law brief. “Yet, and here’s another loophole for you, you couldn’t send a 3 line text that read … if I’m reading this right, ‘Health And Safety Incident. Involves These Citizens. Stable Condition.’”

“[Well-]”

“By text.”

“[It’s an unsecur-]”

“Can’t be more than 5kb of data.”

“[The process wasn’t-]”

“Can we just… try this again. One more time-”

“[Admiral, I apologize.]” Kzdzgrar-of-Rzndzre interrupted, giving a little bow of her head. “[But the story will not change from telling to telling; There’s no new information, and I’ll let you know when I know something.]”

“You can’t even tell us which one of our people are involved?”

“[I don’t know.]”

“You can’t tell us which ship they’re on.”

“[I don’t know.]”

“You can’t even tell us where our own first responders should go to wait for the civilians? Or how about reports of one of our safety pods being ripped right from it’s foundation-”

“[Admiral.]” Kzdzgrar growled, harsh staccato clicks coughing out through the deep rumble. “[You’ll know when I know. This conversation serves as the fulfillment of our notification obligation; I apologize sincerely that it was late. If it’s an issue, I can direct you to the inquiry paperwork necessary to launch a formal review of the process. Now. I will update you when we are ready to update you.]”

Admiral Smalls nodded to himself, closing the dossier with a light thap. “Alright. Just don’t be surprised when the other shoe drops.”

“[We shall… keep our eyes open for footwear, I assure you.]” Kzdzgrar-of-Rzndzre diplomatically responded, her muzzle furrowing in slight confusion. “[Is there anything else I can help you with?]”

“No. That’ll be all. Thank you for your time.”

The screen went dark, and for a half-second as the black membrane de-ionized, Admiral Smalls caught himself smirking in the obsidian reflection.

“That’s a pretty cheeky code phrase, Sir.”

“Eh.” Adm. Smalls shrugged halfheartedly, placing the dossier on his console. “It’s an un-encrypted channel, which is probably why she didn’t tell me anything at all. The real question is, why didn’t she try to move us over to secure communications?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” The Attache said, checking his tablet. “But our Shoebox is starting it’s drop. No change in ETA.”

Admiral Smalls sat down at his console, staring out into the sea of stars, as somewhere far below him, with an imperceptible nudge of it’s thrusters, a vantablack drop pod changed it’s orbit.

“[Alright, we’re coming around now – is our cargo secure?]”

Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh made deliberate eye contact with the tiny-chomper under her arm, who did nothing but glare at her. His brother was…. Somewhere in the cargo netting; Was he going to shift around if they had to do a maneuver? No. Would he most likely need to be cut out once they landed? Yes.

“{Yeah. We’re fine.}”

“[Good! We’re getting priority docking clearance now; I’m going to lower the ramp – let me know if we’re still good to go!]”

Zngrer sighed audibly as she gripped one of the overhead rails, the craft rocking imperceptibly from side to side as her able pilot bled speed and began to hover. As this was an emergency operation, and so few landing pads were…. Completed, let alone open, they had to pick the best option and go for it. Pad 5 just held some family’s livestock – easily replaceable, if push came to shove – and nothing else of value, so it was deemed the best possible place to land.

“{Landing Pad 5 is Clear.}” Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh said, leaning over slightly to check around the craft. Small-but-forgetful took this moment to start squirming again, because of course he would,-

“[You crush my family’s farm puta we gonna have some words-]”

“{Oh, so you can talk-}”

“[ARE WE BEING RELEASED-]”

“{Not You, Battery-type-A. I meant your brother-}”

“[Look can I land or not?]”

“[CAN I GO OR NOT?!]”

“{YES! YES ALREADY.}”

“[FINALLY-]”

“[Copy! Damn, no need to be so angry – putting the glider down now -]”

With an unceremonious thud, the emergency response skimmer’s landing struts bumped and flexed under the slightly-fast landing, pilot Szreshnstrst flaring the engines once just to “push” the craft into the landing pad and stop it from skittering anywhere before the magnetic clamps could engage. With an unnecessarily loud buzzing the magnetic inlays within the landing pad itself turned on, the craft suddenly becoming ridiculously steady on the platform.

“[… well that’s a landing that didn’t break your jaw, so Huzzah!]” Szreshnstrst called from his Pilot’s console, going through the wind-down process to make the ship inert. “[But seriously, we need to discuss how these pads are designed because there was no telemetry from the ground up to position…]”

Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh tuned out her partner’s traditional post-mission de-stress babble as she surveyed the landing pad around the ship. There was still ample space to maneuver, that’s certain, but the thrust and force of their skimmer craft had… upset the locals to a degree. Zngrer knew almost nothing of Dirt wildlife, but she knew a stress response when she saw one.

“{Have we contacted their colonial headquarters yet? Do we – oh. I guess… I guess that’s the welcome committee?}” Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh murmured into her comm as the elevator to the landing pad slowly rose, a couple-dozen tiny-chompers in both military, utility and civilian clothing swarming out of the pen once the gate opened up. So many of the little sapients would’ve been a distraction, sure, had there not been a bigger oddity of three other Xenos – civilians, by the look of it – carrying what seemed to be a gigantic egg.

“[-kill them to also project the magnetic fields. I mean, I know they can’t see it but It’ll help us if we have to l-]”

“{I’m… gonna go check this out.}”

“[-an-what?]”

“{Nothin, just, hang tight and uh… I think one of ‘em is stuck.}”

“[Wait what-]”

Luciana was right – partially right, but, you never go partial when you’re right. This is the first rule of dealing with family; You are always 100% correct, and only sometimes rarely partially (but not totally) incorrect. When the tight grouping of ships made a full pass around the landing towers, she was concerned. When they picked her family’s pad to land, she had to make it a point to tell her mother to wait up, as she had already begun to sprint towards the nearest entrance to the Human quarters.

Abuela, for her part, was tucked in gently to her safety pod, had a few more selfies taken, and was then rapidly absconded with back towards the human quarters. The Jornissian Hydra attempted to follow to provide “moral support” but various automated and highly unnecessary self-defense systems stopped that measure of goodwill dead in it’s tracks.

Getting sprayed with subzero saline water is just cruel, no matter who you are.

Regardless, Tipo, Wiggles, Persimmon, Eggbuela, Luciana and Sofia were rapidly joined by self-defense personnel, emergency personnel and the entirety of the Aleman clan as they raced to the elevator.

Were the Alemans told that the ship contained their sons? No.

But they felt it.

And no matter who you are, when an entire clan of farmers says “we’re getting on the elevator”, you make space.

The ride up was silent, save for the ambient noise of the wind and the slowly-dying sounds of the cityscape below. As they gained altitude the temperature dropped; what was a pleasant dip from 90 to 70 degrees in the day went to 50 or lower at night. There was a small moment up the elevator ride when the city was too far away to be a nuisance, the wind was too steady to be anything other than background noise, and the concern of the livestock was barely audible. In that moment, half-audible prayers were lifted, bags and mags were checked, and a young boy held his hen a little closer to his chest.

Abuela, by virtue of being on Wiggles’ back, was technically the first to see what had happened. However, she was not paying attention to her vidscreens as she was passed out pretty hard, so she doesn’t count. After her came Persimmon, who attempted to stretch up and get a better vantage point. Unfortunately this left him terribly exposed to a few Juans, who took this opportunity to piggyback on the poor Jornissian – literally – causing him to wobble back down onto the elevator floor. By the time everyone had untangled themselves the elevator floor had basically docked, and once the floodgates opened, well-

“Where are my children-”

“Ma’am I’m going to have to ask you to-”

“Horses – get the horses Joaquin-”

“What in the fuck- Andres?! WHERE ARE YOU-”

“Fuck off-fuck off-”

“[Sir I’m sorry I’m trying to help and I need to cut you down from-]”

“Papa-!”

“Boy how did you get into the fucking netting-”

“[Sir please I need you and your family to step away this knife is sharp and I need to work on the netting-]”

“[FUCK you – Juans! Chingalo-]”

As Wiggles and Persimmon worked on gently placing the Abuelegg on the ground, Ngruzren-of-Arzgr locked eyes with what seemed to be a planetary defense soldier of some sort. She – Tipo was sure it was a she – was having some sort of conversation with some of the first responders, who were gesturing wildly to the limp tiny-chomper under her arm. Tipo watched as she reached up and unlocked her helmet, revealing-

Oh.

Oh.

He blinked, and felt himself move forward as if in a dream. The cold night air – admittedly never bothered him – but now, he didn’t feel it. In a moment, a few deep breaths, he was there.

He was there with her.

“{Hi.}”

Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh was in the middle of explaining to one of the attendant tiny-chompers that no, this human was perfectly healthy and that yes, she demanded to speak to his parents, when a very… breathy greeting was pushed her way. Zngrer looked up and kept as steady a face as she could, given the circumstances.

Boys this young and this good looking do not go after girls like her. And yet.

“{Hello.}”

The young boy – no, man, university, maybe? – giggled and pierced her with his eyes. His mane was wild and unkempt in this breeze, his loose jacket seeming to billow and yet, hug his frame. Give peeks of what’s below only when the spirits deemed her fit to see, and even then, only for an instant. He reached up and idly ran a claw through his fur, fingers idly finding a tuft to twist while he just… looked at Zngrer. Looked at her and looked through her.

“{H-hi…}”

“{Hey. Uh.}” Zngrer’s mouth seemed full of lead; words were so difficult. He’s just a man – albeit, a very hot man – and it’s fine and

“{I uh… like your uniform. Um. PDF?}”

“{Y-yeah.}” Zngrer smiled, her ears seeming to tilt and broadcast her emotions for all to see.

She didn’t care.

“{And uh, y-you?}”

“{Guide me.}” he said, mouth hanging open slightly as he seemed to arch his back, those damnable, blessed eyes swallowing her whole, pouring her into his core just as he would pou-

“{S-sorry?}”

“{I-I uh.}” The student broke eye contact, and just like that the spell was over. The arched back was simply wrapping his jacket tighter around his body, his mouth suddenly turning into a soft frown.

No. Not like that. Don’t look like that.

“{I’m just a tiny-chomper tour guide-}”

Please. Look at me again. Look at me with those eyes, in that way, just once more. Let me carry that for a few years, please.

“{O-oh! Oh well, that must be fun, though-}”

“{Yeah… yeah it is. I’ve got my friends-}” He looked behind him, and she pretended to follow his gaze, but lingered on his form. Her peripheral vision was telling her forebrain something about a Jornissian and Karnakian citizen chasing after a giant rolling egg as the winds whipped it around, but her hindbrain had taken over.

And it liked what it saw.

The male turned back and looked at her again, a slightly embarrassed blush spreading across his face. And those eyes, not piercing, but warm… soft.

. . . .

GIVE HIM A GIFT YOU PACKLESS NITWIT

“{Oh! Oh uh, um… here! S-since you like tiny-chompers and all-}” Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh stammered, presenting the floppy tiny-chomper to the boy. “{I uh. We saved this one. And his uh, brother, in the-}” Zngrer turned her head slightly to motion back to the ship, her eyes registering about a half-dozen tiny-chompers taking turns giving her pilot/partner the People’s Elbow. “{-…ship…}”

Warm hands.

Warm hands caressed her own, and she turned and tensed at the sudden closeness. The gap between them had closed, and warm hands covered her own, pressing the tiny-chomper into his soft mane.

“{Thank you…}” He murmured, his arms wrapping around the still-limp-out-of-utter-confusion sapient, cradling the tiny-chomper gently. “{I’m Ngruzren-of-Arzgr.}”

“{Handsome name. I’m Zngrer. Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh. I uh… yeah.}”

“{Yeah.}”

The two smiled at each other, as the wind whipped them gently, passionately, forcing movement of clothing and fur where otherwise there would be none.

And their eyes locked together.

“[OH YEAH MOTHERFUCKERS LET’S GIT GUD-]”

Everyone on the landing pad jumped – Zngrer moving to defensively shield Ngruzen with her body as something slammed into Landing Pad 04. From the twisted wreckage of the interocitor arose La Chancla’s UNIT ZERO ONE, coffin-pod aggressively exploding out from the crater’d landing site, shredding fuel lines, a goodly portion of a civilian shuttlecraft and cooking off a few atom storage boxes. As the exotic material began to cook off and ignite, bathing the pad and the viewers in harsh reds, yellows, oranges and whites, the pinnacle of human military mecha technology stood proudly.

Well. “Stood”. We’ll get to that next chapter. The point is, it counts as standing, and those count as arms, and that means it is technically a Gundam and if you’d like to argue with triple-linked GAU-12 turrets then you’re more than welcome to.

“[THE HUMAN MILITARY HAS SOME QUESTIONS FOR THE COMMON MAN ON THE STREET.]” ZERO ONE bellowed, the fire spreading to cover most of landing pad 04, causing it’s tower to look like a perverse parody of an olympic torch.

“[NOW THEN. WHO WANTS TO GO FIRST?]”

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They are Smol Stories

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 12

“What’s that?”

“Mmm?” Sensor Technician Abioye said, mouth full of instant ramen.

“That.” Sensor Technician Alezeev responded, purposefully tapping a finger against his monitor. “I know our sensors aren’t the best, but, this doesn’t look like normal traffic patterns.”

Aboiye sighed and placed his cup ramen to the side, waking up his console. It was the “midnight” shift on Reach, so the relative skeleton crew was doing relatively appropriate spooky things; checking inventory levels, unloading cargo, monitoring power systems, life support, ignoring the yotttabytes of spam messages from other ships and stations in-system, yanno. . Whereas the captain was more interested in getting his hands on physical technology to help close the gap, there were other ‘soft’ goals that needed to be accomplished – primary among them being sucking in as much data as physically possible for the wonks and skunkworks back home to digest. This data could be anything from “here’s how civilian cargo ships are painted and their number scheme” to “Here’s the layout of a colony world” to “So we saw some pretty neat satellites on the way back…” – really, it was bringing in everything they could because nobody knew what bit of random information would lead to the next breakthrough.

This, of course, meant monitoring air traffic on the part of the planet they were orbiting.

Aboiye furrowed his brow as the mass of very fast ships descended to an uninhabited section of the new Human colony. He idly overlaid that traffic pattern over the more standard pattern they’ve developed over the past few days, and…

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s not right. Chatter?”

“Seems like an emergency broadcast.” Alezeev said, his hands moving over his console in practiced ease. “…yeah. Yeah we need to escalate this.”

Admiral Smalls was having a good night, which meant that something was going to go wrong. The thing that went wrong(tm) occurred around 2AM ship time, and around 2:15 he found himself hastily dressed and on the Bridge with a Big Gulp of coffee in one hand and an open line of communication to his other ships’ captains.

“So, from what my technicians are telling me – roughly 40 minutes or so ago an emergency broadcast went out to all first responders to handle an incident within the Human district of Silver City, more specifically section G-7-4. Reasons why I woke your asses up – , nobody from administration has contacted us, which under our settlement treaty they’re supposed to. , This was, according to our count, a response of roughly 180 ships.”

“Does Silver City even have that many first responder ships?” Captain Edward John Smith murmured, looking over the report on screen.

“No. From what I can tell, they not only pulled from other settlements, but they pulled … I guess you could call it their version of SWAT.” Admiral Smalls answered, sighing. “But, there’s more.”

“Joy.” Captain Joseph Hazelwood smirked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Human section, massive reaction of emergency services, pseudo-military deployed, no coordination or communication with us – already, these are issues. What I’m about to tell you is currently secret, as it involves an ongoing investigation, but. Someone from my ship was apparently transmitting data, unauthorized. The Person I Was Talking To has been informing me that the data – which was actually structured data and not a glitch in our own systems – was sent to the local galactic network node that led to an access point that doesn’t exist, and apparently contains no data.”

There was a pregnant pause as each man raced through a couple dozen scenarios, their expressions sinking rapidly.

“So. A mole?”

“Saboteur.” Smalls said, matter-of-factly. “We’re still collecting information, but. Our … bank accounts aren’t connected intergalactically, GRC’s shifted into Dollars so, no money can exchange hands. Nothing that’s come up from planetside’s had contraband, so no physical goods either. Anarchist, maybe.” With a flick of his wrist Admiral Smalls pulled up and shared various shipping manifestos; nothing out of the ordinary popped out.

“Maybe the last shipment had something?”

“Raw material for holographic units that I personally approved, plus an Interocitor for multifunction basic construction.” Smalls responded, taking another sip of his coffee. “And that landed, safely, about 15 minutes ago and began offloading.”

“This is some bullshit.” Captain Hazelwood said, scrutinizing some reports of his own. “I don’t like this at all.”

“No, neither do I. That’s why I want you to deploy Zero-One.”

Hazelwood quirked an eyebrow. “… a hot drop?”

“Not hot, no, but I want it down there. I’ve already ordered clearance on pads 03 and 05 for the next 48 hours, so as long as Zero-One is on the ground it can buy us some time.”

“Begging your pardon, Admiral, but. It’s one thing to have a paperwork snafu; it’s another thing to deploy military equipment with no indication.” Captain Smith interjected, scratching the stubble on his cheek. “Should we wait? At least phone home?”

“I’m not advocating a hot drop, John. I’m saying that they deployed defense forces to a remote human sector en masse and then scattered, that not a few days prior we had a saboteur send something to somewhere, and no one from their administration is telling me anything. Did one of our citizens commit an atrocity… or was this a kidnapping? We’re in the dark here, and time is not on our side. We’re not deploying all of La Chancla’s payload, just Zero-One. It’s more of a… statement than anything else.”

“If you fuck with us I swear to God I’ll kill us all?”

Admiral Smalls raised his mug in a gentle salute. “Now you get it.”

“[Can you just-]”

Flop

“[Look that can’t feel good-]”

Flop

“[All I’m asking you to do is-]”

Zngrer-of-Drgrabgh sighed as the [Human] flopped the other way, acting less like a living sentient and more like a sack of dirt. Once she identified herself there was a tremendous amount of squirming, which at first Zngrer assumed was to get comfortable in her grip; granted, combat suits were not exactly built for exterior comfort, and her suit’s AI was programmed to [Human] tolerances so as to avoid harming the relatively fragile creature.

Then came the biting, which, ok. Different people act differently in a panic, and it’s up to the responder in charge to manage panicked civilians. So far, so good.

But this? This was just annoying. However, she’d take this annoyance over the other [human]’s obstinance.

Speaking of, she turned to the other human half-tucked away in a mix of harness and netting.

“[Are you alright?]”

“AM I BEING DETAINED?!”

Zngrer sighed. “[No. Again, we’re from the government-]”

“AM I FREE TO GO?!”

“[Considering we’re traveling at a height that would almost certainly kill you if you left the craft, no.]”

“THEN AM I BEING DETAINED?!”

Zngrer frowned and opened a line to her pilot. “[Are we there yet?]”

“[You’ve asked that 10 times in the past 10 minutes. What’s going on back there?]” Szreshnstrst chuckled, tilting the craft slightly to bypass some obstacle his crew was blind to. “[They pestering you with questions or something? Not calmed down yet?]”

“[Just… Please. Are we there yet?]”

“[We’ll get there when we get there. Central’s still re-routing some of the emergency craft that are late to the show, and we’re clearing out a corridor for us to slide through. I’d say… another 20, 30 minutes?]”

Silently Zngrer passed the floppy [human], who was absolutely awake but not helping in any way, from one arm to the other. Accomplishing this task, she looked at the second [human] who had seemed to only burrow himself deeper into the netting.

“AM I FREE TO GO, OFFICER?!”

“[. . . Please, ancestors, take me now.]”

“[So… just… I guess… here?]”

Wiggles began to scratch at the bottom post of a pod, her claws making light but otherwise ineffective furrows into the metal.

“Maybe, but what about the bolts themselves?” Sofia asked, kneeling to get a better look at the foundation of the Pod. The Pod itself was just an oblong egg-shaped capsule with a seamless door that slid open, revealing an interior of memory-foam like padding, emergency rations, and a few other communication options and sensors that would alert authorities to anything from the pod being used, to if there was a medical emergency, to if – God forbid – the pod ran out of snacks. The pod’s door was open and waiting, but Tipo insisted that he not let go of Abuela until the pod was disconnected and it was “safe”.

The fact that Tipo was snuggling Abuela was not lost on anyone, least of all the roughly 2-dozen patrons who ended up leaving the bar and following the group across the street ‘nonchalantly’.

Being an oddity was acceptable; they were outside the Human district after all.

… the selfies with a sleeping Abuela were a bit too much however.

“[I don’t think we have the tools here, if I’m being absolutely honest.]” Persimmon said, idly tugging at a bolt. “[These things were purpose-built to withstand some abuse from us – no offense – so they’re going to be impossible to claw out of the ground.]”

“[I mean, we could try really really hard-]” Wiggles suggested, her clawing speeding up in pace but producing no further progress. “[Or, I don’t know. Steal a welding kit from somewhere. I got a cousin that’s a fabricator-]”

“But that’ll probably take a few hours or longer, right?” Sofia said, chin resting in her hand as she continued to think. “At that point we might as well set up camp back at the cafe-”

“[That’s a good idea-]”

“[Yeah that’s fine we’re ok with this-]”

“[I can keep the shop open late for you if you’d like!]” Cheery piped up somewhere in the back around the chorus of other Jornissian approval-noises.

Sofia frowned and turned towards her daughter. “Well? Anything bouncing around up there?”

Luzita shrugged, and half-smiled. “Just one idea.” She said, pointedly looking at the impromptu hydra surrounding her grandmother.

“Ok! Lift with your knees!”

“Mama-”

“Oh! Sorry!”

Luciana facepalmed, groaning into her hand, as the hydra of Jornissians exchanged confused glances. The idea was simple, in theory; Have each sapient wrap around the base of the pod. Much like how a one-fingered grip is weaker than a five-fingered grip, one xenos pulling at the pod would be ineffective. But 5? 10? 27? That stood a chance.

The Hydra-turned-maypole shimmied into place, and after a few complaints as to who was pinching whose tail and who should be on top or on bottom, the group intertwined.

“On Three! One!”

A few flexed, rolling their spines in anticipation.

“Two-”

A tense

“Three-”

The pod did not so much come off of it’s base as it was launched a couple dozen meters into the air. The group watched it’s lazy arc in the sky, and flinched slightly as it landed with a crunch on the concrete, doing quite a bit of damage to the sidewalk below. One of the crowd slithered off to check on the pod itself, and gave an enthusiastic wave of his arm after a cursory check.

“. . . That counts!” Luciana clapped, breaking the silence. “Thank you all very much for your help! This is really, really good news for us-”

There was a heavy sound of aircraft as a squadron of sleek, jet-black ships flew overhead, making their way to the same tower that the Aleman family’s livestock was being held at.

“But that’s probably not.”

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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 11

Retail – well, the vast majority of retail out there – is a soul-sucking experience. You work in a glorified box putting other boxes on shelves and talking to people about those boxes, and if you’re lucky they don’t blame you for their wife leaving them and taking the kids. One retail job is just the same as another; you can work for Best Buy and then move to Wal*Mart and not realize there was a change other than the uniform that you’re wearing. However, there are a few places where working in retail can actually build up some skills you can use later in life (either to parlay into a better job or to just impress your friends/family/that cutie at the bar):

  • Bartending
  • Beauty Care
  • Masseuse

And of course, the purview of all liberal arts majors

  • Barrista

Now this isn’t to say that you need to go into $50,000 of debt in order to be employed by Starbucks – I mean, it helps, but it’s not a requirement. It’s simply to say that you can develop a set of skills that you take with you for the rest of your life, much like the shame of getting a degree that “was your passion” and then not following up on it with a career in that field. But some people – a rare few – end up figuring out that they like working in retail, that they like doing what they’re doing, and that they like mixing drinks and little snacks for others.

Rssesnsen – nee Cheery – happened to be one of them. She enjoyed making and mixing everything from a standard hnz’sprssen for the businessman on the go or a freshly-toasted sra-flatbread with miscellaneous toppings up to picking out and hand-mixing the dozens and dozens of loose leaf teas to steep for those regulars who came in to work on their novel that was totally going to come out one day, you’ll see. After some basic guidance from the (admittedly cute) Swipressnssren on what was absolutely toxic and what other foods should be avoided for her new guests, she began to rack her brain for some sort of flavor profile that she could use.

Most of her go-to stimulants were right-out. Of the ones that were left, they either needed to be toasted in order to bring out the flavor, or powdered to all get-out so they dissolved completely in water. Speaking of, is water the only thing she could give the warmcuddles? Or would some of the oil-based drinks work too? Tolerance for thickness in their fluids – if they didn’t mind something with mouthfeel she could go with a more porridge-like consistency, but that might actually leech out the full-bodyness of whatever else she puts in!

Good challenges were few and far between, and Rssesnsen enjoyed every moment of it as she continued to think and think and think …

“Why… is she doing that?” Luzita asked no one in particular, as the bright red giant snake-person started to writhe in place, staring off into the middle distance. What started with a simple head wiggle soon turned to full body gyrations, and now Cheery was performing loops and twirls that no human could hope to recreate – at least, with their spine still intact. It was utterly fascinating, if it wasn’t so absolutely out of place.

“[I um… I don’t know. She seems deep in thought though.]” Wiggles mused, looking at the Jornissian with curiosity. “[Maybe we just… give her some time?]”

There was a slightly-broken voice’d hum of The Streets of Cairo as a tennis ball tipped cane began to wiggle in the air just above the countertop, the Jornissian across the counter subconsciously beginning to follow it.

“Abuela!”

“Beh! I could be brewing the coffee myself-”

“Mama, give her some time-” Sofia said, lowering the cane below the counter. “And don’t be rude.”

“[OH!]”

The group jumped a little as Cheery had an epiphany, her arms a flurry of activity as she basically stayed “put” while leaning everywhere behind the bar, pulling ingredients from hither and yon. “[I think I have something for you! Give me a few moments and I’ll put that together – you want it hot, or cold?”

“Hot”

“Cold”

“Before I pass on-”

“Abuela-”

“[I’ll just make one hot and one cold! No worries!]” Cheery chirped, shaking up a concoction vigorously before dumping it into what looked like a flash-cooker, the sounds of drinkcraft quickly overpowering the background noise of the other patrons. With a bit of a flourish a large cup was produced, the hot drink poured and pushed over to Sofia. The human looked at the drink with pursed lips, before turning to look at her escorts questioningly.

“Uh, how-”

“[Ah! Allow me.]” Persimmon said, fishing in his messenger bag for a small cylindrical device. Popping a casing over the tip, he stuck it in the center of the drink, thumbing it on. “[Mass spectrometer. It won’t affect the taste at all, but we can see-]”

He was interrupted by a beep, and as he tilted the device’s base towards him a readout began pouring into his implant. “[Ah… Cheery?]”

“[Mmmmmm?]”

“[This is poison.]”

“[Excuse you, I may not make the best drinks on this rock but-]”

“[Ah! No no-]” Persimmon backpedaled furiously as the girls giggled softly, the faux pas causing him to blush lightly. “[J-just, they can’t have it. It’s not Human-approved.]”

“[Oh. What should I omit?]” Cheery sighed, stopping in mid-prep.

“[I uh. I can’t say. The spectrometer will just tell us if it’s poisonous, not what made it poisonous.]”

Cheery shared a flat look with Persimmon before dumping the half-finished cold drink down the drain, putting a broad smile back on her face. “[Well. We’ll just have to try again!]”

The first 3 drinks were mostly experiments; one tested positive for mercury, another, cyanide. The third one had a very exotic neurotoxin that acted along the same lines as irukandji venom, so that was mainly ruled out so as to not have the humans writhing in pain for the next day or three. At the 5th drink, Rssesnsen was almost certain that she had it, only to be told that that much sodium might actually kill the humans at worst, and at best was not healthy for them at all. Drinks 6 – 12 were iterations on drink until it was pointed out that the concoction smelled like a fermented shoe and that absolutely nobody was going to give that a shot. This was unfortunate because to the Jornissian palate it actually tasted somewhat hearty, earthy, with a few bright notes at the end.

Then Rssesnsen mentally smacked herself in the face because of course they wouldn’t taste things right, and tossed out almost everything she had done at that point to start over. Drinks 13 – 18 were better, but still not where things needed to be, and around drink she felt her facade crack just a little.

Rssesnsen was going to serve them a drink, by Nressre-whose-eyes-are-the-moons, or die trying. If only that manic laughter would just stop for a few seconds she could think straight-

“Um.”

“Why… is she laughing?” Luzita asked, frozen in place in that I’m-too-terrified-to-move-but-I-probably-shouldn’t-be-here kind of way. Cheery had become decidedly less so as the cups started to pile up; the initial complaint her mother was simply trying to make of “this cup is the size of my torso” had morphed into… whatever this was.

“[I don’t know, but just stay calm. We’ll protect you if necessary.]” Tipo said, making it a point to slide up to the counter proper. “[Though I don’t think it’ll come to that-]”

“[Looks like a work-related mental break-]” Wiggles said, helpfully and probably a bit too loudly, catching the attention of the slightly-more-unhinged Cheery.

“[No, NO, nono, it’s fine, it’s all fine, look at how fine it is-]”

There was the crackling sound of electricity from somewhere below the counter and a very furious ‘Abuela, not yet-’, but that was enough to snap Cheery from her reverie. With an absolutely exasperated sigh, she just gripped an entire packet of powdered spice – a thickening agent, usually – and just dumped it into a pot of boiling water.

“[We begin by the process of elimination! The drink knows what it is because it knows what it isn’t-]” Cheery began to rant, stirring the quickly-dissolving spice into the thickening water. With a flourish that was mostly “splash it close enough to the target” an extra large cup was half-filled, slid over to the counter, and the preparations for the next concoction began in earnest.

She was halfway through adding in an entire bag of spoons before there was a cheery little ding as the mass spectrometer shrugged and said “eh.” She froze with rapt attention as the far-too-large cup was then gingerly picked up and wiped clean of recently-boiling water.

“So… like I was going to say before… uh…” Sofia murmured, her gaze blocked by the forest of failure before her, “can… can we get that in a smaller cup?”

“[Sure! Suresuresuresure-]” Cheery rambled, pulling out one of each size cup she had. The XXL was right out, as was the XL, the L, and the M. The small was… ok, but, much to everyone’s chagrin, the tester cup was just right. The one drink was gingerly poured into the serving-cup, and handed below the counter to the somehow-not-dead-yet-from-waiting Isabella. She sipped from it gently, her face going from inquisitive to sour.

“Bleh.”

“[Hahahahahahaahahaaaaaaaaaaa is it bad? Of course it’s bad, of course it’s-]”

“Bad, yes. This means it’s good.”

“[W-what?]”

The little old lady steeled herself and in one swift gulp downed the entire concoction.

“Wh-”

“Mom-”

“[Nice-]” Wiggles said appreciatively.

“[Um, are you – we don’t know how that’s going to affect you -]”

“Bah!” The voice-below-the-counter said dismissively, the cup being Kobe’d back onto the countertop. “Tonight we live forever!”

Cheery looked at the two other women, who just shook their heads. “We’re fine, thank you.”

Tipo shrugged and ordered a drink.

So it turned out that “tonight”, “forever”, and “immortal” were all very flexible terms. Once the countertop was cleaned out of the various failed experiments and a few normal drinks were ordered (as well as a sly exchange of contact information) the next step was finding some place to park and enjoy the ambiance of a couple-dozen Jornissians staring at you with laser focus.

Not the most relaxing thing to happen, but, close enough. The real issue was that the options were a divot that already proved too smooth for the humans to settle into (although it was amusing for Luzita to slide around in the pit for a while) or a booth. The booths were comfy, in a word – cozy. This was not just because they were tastefully enclosed save for a single entrance/exit, but you were also sticking in three massive aliens who had to be very mindful of their various limbs as the humans nestled in between them. Awkward silence gave way to light chatter, and eventually the conversation flowed naturally. Simple, mundane questions of ‘what’s good to eat here’ and ‘what’s the weather like? Do you have seasons?’ turned into more pointed ‘stay out of this section of the city’ and ‘this company is a scam’ and all the other juicy gossip that a local can drop on a new neighbor.

One voice started strong in the conversation, but as the night drug on, became more and more rare, until a light snore broke a very pointed conversation about the universal merits of animal fat.

Isabella – Abuela – had fallen asleep against Tipo.

“Oh! I’m sorry-” Sofia smiled, touching Tipo’s arm. “It’s been a long day for her. We should probably get going back.”

“[Y-yeah. But… but I can’t move.]”

Sofia furrowed her brow as Luciana continued to make small talk with the other two guardians. “What do you mean?”

“[I mean-]” and he gave a pointed look to the little old lady currently burrowed into his side. “[If I do I’ll wake her up! I can’t move.]”

“It’s fine – look. Mama!” Sofia called, sliding her legs up to stand on the seat, leaning over the counter to shake Isabella. “Mama, let’s go now. Come on.”

Her efforts were met with a murmur and a much louder snore. Sofia pursed her lips and looked up at Tipo. “Can you shake her?”

“[No.]” Ngruzren said, surprising everyone at the table including himself with the intensity of his rejection. “[N-no. It’s fine. This is fine.]”

“Well you can’t very well just sit here for the next 8 hours!”

Tipo looked around at the rest of the cafe who were all very much ok with this idea, eventually locking eyes with Cheery who was over-enthusiastically nodding.

“[I mean-]”

“No. Come on, just… just pick her up and let’s go.”

“[But that could be unsafe-]”

Sofia rolled her eyes and turned to the other two chaperones. “Can one of you…?” She let the question linger as she motioned over to her mother, who was dead to the rest of the world.

“[I mean, we have installed comfort pods around this section of the city specifically for this purpose.]” Persimmon mused. “[We could just deposit her in one of them, let her rest, and then come back when she’s awake.]”

“[No.]” Sofia said, surprising everyone at the table including herself with the intensity of that rejection. “We are not leaving mama on the fucking street!”

“[Ah, ah… ok]” Persimmon said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “[Well, the other option is to carry her, which could be hazardous – seeing as how she’s elderly and humans’ muscles relax to a startling degree when unconscious.]”

“Well we’re not leaving her on the street-”

“[And I don’t feel comfortable carrying her it’s fine really we can just stay like this it’s ok-]”

“Por que no los dos?”

The table turned to Luciana, who just shrugged a bit. “They’re comfort pods, but they had to have been installed somehow. Let’s just… uninstall them and carry the pod. Between the three of you, you can do that, right?”

The three aliens shared a curious look with each other, as well as a few subconscious flexes.

“[…sure. We could do that.]” Wiggles said, slowly, and was met with no opposition.

“Great!” Luciana clapped her hands, placing them on the table. “Now let’s get outta here.”

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