Category: They are Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 4

Post author By TPH
Post date June 21, 2019
1 Comment on They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 4

For the first few weeks, they fought against the machine – purposefully working slow in protest.

The next few weeks after that, they returned to routine, albeit grumbling all the time.

However, It was within Month 5 of the great staffing, resupply and fitting of Reach, in the Year of Our Lord 2184, in the third dimension, in the Sol system (wherein Humanity was born and accidentally yeeted into the stars) whereupon arguably the most momentous occasion of the last 40 years occurred:

Jonathan Protaganista and Aisha Batal Alrawaya completed an honest-to-God full day’s worth of work.

It was such an anomaly that at first HR believed it to be a mistake; this forced both Jon and Aisha to spend an additional 15 minutes at work past their leave-by time to verify that yes, they were in fact at their stations doing their jobs, and no – it wasn’t a motorized blow-up doll sitting at their desks. Again. Their supervisor was eventually called in, who corroborated their stories – and furnished further proof of his eyewitness account by producing no less than 100 lottery tickets for the Powerball 37 drawing that same day. In a bizarre twist of fate (and the sudden, totally rational fear that the two of them were replaced by body snatchers from Pluto) HR decided to give them the next few days off – as a thank you for actually doing real work for once.

“I just don’t get it.”

Aisha shrugged, pouring herself another shot of tequila. “Who cares? Shit, if I knew working hard would get us more time off I would’ve started earlier! Like in college. Or preschool.”

“Well, ok, fair point – but I mean more what they’re doing with the first round of colonists. The Reach is going to be jumping with a full escort, right?”

There was the sound of glass-on-table as the empty shot was slammed down, Aisha grunting for a moment before replying. “Fuck. Yeah, I guess so? Couple of our own navy with some Senate heavy-hitters. I mean, it is our first colony ship, and everyone wants to make nice. Bury the hatchet and all that.”

“No.” Jon murmured, staring out the digital “windows” of the bar that they were currently occupying at 11AM on a Tuesday. Reach sat heavy and fat, like a bundle of cigars taped together a little to thickly in the middle, a swarm of lights dancing around it’s entire form in a symphony of engineering, operations and logistics. The majority of work was done; seeds and soil, livestock and pets, people and personnel were already on-board with their families, settling in to what would amount to a couple-month stay on-ship before a final drop to the new world.

Literally, in their cases.

“I mean more like… Sure there was a waitlist to go, but they’re doing 3 rounds of colonization? And it’s not to meet demand – It just seems weird.”

The bottle of Tequila was upended, the last few drops splashing into the half-full shot glass. “Mmm. Grunts first – grunts first always. Then the middlemen to make shit difficult for the grunts, then the upper class to pretend they did it all by themselves and never needed the grunts in the first place.”

Jon laughed mirthlessly, rolling his eyes. “Dramatic today, aren’t we?”

Aisha whined something half-heartedly mocking in response, downing the half-shot of tequila with absolutely no fanfare whatsoever. “Nngh. Jon, what’s your actual fucking question? Whenever you start thinking you get moody – your brain’s not used to working that hard-”

“Firstly, fuck you, you fuck like a limp fish and Faiza told me she thinks of Batgirl when she fucks you.”

“Good taste. S’why I’m gon’ marry her.”

“Secondly, the mix seems super weird. Construction crews, fine. Electricians – ok. Doctors, no shit. But Botanists? Xenobiologists? Survivalists? This world’s been occupied before we fucking discovered fire or some shit, why are they going?”

“Iunno. To prove that their shiny new degree actually means something? Gotta prove to daddy that his creds were worth spending, or that you really did need that decade to backpack around pan-africa to find yourself~”

Jon turned to look at his now very drunk comrade, scooting his beer closer to his side of the table and away from longing eyes. “Wow. I mean, I always heard lesbians had daddy issues buhOWWWW~” The statement died in his throat by a savage – well, ‘savage’ drunken kick connected with his shin.

“Asshole.” Aisha stated, resting her chin on the table.

Jon responded to the insult by slamming back his beer, letting the larger glass thunk heartily against the faux wood table. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, we got 3 days off – fucking finally – so what do you want to do with ‘em?”

There was a small pause before Aisha looked up from her headrest, eyes only taking a few moments to focus. “Hey. Do you suppose the raid servers are empty cause everyone’s pulling overtime?”

They shared a look – You know the type I’m talking about. The sudden realization that all the cheaters, wall-hackers, chinese gold farmers (yes it’s still a problem in the future), enemy guilds, faction whores and tryhard powergamers were otherwise offline and their game would be… untainted. Pure. NPC-rich. Loot rich.

There would be nobody to stop them from powergaming.

“RACEYOUTOTHEDECK-”

“FUCK-”

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr was sweating, hard. Figuratively.

It had been 6 months of blood, sweat and tears to get to this point; the general orientation class was a breeze, and so he foolishly signed up for the intermediate offering. Then the advanced. Soon, what started as an undefined but necessary urge to work with the new colonists had morphed into an almost full-blown obsession. He parlayed his connections, his ‘life experience’, and his damn good grades to end up in the group that was presenting a final student project to the Gentle Expanse/Silver City tourism and public safety board.

It was 6 months worth of work condensed into a wordless set of diagrams that would help educate any Senate species, regardless of what their base written script was, or if their translators were working, on how to interact with the tiny-chompers. Hundreds, literalhundreds of iterations were put together in order to make the best possible collage of information, presented in the most clear possible way. Ngruzren’s team wasn’t even presenting the entire library of work; theirs was literally just a small chunk of a larger effort. Still, it was before both a city and planetary board of directors, and needed to be given the due weight and respect of the job put before him.

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr was sweating, hard… over a free safety pamphlet.

He stayed in the sideline, letting his body language show that he was extremely interested in what his Jornissian colleague was saying – he wasn’t really, the team lead had rehearsed the speech so often that he could say it from memory in a pinch, but presentation was everything at this stage and so he let his body show he was occupied in rapt attention while his mind wandered.

His dad kept looking at him with a look, a looky look that looked… looky, and Ngruzren didn’t know what to make of it. The night-rage thing… ok, granted, he looked fine but black was so limiting as a color and really, he looked better when he highlighted his own natural fur color and stayed with pastel clothing and bright accessories. The large mane wasn’t such a big pain-in-the-tail to keep as he was cautioned about, and… ok, it was nice that Mom was taking more time at home after winning the bid. But that’s not why he stopped with the night-rage hassle… honest.

Ngruzren kept going back to that look, like a hunter to the tracks of his missing prey. It didn’t make any sense! Sure, he might have suddenly found his passion in these new aliens, but is that such a bad thing? His life before was going to be reviewing drone core samples and sitting at a desk doing paperwork! Sure, steady and well-paid work, but boring as all get-out. At least here he could interact with people! Sure, they might be smaller, and weaker, and need help and should be herded properly and sometimes needed their food prepa-

Ngruzren inhaled, sharply, as the realization hit him so hard he physically swayed. He was packless, he went into season, the tiny-chompers were so small and cute, his father’s knowing look-

A sharp round of applause broke his epiphany, and he looked around confused for a moment – until he stood up, joining the rest of his team, clapping for some reason.

A female Dorarizin – the name escaped Ngruzren at the moment – stood, professionally adjusting her chest stays. “{Excellent presentation! We are most pleased to accept this addition to the localized training directory! I’m also speaking for my associates here – but given your team’s drive and dedication, that it would be remiss of us to not allow you all the chance to work with the tiny-chompers as well.}” Was she – was she looking directly at him? “{We still have many more positions to go through, but I’m almost certain your passion will intertwine with those open gaps and fill them quite nicely.]”

Ngruzren tilted his head slightly… Was. Was that a wink?

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr blinked, hard, as the female who was old enough to be his mother and was probably happily married already, continued to talk about next steps, promoting synergy, and other managerial talk, giving that same look to… to everyone else in the room.

Ugh.

Swipressnssren stared, unblinking, at his Dorarizin table-mate as he downed another bag of Hufflepuffs – what were essentially triple-fried skin-rinds of some sort of animal, the things powdered and coated with various savory and sweet flavors. Nori had to have devoured at least 12,000 calories in the past 10 minutes, and that’s just what Swipressnssren had personally witnessed.

“<Um. I take it the meeting didn’t go well?>”

Nori growled something noncommittal before swallowing another mouthful of the trashy junk food. “[No. Went fine, everything’s fine.]”

“<Hmm. Doesn’t sound fine.>”

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr crumpled up the tinfoil packaging, dropping it onto the heap of it’s bretheren on the table. “[The design was approved, the presentation went off without a hitch, and I am almost totally certain that I’ll have a position as a warmcuddle tour guide within the year. Frozen hells, I’ll probably even be in charge of an entire city block or two. Yay.]”

Swipressnssren sank into his coils slightly as he studied the alien-yet-familiar body language of his friend, his hands resting idly on his midsection coil. “<The amount of venom you just spat in that statement would make any old tooth proud. What’s going on, really?>”

Ngruzren – Nori, as he was called in the Jornissian’s tongue – frowned, grumbling something untranslatable as he stared at the tabletop before him, almost boring a hole through it with the intensity of his gaze.

“<Come on. I know that thing with your last… girlfriends didn’t work out->”

“[Why are you assuming it’s a girl problem?]”

“<Well, is it?>” The Jornissian hummed, rolling his shoulders in curiosity. “<It’s either women or work at this stage in life – unless you’ve found out you’re a proud papa->”

There was another nondescript mumble, and Swipressnssren stuttered. “<Wh-what? With whom->”

“[Ugh, you’re sounding as bad as my Mother.]” Nori smirked, his hands reaching up to play with the metal wrappers to what was left of his prodigious feast. “[No, it’s not girls, I promise. It’s just… well, like. Have you ever just caught yourself doing something stupid-]”

“<Me? Never.>”

“[Hah. Try to pretend you’re mortal, for a moment. But like. You catch yourself doing something stupid and then realize why?]”

“<…Introspection. You’re telling me you just now discovered introspectio->”

“[No, you coiled shit.]” Nori grinned – ah, finally a smile! – flicking a rolled up ball of tin at the Jornissian. “[I just… Well, you know I’ve been in an extended season because I have no pack.]”

“<Right. I mean, I thought you looked good with the whole black-sun thing going on->”

“[Just. Ok. Um, Thanks. But. So I’m in extended season with no female packmates. Brain’s flooded with all sorts of hormones and stuff.]”

Swipressnssren quirked his eyebrow as high as it could physically go – which wasn’t too far, given his physiology and the musculature of his hood, so it was a true feat. “<A… are you trying to tell me where hatchlings come from?>”

That comment earned him an entire fistful of wrappers bouncing off his head.

“[No, UGH. Look. Just… I’m in a mood right now – and I know, shutup – and like. I’m nearing the end of my development, and historically guys would’ve paired off by now – and a few months ago, we started to get into this warmcuddle research kick, right?]”

“<Riiight…. I’m not… you’re a cuddlefucker?>”

“[No.]” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr deadpanned, his hands kneading his forearms roughly. “[I just realized why I wanted to even do all of this.]”

“<Why’s that?>”

Nori looked up at his friend, as 1 million KM above him – at that very moment, in fact – Reach broke warp, gravitational waves rippling through the first alien star system that Mankind would call home.

“[I want pups.]”

Tags Sci-Fi, They are Smol, Comedy, Cute, Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 3

Post author By TPH
Post date June 14, 2019
3 Comments on They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 3

Pip

“[-And now, in local news. Another illegal personnel smuggling operation was busted earlier today operating around the Gas Giant Cloudpearl; Senate Teams lead by the H.S.T.’s own regional law enforcement discovered a network of hollowed-out asteroids at the edge of the gravity well. As they were discovered within 5 calendar years of creation squatters’ rights will not-]”

Pip

“[-letion of the dome, which allows for their own day-night rythm.]” The Jornissian professor on-screen said, shifting slightly in his seat.

“[I see! But won’t they be able to adapt like the rest of us?]” The Karnakian host questioned, leaning over his table with an eager expression on his face. “[I thought one of the reasons why we won the bid was because our planet and theirs are so similar?]”

“[From an atmospheric and gravitic comparison – yes, absolutely. However, we rotate much slower so no – a day on Gentle Expanse is roughly 1 1/2 of their entire day/night cycles on Dirt. It’s not a question of adapting to a couple extra hours of work or rest, but an extreme marathon of staying up and sleeping. I’ve been assured by the tiny-chompers that staying up longer than 13 hours at a time begins to impair their judgment, with extreme cases – 20 hours or so – even leading to audio/visual hallucinations.]”

“[Good heavens! So is that also the reasons for those isolation pods popping up around the colonization zo-]”

Pip

“[-ning is complimentary, but mandatory if you wish to be a tiny-chomper local guide or coworker. For an introductory rate of 500GRC you can enroll in our 10-week certified basic training course, enabling you to qualify for further specialized interaction opportunities. Top Mark Training Company: Preparing you for the workplace of tomorrow, today.]”

Pip

“{Daaaaaaaaad~}”

Dzgranra-of-Arzgr sighed as he worked the hard light projector, the remote long lost to him. His wives had thankfully put the lump of titanium in some reach of the house that would be safe from all prying eyes and paws – including those of his eldest son, all of his daughters, and the wives themselves. It wasn’t the first time the remote had been lost, but the fact that they put a child-lock on all remote broadcasting to the panel was both touching, and infuriating.

As if his children were so ill-mannered to watch a pay-to-own series without asking first.

As if he didn’t deserve to watch more pay-to-own series!

Pip

“[-st saying, if you’re not planning on serving them you shouldn’t be forced to qualify! These new regulations are going to put me out of business – I’m a Jornissian-only establishment; I can’t and don’t cater to anyone else, and that’s never been a problem-]”

The not-insignificant pile of pups that were congealed on the center rug began to wiggle as one; Dad was concentrating, and this could not be allowed to continue.

“{Daaaaaaaad it’s gonna staaaaart~}”

“{I know, loves, I know.}”

Pip

“[-TO SAVE THE DAY-]”

“{-THE SUPER SPACE TEAM, HOORAY!}” The entire mass of under-9-year-old pups cheered at once at the top of their lungs, temporarily deafening their father and quite possibly rattling all the windows in the house.

For the first – or last – time that week (depending on when you consider the week to start and end), Ngruzren-of-Arzgr was woken up 15 minutes before his alarm clock by the cacophony of voices, and smiled.

The evil Dr. Dark laughed triumphantly as she held the tiny-chomper fiercely by the shoulder, the smaller alien crying out in pain as the stonification ray was pressed to his head. “[Not another move forward, Super Space Team! If you move a single micrometer, I’ll petrify this tiny-chomper – and then move onto the rest of his family!]”

“[No! Help me, Super Space Team! If Dr. Dark petrifies us all, the life-day celebration will be ruined!]” the tiny-chomper said, interrupted in real-time in the entertainment den by gasps of shock from the pup-pile. Ngruzren-of-Arzgr, for his part, rolled his eyes as he watched the unfolding ‘drama’ from the stairwell hall, making sure to stay silent and still lest he be noticed and dragged into the pile himself.

The actor playing the evil Dr. Dark shook the very obvious hard-light automaton of tiny-chomper soft-but-helpful. “[Not another word out of you!]”

“[Enough!]” Prince Solaris said, the male Dorarizin posing dramatically – or as dramatically as you could – in his ‘super sun suit’, beads of pure stars charging up. “[You won’t be turning him or any of the other tiny-chompers into stone today!]”

“[Or any other day!]” the absolutely garishly pink Karnakian Time Priest chimed in, her own suit turning a few painful shades of color that made Ngruzren-of-Arzgr physically flinch but drew excited cheers from his little siblings.

“[At the end of this battle, I’ll be adding you to my heat rock collection!]” the disturbingly blood-blue Jornissian Space Ranger finished, his last pose forming the final link between the other two Super Space Teammates, glyphs of power glowing on their bodie-

“{Ancestors. Kill me now.}” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr murmured as he watched his little sisters become absolutely absorbed in the ensuing scripted fight/acrobatics scene. He looked around the den with a wry grin, finally noticing his father at the opposite end of the room waving him over with a bowl of Drzulr in his hand. Ngruzren-of-Arzgr would have taken a long, slow time to sneak around the hyper-attentive siblings, but … well.

Saturday morning cartoons.

So instead, he just quickly – but still somewhat quietly – made his way around the back of the pile, every so often catching a glance of the tiny-chomper being physically tossed to safety from one Super Space Team-member to another in a bid to yadda yadda yadda.

“{Good morning, Dad.}” Ngruzren said softly, gently bumping his head against his father’s.

“{Good morning, Son. Sleep well?}”

“{Mmhmm.}” Ngruzren murmured, walking into the kitchen to see if the pot was still full. “{We out of dryspice?}”

“{No, but if the tumbler’s useless let me know. I had to throw at least half of it out because someone left the lid open and some flea-prawn got into the spice.}”

“{Nk-Grenz? If it’s not one of my moms’ it’s another-}”

Dzgranra chuckled softly as he rested against the kitchen wall, keeping an eye on his children as he sipped the slurry from the bowl. “{Mmmm. Well, with us winning that settlement bid – which, I’ll have you know I gave your mother no end of tongue-lashing over keeping that secret from me-}”

“{I know, I heard – both types.}”

Dzgranra growled a somewhat embarrassed, impressed and chiding retort at his sons’ liveliness. “{Well, it had been a few weeks, and I’m not seeing you move out young man-}”

“{I know, I know. It just didn’t work out.}”

Dzgranra hummed softly into his bowl, taking another deep dreg of the sauce-like concoction, his senses perking up the more he imbibed. “{Mmm. Well. Regardless, I’m glad to see that your studies have improved – and that your fur color is back to normal.}”

Now it was Ngruzrens’ turn to hum softly, his eyes playfully narrowing at his father. “{It just became too much of a hassle to keep up. I’m keeping the long mane, though.}”

“{Ah.}” Dzgranra acknowledged, leaning into the den to see the screen again. The tiny-chomper was riding on the back of the Karnakian hero, the entire team escaping from an exploding secret lair of some sort. “{Well, still. I know you’ve thrown yourself back into your studies – which is good – but we can’t keep putting off a fitting, son. You’re at least a year overdue-}”

“{Dad. Now?}” Ngruzren said, adding the finishing garnishes to his bowl of morning pick-me-up. “{Look. I’m mostly sitting in lectures and modeling classes, I’m not giving oral presentations, and as you can hear my words aren’t slurred-}”

“{Mm.}”

“{…well. Not badly.}”

“{Look, I’m certain if you wanted to work with your mother she could arrange an internship-}”

“{I-it’s not that, Dad.}”

Dzgranra spared a hard side-glance at his youngest, unmarried son – who looked away at the gaze. “{Well? What’s got you doing a complete turnaround then?}”

“{I… uh. I wanna work with them.}”

“{With-}”

“{withthetinychompers.}” Ngruzren murmured all at once, not so much savoring his bowl of Drzulr as just taking the entire thing down as a shot.

“{You want to work. With the tiny-chompers. Son, your mother may have some sway but you’re very young and I’m pretty sure all those slots are taken-}”

“{Well then maybe as a tour guide then?! I don’t know – why are you so quick to-}”

“{Son. You’re studying to be a geochemical engineer.}”

“{A-and?}”

“{… and you’re applying to be a tour guide. What’s this really about, really?}”

“{I just…}”

Dzgranra looked at his son, hard, as the boy murmured half-truths and full lies to the both of them. Ngruzren was doing his best to convince his father – or himself – that he just needed some time to think, to see what the new species had to offer, to broaden his horizons, and it’s not like he was dropping out – really! He just wanted to take a break and make new friends and-

‘{Oh dear.}’ Dzgranra thought to himself as he watched his son stammer through excuse after excuse. ‘{His biological clock is hitting him hard this year.}’

The internal and external monologues were broken by another deafening cheer from the entertainment room – Dzgranra poked his head in to just miss the end-of-episode terrible joke, and the Super whatever team all laughed together with about a couple dozen generic tiny-chompers all dancing around them celebrating… life day, apparently.

“{Alright! Get cleaned up – we’re going to the park today-}”

There was another cheer and the excited babbling of voices, the thumping-patter of little feet, and the sudden tight pressure around his legs as his smallest instinctively found their favorite post yet again.

“{You coming, son? I could use the – no biting – help, if you’re interested.}”

“{Nah, I’m going to meet up with Trilly and Sweeps today.}” Ngruzren said, uncouthly licking the bowl clean before dropping it into the washbasin. “{He’s already done the first level of certification clearance, and he’s helping us both pass.}”

“{Alright… If you’re sure that’s what you want.}”

“{It is, Dad.}”

“You sure that’s what you want?”

Jonathan nodded, crouched behind the hard-light brick barricade. His HUD showed Aisha on a rooftop not 300m away, gun trained just over his head. Behind him, the shambling dead – both those hit with the nanovirus, and the robots who became unwitting carriers.

“Alright. When I start firing, you start moving. Ready?”

Jon tensed.

“Go-”

The staccato rapport of Aisha’s plasma sniper rifle broke the silence of the abandoned city, alerting both the other scavvies and roidroids to their location. Jon moved with purpose, the jump-jets in his boots activating to fling him against the plastic-glass of an abandoned clinic, the additional noise a distraction to the malfunctioning robots that shambled towards his new position. Thankfully their own AI didn’t give them complete object permanence, and Aisha was far enough outside of their AoE that her bolts-

There was an alarm.

“Awwwwww” Jon complained, his dead-sprint down a hallway turning into a light jog, and that into a lazy faceplant on the mossy, wet floor. A few moments later, the entire world glowed a pure white, and he was alone.

Jon’s rented holodeck was a 10m x 10m x 10m cube; large enough for any human to do most any activity in and not hit the walls with just basic movement. Combine that with a “moving” omni-directional floor and realistic hard-light feedback, and the fat l337 G4m3r was no more; you wanted to wall-ride then you had to git gud and ride that wall. You wanted to be a super soldier? I hope you like tackling people for actual finishing moves! And you wanted to be a scavenger in the reboot of the best post-apocalyptic FPS of all time –

Well. You had to be a jack of all trades, sure, but you also had to make sure to have enough money on your card to keep your session running.

“Jon you cheap fuck, if you timed out and left me to the horde-”

“Aisha, I swear to God I didn’t time out – The uh, game booted me out-”

“Fuck you, Jon! This is an endgame scavvie run – AAAAGGGHH FUCK I’M IN A STASIS FIELD. JON YOU LIMP-DICKED-”

There was an aggrivated sigh as Jon lifted the helmet from his face, the exit door now the only thing well-illuminated enough to see. “Sorry, Aisha.”

“Yeah, so am I, fuck. Now I gotta repair my Epics.” Aisha pinged inside his ear, grumbling. “You owe me some sunshards.”

“Yeah, yeah. I could’ve sworn I put in 20 creds, though.”

“20?! Four days off in a row and you’re planning on an all-nighter?”

Jon shrugged – not that anyone else could see it – and began to walk out of the holodeck. “Yeah, yeah. You tried Zero-Bean yet? Shit’s super concentrated-”

As he opened the door the corresponding door across the hallway opened up, his battle-buddy/slacker-buddy/work-wife Aisha emerging with a slight frown on her face. “Don’t think you can bribe me with coffee, Jon. That was a fucked thing to… Huh.” Jon followed her gaze to the panel on his room; it still said he was paying, and that he had a good 9 hours left on the rental. “Huh.”

“Ah! I fucking knew it! What the hell, my chip works fine-”

“Maybe their reader fucked up? I guess I can’t be too mad at you now, seeing as how it’s a hardware failure or somethin.”

Jon pressed the ‘assistance’ button on the panel, and an obnoxious red light appeared over his door. “Yeah, well, that shit still sucks. It ate my creds and fucked up our run; we’re gonna be back in lobby for another hour to get an open slot-”

“Jon.”

Jonathan turned to look at Aisha, who had pulled up and unlocked her tablet with her implant. The frown on her face had deepened considerably over the past few seconds, and she scrolled down what seemed to be an unnecessarily long email chain rapidly. “What?”

“Well I figured out what fucked up our session – Admiral Smalls.”

“Whaaaaaaaaat? He can fucking do that?”

“Yep. We’re on duty again; Reach is coming back ahead of schedule, and…” Jon deafened himself temporarily to his teammate as he subvocalized a few commands, his implant responding to and unlocking his own personal tablet/assistant. He quickly picked up on the email thread that was growing by the second, skimming responses almost as quick as they came.

“Fuck’s sake. No teardown? Refuel, check, and load up?”

“Fuck. So that cocksucker turns around Humanity’s first colony ship in record time-”

“-and we get a month of overtime pay. Fucking great. I’m filing with the Union after this.”

“As am I, this is bullshit.”

Jon let out a soft grunt as the realization hit him. “Fuck, you and Faiza had that thing, right?”

“Had, yes. But at least she’s on call too, so-”

“Bullet: Dodged.”

“Right? Fuck this. We’re supposed to load up and be shipped out in… 6 months? 6 Months overtime-”

The two slackers grumbled much louder than they really should have as their anger fed off one another. By the time they had exited the recreation wing, they were joined by a group of other slacker ne’er do wells, who all agreed upon one fundamental fact:

Mandatory 8 hour workdays were barbaric.

Tags Sci-Fi, They are Smol, Comedy, Cute, Smol

They are Smol Uncategorized Stories

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 2

Post author By TPH
Post date June 7, 2019
No Comments on They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 2

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr was unceremoniously woken up yet again by that damnable alarm clock. He had a love-hate relationship with it; On one hand, it made sure he was never late for school or work. On the other hand, he hated constantly waking up on the floor.

But maybe that’s where he belonged.

He got up, tossing his blanket carelessly to the side, stretching and rolling his shoulders and hips to work out the kinks from sleeping so haphazardly. Plastered aggressively on his moss-green walls were posters of various rage bands – the “killers”, “pirates” and other various bad-girl personas growling and leering at him from looping digital portraits. Growling a few lurid lyrics to himself he walked into his bathroom, flicking on the harsh light – now bathing him in an almost neon blue as opposed to the faux-daylight of just a few months ago. He checked himself in the mirror with a critical eye for a few moments and then frowned.

Although having such a large natural and unkempt mane was his style now, that didn’t mean it was easy to keep. Ngruzren-of-Arzgr opened one of the drawers underneath the countertop and pulled out an aerosol can and it’s corresponding brush; connecting the two at the handle he began to spray a deep and vivid vantablack into his fluffy coat, his neck and upper shoulders rapidly going from a slightly-dull black to the void between stars. Disconnecting the dye brush he set it back with it’s brothers and sisters, idly hovering his hand over a few more outrageous colors before deciding against recoloring his accent marks.

Black, deep black, was it’s own statement.

Ngruzren leaned forward and stared intently into the mirrorscreen, it’s AI recognizing body posture and intent and expanding his view to focus on his eyes. Unnaturally bright, blood blue eyes stared back at him, and with a command from his implant they were scanned. The nanites currently clouding his irises and causing the pigment change were statistically counted; he shouldn’t start losing color due to nanite death for another week or so.

He let himself smile before turning it coy, tilting his head with a come-hither bad-boy look. With another shrug of his shoulders, it turned from come-hither to utterly unimpressed.

Perfect.

He stayed like that for a few moments before letting a few full-body wiggles roll through his body. He looked damn good, and he wasn’t going through this much trouble because it was some stupid phase, no matter what his father said. Ngruzren-of-Arzgr let those good feelings roll over him for a few more moments before that trademark early-morning frown graced his features again.

There was still a gap in his jaw.

Grumbling – snarling, really – he opened the cursed drawer, pulling out that damned box once again. He had thought about possibly throwing it away, or going without, but – but what good is looking this good if you open your mouth and lisp so hard nobody can understand you? That is guaranteed social suicide. With a click of a latch the heavily-scarred lid popped open, his prosthetic gleaming up at him, fresh and perfect from a sonic scrubbing. He picked up the device and slapped the damned thing onto his lower jaw, closing and clenching his teeth to get the micro-servos to activate. With a firm pinch of his gums the device turned on, for a lack of a better word, and he closed the box, haphazardly tossing it back into it’s drawer.

“{Ba. Ra. Fa. Sa. Ka.}” He growled, wandering through his room to pick up a discarded book here, some clothing accessory there, assembling his outfit for the day using the age-old and universal standard of “what clothing in front of me doesn’t stink and isn’t too crumpled from laying on the floor?”. “{Da. Br. Dr. Kr. Lrsh.}” Ngruzren paused for a moment and rolled his tongue against the seal of his prosthetic, testing it slightly. “{Lr. LR. LLLRRRRR.}” Hopefully it was just the damn thing warming up – if he had grown his jaw a bit over the past year, that would mean he would have to go in for another fitting, another round of some doctor telling him no, and another round of his dad being right.

Ngruzren frowned, hard, at that thought.

‘The issue’, Dzgranra-of-Arzgr thought, as he fried another handful of mixed sausages while giving his youngest son the side-eye, ‘Is that his mother isn’t home enough’. Dzgranra-of-Arzgr said nothing, however, as his youngest son gently swatted away some of the smaller leapies who were hoping to latch onto him, doing his best to protect an outfit that looked… well worn, if you wanted to be generous.

“{Good Morning, son.}”

“{Mm.}”

“{Did… you sleep well?}”

“{I’m going out for breakfast.}”

Dzgranra sighed.

“{Do you want Rzkrenz to drive you? You can pick-}”

“{I’ll walk.}” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr growled, walking without a care through the busy kitchen on his way out.

“{Are you sure? It’s not a big deal to-}”

“{BY OUR ANCESTORS, DAD, YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SO OVERBEARING-}”

Dzgranra-of-Arzgr frowned, tossing the next batch of sausages into the pan with a little more force than necessary. “{Don’t you raise your voice at me! I’m-}”

“{UGH. I’m LEAVING.}”

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr barreled out of the house, and if the doors weren’t automatic Dzgranra was certain he would have slammed them on his way out.

“{Definitely because his mother isn’t home.}”

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr walked to the transport hub, grumbling to himself the entire way. He pointedly ignored the people around him; some half-smiled, looking at a nice young buck on the street. Others paid him no mind, and a few glanced at him and rolled their eyes with the knowledge that only comes with age.

‘It’s not fair’, he thought, as he stopped at an intersection and waited for the go-ahead, pulling his forearm-wraps just a little tighter. ‘Mom fucking hates me.’

He was wrong, of course, but there was no way for Ngruzren-of-Arzgr to know that: His mother, Kzdzgrar-of-Rzndzre, had started taking longer hours at work, and what was an assured “3 month project, tops” had now spanned to just over a 15 month year. Combine that with the sudden cessation of private building permits, the revocation of resettlement rights, the auditors and inspectors in everyone’s business and the condemnation of the only major public park within walking distance of literally the entire city and the only conclusion Ngruzren could come up with is that (1) his mother and the entire administration had gone mad with power and (2) she obviously hated him, because all this shit fell on his head.

“[Well hey there, rotten liver.]”

Ngruzren turned to the insult and smiled. “{Hey there yourself, molted chick.}”

Ik’itili made a point to fluff herself out, her mottled copper-and-white body feathers spreading dully in the morning sun. “[I’ll have you know that I’m not going bald-]”

“{You just look like that, right?}”

“[Ooo, Jealousy. I like it. You know I’ll model for you if you want to use me as your new avatar for the GalNet Node.]”

The two of them stared at each other for a few moments before bursting out in laughter, Ngruzren cracking first. The two friends giggled for a little while as the indicator changed, and they crossed the street with the amassed crowd.

“[So, going for the full night-rage aesthetic?]”

“{It works.}” Ngruzren said, shrugging slightly. “{It’s just how I am now, yanno? It speaks to me.}”

Ik’itili stayed silent for a few seconds too long, and Ngruzren turned his head to look at the Karnakian. “{What.}”

“[I mean. Are you sure you’re not just going for the big-maned night-rage boyfriend look?]”

Ngruzren blushed, furiously, and swiped playfully-not-playfully at his friend who artfully bobbed out of the way before moving back close. “{You whore! I-I am not! This is not a phase!}” He growled, baring his teeth before his expression quickly turned startled, snapping his jaw shut-

He rolled his mouth in silence as Ik’itili peeped softly, making a point to look away as her friend readjusted his obviously loose prosthetic. They walked in a semi-awkward silence together for the next few city blocks, the multi-story public transit hub towering over them as they closed the distance.

“{I-I just like it, ok?}”

“[Ok.]”

“{It’s not a phase. Everyone’s telling me it’s a phase and I just… I just like it.}”

“[Ok. That’s not a bad thing, I’m just saying, yanno. You’re very much filling that stereotype – not that that’s a bad thing! – and I just figure, yanno. You’ve got someone in mind.]”

Ngruzren stayed silent for a few seconds too long, and Ik’itili turned her head to look at the Dorarizin. “{What. Since when?}”

Ngruzren blushed furiously for an entirely different set of reasons as they ascended the stairs to the transport pods, his friend needling him incessantly the entire way.

“[All I’m saying is, is that our son isn’t the same anymore, and I’m tired of dealing with this myself!]”

Rpressesha sighed, which honestly didn’t sound too much different than any other noise the Jornissian made nowadays save for the utter exhaustion evident in the exhalation. “<Look, [Dzgranra], I understand things have been hard->”

“[Hard? No. Hard was having 9 pups under the age of 3 and three wives who worked overtime. That was hard. This is concerning. He’s not taking care of himself, he’s not getting good grades anymore, he won’t tell me who he’s hanging out with – if his friends weren’t helping me keep tabs… and the lyrics to the music he listens to are just-]”

“<[Dzgranra]. I get it, I really do. I’m pulling the same hours she is, I haven’t seen my family or my clutch in literally two weeks.>” The city treasurer said, pulling the smart lens-cup from his eye – the overlay disappearing as he rested his head in his hands. Had it really been two weeks? Was it… three? No. Surely not –

There were a few moments of silence, and for a brief second Rpressesha hoped he could end the call and get back to this Senate report and verifying the City’s financials from twelve hundred years ago-

“[Is it worth it?]”

The simplicity of the question caught Rpressesha off-guard, and he responded with a simple “<What?>”

“[This. Whatever you’re all doing. Is it worth it? There’s no way any of you survive the next election cycle – The mayor’s absolutely out, and you’re all probably going with her, especially with what’s come down the mountain.]”

Rpressesha stared into the middle distance, suddenly feeling every single ache in his long body, every single gentle weight of the bast 490 years of life on his shoulders. The calls from his wife had slowed down as of late, from a daily checkin to a couple times a week to a week-end catchup. If he was here two weeks, he still had four days to prepare for a hatchday celebration for his most recent clutch, but if it was three weeks then…

Is it worth it?

Rpressesha frowned as he closed his eyes, his coworker’s husbands’ concerns simply falling to white noise. He was exhausted to the bone, his lower third had gone numb from lack of movement, he had most likely missed his youngest clutchs’ hatchday celebration – not to mention his older clutch coming home for that reunion – and his parents –

Rpressesha’s face fell as an unbidden realization hit him. Parents, damn them to the frozen hells – what about his in-laws?! He would never hear the end of this-

“<I don’t know.>”

“[What?]”

“<I don’t know. I don’t know if this is worth it, I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, I don’t know if this will all make sense, I don’t know what I can tell you. We’re all doing our absolute best here. I don’t know if this is going to … be worth it.>”

“[Then why are you doing it?]”

Rpressesha would have shrugged if he had the energy. “<Glory. Fame. Industry, a better future, a place in history, I don’t know. Take your pick.>”

“[…what?]”

“<Look, [Dzgranra], I don’t know what you want me to say. I already told you when you first called months ago that I’m contractually obligated to secrecy. The only thing I can really say is->”

Dzgranra did not so much open Rpressesha’s office door as she did rip it from it’s track on the floor, a loud WHAM interrupting the exhausted Jornissian and spoking his blood with a potent shot of adrenaline. His eyes fixed on his colleague, her manic look, her wide, goofy grin, her tail going a thousand miles a minute leaving an indention on the floor-

“<IT’S WORTH IT.>”

Just because it was the night shift doesn’t mean you couldn’t slack off.

Hell, because it was the night shift you were almost contractually obligated to slack off, and Break Room 115-C on Deck 48 of the First (and only) human shipyard construct Starforge held two of the most notorious and well-seasoned slackers of the entire 15,000 man contingent on the station. Mars hung outside the windows, angry and dull-red, a few specks of glittering light on the surface the only indicator of life and industry. You could make the argument, then, that the two people inside the break room were the perfect juxtaposition: They did as little as humanly possible to keep their jobs, and had no life.

“So, settling in Silver City. Say that five times fast.” Jonathan laughed, tossing the mini-basketball high into the low-gravity station air, letting it float a few seconds down to his lap before smacking it with both his hands in a clap-grab. “Why there? And what even is the planet name? A city but no planet? Is the planet named Silver City?”

Aisha did not turn to address her colleague and shrugged as she poured herself yet another cup of Turkish coffee, the familiar ritual brining a soft smile to her face. “Mmm. From the part of the briefing you were asleep for, it’s because it’s relatively close enough to Sol, one of the first few jumps from Contact – so the lanes are well mapped out – and the atmo is basically Earth-like. Gravity’s a bit heavier, but it’s fine, and apparently they’re giving us the nature preserve in the middle of the city.”

“So low overhead for a colony, close enough to pack up and go home, and if we’re fucked they have to get through the rest of the city before they get to us. Nice.”

“Jon, you’re an ass sometimes.”

Jon grinned and gave a noncommittal shrug, tossing the foam ball from hand to hand. “Maybe, from time to time. I am an ass man, after all.”

“I’m reporting that as sexual harassment.”

“No you’re not. Cause if you doooo, then I’ll tell the dockmaster about how – what’s her name? Faiza? Somehow keeps finding her way into your bunk.”

Aisha smirked as she let the coffee settle. “Ass.”

“We literally just talked about this-”

“So when do you fuck off and leave me your stuff?”

“You mean when do I, the intrepid and brave explorer, the sole brilliant mechanic capable of keeping Reach running, bravely and studily go where no man’s gone before?”

“No I mean when do you, the guy with no attachments, one of 700 grays go scrub some other floor than my own?”

Jonathan held his hand over his heart, sniffling. “Aisha, you wound me.”

“So?” She replied, turning to face her colleague in the still-empty breakroom. “Suck it up, jumper-bumper.”

Jonathan stuck his tongue out and leaned back, kicking his feet up on the coffee table as he sunk a little deeper into the plush seating. “Well. Probably a few months from now, I’d say – if not another year. Reach might be air-tight, but we don’t know if she’s space-worthy, yanno? And considering it’s all our own tech for once-”

“Build, test, complete teardown, and rebuild?”

“Probably.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna be a lot of work, but I think-”

“No, I mean, your stash is either going to go bad or you’ll run through it before you fucking leave.”

The small foam basketball bounced harmlessly off of Aisha’s forehead as she enjoyed her coffee.

Tags Sci-Fi, They are Smol, Comedy, Cute, Smol

Stories They are Smol

They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 1

Post author By TPH
Post date May 31, 2019
4 Comments on They are Smol – and it’s a Smol World: Chapter 1

WE ARE BACK TO SHITPOSTING AND LIGHT-HEARTED HIGH ADVENTURE, Y’ALL!

The alarm clock – or what we would call an alarm clock – went off at 6AM, it’s gentle waterfall and rustling wind tone getting louder and louder as time marched inexorably forward.

The blanket den did not stir.

The alarm clock – what we might still call an alarm clock – began to vibrate somewhat insistently, the nightstand that it was placed on rattling irritatingly.

The blanket den did not stir.

The alarm clock – what we might generously call an alarm clock, but what is rapidly becoming more of a nuisance to snooze-button hitters everywhere – began to turn on the lights in the boy’s room. Deep, moss-green walls were illuminated slowly, the lights embedded in the ceiling and intersections of walls going from a warm, soft glow to a bright, brilliant daylight. The room was somewhat tidy – or as tidy as could be expected from the youngest son, with only a few articles of clothing and college schoolwork littered about the floor. A faux window began to “open”, the viewscreen sliding the wall away to show the vista-of-the-day. Today it was from the POV of a drone on some pristine cliffs somewhere, their height and depth seeming to split the planetoid in two.

The blanket den mumbled some muffled protest, and huffed.

The alarm clock – what we will now firmly call an evil invention and a trespass of the Geneva convention – slowly lifted the bowl like den-bed, inexorably tilting it to rest at 120 degrees. As it did so, Ngruzren-of-Arzgr unceremoniously tumbled out of his bed in steps; first his legs, then his hips and torso, then finally everything but his head, which went by the rules of “if I’m still in the bed then it counts.”

However, at this point he was most unfortunately awake.

Grumbling, he stood up – still blanketed, of course, its’ heavy weight comforting him as he shuffled to the alarm clock, resting his unkempt paw ontop of the cruel device. After a few seconds the cacophony of annoyances stopped with a happy beep; the bed retracted into the floor and was covered, sitting flush with the rest of the ground. Ngruzren tossed his blankets into the recessed bin, smiling sleepily as he heard them thunk into the scrubber. Eyes squinted, ears back, he trudged into his own, personal bathroom – one of the few benefits of being a male, after all – and began his daily grooming ritual, slowly coming to consciousness as the brush bar worked out stray knots, errant dead hair and flaky skin cells.

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr cracked open his Navy Blue eyes, pupils shrinking as they were invaded by the sharp bathroom light. He sighed as he looked himself over; Dusty-blue fur, gray underbelly, deep blue eyes, boring boring boring. He winced as the brushbar traveled over his back, snagging on a couple unkempt knots of fur – usually he just lightly brushed over the spots that his clothing covered, but, for some reason today he felt he should just be a little more thorough. After the second snagged pass-through of the brush, he thought better of it, gave it a lazy once-over smoothdown with the flat back of the brush bar, and set to work on his teeth.

Ahh, yes. His teeth. Ngruzren-of-Arzgr grumbled as he opened his mouth, finding the few errant teeth that had grown loose overnight, and pushing them back into his gums. With that same delicate-but-firm touch, he ran his padded finger hopefully over a single large gap in his jaw; no toothbuds today. With an irritated flick of his ear he pulled open a drawer and brought out the box.

He hated the box, or more specifically, what was inside it. With a click of a latch the lid popped open, his prosthetic gleaming up at him, fresh and perfect from a sonic scrubbing. He picked up the device and ran his finger lightly underneath it, where it would sit on the gums; the teeth above rippled just slightly – just enough so that nobody looking would know that he suffered from Gaptooth… they would write off his slight lisp as just being natural. He opened his jaw wide and glared angrily into the mirror as he set the damned contraption onto his lower jaw, wiggling it back and forth to get the micro-servos to activate. With a firm pinch of his gums the device turned on, for a lack of a better word, and he ran his tongue on the inside of his jaw to test the seal.

“{Ba. Ra. Fa. Sa. Ka. Da. Br. Dr. Kr. Lr.}” He intoned, the device moving just a microsecond too late with every syllable. He stared at himself as he closed the lid on the box. “{Fihve more yearsh. Ugh.}” He rolled his toothline, gnashing the prosthetic in his jaws. “{Five more years. Five more years and then you’re going to throw this shade-damned bracer into the sun.}”

Dzgranra-of-Arzgr was an accomplished homemaker. He had married young – well, relatively young, given his people lived at or just past a thousand years old – and had somewhere along the lines of 3 dozen pups between his three wives. His first few were the most hectic; no book, holo-seminar, retreat or clan denmeet can actually prepare you for having a screaming, howling little ball of terror that can disappear into the vents and behind furniture and under vehicles and doesn’t mind chewing on the insulation or hunting and devouring your collection of shoes.

After his eighth – which also happened to be his second son – he finally fell into a rhythm. Burrowers in bed by 6, Leapers by 8, family time with the Mrs’s from 10 onwards.

This was, of course, how he ended up with more and more pups. After his 23rd, he said “fuck it, they’ll live” and started running on autopilot as long as nothing was actively on fire, making a very concerning sound, or was an indicator of massive structural damage to the home. When news of this transformation in parenting hit his Father, Uncles, Grandfathers and Granduncles they nodded to each other sagely, and counted him as one of their own.

Dzgranra-of-Arzgr was busily flipping pitchercakes in the trough of boiling oil with his left hand, his right errantly mincing a few of the finished breakfast treats into a steaming pile of mush for his smallest children. With his left leg he scooted an errant ball away from the still-warm stove, his right leg having fallen victim to two of his youngest daughters who had latched onto it once they woke up and refused to let go, 30 minutes later. Suddenly there was a loud bang somewhere from the play-room, and a sharp howl of pain.

No pause beforehand. No warble of the throat. More surprise than actual injury – “{Grenzg, get your daughters please-}” Dzgranra called out from the kitchen, a few more of his older daughters (who really should know better) errantly stampeding into the dining-den by way of the most inefficient and most obstructive route – as children are often want to do.

“{Why are they my daughters when there’s an issue?}” Grenzgranr-of-Drezr said, smirking as she stood triumphantly in one of the doorways, a few pups under each arm. “{And how did you even know that they were my daughters anyway?}”

“{Because they take after their mother-}”

“{Hah!}”

“{Now sit them down, I almost have the second batch done. It’s your day to walk my leapies to school-}”

“{I know, I know-}” Grenzgranr-of-Drezr said, rolling her shoulders as her daughters considered a prison break. “{Shall I gather everyone else up?}”

“{Mmm.}” Dzgranra said noncommittally. “{Has Rzkrenz gotten the boy?}”

“{No, I think she’s loading the shuttle.}”

“{Well, you know how kids are at their last molting – if he sleeps in again-}”

There was a sharp cry from a few of the younger children – this one of joy, and some tired, resigned murmurs reverberating from the stairwell. As if on cue, Ngruzren-of-Arzgr slowly tromped into the kitchen, a few of his very small (and not so small) sisters latched onto his legs, arms, or scrambling onto his back – not caring in the world that their sharp claws were all but shredding his clothing.

“{I got myself, Dad.}” Ngruzren-of-Arzgr said in a slightly exasperated voice as his little sisters cackled and howled with the glee and excitement that only those who have no responsibilities can enjoy. “{Need help?}”

“{Awww, come here my baby boy~}” Dzgranra cooed, momentarily leaving the stove to half-hug his last, and youngest son, making sure to keep his food-flecked paws away from his body. “{You look fantastic today!}”

Ngruzren stared flatly at his father, who beamed nothing but support and pride back at him. One of his little sisters took this opportunity to full-mouth bite his side, which caused him to grunt – breaking the moment.

“{Oi, no biting – Nk-Grenz?}”

“{Why is it always MY daughters?}” Grenzgranr-of-Drezr growled, plucking a few of the offenders off of her pack-son and tucking the squirming, protesting beasts under her arm. “{It’s not like you were perfect at that age either!}”

“{All my sons were absolutely perfect at every age, because they take after their father.}”

Grenzgranr-of-Drezr inhaled sharply as if to rebut the statement, but at the last moment thought better of it. Spinning on her heels, she hauled the 5 or 6 little tyrants into the dining-den. “{Well, what about Zni-Kzdzgrar?}”

“{Government business. Again.}” Dzgranra said in that dad-isn’t-yelling-but-wants-to-be-heard voice, Ngruzren silently standing next to him by the stove to help with breakfast preparations. Forming an assembly line, they got to work: as each still-steaming pitchercake came out of the hot oil, father handed it over to son, who dipped it in a bowl of an edible, congealing fat-wax blend, then placing them on a cooling rack to dry.

“{Mom’s working too hard.}” Ngruzren stated, matter-of-factly. “{It’s been three weeks of leaving before the pups wake and coming home after they’re put to bed.}”

“{I know, my little sweetmeat.}” Dzgranra sighed, dipping his paw into a bowl of mince and forming another cake before dropping it into the oil trough. “{She won’t even tell me what’s going on, but whatever it is it’s important. I just have to tell myself that.}”

“{Do you think so though?}”

Dzgranra hummed a bit to himself, then looked at his son with a …somewhat disturbing twinkle in his eye. “{Well. I don’t smell another man on her, and with how she wakes me up around midnight for-}”

“{AAAAAAAAAA THANK YOU DAD.}”

Dzgranra chuckled, tossing a few more of the fried breakfast lumps to his son. “{You say that now, but you’re almost through your last child-molt. I know you’ve already gone through your first couple of seasons-}”

“{DAD. NOW?}”

“{Mmm, captive audience. Look, all I’m saying is, just keep your eyes open and your nose to the ground, ok? Girls are already noticing you, and you need to be aware-}”

“{DAD.}”

“{I just don’t want you running off-}”

“{DAD. PLEASE. I’m not going to leap into an unmarked shuttlecraft because they promised me sweets and adventure.}”

“{IT WORKED FOR US-}” Grenzgranr-of-Drezr called out from the dining-den, the mass of children starting to behave with the promise of food on the way.

“{To be fair, it was a very luxurious interior. Real leather and everything.}” Dzgranra said, nodding slightly.

“{Dad, pleeeeease~}”

“{Oh all right, alright. What’s got your tail in a twist this morning anyway?}”

Ngruzren-of-Arzgr rolled his jaw a slight moment before answering, and his father immediately cut him off. “{You have to wait until you finish growing, son.}”

“{I’m within a few centimeters of being done! My jaw is basically as big as it’s gonna get-}”

“{You still have to wait.}”

“{Daaad. Come on, I just go to the clinic, we get a sequence done, I’m fine with surgery-}”

“{And they’ll tell you what I’m telling you now, boy! You still have to wait if you don’t want to risk a permanent lisp.}”

Ngruzren growled, and his father matched his growl in sympathy. “{I don’t… like it, Dad.}”

“{I know, son, I know. And I don’t know why you got it – that disease has been out of our family for 4 generations. But it’s not permanent like in the ancient days, and nobody knows you have a prosthetic.}”

“{Trilly knows.}”

“{Trilly knows because you told her, son.}” Dzgranra said, gently bumping shoulders with his child. “{Nobody knows – especially no girls.}”

“{Dad.}”

“{I mean, that is why you care so much, right? Is it the Drezndz pack you have your eye on? You could do worse than union-backed silver miners-}”

“{DAD.}”

“[Number 488, done. And …this should be in triplicate.]”

“{Done, and we have the originals archived.}” Kzdzgrar-of-Rzndzre responded, running down the checklist for the 15th time. “{Permits to build?}”

The Karnakian city planner flicked through something only her HUD could see before nodding. “[Yes. Four freshwater sources, well within the defensive grid of the city, easy hookups to all amenities. We lose the Grand park, but, it puts them right in the center.]”

“{I don’t think they’ll take all of it-}”

“[Not for a few generations at least.]” Mused the Jornissian treasurer, as he ticked off a couple things on his list. “[Which means they’ll most likely be building from the outside, in.]”

“{Fine, fine. So it’s us and Volshak-prime?}”

“[Yep, but only by dint of them being the system capital. They don’t have the space to offer without a massive public works project, and their city grid is too restrictive. We were blessed to have the city surround a park so large-]”

“{Yeah. I’m going to miss it, though.}”

“[GENERATIONS.]” the Treasurer emphasized, his deep-throated rumbling hum seeming to rattle the table itself. “[It’s not like we’re losing it tomorrow, and think of the economic gain!]”

“{Yeah, yeah. ‘Welcome to the first mixed tiny-chomper colony’ – come buy a souvenir vest, stay a while~}”

“[You say that, but the [humans] are going to be a boon to us; not just in increased tourism and trade, but also in general industry as well. It’s a full colony, which includes cultural artefacts!]” the Karnakian trilled, wiggling with slight excitement. “[The new perspectives could give us whole entire cottage industries that we would be the founding city of! This could change our planet for millenia-]”

“{We still have to win the bid.}” Kzdzgrar-of-Rzndzre growled, scratching tiredly at her muzzle.

“[Erm. Well, yes. I’ve resubmitted it-]”

“[49? Times?]” The Jornissian chuckled, throwing out a guess.

“[37, thankyouverymuch.]”

“{Mmm. All we can do is wait.}”

The three city administrators looked at each other for a few moments, before a slight twinge of worry crept back into the room.

“{Mmmmmaybe we just doublecheck-}”

“[Yeah! Ok, so item #1-]”

Tags 1, Sci-Fi, They are Smol, Comedy, Cute, Smol

Stories They are Smol

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Epilogue pt. 2

Post author By TPH
Post date May 10, 2019
3 Comments on They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Epilogue pt. 2

First Contact – Well, the FIRST first contact – was a momentous occasion for multiple reasons: Mankind learned we’re not alone in the universe, we learned how far behind we are in terms of technology, and at least in one possibly possessed Australian’s case, learned how to flip a Karnakian onto it’s back and check her plumage.

…that came out wrong.

Point is, is that the riots, existential ennui, the … war, the surrounding mass panic and helter-skelter nature of humanity was on display – and basically to be expected, sure, but it was somehow… right to do. After all, you only get invaded by aliens once, right? So some people reveled in the boogalooening, some people took off innawoods, and a few just wished for everyone to be quiet because they finally had a few days off after working 15 days straight. Mankind got it out of their system, a new normal started to settle in, and life continued. Life was hard, but it continued; although our new ‘guests’ were apologetic benefactors, the damage had been done. With a wary eye, mankind accepted gifts from the stars, and suffered the growth pangs for it.

Then the Dorarizin showed up.

There was a second initial wave of mass panic – Were they friends? Enemies? Was Earth going to host a war between two alien empires? Were they here to enslave? Did we now have two masters to serve – wild, rampant speculation was the order of the day. Another round of mass panic, another round of riots, of curfew and of martial law. The dust settled, more Karnakian bodies were buried, and we learned that our new NEW guests were also kind, egalitarian benefactors.

The fact that they kidnapped the heads of state was a minor speedbump, really; after terse negotiations, a couple of feisty kicks to the jewels (or where they should’ve been, at least) and a few days of naptime President Carter, along with European Union Chancellor Viksburg, Oceania Defense Pact Minister Gopi, and Chinese Extended Economic Cooperative Zone Administrator Zheng were allowed off the landing craft – but only if they came back before curfew and had an escort the entire time they were gone.

All in all, a successful Second First Contact. A New NEW normal settled in as Mankind tried to understand interstellar power dynamics, learn about their new visitors, and generally get used to the fact that not only was life everywhere in the cosmos, but that they were going to rapidly be acquainted with it.

Then the Jornissians showed up.

Now, of course, by this time not only were the Jornissian Governate aware of the discovery of the new species, but they were also briefed on what exactly happened. There was a grand closed-door debate between representatives on what response should be given, and some of the more hawkish voices won out: Freedom, especially that of an innocent people, must be preserved at all costs. So, the Jornissians assembled their own Armada of Equals and set off for the Human homeworld.

Eight months after the Dorarizin “checked in” on their Karnakian Allies, a Jornissian first-contact fleet de-warped around Earth, it’s ships spreading across the southern horizon in a display of might, culture, scientific advancement and reach.

In response, a few trashcans were ceremoniously lit on fire and kicked over before being put out.

Negotiation/Visitation Site 1, Vik, Iceland. +1y4M after First Contact or +1,000,000,000 years in politician.

-+-+-+-

President Carter groaned softly as he flopped in the fold-out metal chair. He hadn’t shaved in a month, and his disheveled and unclean beard had grown from a sleek black to a spotty white. His hair remained an auburn brown, but that was mainly due to the hair dye he had started to use; whether he kept his natural color or was now pure-gray, he didn’t know and honestly didn’t care at this point.

There were more of the bastards.

Now granted, the Spacewolves weren’t so bad; apparently humans triggered their deeply-ingrained instincts and provoked a natural protection response. Considering the myriad other instincts that could have been triggered, everyone involved agreed this was an alright thing to happen and there were no hard feelings and everyone involved is a fine upstanding person but could we please go home it’s been 2 weeks now and you talk in your sleep. It had taken roughly a month for scientists and doctors on both sides to start to figure out what was going on, and by then the instinct had lessened to the point that negotiations could happen…

Administrator Zheng’s forehead dropped onto the table with an unceremonious thud, startling him wide awake once more. At one point that would’ve made everyone laugh, but now…

There were more of the bastards.

So nobody got any sleep. Nobody was going home for the holidays, nobody was going on leave, nobody got to do anything other than be a proper little puppet for the power structures back home, desperately putting out fires, maintaining order and oppressing cults, if you could believe it. Pulling double-shifts was expected, and combat sleep was the only type of sleep anyone got. Caffeine and Nicotine were provided freely, and in some more unscrupulous units, stronger stimulants still. New data was always pouring in; final body counts, infrastructure damage, paradigm-wakes from the new technology – all of it had to be compiled, condensed, and used as leverage for negotiating. The irony of once-advanced nations going to hyper-advanced alien species and learning they were basically all back on the barter system was…

It would be funny if there weren’t more of the bastards.

“Mr. President?” Senator Armstrong said, poking his head into the smaller, cramped tent. “They’ll be landing in 15 minutes.”

“Mmm.”

Senator Armstrong frowned, and waded through the trash-floor to his leaders’ desk. MRE-wrappers, instant-noodles, cans of red bull and ginseng and beer crunching under the large man’s feet. “Mr. President, you need to be present when the new visitors land.”

“Mmnot gonna.”

“Steven-”

“Why do we even have a Vice President if he’s not going to do anything!”

“Sir, he’s running basically the entire continent in your absence.”

“Trade him.”

“No, Mr. President. Come on.” Sen. Armstrong said, scooting the President’s chair back and lifting him under his arms. “You have to go-”

President Carter went limp in his grip.

“Goddamnit Steven.”

President Carter was propped up.

I don’t mean that in a “he was a puppet on a string, beholden to greater masters” kind of way, but in a literal “he was so exhausted he basically was using his interns as a wall to lean on” way. He had been up for a solid 36 hours preparing for this event, and it had run him ragged; after the Spacedogs and Spacedinosaurs shared information about the new species, nobody got any sleep.

They were giant snakes. Giant, angry-looking snakes.

Everyone prepared as much as they could be bothered to; special forces took their familiar positions up in the hills and houses, weaponry was pointed to the landing site to wipe it off the map, the coffee maker was replaced with the deluxe espresso one that nobody knew how to work but everyone agreed looked very impressive and helped project an air of ‘we’re competent and know what we’re doing’. The various flags of the new and old territories were marched in, soldiers and honor guard standing at perfect attention, and before them all were a group of negotiators, scientists, doctors and four very exhausted leaders.

If Carter was more awake and aware – well, aware without the extreme abuse of stimulants – he would’ve appreciated the unique architecture and design of the drop ship that landed not a few dozen yards away, it’s curves and lines like nothing he’d ever seen. He would’ve admired the heraldry riveted to it’s sides, and the inscriptions on the ship itself. He would have, if it weren’t for the predominant thought of ‘Good God, let’s just get this over with.’ That currently dominated his every moment.

Then the snakes ‘marched’ out.

Carter’s exhausted brain didn’t really register how they moved; it looked like a sentient braid, or a hydra, as each body followed the other in perfect sync, how no tail trod on the other, how they all moved as a single unit. For a brief moment he thought they were all one being, but they split off once off-ramp taking ceremonial positions known only to them. After a few moments the Space-snake Ambassador and his retinue slithered down the ramp, it’s fierce eyes immediately locking onto his own.

Neither of them blinked, as the one moved towards the other. The snake, because it couldn’t – not really – and the human, because his hindbrain was currently debating if another bump of amphetamines would allow him to escape, or if embracing the sweet release of death was worth it at this point.

“[WE GREET YOU IN PEACE, LEADERS. I AM THE AMBASSADOR.]”

“F-figured that.” Carter mumbled as the giant snake finished hiss-screaming and leaned back, staring down furiously at the human. It’s neck flared out, and it seemed to roll and pop it’s jaw in a way that was just wrong.

Carter’s hind brain processed the beast before it and just accepted death with a slight mental shrug.

Speaker-Ambassador Hrrprsnk’krespk smiled as he eyed up the primitive alien.

It was a cold part of their homeworld, granted – only one sun and a tilted orbit would do that, and from what data they had shared with the rest of the Senate the planets’ climate changed regularly enough that not only was it predictable, but welcomed by the local inhabitants. That didn’t mean it was comfortable, mind you, but a little cold never hurt anyone and grew thick scales. But as Hrrprsnk’krespk took in the local leader he noticed a couple things immediately; First, that they were very tiny – which refuted a couple ‘you must be X large to be sentient’ academic arguments back home – and second, they seemed to absolutely radiate heat.

The Spiritual Stargazers were more… cool-blooded, somewhat; they generated some heat, but still needed ambient temperatures to be comfortable. Clutchmate Seekers were warm, sure, but it was trapped under all that fur, and even if you bunked with one there was no guarantee that it would keep you comfortable – by Harsak-who-Devours-the-Dead, it was easier and less fuss to put a couple heating packs under an emergency blanket and use that instead.

But these small aliens were basically radiating heat like it was going out of style. He welcomed their warmth to his thermo-receptors, slowly waking to the various heat signatures around him. It was cool for his people, certainly, but these locals probably didn’t even notice the temperature.

Fascinating.

“<I understand that there has been much turmoil in recent times among your peoples, and for that we apologize on behalf of the rest of the Intergalactic Senate.>”

“[WHEN DAY IS DARK. ALWAYS REMEMBER HAPPY DAY.]”

“<Yes, it is good to be resilient. Our people are here to support yours in every way we can; do not hesitate to reach out to us. The path of Liberty is a rough one which wears on all treads uneavenly, but throughout time…>”

President Carter somehow found himself getting more and more exhausted by the moment. First contacts were one thing, the end of civilization was another thing entirely, but what he absolutely did not expect was to stand before an alien politician and hear it stump speech at him.

It just wouldn’t stop.

Now granted, at this point the translators that had been gifted by their other benefactors had gone through multiple revisions, but everyone was aware it was a game of telephone and that translations were going to be imperfect for quite some time moving forward. The fact that the translators were external and did not mask the native speech was not lost on the Human delegations, and it wasn’t unheard of for negotiations to start only for one side to uncontrollably flinch at the sound of the others’ opening comments. The birdsong-like roaring of the Spacedinos was nothing like the backfiring bone chainsaw of the Spacewolves – each one was it’s own fresh hell to listen to.

But this?

“[MANY BADS HAVE TO BE STOPPED. MANY GOODS MUST BE MADE. WE HELP GOODS AND STOP BADS. DO NOT STEP ON-]”

It was if a white noise machine was cranked up to eleven, implanted it into a purring tiger and then taped that to a busted steam pipe. It wasn’t so much as a speech as it was just noise, and aggressive noise at that. As the alien politician got more and more into his (probably) rousing speech, he twisted and gyrated in intricate and unfortunate shapes and always, always kept his unblinking eyes fixed on Stevens’. It demanded his rapt, complete attention, and that was something that the overflow of fear inside of the President was more than happy to give… for a while.

After all, he’s only human. He’s been up for 37 hours, his adrenal glands were shot, his knees were weak and arms heavy, and he’s only human. Sometimes, man by sheer force of will can overcome his body and achieve astounding things not thought physically possible. Sometimes, the human body wins and the mind is forced to shut down, retreat within itself and let time and chance wash over it.

Against his will and good judgment, President Carter’s eyes screwed shut in exhaustion. The sudden prolonged darkness was enough to trick his brain into thinking everyone and everything had gone away and it might as well take a break because if it couldn’t see the problems, they didn’t exist. Imperceptibly, President Carter tipped forward, losing balance as he fell asleep on his feet.

Thankfully for everyone involved, Speaker-Ambassador Hrrprsnk’krespk was there to catch him. Before President Carter hit the ground he was greeted with cool scales and a firm grip, his unconscious body quickly rolled into the Speaker-Ambassador’s own extremely-long torso. Nobody moved for a few moments as they processed exactly what just happened, and a few human guards half-heartedly raised their weapons slightly.

“[IT IS FINE. WE ARE FINE. HOW ARE YOU?]”

European Union Chancellor Viksburg yawned fiercely, scratching his side quite unceremoniously. “Well… can’t say I don’t envy him. Could you let him up, though? We’ve got another caffeine epipen we could use to-”

“[NO. IT IS FINE.]”

Chancellor Viksburg sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “God… again?”

“[THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE.]”

“No, just.” Viksburg waved his hand around a bit. “Nothing. Why won’t you release him?”

“[HE IS FINE.]”

“. . .right, let’s just give him a little tug-”

Speaker-Ambassador Hrrprsnk’krespks’ body instinctualy tightened a bit, the dead-to-the-world President of the New American Empire slowly disappearing in his coils, causing everyone to freeze. “[IS FINE.]”

The equally-exhausted Chancellor of the European Union stared up at the Ambassador for a few moments, internally weighing something in his mind, before giving a physical shrug. “Fine, fuck it. Make space.”

“[WHAT.]”

And so the President of the New American Empire was joined by the Chancellor of the Expanded European Union, The Oceania Defense Pact Minister, and the Administrator of the Chinese Extended Economic Cooperative Zone, all of whom were far too tired for any more nonsense and who finally got a full and uninterrupted 12 hours of sleep.

“——”

He floated up from a shock his mind couldn’t fathom, from pain and confusion and primal fear-

“——— – – ——.”

He floated up from a black pit, the oppressive weight pressing down on his chest slowly getting easier and easier to lift. He inhaled, dimly aware that a mask was on his face.

“Hey. Hey – Hey.”

Someone was saying something… but it was hard to concentrate. They were words, he knew them, but that wasn’t important. He inhaled again, deeper, and the fog cleared far enough from his mind for him to think for a moment. ‘Something… about a park. His wife’s dog. About a movie? Was he in a movie?’

“Good Morning, Hank. I’m Dr. Pratchett. I need you to breathe deep, ok? Breathe deep for me.”

It sounded like a good idea, so he did so.

“Alright. Keep doing that – can you breathe deep for me one more time?”

He did so, and his eyes opened. He was staring at a tiled drop ceiling, something that wouldn’t look out of place at any school, office complex –

– he finally heard the beeps.

Hospital.

“Hnnnnnnnnnnlfh.”

“Hey hey hey hey-” He felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him back into the tilted bed. “None of that, no movement. You’re still recovering.”

Hank turned to look at a doctor – a normal doctor. Nurse? Doctor. Somewhere after 40 with mocha-colored skin and no discernible accent, he seemed absolutely normal and absolutely out of place.

“Haaanlinen. Haaa?”

“Try words.”

“Mmmmmmipsh.” His dog? He clenched his fists. Why… why would he talk about his fucking dog–

“Mipsy is still at-large and considered armed-”

No!

No, he wasn’t in a movie! He was… there were aliens, he wasn’t dreaming it! There were aliens and police and then he fell an-

Hank lurched forward, his oxygen-starved brain finally running on 3 out of 4 cylinders.

His arms were ripped off. He felt his warmth pour out, the cold ice take his chest. The pain – oh God the pain – the movement, the fear-

“No no no NO – NURSE! HE’S HAVING A PANIC ATTACK AGAIN-”

Hank violently thrashed against the nurse – doctor – it didn’t matter who, there were too many of them and they were holding him down and he needed to get out he needed to-

It started to get hard to breathe again. That weight was back… it was enough. He wasn’t so much tired as just… shut off. He knew he was attacked; he knew oblivion again.

“[HE BETTER.]”

Special Operations Combat Doctor Pratchett, to his credit, flinched only slightly as the translator kicked in. They were by no means in a traditional hospital; more like a purpose-built facsimile floating high above Atlanta in a ship far beyond his – or any other Humans’ – comprehension. Various species came and went in the background, but always this one stayed. Always it looked through the one-way screen, always it stood vigil.

“A little. No cardiac arrest this time.”

The alien growl-trilled something to itself that the translator either didn’t bother to pick up, or couldn’t. Pratchett knew guilt when he saw it – species barriers be damned – and sighed, resting his hands on the small of his back. “Look… you’re not the only one. There are others-”

“[NO.]”

“Mmm. T-Talk to them, sometime. I will let you know if his condition changes; we’ll try to rouse him in a few hours-”

“[NO. I WILL NOT FAIL AGAIN.]”

Dr. Pratchett stared at the alien, and the alien stared back. After a few moments the good doctor collected himself, gave a slight nod of his head, and left Aq’rel’a to stand vigil. Mr. Hill was getting better – each time, a little closer, a few less problems, a little stronger. One day soon, he would be able to wake up and prosper.

When that day came, she was there.

When that day came, she was there to apologize, and he was there to forgive.

Site 5 was unlike most anything else on the planet; it was an impromptu library of culture, of words, of history and of science, all bent towards one singular goal:

Figuring out what the FUCK that thing just said.

Site 5 was also multiple different locations working simultaneously in concert, but all of them were colloquially known as “Site 5”. The Site 5 in question for the English Language was a re-purposed High School Gymnasium, bleachers ordered into neat rows and columns of English literature, the history of the english language, the etymology and mutations thereof…

Sitting in the middle of this perfect storm of literature were dozens of Etymologists, Sociologists and other Scientists, with their corresponding alien counterparts taking up the rest of the Gym floor. It wasn’t so much that they had so many resources to bring in to build their side of the translator matrix that they needed the floor; merely, they just needed that much space to spread out and the bleachers were fine and yes we’re comfortable up here far away from you, thankyouverymuch.

“[WE CALL YOU LOCALS. CHANGE LOCALS.]”

“Name of place?” Dr. Welst said, going through the checklist to whittle down what the alien meant.

“[NO.]” The giant werewolf rumbled. “[LOCALS ON WORLD. LOCALS OFF WORLD. LOCALS HERE. LOCALS THERE.]”

“Name of us?” She clarified, pointing to herself and then to one of her colleagues.

“[YES. LOCALS NAME.]”

“One. Human. Two or more. Humans. All. Humanity.” Dr. Welst began, rattling off in the most simple and basic way she knew how the various definition and tenses of her species’ name.

“B—. ?r$r—gBh.?”

“[Alright, did you catch that?]” Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren subvocalized, communicating with the real team high in orbit on a senate ship. Her HUD flashed a confirmation, and she waited in attentive boredom as the little alien made happy-sounding mouthsounds at her. A private ping blinked in her sight, and she opened up the notification-

== CHAT ENABLED ==

+) [PRIVATE CHATROOM 347.#$.5436.-G JOINED]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [What’s going on?]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Just. My team’s having a field day over these things.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [They’re not a thing, they’re a proud and noble race.]

= = =

Zgrnuzh-of-Regren rolled her eyes at the fierce defense, typing out a dismissive gesture in chat.

= = =

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Seriously. Come on- just look at them. Nobility aside, this is borderline ridiculous.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [+REDACTED VIA CONTENT FILTER+]. [Granted.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [I’m still not over them being… just, them. Like.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Yeah!]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Right? I wouldn’t believe it unless I was here.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [So what’s the plan? We’re having… a lot of debate on our end as to what name to assign their people.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Same. Should we go for a placeholder until the top brass figures it out?]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Yes. As long as it’s respectful.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Dull your claws already, sheesh.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Look, I’m just saying they’ve suffered enough injustices already, and so the least we could do is introduce them in a way that-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Stooooop. Doing so is only going to have them carry this forward for millenia. It’s better to name them based on what they are than what’s happened to them-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [But the two are the same! History can’t be separated from the species that creates it, and-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Warm cuddles.]

= = =

Zgrnuzh-of-Regren physically turned to look at her Forever-Free-Trail-Maker comrade, tilting her head slightly.

= = =

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [What.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Warm cuddles. Our Ambassador-Speaker was apparently used as a nest for their Leaders. They radiate heat, and didn’t want to leave. They are Warm and the cuddle, and it was a historic moment.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Fear-shit.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Mmm. Serious. Ask for file RE#55*NJ-7.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Ok if that’s the case then all bets are off. They have the tiniest of teeth and are so happy to chomp them at us – so, tiny-chomper.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [This is dumb and you’re dumb and I hate both of you and I’m going to-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Hold on.]

== CHAT PAUSED ==

Zgrnuzh-of-Regren prepared herself, and cleared her throat – which, for some reason, caused all of the little locals to jump.

“{We want to see if you’re ok with this name}”

“[WE WISH TO SEE IF NAME IS GOOD.]”

“Ok.”

“[OK]” Zgrnuzh-of-Regren’s translator kicked back to her.

“{Tiny Chomper.}” Zgrnuzh-of-Regren said, enunciating each syllable clearly and slowly. If she was remembering correctly, they had translated both of those words before, so there should be no confusion-

“[HUMAN.]” The translator matrix helpfully spat out, in the locals’ native language.

“Yes.”

“[YES.]” Zgrnuzh-of-Regrens’ translator confirmed.

Zgrnuzh-of-Regren blinked, taken aback slightly. She had prepared to backpedal, as translation errors happened all the time, so this little discrepancy could be explained away, but… but was it ok? Were they ok being called Tiny-chompers?!

“{Is that good? You want to be called tiny chompers?}”

“[IS GOOD. YOU NAME HUMAN.]”

“Yes.”

“[YES.]” The local research leader said, nodding to her colleagues and responding with a bright, wide smile.

== CHAT ENABLED ==

+) [MISSED HISTORY. SHOW? Y/N]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [No. No. No. No. No. No. No.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [LOOK AT THEM THIS IS SO PRECIOUS OH MY GOD]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [No. No. No. No. No.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [I can’t believe they’re actually ok with this.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [No. No. No. No. I just. No. No.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [OK OK OK MY TURN-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [NO.]

+) [Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan][DISCONNECTED FROM CHAT][TEMPORARY][VOLUNTARY]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [We are going to hell for this.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Maybe. Maybe this was meant to be? Aren’t you into predestination and whatnot?]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [See, I know we’re going to hell for this because you’re willingly engaging me in a theological debate to drag me off-course.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [They SAID they were ok with it. It’s both historically accurate and who they are, so it checks both boxes-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Just because you’re technically correct doesn’t mean that you’re properly correct.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [I don’t think those words mean what you think they mean.]

+) [Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan][REJOINED CHAT]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [NO WAY.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [SO HAPPY AT THE NAME THEY WIGGLED WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [I can’t BELIEVE you two right now! They are little, and innocent, and they need protecting from so much, most of all people like you.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [So is that it? Is that the name?]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [What, little needs protecting?]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [I like it!]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [NO. I will be better than you both!]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [NO. STOP TEMPTING ME.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [. . .]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO IT DO-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO I-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO IT DO IT -]

+) [Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’][DISCONNECTED FROM CHAT][TEMPORARY][VOLUNTARY]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Here we go here we go here we go-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [No way is he going to do it is he actually going to-]

+) [Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’][REJOINED CHAT]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [I hate you both.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [HE DID IT THE ABSOLUTE INSANE BOY DID IT-]

Tags Sci-Fi, They are Smol, Comedy, Cute, Smol