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They are Smol Stories

They are Smol Doctors at Large – Chapter 5

Big was big.

Big was big because she was big. This one was not as big as big, or as big as sisters. This one was runt, but it was ok. This one knew when to burrow and when to wiggle and when to cry and Dad was close and Dad was safety. This one let Big be Big because it was small, and it did not want to fight.

Big was big. Big was also leader. This one knew to follow Big and to play with sisters and to burrow and to wiggle and Dad was close and Dad was safety, but Dad was not here.

This meant no safety. So this one went to Big, because Big was big and Big would be safety. Big was angry and Big was fighting and Big was strong and Big attacked-!

. . .

Big was gone. This one was upset, and she and her sisters began to cry.

“?RARRR’ARASA’BGRAFNA?”

“|Gooootcha. Oooh, yes, ferocious, you’re a strong one aren’t you? Yes you are~|” T’ciki’briiki cooed gently, holding the largest and most feisty Dorarizin pup in her hands. She had handled enough pups through the decades to know how to handle the primordial pack mentality:

  (1) Get the biggest one first.

  (2) There is no .

T’ciki’briiki chuckled as the little girl ferociously ‘fought’ against her ministrations, the careworker looking the little pup over for any injuries or anything that would cause harm, accepting the bites and defiant clawing of little hands and teeth. Noting nothing, she turned and put the largest pup down on a warm table, making sure the rest of her currently-screaming family-pack could see. Quickly and with practiced ease, she wrapped the harness around the fussy toddler, securing the torso, then the arms, then the legs. Finished, she tapped a small, soft icon on the harness’ back, the RFID indicator beaming out a confirmation.

“?AWR’AAAGHAHGBA-?”

“|Aaah, yes, it isn’t the best color for your fur, but that will have to do.|” T’ciki’briiki smiled, lifting up the still-flailing-still-attacking pup and placing her back into the tram she came in with. As she deposited the largest pup, she reached in for the second largest, repeating the process. The pups still in the carriage greeted the largest one with inquisitive yips, bites and body-tackles, their screaming now only coming in intermittently as they remembered, then forgot, then remembered that they were missing someone. By the time the second toddler was suited up and tagged the screaming had started again, and T’ciki’briiki gently placed the second pup in the tram, pulling out the third. By the fourth or fifth time this had happened, most of the pups realized they were going to experience an altogether new sensation that wasn’t going to kill them, so outside of the general “that’s my purse I don’t know you” wiggling that happened whenever they were picked up, the screaming died down.

“|Aaah, and you, little one.|” T’ciki’briiki cooed, pulling out the runt of the litter. Although every so often – especially in larger litters – there would be a runt, it really didn’t carry over into later in life. A few good years of hearty meals and all kids grew up big and strong, but until then there would be runts and stunts and baldies and all sorts of little adorable quirks that T’ciki’briiki could exploit. Case in point, the runt of this litter didn’t even fight and almost leaned back, accepting whatever fate would befall it.

T’ciki’briiki smiled widely and gently rubbed the girl’s head, the soft babyfur between the ears tickling the nub of her finger near her shaved-down claws. “|Aww, you’re the livelyberry of the bunch, aren’t you?|”

“?ABLBL.?” Livelyberry responded, splaying out on the table and giving almost no fuss to being suited up. T’ciki’briiki gently placed the runt in with the rest of the litter and closed the canopy, letting them get used to being together again and being safe again.

Then she wheeled them right into the middle of the playpen.

Big was big and Big was strong and Big was safe and Big was yelling. This one knew as much, and played with her sisters as they were all safe again and everything smelled like Dad and it was ok, but Big was yelling. This one did not know why, and so was determined to play with Big because sisters were all here and it smelled like Dad and it was safe. Moving forward as rapidly as this one could, she tackled Big in the way toddlers do, which is less a coordinated move and more bumping into and then falling ontop of her sister. It was at this point that this one knew why Big was still yelling.

There were others outside. Non-sisters. And some of them…

…were Big.

Dr. Nicholas Silver continued to cast his gaze over the group of hopefuls that remained before him. As was to be expected, the sudden shock of trauma – bloody, screaming trauma – was not something their class was prepared for, and that was entirely the whole point. As an ER surgeon, you could be spending a couple hours just fucking around with friends, handling some of the more benign cases, and then suddenly there was a tram crash and you’ve got 15 people headed for your doors in the next 5 minutes. You never got to pick and choose what happened, when it happened, or how it happened – only what you were going to do, when you were going to do it and how you were going to save those people who came in through your doors.

Everyone – from Hospital Administrator to the Janitor – needed to be aware of how things worked, and needed to be aware of what they were going to see. You never got a head’s up, so… well.

Why should the trainees?

To this class’ credit, only a third of them immediately left the room. That always piqued Nick’s curiosity; what did they think they were volunteering for? It’s a Hospital for God’s sake, not a coffee shop. Did they sign up expecting, what, that they’d get to play bedside nurse to non-emergency patients only? To physically leave – that was an immediate fail, as it should be, and Nicholas pushed them out of his mind.

The bottom third, the ones that kept their eyes on the screen with rapt attention – those were the ones that worried Nick. Some revulsion was good, especially coming from a civilian life, as they all had, so to show none… It’s one thing to focus, but it’s another thing entirely to almost revel in the spectacle splayed out before them. These were people, after all, not imaginary things, and being too detached from you work… although it helped you to get through the day, it wasn’t good to totally dehumanize your patients. This group would whittle down quite substantially: there would be those who would pass the course, certainly, but a majority would fail just by lack of empathy. Bedside manner was just as important as the ability to not let things get to you. Balance, in everything.

That left the middle third. The middle third… was always the ones that would be the meat of the passing class, but were the hardest to read. They’re civilians, so none are expected to be stone-cold efficient machines… but they’re also expected to keep calm under pressure and do what they’re instructed. Empathy, yes, and in spades, but also a cool head. Some would fall too far on either side of the spectrum and weed themselves out, but those that stuck around would usually be the right stuff to join the team.

If they stuck around. So few… made it.

‘Case in point.’ Thought Dr. Silver, as he saw a Dorarizin male grimacing at his terminal. As far as he could tell the intern didn’t even have his eyes open, but he was at least still sitting down, still …listening to what was going on.

“For everyone who still remains, congratulations. You’ve survived the class’ first great culling.” Dr. Silver said a bit too dramatically, earning him a light chuckle from RN. Laverne Roberts. “Point being, this may mimic one of your typical work days. You might be working in the infant ward, and then pulled into trauma. You might be performing life-saving treatment on a teenager, then helping an elder with a prosthetic fitting. We don’t know what will happen on any given day, and medical technology has only progressed so far – if it were perfect, Hospitals wouldn’t even exist for your our kind, let alone yours. Dr. Solid-” Nick nodded towards the elderly Jornissian Doctor, who gave a little wave, “-will back me up on this, because he’s lived it with Jornissian patients as well. You must be able to handle yourself, to keep your cool, and to follow orders. The class’ first day was meant to reflect that.”

The video ended, and Dr. Silver gave the interns a few moments to compose themselves. There were a few sobs, a few sighs, and a few people staring intently at the lectern. Hm.

Tipo’s eyes were screwed shut so hard that they ached. The tiny-chomper lost her infant, apparently, and after that they tried to save someone who was involved in a vehicle accident. After that, chemical sickness. After that, burns.

After that, he just shut his eyes.

Ngruzren focused on his breathing as various orders were barked into his ears, the cries of patients filled the spaces, and the sounds of odd machines punctuated any silence that the video would give. He didn’t turn away; well, he couldn’t, really – he needed to be there, to see this, but

But it was way too much.

The sudden silence as the video was cut off didn’t register for the first few moments, and eventually the translated voice of a tiny-chomper started to speak to him about keeping cool, maintaining focus, handling pressure…

Tipo sighed, and opened his eyes, focusing on the lectern at the bottom of the amphitheater. Dr. Tiny-chomper-wiggle-hands was talking as if nothing happened – as if all that pain and suffering wasn’t real, and for a brief moment Ngruzren hoped that was the case; that this was a prank, that it was a trick, and that he was signing up for a normal job. For once.

“[-So I think that’s all we should cover for today. We’d like for you to return here, roughly 30 hours from now, for day two’s lecture. Your homework-]”

Wait. Homework?

“[-will be to review the basic CPR and Triage Handbooks for your respective species. Also, you are to review the first [Olympus Mons] shuttle crash footage, and give us a write-up over what physical trauma you notice come through the doors, and how the tiny-chomper medics responded. That information will be downloaded to your Hospital account within the next hour. No Questions. Good.]” Dr. Tiny-chomper-wiggle-hands gave the group a little bow, and raised the lights, making small talk with the other medical professionals as he did so.

How could… how could they just do that? Act as if nothing had happened? Act as if it was all so normal?! If something like this happened to his pups, Ngruzren would never forgive hi-

Wait.

HIS PUPS-

This one did not know where Big went, but that was ok; there was another Big and this Big was fighting another Big and that was ok too. So many Bigs meant so many safes and it didn’t smell like Dad but that was ok too. This one was surrounded by a lot of new-sisters and some new-not-sisters, and they were her size and some were larger and some were smaller and it was ok the burrow was warm. A new-sister squealed as this one burrowed past her, the sensation of new-sisters following in her burrow-wake a welcome one.

Potat. Together. Strong.

One of Ngruzen’s pups gave a little squeal of joy as it sank into the burrow-pit, and T’ciki’briiki laughed. To be so young again, so free! Ah, it was adorable. Idly she scanned the rest of the Dorarizin-den; There were a few larger pups fighting each other – no blood, no pain, so it was no concern – and a few on the mound taking turns knocking each other off into the burrow pit below – where the younger of her charges would grab onto the harness and pull the victim into the soft fabric loam.

T’ciki’briiki smiled and leaned back, looking over her monitors. Her shift was Dorarizin today; her colleagues were handling Jornissian and Karnakian, and then tomorrow they’d rotate, per usual. Hundreds of sensors embedded into… well, everything was pouring data back to her terminal, and everything appeared normal. Well. There was urine in some spots, a few ferocious fights, some broken toys and a bunch of food paste smeared over the walls, so everything was normal for the certain age group that she was monitoring. With a content sigh T’ciki’briiki cupped her mug of hot tea, tipping it up to take a sip.

It was at this point, of course, that the new father and hypochondriac-for-his-kids Ngruzen somehow slammed open the automatic sliding door, his body still skidding to a halt from what was apparently a breakneck sprint to the nursery.

T’ciki’briiki had seen it all, and made a point to gently sip her tea, unflinching. “|Good first day?|”

“[MY BABIES.]”

T’ciki’briiki chuckled and gently placed her mug down on her desk, keying in a few commands. The clear window-screen behind her turned slightly opaque, the pups who were wearing the harnesses of a particular RFID signal started to glow on-screen. “|As you can see, alive and well! Somehow they survived through snack time too. Should I go get-|”

“[NO! No, please, let me just… let me hold them, please. I’ll go an-]”

Now, T’ciki’briiki knew that she shouldn’t let the new father into the playpen. She knew that her supervisors knew, and she knew that doing so would probably mean a write-up.

It would also make for excellent security camera footage.

“|Sure. Your pups are in the orange vests.|” With a few keystrokes, the door slid open, the sounds and smells of a couple dozen toddler Dorarizin flooding the waiting area. Ngruzen made it a good… 10 feet in, and possibly got to one of his own pups, before there was a noticeable shift.

You see, when you are a father picking up your own pups, your own pups react in a certain way. The other pups pick up on that, and any father is a good father when you’ve been abandoned by your parents since before snacktime, and so…

As Ngruzen kneeled to hug his smallest daughter, he was slowly encompassed by pups not his own. By the time he realized what was happening, it was far too late.

With a squealing chorus of joy, Ngruzen was slowly absorbed into the pup-mound as they lept, crawled and burrowed into him from all directions.

T’ciki’briiki would give it about 15 minutes before going into rescue him… the poor dear seemed like he needed the comfort.

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Stories They are Smol

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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They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: Chapter 14

[wp-night-mode-button style="1"]

What Happen in last episode:

  • The Truth(tm) came out
  • Caroline can aggressively nap
  • Admiral Var’Shrak can’t move or else he’ll wake her up and then his day will be ruined

This episode:

  • We compare notes
  • The adults need an adult
  • I am the senate

————————————————————————————————————

The problem with transporting [Human]s are, fundamentally, that they’re somewhat fragile. This means as a host species you’ve got to figure out ways of transporting a [Human] from point A to point B with minimal – and preferably no damage whatsoever.

Having them move under their own power is absolutely option . A significant amount of stations have begun adopting the moving [sidewalk] method over their longer stretches of corridor, and as long as there’s enough notification signage, forewarning, installed railing, grip-modified flooring and it isn’t moving too fast, they’ve been met with great success.

However, the safety-nets at the end of each platform were a bit too much, most non-Karnakian species agreed.

When [Humans] are unable to move under their own power (or are just too slow), option is to have a [Human]-created mobility device installed or manufactured on station/ship. This could be anything from a wheel-chair, which is a very sturdy seat on wheels, to “roller blades”, which are a very concerning type of boot, to [golf]-carts – which not only are safer, but even come with added carrying capacity!

Due to the inherently physically unstable nature of [Humans], wheeled hoverboards are, of course, universally banned.

Option is usually almost completely filled with emergency options, or options of last-resort; a [Human]-calibrated escape pod, for instance, a heavily-modified shuttlecraft or empty construction drone will do in a pinch. Although a [Human] can definitely use one, it’s…it’s going to be difficult for everyone involved, there will be injuries and there willbe paperwork afterwards.

So imagine everyone’s surprise, then, when Option was unanimously selected by [Bill]’s denmate-ball: They would have to carry him to safety. As a unit [Bill]’s denmates stood up, making sure not to crush, twist, or rend their smaller crewmate.

“[Holy shit please let me out I didn’-]”

Arms bent at weird angles, wrists twisted in odd configurations, claws sheathed, about a half-dozen paws began to pat [Bill] on whatever body part was in reach. He squirmed in surprise for a few moments before staying still.

The patting stopped, and the murderball moved forward.

“[…C-can you at least tell me where we’re going?! Look, It’s not – the [memes] aren’t-]”

The patting resumed. [Bill] stopped complaining, and after a few more minutes of being gently batted around the ball stopped petting him, picked itself up and began shuffling out of the hangar. [Bill] watched with growing curiosity as they moved, slowly, from hallway to hallway until he eventually recognized his off-duty wing.

The ball never stopped being a ‘ball’; not when it walked through the dormitory halls, not when it finally found [Bill]’s room, and – somehow – not even when it squeezed through a doorway far too small for it’s bulk. The only time the ball started to lose cohesion was ontop of [Bill]’s bed, and even then, it more or less just formed a lump.

A comfortable, fluffy lump.

The reason why was apparent to any Dorarizin there – Sgt. Rauleh-of-Ngraren was following the murderball the entire time, growling soft responses to questions only she could hear. Although the danger of the station rending the [Human] limb-from-limb had since passed, she was still a female, and [Bill] was still mostly scentless. The murderball agreed: it was better safe than sorry.

“[…are – are we done now? I – I’m only feeling one pat, so I’m assuming that’s a yes.]” [Bill], the juicy center of the murderball said. “[Look-]”

“{We’re – you’re not in trouble, [Bill]. We just…noticed some irregularities, and, ah.}” Rauleh mouthed a few words silently, listening to silent instructions. “{…want to understand the significant cultural and social applications of [Human] edited-}”

“[Hi Rauleh’s handler~]” [Bill] cooed playfully.

Rauleh’s face soured a bit before her ears flicked back in irritation. “{T’ch. Fine. I’ll claw directly at yo-}”

The murderball tensed up, and only after a few minutes of patting did Rauleh continue. “{Sorry… it’s a phrase. I’ll be direct? Direct with you. A [Jornissian] ship discovered [memes] from their resident [Human]-}”

“[Hah! I’m not gonna be court marshaled~]”

“{So it’s a military secret? Cultural?}”

“[What? No. It’s…look, whoever that is I really appreciate the enthusiasm but that’s an erogenous zone-]”

There was a slight pause, and a shift in the lump.

“[…I didn’t say stop.]”

There was another longer pause, and then a second reluctant shift in the lump.

“[So… as I was saying…]” [Bill] murmured, “[If someone can get me the remote to my terminal?]”

Over the course of the next few hours, [Bill], The murderball, Rauleh-of-Ngraren and Zgren-Ngraren-of-Arzerghr all learned a little bit more about themselves, and the universe at large.



There was an orange pip in his eye.

Without moving a single muscle – really, just using his thoughts, Admiral Var’Shrak parsed exactly who was calling him, hesitated for only a moment, and then answered the call. On the screen in the lounge a graying Dorarizin sprung to life, and before he realized the call went through Var’Shrak muted the audio and routed it to his implant.

“[Admiral Var’Shrak. May your coils never slip.]” Zgren-Ngraren-of-Arzerghr said, an odd emotion plastered on his face. “[I have…news.]”

“<As do I.>” Var’Shrak subvocalized, barely forming an audible whisper. “<They’re scared of us.>”

The Dorarizin clicked his teeth. “[That’s the long and short of it, yes. It reminds me of pups barking at the dark – false bravado and all that. It can be overcome, apparently, with training and support.]”

“<But do we want to put them in that position? Forever? Always being afraid – is that any way to live?>”

“[Well that’s a very dark thought. Speaking of, why are the lights dimmed? I hope I didn’t wake you-]”

“<Our, ah. [Human], [Caroline], got so angry she had to take a nap.>” Var’Shrak said, matter-of-factly.

He really did enjoy the range of emotions that played across the Dorarizin’s face: surprise, disbelief, a fleeting explosion of uncontrollable glee before a quick half-assed tamp-down back to stoic professionalism. “[I uh. I see. I did not know their species… did that.]”

“<It seems today is a day of learning for us all.>”

There was a short pause, before the Dorarizin leaned in conspiratorially. “[You…did record it, right?]”

“<By Sotek yes I did. And maybe.>” Var’Shrak replied, staying perfectly still.

“[Hmph. Well, this answers your question from earlier. No. We’re not going to abandon them; we can’t. Eventually they’ll come after us, anyway.]”

“<It’s not right.>”

“[It’s unprecedented, yes.]”

“<It’s not right to live in fear.>”

“[No… but. Well. I think this will fade with time – or with, uh. Proper intervention.]”

There was a pregnant pause, and [Caroline] took this time to roll over, murmuring a nonsensical complaint.

“[Oh, oh! She’s-]”

“<No notice, just dropped in.>”

“[How long-]”

“<About 6 of her hours. I think we’re almost through an entire night cycle.>”

“[Hah. I both do and don’t envy you.]”

There was another still pause as the two aliens looked down at the sleeping [Human]. “<You’re going to go to the Senate with this, aren’t you?>” Var’Shrak finally said, looking up at his counterpart. The Dorarizin sighed and agreed. “[This is something that the Senate could use as leverage to-]”

“<LEV->” Var’Shrak roared, but quickly remembered himself, going from a yell to a frantic whisper. “<Leverage?! What do they have that we would – Zgren-Ngraren-of-Arzerghr what in the frozen Hell->”

“[Calm yourself, friend. I simply wish to help them-]”

“<And putting their scales against the mountain does this how?>”

“[The [Humans] have a phrase that I like, if you understand the context. I think it’s very apt to use it here.]”

“<That phrase being?>”

“[Baptism by Fire].”

Var’Shrak didn’t move, and didn’t blink. His face soured as Zgren-Ngraren-of-Arzerghr began to explain his idea, and with bitter thoughts an inevitable realization hit him: He was right.

Zgren was right, and damn each and every one of his scales, Var’Shrak was going to support him.



For all that’s been said about it, both good and bad, nobody could disagree that the Galactic Senate held the largest and most complete stranglehold of power in the Galaxy.

This was achieved by ancient and dark rites such as trade negotiations, byzantine paperwork, proper and equal representation of species, a very good marketing team and the very small fact that the largest central governments of each species were all members of the Senate and would happily curbstomp any little upstart who dared disturb the status quo.

Representation in the Senate was surprisingly streamlined and straightforward. Each species had their own ways of electing a Senator, and each species had their own amounts of Senators, but each species also had only one vote. You could be elected, ordained, voluntold – however you got there, you ended up in the melting pot, the nexus of interstellar commerce, culture and might. Whatever you brought to the table would be incorporated into the team you were put on, and through the power of bureaucracy your contributions would end up as nameless attributions to part of a trade deal that outlawed the Zerblum, but only if you didn’t claim that the insect was part of a religious ritual, and only around certain non-yellow stars. As long as a simple majority (2/3 before [Humanity], now 3/4) voted in favor of your particular proposal it was put into law and enacted. Repealing worked exactly the same way, and revisions – well.

That just took forever.

The average citizen rarely interacted with the Senate; it was a nebulous thing that did stuff and then somehow your life was impacted. As long as the trade lanes stayed open, war stayed on the fringes as a distant memory and there was enough space to grow, people were content.

So given the Senate’s size and complexity it was a minor miracle that Zgren-Ngraren-of-Arzerghr was able to compile and submit a joint report to the Senate in only 3 months. The delay was unavoidable; although both Admiral Var’Shrak and Zgren-Ngraren-of-Arzerghr were in very high positions and normally could get a Senator’s ear, they had to deal with federal and imperial inquisitions respectively, safety checks and inspections(both species-specific and senate-ordained), a human-Dorarizin den request (which raised a few eyebrows) and creating a new safety course for Jorissians on ‘how not to be suplexed repeatedly by a [Human]: a 12 step guide.’ (which raised even more eyebrows).

The Report, as it would come to be known, was a stand-alone binder filled with files, documentation, stamped paperwork, audio and visual interviews and various biometric data, eventually made its way to three species, and more specifically, to their respective Directors of [Human] Interaction. As each package was opened up, a simple plea unfolded; it both gave context to what the Senators would soon learn, but it also planted a small seed. A seed that, if the assembled races worked together, would give them something that they’ve been craving for years.

IF they played their cards right, and IF the [Humans] would react as their data models showed, and IF the idea could be positioned properly, then maybe, for the first time as allies, the Galactic community would be allowed to walk unfettered on the Earth.

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